“Was it just what you saw this morning, or did you hear something too?” Some verification would be nice before she stormed after Mr. Martin.
“I’ve been asking around today. Several guys in Stan’s crew confirmed he’d told them he hoped to have a verbal deal before Greenville was over.”
“Over my dead body.” The sharks were circling, and JM hadn’t been buried a week yet.
Tucker smiled. “There’s worse things than being made a rich woman. Why do you want to run this outfit anyway?”
“Why don’t you want to, Tuck? It was Dad’s dream. Somewhere over these last few years, it’s become mine. I want to build something. Something enduring. Something to be proud of.”
“A perfect life is one free of responsibilities.” Tuck shrugged. “But I’ll support you in your dream as long as you don’t try to curb me following mine.”
She nudged him in his bony ribs. “As if I could. But seriously, I know you aren’t interested in the company, but you’d never consider selling the ranch land, right? Word is, Ty is hoping we’d agree to develop it if the company was sold.”
“Not the ranch. Where would we live?”
“Well, I guess we’d have money enough to live anywhere we want.”
Tucker shook his blond head. “No place I’d rather be.”
“It’s not very profitable without the rodeo business. The land is probably worth more than we’d make out of it.” She had to be honest.
“If we sell the business, it won’t matter. And if we don’t, it won’t matter. The ranch is not for sale.”
She could have hugged him. “Glad you feel that way. Now if only I can save the business.”
“Mom told me about Grandpa’s will. I wouldn’t do it, Mandy. Selling the company is not the worst thing. Marrying someone you don’t like—that’s got to be hell on earth.”
“That’s what losing Prescott would be to me, Tuck. Hell on earth.”
*
“Did we fill the arena tonight?” Harold asked as the four of them—Harold, Sheila, Mandy, and Ty—crowded into a booth in the hotel lounge while a DJ spun a combination of country and rock tunes for the lone couple slow dancing on the small wooden dance floor in front of them. Ty had managed to sit next to Mandy, while Harold and Sheila sat opposite.
Despite the dearth of people on the dance floor, the bar was crowded, mostly with cowboys, barrel racers, and the groupies that Ty had recently learned, courtesy of Tucker, could be found at most rodeos.
“Numbers are preliminary, but looks like we almost sold out,” Mandy announced.
Not exactly the tête-à-tête he’d envisioned when Mandy had backtracked and taken up his offer for a late-night drink. Ty had hoped to use this opportunity to make his case. Especially after that kiss they shared. But here he was with her mother and Harold in attendance.
Harold had ordered a beer, Sheila had asked for a cosmopolitan, he’d gotten a jigger of scotch, and Mandy was nursing a soda. Guess getting her drunk and providing a little seductive encouragement wouldn’t be an option as long as she had a rodeo to run. He admired that about Mandy. She knew her priorities, understood responsibility.
“Parade went a little long tonight,” Mandy added.
“Had some trouble getting Guy a mount he liked. He finally agreed to the mare. I think he wanted a splashier horse.”
Mandy’s eyebrows rose, showing off her green eyes under the low light of the table lamp. She had the prettiest eyes. Unusual color, flecked with brown, always watchful.
“Bet he hasn’t ridden since last year’s rodeo,” she said.
Harold snorted as he reached for a nacho covered in cheese from the plate Ty had ordered. Mandy followed, her delicate fingers snagging one just as her mother piped in.
“Those aren’t healthy, dear.”
“I worked plenty hard today. I’m entitled.” She popped the nacho into her mouth. As she savored the chip, a look of sheer ecstasy covered her face, presenting an erotic image. Ty could feel his pants tighten.
“You definitely deserve it,” Ty whispered in her ear.
Mandy swallowed and turned to look at him, one corner of her mouth upturned in a mischievous smile. “I agree.”
“What do you agree with?” her mother asked. Sheila took a delicate sip of her drink and stared over the glass rim, expecting an answer.
“That I deserve to indulge myself.” Mandy gave a slight toss of her head. The tawny mane of hair fell carelessly down her back. The word luscious came to mind. Meaning the hair and the woman.
“There are healthier ways to indulge. Heaven knows you’ve bought enough boots. That’s an indulgence that only hurts your pocketbook,” Sheila said, then turned her attention to Harold, who had asked her a question about their room.
Ty had checked out Mandy’s red pointed-toe boots when they’d been in the arena. They were hard to miss. Much about Ms. Prescott was hard to miss. Like the way she filled out her shirt, the pockets making nice frames for the nipples that were poking through at the moment.