Cowboy Undercover. Alice Sharpe
That’s when he’d finally realized that she only saw dollar signs when she looked at him. He’d never be seen as someone’s leftovers. He never told Priscilla why he broke it off, and the devastation on her face had almost made him smile. At that moment he vowed that women weren’t for him. Since then, he’d thought he could always trust his land and his family at least, but now Wes had taught him that he couldn’t even trust that.
“Jameson,” Steven repeated. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“No.”
“Did you know what Wes was up to?”
Jameson lowered his gaze and brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I never know what he’s up to.”
Without his input the conversation floundered, as he hoped it would. He felt as if a fire was burning inside him, and talking about what Wes had done only added gasoline. Jameson needed to get away, to think of what his next step should be. The town was under threat and it would take a cool head to strategize how to handle the situation.
He lifted his gaze and sounded bored. “Are we done?”
His father nodded. Jameson stood and went out back. He needed to be outdoors. He stood in the doorway that led to the backyard and smelled the May morning air. How could someone love anything less than all this? Jameson looked out on the acres of land in front of him. The land stretched on for miles and miles and looked like a landscape painting. He loved the emerald-green grass against the backdrop of the rugged mountain range in the distance, dotted with the earthy, smooth, brown bodies of his cattle. Low-hanging trees provided a framework through which to see the land; to him it was more than beautiful. It was his life. He was determined. He wouldn’t let his grandfather or father down. He’d maintain BWB. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let their heritage end with him.
“Don’t be too angry with Wes,” his mom, Gwendolyn, said as she came up behind him.
Jameson kept his gaze on the horizon, watching the rolling prairie grass undulate in the breeze. He loved his mother but knew she didn’t understand his deep connection to the ranch and to the land. He wasn’t as fun-loving as Wes or an accomplished horseman like his sister, Laney. At times he felt like a throwback to another time. A time when being a man who valued his land and family mattered. “It was his land to do with as he wanted,” Jameson said, wishing he could feel as casual and nonchalant as he sounded. “He knew what he was doing and didn’t have to tell us about it.”
“I don’t think he thought of it that way. Times are changing and—”
Jameson spun around to her. “Not that much. Have times changed so much that you don’t think about one’s responsibilities or family loyalties?”
Gwendolyn lightly touched his cheek, the same soothing touch she’d give a lame horse. Although the gesture annoyed him, it also calmed him as she knew it would. “You’re doing the best you can.”
And what if it’s not enough? What if I lose everything? He wanted to say this, but instead he turned away, keeping his fears to himself, just as he did everything else. “Do you think Grandpa Charles deserves to see the day when all he’s struggled to build is destroyed because of greed? Well, I won’t let that happen.”
“When are you going to start a family of your own?”
Jameson shook his head, his voice low. “I don’t have time for that now.”
“You have to make time.”
“I went on a date, didn’t I?”
“That was for charity,” his mother said, referring to the recent bachelor charity auction that was an annual town event. “Besides, I know you hate being a part of that every year.”
Jameson shrugged without concern. His mother was right. “It was still a date,” he said, leaving no room for argument. The Browards were known for their charity work, and it was one of the few events he had been unable to avoid.
He heard her soft sigh before his mother turned and went back inside.
Jameson stepped out on the deck. He had the blood of a rancher running through his veins. His family had put the small town of Granger, Montana, on the map. He remembered being five years old and feeling the calloused hands of his grandpa as he led him around the ranch. From an early age he loved the smell of the cattle, horses, chickens and pigs. By three, even before he could read, he could pick out a heifer from a cow. As he got older, he’d loved learning to rope a calf and ride a horse, drinking fresh milk and smelling Montana grass, which, to him, was the best in the world. At seven he had been given his own flock of chickens and several pigs to care for and a dog he called Buddy. He had respect for all the animals. He could read them better than he could any person. Maybe that’s why he felt so comfortable on the ranch. Animals would not betray him. They would not connive or deceive. He decided to make sure that Wes’s action, along with others, didn’t do the damage to Granger he feared, which was putting power into the hands of a group of people who didn’t care about the town.
Granger was becoming unrecognizable to him, with outsiders, mostly from the city, thinking themselves ranchers. His parents had money flowing into their lodge-style estate, which they had successfully turned into a business. Gwendolyn had been the one to first make the suggestion of turning the main house into a money-making venture. At first, his father had objected, but once he saw it in operation, he was on board.
They had turned only half of the main house on the BWB Ranch into a rental lodge and had maintained the upper floors as their private family residence. And business was booming. They had reservations scheduled over the next two years. Under Gwendolyn’s expert guidance, they had developed several vacation packages including a bed-and-breakfast experience, a tour of the range and the chance to spend a week with the ranch hands. Their most famous package allowed guests to “rough it” for three days—living in tents, milking cows, and either fishing or hunting for their food and cooking whatever they caught on an open fire.
Jameson respected people who understood the hard work that came with cattle ranching and horse breeding, but people with more money than sense bothered him. He knew his grandfather and parents were worried and they had every right to be. A private buyer could change what Granger was all about, and he wouldn’t let that happen. He vowed he’d prove himself and make the Broward name shine even brighter than it did now.
His cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“We just lost one,” his foreman said.
Jameson lowered his head and swore. He knew he couldn’t say too much for fear of being overheard by the house staff. No one in his family knew what he’d been up to and if they did, he’d never hear the end of it. He’d taken a risk and lost, but it wouldn’t affect anyone but him. “How’s the other one?”
“Touch and go.”
“Thanks. I’ll be over there soon.” Jameson hung up. It seemed to be a day full of pain, but he was used to it. He knew how to handle himself now. He’d stay focused on work and his family because he had no room in his life for more than that. He’d given his heart away once, to Meredith, and had had it broken. The second time, with Priscilla, he’d let his male organ rule and that had gotten him in trouble, too. He knew that his intellect was the only thing that would save him. And help him save what mattered to him. He made a promise to himself that he’d never love another person as much as he loved his land and animals. And he kept his promises.
* * *
Gwendolyn returned to the main living room, where her husband sat, sipping on a cup of coffee.
“Well,” Steven said patting the seat beside him. “Were you able to talk to him? Does he have any idea of what we can do to stop us from losing more of Granger?”
Gwendolyn sat down next to her husband of thirty-four years and sighed. He usually was able to make her feel better, but not this time. Jameson really had them both worried. “No, he’s keeping to himself as usual. He always handles stress by withdrawing.