Every Cowgirl's Dream Page 2

“Sweetie, that phrase may have to be reduced to the singular soon.”

  “You don’t mean it!”

  “I do.”

  Kara let her mouth hang open. “Good grief, you’re actually thinking of settling down. Will wonders never cease?”

  Payne laughed. “You’re not going to say, ‘It’s about time!’?”

  “No, but it is.”

  “Look who’s talking,” he retorted. “You’re only two years younger than me, you know.”

  “It’s that thirty thing,” Kara teased. “You’re over the hump, and I’m not.”

  Payne’s grin turned lethal. “So, still no man in the picture for you, hmm?”

  “I have other things on my mind.”

  “That could be changing, you know,” Payne said softly.

  Knowing perfectly well that he was trying to prepare her for the likely loss of the ranch where she had grown up and the life she had lived, Kara turned away—and caught sight of Rye Wagner as he left the little house on the hill that came with the job of foreman. A chill ruffled along the flesh of her arms, despite the weight of the shirt and jean jacket that she was wearing.

  “Wagner’s on the way.”

  Payne straightened. “I don’t get it. Why’d Plummer mention him in the will? He’s only been here, what, seven, eight months?”

  “Something like that.”

  Payne’s mouth set in a harsh, bitter line. “Yeah. Well, apparently he fit the bill in Plummer’s estimation. Unlike myself.”

  “That’s not true,” Kara protested. “Plummer understood that this life isn’t for everyone. He was proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. He wouldn’t have let you handle the finances otherwise.”

  Payne relaxed and put on a smile. “I know. It’s just that the appeal of Ryeland Wagner purely escapes me.”

  Kara turned back to watch as Wagner approached. She didn’t much like the foreman, either, but Plummer had always known a real cowboy when he came across one, and he’d sung Wagner’s praises for months before his death. She had to believe that Wagner was capable, honest and hardworking, even if he was as prickly as cactus. For the first time she wondered what Rye Wagner was going to do now. Unless she missed her guess, Wagner wasn’t the sort who could easily go to another kind of life, either. No, he was the genuine article, cowboy down to the soles of his boots, rancher to the bone. Where would he find another job in this tight market?

  Oboe loped up to Wagner’s side and fell into step with him. Wagner looked down at the black-and-white shepherd, obviously speaking, though Kara could not decipher the words at this distance. Oboe shook his head and made that almost absurdly human sound of his as if actually replying to something Wagner had said. Wagner spoke again, cocked his head and reached up to reposition his hat, all the while eating up ground with that long, athletic stride of his. Kara couldn’t help a slight smile. They might have been pals, two very human pals, only one of them had four feet.

  As they drew nearer the porch, Oboe kicked up his tail and scampered ahead. He ran lightly up the steps and over to Kara. As if to let her know that she was still number one in his book, the dog went up on his hind legs, forepaws resting on her hip, and gave her that snort-sneeze of his. Laughing, Kara rumpled his fur. Oboe answered with a real bark. Payne reached out to duplicate her actions, which the dog tolerated but ignored. He didn’t seem to like Payne, but apparently put up with him for Kara’s benefit. She found it rather embarrassing.

  “Hello, Wagner,” Payne said, switching his attention to the cowboy.

  Rye ignored him, doffing his hat to Kara. “Miss Detmeyer.”

  “Mr. Wagner.”

  “That’s a right smart dog you’ve got there,” he said drily. Payne gnashed his teeth, but Wagner continued to ignore him by opening the screen door and walking into the house.

  “Arrogant son of a—”

  Kara threw an arm around her cousin’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t let him get to you. He won’t be around much longer, anyway.”

  Payne ducked his head, and when he lifted it again, he was smiling wryly. “You’re right. We’d better go in now.”

  Kara took a deep breath. “Guess so. No sense standing around out here dreading it.”

  Payne stepped to the door and swung it open, bowing from the waist. Kara swept inside, Oboe following right on her heels, head and tail aloft as though he were a king receiving his due. Payne brought up the rear, the screen door slamming lightly behind him.

  The family had gathered in the living room, claiming seats on the sofas and chairs arranged around the fireplace, with Rye Wagner on one side and the lawyer on the other. The attorney had placed his briefcase on a small table, pushing aside a genuine Victorian lamp, and was digging through the contents. Rye leaned against the wall, frowning beneath that magnificent mustache, his hat in his hand, silent and watchful. Kara went straight to where her grandmother sat.

  Meryl Detmeyer was a tall, rawboned woman with long, white hair that she wore pinned in elaborate loops and rolls against the back of her head. Her blue eyes had paled over the years, but nothing could dim the intelligence that shone through them. They softened now as Kara bent to hug the old woman’s neck. Meryl’s skin felt dry as paper, her bones brittle as straw beneath Kara’s touch.

  “How are you, Grandma?”

  “As well as can be expected, dear. Glad to see you.”

  Kara went down on her knees at her grandmother’s feet, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s so hard with him gone, isn’t it?”

  Meryl nodded. “I always believed I would be the first to go. I counted on it. Seems selfish now. My consolation is that Grandpa didn’t have to go through being left behind.”

  “He loved you so much.”

  A dreamy look darkened Meryl’s blue eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, smiling. “Yes, he did.” Suddenly her eyes grew sharp again. “It’s time, young lady, that you had a man of your own.”

  Kara gasped. “Grandma!”

  “Hear, hear,” Dayna agreed.

  “Mom!”

  Payne laughed, and Kara sent him a daggered look. “Watch it, cuz,” she said. “I have ammo, now, a certain rising interest in the theater.”

  He stifled the laughter and pressed his lips together, zipping a finger across them. Faith, Payne’s mother, was not so circumspect. The instant she caught the reference, she spilled her guts. “Oh, yes, Meryl, did I mention that Payne is keeping company with a certain Denver debutante who has a professional interest in the theater?”

  “A debutante, no less,” Kara teased, wide-eyed. Payne narrowed his eyes and made a wringing motion with his hands.

  Faith ignored them, as she usually did, crowing, “Everyone says she’s really quite a good actress, and she’s certainly beautiful! And the family... My dear, the family is impeccable. Old, old money. Deep, deep roots. I have hopes. I have great hopes.”

  Meryl turned a discerning gaze on Payne. “And do you have hopes?”

  Payne’s smile was bright. “Actually, I do.”

  Meryl smiled and stretched out her hand, softening. “I’m glad. I’m very glad.”

  Payne caught her fingertips with his and moved close. Bending, he kissed her forehead. He sent Kara a wink as he straightened. She telegraphed her gratitude with a grin. He had certainly taken the heat off her.

  Smitty harrumphed sharply and said, “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.” A sentiment everyone else chose to ignore.

  The small, balding, middle-aged attorney cleared his throat. “I believe we’re all present, so I’d like to begin.”

  Kara rose and quickly moved to stand behind her mother at end of the sofa. The attorney extracted from his briefcase several stapled documents, which he began passing out.

  “For those of you who do not know me, I am Ardel Canton, and I’ve been Plummer and Meryl’s attorney for nearly thirty years. In that time the document in your hands has been altered in a number of ways. At one point Plummer had willed everything to his wife. Later he ch
anged his will to leave everything to his two sons. Then after the death of his son, Lawton, he changed it yet again. The final version, with the addition of two codicils, was made some five weeks ago.”

  “Five weeks!” Smith echoed. He turned a scathing glare over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose that would have anything to do with Wagner.”

  “In a way it does,” Canton affirmed, “but first things first.” Ardel Canton cleared his throat yet again and lifted the cover sheet on the document in his hand. “The first order of business, as I’m sure you will note, deals with the widow. ‘To my dearest Meryl,’” he began reading, and suddenly Kara could hear her grandfather’s gravelly voice saying the words he had no doubt dictated himself.

  “I leave my undying love and eternal gratitude. You have been the light of my life, at times my conscience, and always my strength and support. Forgive me for being the first to go and for doing what I now must. I trust you will understand, as you always have, and uphold my wishes in this matter without deviation. Upon my death, I leave my dear wife the home to which I brought her as a bride, the six acres upon which it stands, including all the outbuildings herein detailed....”

  “I think we can leave off the listing,” Canton said and flipped the page while Meryl sniffed and wiped her eyes. He continued reading, “‘As sole recipient of the proceeds of my life insurance, policy number...’” Canton moved on down the page, continuing with, “‘In the amount of three hundred and eighty thousand dollars, the principal to be invested and dispersed as herein detailed, providing her a yearly living, it is my express wish that she make no monetary gifts of any size to anyone, including family members, until a minimum of three years after the date of my death.’”

  Canton paused to let this sink in, and Meryl said with some amusement, “I’m not to give away my own money, am I?”

  Ardel Canton had the grace to look uncomfortable. “It was Plummer’s express wish.”

  “Well, I think it’s preposterous.” Smith announced.

  Canton kept his gaze on Meryl. “He said you’d understand.”

  One corner of her mouth crooked up in a near smile. “Proceed, Ardel.”

  He cleared his throat again, obviously a nervous habit, and plunged ahead.

  “To my son Smith Detmeyer, I leave my unconditional love and my hunting trophies, knowing that of all my possessions, he appreciated those the most. I beg him to accept them in the same manner with which they are offered. To my grandchildren—”

  “What?” Suddenly Smith was on his feet, flipping through the stapled pages furiously. “He left me his hunting trophies? His damned hunting trophies! My God, had he lost his mind? I’m his only living son! He can’t do this to me!”

  “Actually,” Canton said lightly, “he could and he did. Now if I may proceed...”

  “You may not! This is absurd! It’s criminal!”

  “I assure you it’s all perfectly legal.”

  “But if he didn’t leave it all to Uncle Smitty or Grandmother, who did he leave it to?” Kara asked.

  “I am coming to that,” Mr. Canton said in a harried voice.

  “Who’s left?” Payne said quietly, and traded looks with his father.

  Who, indeed? Kara wondered. Certainly not her mother or Aunt Faith. But then that left only Payne and herself and—Oh, no. He wouldn’t.... She tried but couldn’t stop herself from turning to look over one shoulder. Rye Wagner leaned insolently against the wall. He smirked and shook his head as if to say she was a fool for even thinking it. She quickly turned her gaze forward again.

  Her grandmother was scolding them. “Everyone just shut up and let Mr. Canton read! Proceed, Ardel.”

  He strained his neck, and Kara winced, beginning to dread those throat clearings. He made a gargling sound and began flipping pages. “There are a number of minor individual bequests detailed on the following pages. However, since the main concern is the Detmeyer ranching properties, we’ll move on to page seven.” He began to read again.

  “All real business properties, including all stock, structures, equipment and supplies, other than those entailed to the historical home, henceforth known as The Business, with the exceptions heretofore mentioned and that to follow—is left in partnership, with all the attendant provisions and restrictions, to my beloved grandchildren, Payne Smith Detmeyer and Kara Ann Detmeyer.”

  Kara felt weak. It was a toss-up, for a moment, whether or not her legs would even continue to hold her. She swayed forward and gripped the back of the sofa, dimly conscious of her mother’s hands covering hers. Gradually, Canton’s voice penetrated the haze into which the bequest had plummeted her.

  “It is my deepest regret that The Business is no longer the robust enterprise that I and my late son, Lawton, have been honored to oversee. That being the case, it is my wish and intent that my heirs will exercise one of two options which I dictate as: (a) Selling the assets of The Business, i.e. the Utah and New Mexico properties in total, the equipment and stock, omitting only those items delineated for personal bequest as set forth in this document, for equal division of resulting monies after settlement of outstanding obligations, debts, fees and taxes, and (b) selling the Utah property, omitting only those items as mentioned above, for settlement of outstanding obligations, debts, fees and taxes, while transferring all equipment and stock held by The Business to the New Mexico property to be operated by the partnership, allowing the continuance of The Business in hopes that its viability may be maintained.”

  “Hardly a sound option,” Smith stated solemnly.

  Meryl said nothing, merely maintained her expectant posture. Dayna gripped Kara’s hand, smiling.

  “What about the codicils?” Payne asked. “Do they alter our options?”

  Ardel Canton swiped a hand over his balding pate. Kara imagined the poor man was sweating despite the chill in the air. “They do, indeed. As to the first codicil, if you will turn to page eight...”

  Papers rustled as everyone flipped to that page, Kara included. Canton skipped the throat clearing this time and instead shot a glance toward the far wall. Kara felt Ryeland Wagner’s sudden interest, his growing presence. It was as if he had absented himself mentally until that glance, and now he was fully there, dominating the entire room with nothing more than his attention.

  “‘To my friend and foreman, Ryeland Wagner,’” Canton read, “‘I leave two months’ severance and the pickup truck, ID number—’ we’ll skip those particulars for the moment ”—in free and final title, including payment of all pertaining loans, taxes and fees, fully realizing that said bequest will totally consume the cash reserves of The Business as held in account with First National Bank, Salt Lake City, Utah.’”

  “For heaven’s sake!” Faith gasped. No one had to say that the double-cab, dual-axle, top-of-the-line vehicle had cost in excess of fifty thousand dollars, or that both Smith and Payne had argued vociferously that its purchase was both unnecessary and unwise.

  Kara turned another look over her shoulder. Rye Wagner was staring at the crown of the hat he held in both hands, a wistful, sad smile tilting up one corner of his drooping, multicolored mustache. A swatch of medium brown hair fell over his high forehead, contrasting with his deeply tanned skin and the wide bands of silver at his temples. His pewter gray eyes were sheltered with thick rows of lashes mottled in the same fashion as his mustache, a dozen shades of brown flecked with silver. A pale scar crinkled at the corner of his right eye, and Kara found herself wondering how he had come by it. Belatedly she became aware of the angry words swirling around her.

  “Preposterous!” Smith was saying. “I get hunting trophies, while he gets a brand-spanking-new truck and a wad of cash handed to him on a silver platter!”

  “I’m afraid those were your father’s wishes,” the attorney retorted.

  “And his wishes will be followed!” Meryl stated flatly.

  Smith’s glare and red face proclaimed that he held the attorney at fault somehow, along with Ryeland Wagner.
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  Payne lifted a hand as if requesting permission to speak, and the attorney tacitly granted it by pausing.

  “The term in partnership seems to imply that the restrictions of a business partnership apply.”

  “That’s correct. In essence, the conditions of the late Mr. Detmeyer’s will creates a business partnership in which both parties must come to agreement concerning the operation and or dispensation of the properties.”

  “In other words, Kara and I must agree before either of us can do anything with the ranches.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Can you tell me why my grandfather set it up this way?”

  Canton cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that comes under the heading of attorney-client privilege.”

  “I see.” Payne looked down at the paper in his hand. Kara sensed that he saw something there that she did not. All that mattered to her at the moment, however, was that her grandfather had done his best to protect the ranch. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Canton said, “Now to the final codicil,” and Kara lifted her chin, blinking determinedly.

  “I hope it reclaims the cash and the property he gave to that ranch hand!” Smith grumbled loudly.

  The “ranch hand” in question quietly lifted himself away from the wall and moved forward. Suddenly Kara’s mouth went dry. Why was Ryeland Wagner at her elbow? It was almost as if he meant to lend her his aid, and yet he couldn’t possibly know what this last codicil contained. Could he? She glanced to the side and found Rye Wagner’s smoky gray eyes trained on her. She tilted her head in confusion. His expression revealed nothing.

  “This last provision,” attorney Canton said after the ritual clearing of the throat, “is most unusual but, I assure you, completely legal. Plummer made sure of that, and he was most insistent about its details. Please refrain from comment until I’ve read the entire section.” He took a deep breath and plunged in.