Their Night to Remember Page 11

  When she reached the open doorway, she found Clay scrambling eggs. He’d already made a pot of coffee and fried five or six crispy strips of bacon.

  He must have heard her footsteps, because he turned to her and smiled sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind that I whipped up breakfast this morning.”

  “No. Not at all.” She actually liked seeing him in a domestic setting. It allowed her to imagine him...

  No, don’t even go there.

  What if he actually did have a wife or a girlfriend? After all, he appeared to be a good catch. And if that were the case, he was a cad.

  The confusion she felt about him made her head spin. And that made her want to hold on to her secret a while longer, even if she shouldn’t. And couldn’t. But what was Clay doing in Fairborn, anyway?

  “Katie already fed the boys,” he said.

  Alana scanned the kitchen, then craned her neck to peer out the window over the sink that looked out into the backyard. “It’s awfully quiet. Where are the boys?”

  “A couple of kids who play on their ball team are in Cub Scouts and encouraged them to join so they could earn badges and go on campouts. Katie took them to check things out and talk to one of the leaders today.”

  “Cool. That’d be a great experience for them.” Alana crossed the room, removed a carton of orange juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass.

  Clay pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard. “So what have you got planned for today?”

  “I’m going into town,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah? Mind if I go with you? We’re running low on alfalfa, and I thought I’d go by the feed store and pick up a few bales. You mentioned having an account there. And since the dog population around here is growing, I better pick up some food for them, too.”

  The last thing she wanted him to know is what she was up to and why, but she couldn’t very well suggest they make two separate trips in the ranch pickup. It had enough miles on the odometer already, and she hardly needed it to break down.

  “Sure,” she said, “we can ride together. If you don’t mind, I’ll have you drop me off downtown before you go to the feed store. I have a few errands to run while I’m there, but I don’t mind walking. Maybe we can meet at the Mulberry Café for a late-morning snack.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Alana headed for the pantry, where she kept her stash of herbal tea, and pulled out a blueberry flavor.

  “Just so you know,” Clay said. “I’m going to ask around town and see if I can find temporary work. You know, off the books so I don’t need to provide an ID.”

  The comment took her aback, although she wasn’t sure why. Did he often do things “off the books”? Then again, he didn’t have an ID or even a credit card. And she couldn’t very well hold him captive on the ranch.

  “I’ll still pull my own weight here,” he added, “but I’ve got to earn some money. I don’t like being broke.”

  She didn’t figure he did. And she couldn’t blame him. If he really was the well-heeled attorney he’d said he was, he wouldn’t have a care in the world about money. Unlike her—from her humble childhood to her struggles with the ranch today. When she considered the clothing he wore, the way he’d carried himself at the Colorado hotel as well as the pricey tequila he’d been drinking, she had no reason to doubt his economic status.

  And that was just one more reason why they’d be a mismatch. The city slicker lawyer and the fledgling rancher. They lived in such different worlds. Chemistry and great sex aside, they didn’t have anything in common. And allowing herself even to imagine otherwise was just plain crazy—and a heartbreak ready to happen.

  * * *

  Alana didn’t say much on the ride into town, and neither did Clay.

  “Here we are,” he said, as he pulled up in front of Fairborn Savings and Trust, which was located on the first floor of a two-story, redbrick building.

  Alana opened the passenger door, but before climbing out of the vehicle, she turned to the handsome driver who’d begun to look more and more like a cowboy every day. “At the feed store, if you find the parts you’re going to need to fix that leaky pump, go ahead and pick them up. Just tell Sam, the owner, to put it on my account.”

  A somber expression crossed his face, one that was hard for her to decipher. Had a memory popped up in his mind? One that was confusing?

  Or maybe disturbing?

  “Clay? Are you okay?”

  His eye twitched, then he seemed to shake it off—whatever it was. “Sure. I’m fine. I’ll meet you at the diner.”

  Once he drove off, Alana turned toward the entrance of the bank. Before reaching for the door, she glanced upstairs where several other businesses were located, one of them the law office of Henry Dahlberg, her grandfather’s old high school friend and his personal attorney. Henry was nearing retirement and worked only part-time. He must be there today, though. There was a light on in his office.

  Reminding herself that she had things to do before meeting Clay, she entered the bank and withdrew two hundred dollars from her dwindling account. That took care of the first of two errands she had in town.

  After slipping the cash into her wallet and stashing it back in her purse, she went outside, turned left and walked three blocks down the street to Wear It Again, Sam, which was housed in a narrow storefront building with pale yellow walls and purple trim.

  She stopped in front of the window and studied the display that, this week, featured a blond mannequin dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, gray plaid miniskirt and white go-go boots. An old style portable phonograph, its lid open and a vinyl record on the turntable, sat to the left.

  She took a moment to admire both the prop and the typical ’60s outfit, even though it wasn’t at all what she was looking for. Then she headed to the entrance.

  When she opened the purple door, a bell attached to the top of it jingled as she stepped inside. She caught a whiff of a smell similar to that of an antiques shop, mingled with the various scents of clothing that had spent years hanging in closets or packed in boxes, long forgotten in someone’s attic.

  An older woman, her silver-streaked dark hair styled in a pixie cut, got up from her seat behind the counter. “Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon?” She lifted her forearm to look at the gold bangle watch that hung on her wrist and then approached with a welcoming smile.

  “I don’t think it’s noon yet,” Alana said, but it must be getting close.

  The woman, who was wearing red lipstick, gold hoop earrings, a green blouse, a multicolored gypsy skirt and Birkenstock sandals, stood in front of Alana. “I’m Zoe, the shop owner. Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”

  “A few dresses. Something summery, I guess. Light and breezy.” Alana brushed her hand over the shirt that hid her belly. “Loose fitting. Maybe something with an empire waistline.”

  “Hmm...” Zoe placed an index finger with a long crimson acrylic nail on her chin, tapping it as she gave Alana’s request some thought. Then she brightened. “Actually, a woman and her aunt just stopped by with several boxes of stuff they want to sell on consignment. The aunt was around your age, in the sixties, and the clothes seem to be in good condition. And very boho chic. I haven’t gone through it all yet, but I saw a couple of dresses that might work. I don’t have them priced or on hangers, but you can still take a look at them.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  As Alana followed the owner through the shop, Zoe glanced over her shoulder. “Carlene Tipton finally convinced her aunt to clean out her closet since Betty Sue was a bit of a hoarder, especially when it came to her clothes. So I’m looking forward to seeing everything they brought in.”

  Betty Sue was a spunky woman in her seventies with curly dyed-red hair. Carlene said Betty had always been a free spirit—and a real character. She’d recent
ly moved in with the Tiptons and spent most of the day at their market, which was only a mile or two away from Rancho Esperanza. It was a godsend to be able to stop in for a few things whenever Alana didn’t want to drive all the way into town.

  “It’ll be interesting to see what she’s selling,” Alana said, as she entered the back room that was jam-packed with boxes, shoes and clothing. Apparently, Betty Sue wasn’t the only one with a tendency to hoard. Probably a boon for Zoe’s business!

  Zoe stopped beside three cartons, one of which had been opened. “Betty has always been odd, or maybe I should say eccentric. I’d heard she was also wild and rebellious, especially during the ’60s. Did you ever see the movie Grease? Betty Sue might’ve been the inspiration for the Rizzo character.”

  Alana grinned. “I always did love that movie—and the music.”

  Zoe reached into the open box, pulled out a man’s black leather jacket, gave it a shake, then lifted it like a flag. “See? What’d I tell you?”

  Alana smiled. “I know what you mean.”

  Zoe set the jacket aside, then stepped back. “Feel free to rummage through these. If you find something you like, you’ll need to launder it before you wear it. Not that it’s dirty. It’s just that Betty likes to sneak a smoke every now and then.” She reached back into the box, pulled out a tie-dyed shirt, held it up to her nose and took a whiff. “Yep. Just what I thought. Menthols.”

  No surprise there. Alana couldn’t help but smile. “Carlene told me Betty also likes to sneak a drink.”

  “You got that right. Her preference is Jack Daniel’s on the rocks with a splash of water, but I don’t think she’s picky.” Zoe backed away from the clothes, giving Alana room to dig through them herself. “Poor Carlene. She sure has her hands full with her aunt, especially since she babysits her two grandkids and also runs the store.”

  That was true, Alana supposed. But there was something honest and refreshing about Betty, at least from her own perspective.

  “The Tiptons think that she has dementia,” Zoe added. “And she might.”

  Alana wasn’t so sure about that.

  “But don’t kid yourself.” Zoe lifted her finger and waggled it. “That ol’ gal is a lot slyer than some people might think.”

  Alana had noticed that when Carlene was around, Betty’s shoulders slumped and she shuffled when she walked. But she’d also seen her straighten up and move spryly, as if she was on a mission. Like that time she’d been at Callie’s baby shower. She’d slipped out the back door, gone to the orchard and returned with a pocket full of ripe cherries.

  “Once you find something you like,” Zoe said, “we can talk about the price.”

  Alana thanked her, then began her search. About halfway into the first box, she pulled out a midlength, light blue dress with a delicate lace trim. She held it up and didn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t fit.

  Zoe pointed at the sundress. “There’s a tear under the arm. Since I’d have to repair it before laundering it and then putting it on a hanger, I’ll sell it to you at a discount. Maybe ten dollars?”

  “How about nine?” Alana asked.

  Zoe laughed. “A bargain hunter, huh? Sure. Why not?”

  Several minutes later, and in a different box, one Carlene hadn’t brought in, Alana found a white dress, a denim jacket, a pair of stretch pants and a couple of tops. Then she took her findings to the front of the store, where Zoe tallied the total.

  After being paid in cash, Zoe folded the clothes, placed them in a shopping bag and handed them to Alana. “Here you go. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Thanks, Zoe. You’ve got a great shop. I’ll be back.” Then she headed to the Mulberry Café, where she and Clay had agreed to meet.

  As she neared the downtown eatery, with its blue-and-white awning shading the entry, she spotted Marissa Garcia seated on the oak-slatted, wrought iron bench that sat on the sidewalk to the left of the restaurant’s door.

  “Hey.” Marissa brightened. “What brings you to town?”

  Alana lifted the bag that held her new, previously worn garments. “Just doing a little shopping. How about you?”

  “Waiting for a friend. We’re meeting for lunch, but I arrived early.”

  “Same here.”

  Marissa lifted a hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the sun. “When I was leaving your place, after the baby shower, I thought about something else you could do to build up your coffers.”

  Alana was all ears. Marissa had a real knack for coming up with good business plans. “What’s your idea?”

  “Have you ever considered offering the ranch as a wedding venue?”

  Seriously? “No.”

  “It’s a cool place for an outside event,” Marissa said. “And even the name Rancho Esperanza sounds romantic.”

  “True, but what you’re suggesting sounds expensive.”

  “I’ll admit it would take a little work. But I think it’s something for you to consider. I noticed that copse of weeping willows behind the barn. They’d make a pretty backdrop if you built a gazebo there.”

  “It’s an idea, I guess.” But one like that was too wild to consider now. The only money she could spare was already earmarked for the fence repairs, which Clay said would need to be done sooner rather than later.

  And even if that weren’t the case, she doubted if anyone would be interested in getting married out there. “Don’t you think the ranch is a little too remote and hard to find?”

  “It might be now. But I overheard a couple of men talking at the donut shop yesterday. One of them said there’s a state highway in the works, and from what I gathered, it’s going to be located on the west side of Fairborn. And that means it’ll run pretty close to your property.”

  “Interesting,” Alana said. “I hadn’t heard a word about it.”

  “That’s because it’s pretty hush-hush. But I’ve always had an interest in business and economics. So whenever I hear things like that, I pay attention.”

  “So what did you hear?” Alana asked.

  “Leon Cunningham, the guy who’s running against Ramon for mayor, came into the shop with someone he called Tom, although I didn’t recognize the man. And Tom mentioned something about the highway and eminent domain. My ears perked up at that. But then Leon snapped at him and told him he’d better shut up if he knew what was good for him.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah, I know. A few weeks ago, in one of my classes, the professor gave a lecture on eminent domain. That’s when the government can take private property for public use, although they have to pay you for it.”

  “Even if I don’t want to sell?”

  “I think so. That’s why I thought you ought to know someone might offer to buy a piece of your property.”

  So far, the only one who’d shown interest in it was Adam Hastings. Had he heard the rumor, too?

  No, that wasn’t likely. Why would a man from Texas have any concern over things going on in Montana?

  Then again, he’d been so dead set on owning her ranch that he’d offered her more than it was probably worth. He hadn’t called in a while so maybe he’d finally gotten her message. Rancho Esperanza wasn’t for sale.

  At least, not to him. But what if the county or state wanted to take it?

  Was it possible? Was her property in play for a state highway? If so, that would be terrible. It would change everything she liked about Rancho Esperanza. Its beauty. Its ability to be a safe haven, a true escape.

  She was no lawyer and wasn’t exactly sure what eminent domain meant—or how to fight it—but before she could question Marissa further, footsteps sounded up ahead.

  Alana glanced up to see two women walking toward the diner. One of them was Olivia McGee, who had been married to Larry, Grandpa’s late brother. Larry and Grandpa had inherited adjoining ranches.
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  Alana had met Olivia only twice before—once at Grandpa’s funeral and again at his attorney’s office during the reading of the will.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Olivia said, looking a little too smug for comfort. She looked Alana up and down as if she didn’t approve of her coming into town wearing leggings and a red flannel shirt, the hem of which hung to her thighs. “Don’t tell me you’re still trying to make a go of the Lazy M.”

  Alana bristled, then recovered. “Actually, things are coming along nicely.”

  Olivia chuffed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste any more time on it.”

  Alana stiffened. What an odd thing for her to say. And a mean one. “My time isn’t your concern.”

  “No? Well, we’ll see about that.” Olivia nudged her companion. “Come on. Let’s find a table where we can chat.”

  Olivia’s friend, who looked vaguely familiar, opened the diner door, and the two of them entered.

  “What was that all about?” Marissa asked.

  “I’ll be darned if I know. That was my grandfather’s sister-in-law. She was polite—the few times I saw her before. But not today.”

  “Is she mad at you?”

  “She sure seems to be. But I have no idea why.”

  “What about her friend?” Marissa asked. “Do you know her?”

  “She looks familiar, but I’m not sure where we met.”

  “I don’t know her name,” Marissa said, “but I heard she works part-time for an attorney. She comes into the donut shop on Thursday mornings and always buys the same thing—a cinnamon twist and a cup of coffee to go. She told me it was for her boss.”

  Oh. So that’s who the woman was—and why she looked vaguely familiar. She worked a couple mornings a week at Henry’s law office.

  At the rattling engine sound of an approaching vehicle, Alana glanced up and spotted the ranch pickup coming down the street, its bed loaded down with bales of hay.

  She’d told Clay to meet her here to have something to eat, but with snarky Olivia inside, Alana no longer had an appetite.