A Rancher's Vow. Patricia Rosemoor
Reed asked, “So we’re in for how many new people in the area?”
“I sold off nearly half the acreage to the VM Ranch, so there’ll only be about twenty new families—people who have always wanted a real piece of the West for themselves. I’m not raping the land if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m keeping properties at a minimum of a hundred acres.”
“Sounds sensible,” Alcina said. “And good for Silver Springs.”
Gut tightening, Reed didn’t say anything.
Luis Gonzalez would never have sold an acre to Vernon Martell, a virtual newcomer to Silver Springs. The Hispanic ranchers in the area were tight-knit and didn’t sell their land to Anglos. Martell had gotten around that through Cardona, whose only loyalty obviously was to the almighty dollar.
“Actually, I’m already looking around for another spread,” Cardona went on. “Got to plan ahead.”
Reed didn’t like the way the man was looking around at the Curly-Q, as if he was already viewing it as a commodity and planning on subdividing it next.
“The Curly-Q’s not for sale,” he said quietly but firmly. “So don’t go getting any ideas about this place.”
Reed was dead serious, but Cardona laughed.
“Everything’s for sale, my friend. You merely gotta figure out the right incentive to get what you want.”
As far as Reed was concerned, that ended the conversation.
Reba put a beringed hand on her escort’s shoulder. “Cesar, honey, I sure am in the mood for a dance.”
Cardona immediately got to his feet and helped her out of her chair. “I’d never say no to holding you in my arms.”
Reba swayed a little as if the drinking had caught up to her. Then she shook herself straight and headed for the dance floor.
They’d barely left the table when Alcina spoke up, her tone indignant. “I’m surprised at you, Reed Quarrels. You never used to be so rude!”
Chapter Two
Startled, Reed stared at Alcina. “What’s rude about speaking my mind?”
It was something he usually avoided. He didn’t know what had gotten into him.
Yes, he did, Reed admitted.
Truth be told, his whole way of life was being threatened by men like Cardona. Ranches all over the West were being sold off and carved up into smaller properties. Peoples’ lifelong dreams were being stolen away from them, and with the economy so poor for those that lived off the land, there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it.
A man practically had to have another job to support his ranch habit. Or his wife did.
“The area needs new blood,” Alcina said, “or Silver Springs will die.”
“It is dead. Has been for years. It’s a ghost town, but certain people don’t want to let it go.”
“Which includes your father,” she reminded him. “Emmett wants to see it come back. So do I.”
So did he, for that matter, not that he would admit it now.
“I heard you opened yourself a business,” he said, instead, “inviting people who don’t belong here to come this way.”
“You mean tourists?” she asked, a sudden chill in her tone. “What’s wrong with letting people from other parts of the country see how beautiful this area is…and my making a living off their interest.”
“Because then they get too interested and want to move right in on our territory.”
“Well, good for them. And good for us. Time doesn’t stand still, Reed, no matter how much you might want it to. Things change. Businesses change. People change—”
“Including you?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just that I’m surprised you came back to Silver Springs at all,” Reed admitted. “Why did you? I figured you fit right in on the East Coast with your mother’s people.”
Emotions washed through her face so quickly he imagined he might have upset her.
“Are you saying I don’t fit in here?” she demanded.
“Do you?”
“Not everyone has to be a rancher or a rancher’s wife to love the high-desert country. Silver Springs used to rely on the silver mine, but it dried up years ago and so did the town. And so did anything resembling a life for me here.”
Alcina was working up a head of steam as she spoke. Reed couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her heightened color and the way her features so quickly became animated, making her appear even more beautiful.
“But there is hope, Reed,” she went on hotly, “and that hope is new blood and new ideas. So what if my way of being able to live here meant turning our old home into a bed-and-breakfast? It was that or drive into Taos or some other town that’s at least solvent to make a living. Then I would be commuting again and…oh, never mind.”
Alcina shoved herself from the table and rose. Reed hadn’t meant to insult her into leaving, but he figured she was through listening, for the moment, anyway. Besides, he’d said too much as it was. Normally, he kept his nose out of other people’s business and his opinions to himself where they belonged.
If he had, she might not be stalking away from him in disgust, her patrician nose in the air.
More than anything, Reed craved peace in his life, no doubt a reaction to his fractious childhood. He’d grown up in a household where his father and two brothers had constantly warred with each other. Reed had vowed he never would live like that again.
So why was he finding the outspoken woman so attractive? Reed wondered.
He forced himself to remain seated rather than follow her. He could use a woman in his life, true, but he could do without Alcina Dale.
Disgusted at how his supper conversation had turned sour, Reed tried to muster his appetite in vain. Half of the food he’d piled on his plate would be wasted.
Then he remembered the dog.
After throwing away the bones and scraping away some of the spicier stuff, he was satisfied that the leftovers would do. He found an empty bowl, filled it with water, then headed back toward his truck.
On the way, he spotted Pa near the house, deep in conversation with Vernon Martell, whom he’d met on his last visit home. The man was alone, his wife being an invalid who rarely got out. Reed meant to say howdy.
The neighboring rancher was a hearty man, tall and broad-shouldered, not trim, but not heart-attack material, either. In his mid-forties, he wore his light brown hair short, and his equally light brown eyes peered through fashionable titanium-framed bifocals. He was plain dressed—at least compared to Cardona—but he appeared equally well-heeled from the looks of his custom boots, chamois sports coat and heavy diamond-studded gold cuff links that said a lot about his healthy bank account.
Drawing closer, he heard Martell say, “I’m in the market to expand the VM.”
“You already did with that land you got from that developer fella.”
The tone of the conversation stopped Reed in his tracks.
Vernon Martell was new to the area, so to speak, having lived in these parts little more than a year. Denizens of the community were considered in terms of generations, or at least decades, rather than in months or years. Besides which, Martell had picked up a ranch that had folded under economic stress dirt cheap—a foreclosure—and that didn’t win any popularity contests. Neither would his buying a chunk of Luis Gonzalez’s land.
“That