Behind Closed Doors. Debbi Rawlins
Beth smiled. “Don’t look so worried.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Rachel said, and come to think of it, she actually seemed a bit amused. So maybe Beth was the one who should be concerned. “I think it’s worth a shot. He’s probably just storing the lumber for winter jobs to keep his men busy.”
Beth glanced at her watch. If he agreed to let her have the order, she’d have to pick it up herself. Her truck was small, but she could make two trips. And if she waited for Liberty to be done with school, she’d help. Her niece might whine, but too bad. The budding graffiti artist needed the extra money Beth paid her to cover court costs as part of her probation. Beth really hoped that particular bud had been nipped. “I’ll give him a call.”
“Better yet, drive out there. It’ll be harder for him to say no face-to-face.” Rachel smiled. “I can give you directions.”
“Good.” Beth would still call. She’d never cared for that business of just showing up on someone’s doorstep uninvited. Though she’d end up at his ranch whether he said yes or no.
Nine years working all over the globe as a corporate meeting planner had taught Beth tact, grace and the art of persuasion. She’d be damned if Blackfoot Falls was going to teach her patience.
* * *
NATHAN LANDERS JOINED his foreman at the corral fence. “What do you think of him so far?”
“The kid’s got grit, I’ll tell ya that,” Woody said, his gaze glued to the young man stroking the mare’s neck.
“He get on her yet?”
“Twice, and ended up with a mouthful of dirt both times.”
That didn’t surprise Nathan. He’d known the horse wouldn’t be easy when he bought her. She’d taken the bridle just fine, and the bit hadn’t seemed to bother her. But she sure hadn’t liked being saddled.
He watched Brian give the mare’s neck a final stroke, then slowly fit his booted foot into the stirrup. With impressive grace, the kid swung into the saddle.
For a moment the mare just stood there, almost as if in shock that the fool had climbed on again. The second it wore off she burst into motion, rearing up on her back legs, then twisting and bucking. Nathan and Woody both moved back when the mare came close to the fence, trying to brush the kid off.
She bucked a few more times, then came down hard, lifting her hindquarters and sending Brian over her head. He hit the dirt in a cloud of dust and with a string of cusses. The kid was only eighteen, and easily sprang to his feet. The mare eyed him warily and shied to the other end of the corral.
Woody yanked off his hat and waved away the dust. “He ain’t bashful about getting right back on.”
Nathan nodded. He’d heard that Brian was good with animals, and he’d obviously already passed the test or Woody would’ve sent him on his way by now. “I’m assuming you want to hire him.”
“Up to you, boss.” Woody scratched his balding head, then slapped the battered tan Stetson back on.
Nathan just smiled. He might own the Lucky 7 but very little was up to him anymore. Woody Knudsen held the reins when it came to the cattle operation. Ever since Anne’s death, Nathan had lost interest. He still kept abreast of what was going on, met with the accountant quarterly and signed the checks, but the daily stuff was all Woody’s.
Now, the two Arabians that Nathan had recently purchased were a different story. He still had a lot to learn about breeding them, but at least the idea sparked some life inside him. Three years was a long time to feel nothing.
“Bad time to be hiring with winter coming, but I say we bring him on.” Woody propped his arms on the fence while he watched Brian go another round with the stubborn mare. “You’re gonna need help with those Arabians at some point. Might as well see what the kid’s made of.”
Nathan should’ve known this was about Woody looking out for him. Woody had worked on Nathan’s parents’ ranch as a wrangler and eventually the foreman. He’d been there for Nathan’s first step and when he’d climbed onto his first horse. And when Nathan had returned from college full of determination and too much ego, dead set on turning his own meager seven acres into one of the largest ranches in northern Montana, Woody had never doubted him.
Much as Nathan loved his parents—good, salt-of-the-earth, hardworking people—he hadn’t seen the faith in their eyes that he had in Woody’s. Now, at the wiser age of thirty-four, Nathan understood they’d had reason to be skeptical. But that took nothing away from Woody’s unwavering support.
“He might wanna start right away,” Woody said. “Unless you have a problem with that.”
“Nope.” Nathan used his sleeve to blot the sweat on his forehead, then readjusted his Stetson. October mornings and evenings were nice and cool, but the direct afternoon sun could still be sweltering some days.
“You expecting company?” Woody stared past him toward the driveway.
Only if hell had frozen over. Nathan turned and saw the small blue pickup. It was too far away to see who was driving, though it didn’t matter. He hadn’t invited anyone, and folks who knew him knew better than to show up without being asked.
A minute later he saw a woman behind the wheel wearing sunglasses, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She parked the truck close to the bunkhouse where the men kept their vehicles, then climbed out. Her legs were long, her jeans tight and she was wearing funny-looking boots.
“You know her?” Woody asked, squinting against the sun’s glare.
Nathan shook his head, not that Woody noticed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the woman. Working in front of the east barn, Scotty and Justin stopped fueling the ATVs to watch her walk across the gravel. Even Big John pulled his head out from under the hood of the bale retriever. If that wasn’t enough of a shock, since the guy had no use for women since his divorce, he grinned at her.
“Did you see that?” Woody muttered, brushing the dust off his shoulders when she veered toward them.
She wasn’t dressed to call attention to herself, not in that oversize blue T-shirt, but she got it all the same. It was those legs. Damn, they were long. She had to be about five-nine, even without those silly boots. And she had just enough sway in her hips to fire up a man’s pulse without letting him think he was being played. But a woman who looked like her? Who was used to men staring and not being bothered by it? Nathan had a feeling she knew what she was doing. Woody thought Nathan was cynical when it came to women, implied he was getting to be as bad as Big John. Nathan just hadn’t forgotten how complicated they were.
“Hi,” she said as she got closer, putting her hand out and smiling at Woody. “Mr. Landers? I’m Bethany Wilson.”
“No, ma’am, I’m Woodrow Knudsen.” He yanked off his hat. “You can call me Woody, same as everyone else.”
Nathan folded his arms across his chest, though she hadn’t even glanced at him. He’d finally realized who she was, right before she’d given her name.
Her smile stayed in place, and so did her extended hand. “Well, nice to meet you, Woody.”
He dragged his palms down the front of his grungy Levis. “Ma’am, I’m awfully grimy.”
“So am I.” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and inspected the dark smudges on her hand. “How rude of me not to have checked first. I’m sorry,” she said with a soft laugh. “It’s stain from yesterday, so it wouldn’t have rubbed off on you. It doesn’t seem to want to come off at all.”
“Paint thinner ought to do the trick,” Woody said, grinning so hard you could see where his back teeth were missing. He noticed Nathan watching him and sobered, clearing his throat. “This here is Nathan Landers.”
“Oh.” She turned to him and blinked, surprise flickering in her face. Her