Curvy Girls: Claimed By The Cowboy (The BBW and the Billionaire Rancher) (12 page)

“Are we talking about apple pie?” Ty asked, an amused smile twitching his mouth.

“Are we talking about my
mother
?” Abigail gasped, mortified. “I am going back to the house to fetch us some lemonade. If you’ll excuse me.” She turned and stomped off, but then she glanced back at Winston.

“We enjoy having you here, Winston. Stay as long as you like,” she called out, and headed back to the house, desperately trying to scrub images of Winston and her mother from her brain. Ewwww! They were both in their sixties!  Was that even legal? Was that even physically possible?  Good God, her friends were going to have a field day with this when they found out.

As if sensing her thoughts, her cell phone rang with the ring tone she’d set for Carlotta, and she grabbed it from her pocket.

“Houston, we have a problem.  Come meet me at the Daily Grind immediately,” Carlotta said.

Chapter Fifteen

Becky and Carlotta were waiting for Abigail outside the Daily Grind when she pulled up.

Carlotta’s arms were folded, resting on the growing planet of her stomach, and she was clearly furious.

“What’s up?” Abigail demanded.

“That fucking douchebag. I’d like to rip his balls off,” Carlotta hissed. For once, Becky didn’t look mortified at Carlotta’s language; she actually nodded in agreement, and alarm bells went off in Abigail’s head.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, Becky called Cheyenne and asked her to go out to lunch with us so we could clear the air.  She’s supposed to come out and meet us out here. I mean, I guess we could call and cancel, we could tell her we’ll just eat lunch with her inside the Saloon so she doesn’t have to come out here and see this…”

 “See what?” Dylan rushed up, out of breath. “What’s the emergency?’

Cheyenne walked out of the Dry Gulch Saloon, in animated conversation with Edna Vale. Edna wore a pink velour track suit and neon pink running shoes, and walked with a cane, which meant her arthritis was bothering her. Cheyenne looked like she should be posing for the cover of Hot Cowgirls Monthly, in her denim halter top, jeans and black cowboy boots with white inlays. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her sparkly blue eyeshadow echoed the blue of her eyes.

“Connecticut? Really, dear? That’s a big step.” Edna leaned on her cane and pushed her glasses up higher on her nose, looking concerned.

Becky inclined her head at the young couple who were walking down the boardwalk towards them.

Franklin was holding the hand of a slim, refined looking brunette who looked as if she wore a lot of tweed in the winter months. She wore cateye glasses and no makeup at all, and her hair was pulled back in a bun. She had a long elegant nose and a little pink rosebud mouth and tiny pearl stud earrings.

Franklin stopped dead when he saw Cheyenne and her friends, and tugged on his girlfriend’s hand, trying to lead her away.  His girlfriend, irritated, yanked her hand away, turning to stare at the group of people who were staring at her.

 Cheyenne’s jaw dropped.

Franklin desperately turned to Abigail. “Abby, right?” he said, with a frantic attempt to sound bright and cheerful.

“That’s Abigail, to you.  Only my friends get to call me Abby. Who’s she?” she said stonily, nodding her head at the woman who was with Franklin.

“This is my girlfriend, Virginia! She flew in to town to surprise me for my birthday. What a great surprise, huh, Abby?” he nodded enthusiastically, his eyes huge.

“Not for everyone,” Abigail snapped. “Like, say, your other girlfriend. You have anything you want to say to Cheyenne?”

The brunette took a step back away from him. “Franklin? What is going on here?”

“Girlfriend? Don’t be ridiculous!” Franklin’s smile was frozen on his face. “I don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t even know that woman. Let’s get going-“

“You don’t know me?” Cheyenne’s face was bleak. “How do I know that you’ve got a mole on your right testicle?”

“Yes, Franklin, how does she know that?” Virginia stepped back further away from him.

“Okay, fine! I got drunk and had a one night stand with her! It meant nothing! Everyone sleeps with her! She’s the town whore!”

In a blur of motion, Dylan’s fist shot out and connected with Franklin’s jaw, sending him reeling into a row of bushes.

Cheyenne’s eyes were bright with tears, and she blinked hard. Abigail felt as if a giant hand was squeezing her heart.

Franklin scrambled to his feet, spluttering with rage, and the second he was back on his feet, two things happened.

His girlfriend hauled off and landed a stinging slap on his cheek, and then Edna Vale lashed out with her cane, tripping him and sending him sprawling again.

“How dare you use the term ‘whore’? What is this, the 1950s? I am majoring in feminist studies, you…you disgusting sexist pig! I am writing my dissertation on how language is used to objectify and demean women, and you dare use a word like that in front of me?” Virginia hissed, and turned on her heel, walking away.

“Virginia, wait! I’m having a wedding ring designed for you! I even picked a woman artist! It’s a beautiful ring, it’s as unique as you are…Virginia, I want to marry you!” Franklin wailed, as she stomped off.

She turned back to skewer him with an icy glare.  “You know how I feel about marriage!  Marriage is a patriarchal institution designed to oppress women! I can’t believe I ever considered you as a potential lifetime partner!” she snapped, and stalked off.

Cheyenne, face drained of all color, turned and rushed back into the Dry Gulch saloon, head hung low.

Franklin tried to follow Virginia, only to find his path blocked by Edna Vale.

“She may be a tramp, but she’s our tramp. By the way, it’s a shame that you’re getting kicked out of your cabin today. I wonder where you’ll sleep tonight.”

“I’m not getting kicked out of my cabin, you crazy old bat! I paid for the whole summer!”

“I’m sure you’ll find a refund on top of the pile of your belongings by the roadside. My great-nephew owns it; believe me, you’re evicted.”

“Fine,” Franklin said, face flushing with rage. “I’ll stay at the hotel in town.”

“My aunt and uncle own it. No, you won’t,” Becky said coldly.

“I’ve got money. I will find a place to stay here.” Franklin snapped.

“Trust me on this,” Carlotta said, fists clenched. “Once you piss off Edna Vale, you really don’t want to set foot in Crooked Creek again. Her family helped found this town, and she’s related by blood or marriage to more than half the population. You won’t find a merchant that’s going to sell you food. You won’t want to drive a mile over the speed limit. Or a mile under the speed limit.  You wouldn’t want to eat a dish that’s been prepared by any restaurant in this town; you won’t know what might have been added to it in the kitchen.”

“You know the beautiful thing about Crooked Creek?” Abigail added. “The isolation. Four hours drive to the nearest hotel if there’s nowhere to stay here. Which there isn’t, for you.”

“I am in the middle of my dissertation! If I leave now, I’ll have lost a year of work! I’m not going to let that happen,” Franklin’s gaze swiveled frantically from one glaring face to another. “I am not going to let you goddamned backwoods rednecks ruin this for me.”

“By the way, is that an original 1964 Porsche 911?” Edna suddenly asked, all sweetness and light.

“Yes,” Franklin said coldly. “It belonged to my grandfather. One of the first ones ever built. I’m impressed that an inbred hick like you can pronounce the word Porsche. Next thing you know, you’ll learn how to use indoor plumbing.”

“What a shame about all the tires and seats being slashed. And that paint job…it’ll never be the same.”

“They haven’t been slashed!”

“Not yet,” Edna said, and suddenly she whipped a pen-knife from her purse, along with a small chunk of wood. “Well, I’m off to do some whittling. Promised my grandson I’d make him a whistle.” And she walked away, humming a happy tune.

Franklin swung back to look at all of them. “I’ll go to the press! I’ll tell everyone about this! What the hell is so funny?”

They were suddenly laughing so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks. “Oh, please don’t go to the press. And please don’t tell them Betsy Finkelstein was involved. That’s Finkelstein. Want me to spell that for you?” Betsy was doubled over with laughter. “My great great grandfather founded the newspaper. My father owns it now. My aunt is the president of the Colorado Newspaper Association.”

Franklin’s mouth opened and closed, and his face turned white and then red, and finally he turned and climbed into his tiny green Porsche, and roared away in a cloud of dust.

“I better call my husband,” Carlotta said quickly, fishing in her purse for her cell phone. “That bastard’s going at least ten miles over the speed limit, easy.”

Chapter Sixteen

The white orb of the sun shone brightly overhead, but far off to the east, a line of black storm clouds clung to the horizon.

 Abigail glanced at them uneasily as she parked in front of the house. She’d spent the last few days riding around the ranch, taking photographs for her nature column, but she didn’t want to risk being caught out in the storm.

She was surprised to find Ludmilla standing on the front porch waiting for her.  

Winston had told them his final decision, that the ranch clearly belonged to Ty now,  and Clayton had blown up, yelling threats about lawyers and revenge, but it was clear he didn’t have a legal leg to stand on.

So he and Ludmilla had packed, and were planning to leave the next afternoon.

But Abigail didn’t like the smile on Ludmilla’s face.

“There is something I have discovered,” Ludmilla told her. “Something that I must share with you.”  She held up a tiny silver tape recorder.

“What is that?”

“Your husband has tricked you. He has been working with Graniti industries all along. He doesn’t want to save the ranch; he just wants all of their business for himself.”

“Ludmilla, please. The last thing my husband needs is more money.”

“Do you really know that? Have you looked over his bank accounts? This is a man who didn’t tell you he had a girlfriend the week before he married you.”

The society page picture of Ty and Jeannette flashed in front of Abigail’s eyes, and ugly insecurities suddenly flared up inside her. Of course she hadn’t looked at his bank accounts. She could trust her husband…couldn’t she?

“If you doubt me, just listen. I tape recorded this conversation between your husband and Mr. Graniti.”

“Ludmilla, forget it. I don’t-“

But Ludmilla had already clicked on the tape recorder’s play button.

“I talked to the building inspector, and everything’s a go,” she heard Ty say.

“That’s great! I can’t wait to announce this. It’s going to be a beautiful partnership.” That was unmistakably the voice of Mr. Graniti.

And Ludmilla clicked off the tape recorder.

Ty had talked to the building inspector?  Ty was working on a project with Sergio Graniti? And he hadn’t told Abigail?

“You can get your revenge on him for lying,” Ludmilla told Abigail. “All that you have to do is tell Winston the truth, that your marriage is a fake, done only so Ty could get the ranch. You have to do it, Abigail; Ty has made a fool of you.”

Unbidden, Cheyenne’s heartbroken face floated in front of Abigail’s eyes. Was she really as naive as Cheyenne had been? Had Ty tricked her into marriage, when he planned on destroying the ranch all along?

What other possible explanation could there be?

Head whirling, she ran for the pickup truck.

Behind her, she heard Ludmilla yelling “Abigail! Tell Winston! You must tell Winston!”

Ignoring her, Abigail yanked open the door, and climbed in. And drove. Just drove. She didn’t know where she was going, or why, but she rumbled over the hay fields until she was far, far from the house, and buried her head in her arms, and cried, with loud, gulping sobs.

She’d been an utter fool.

The storm clouds were moving closer now, blacking out a third of the sky, and lightning crackled, and she didn’t care.

She hadn’t just been made a total fool by the man she’d fallen hopelessly in love with; she’d helped to destroy the town she loved as well.

He’d slice down thousands of ancient trees with abandon and dynamite hills and pave over the valleys where all the wildlife in the area took shelter. Habitats would be destroyed, and the black footed plains ferret would never come back.  He’d destroy Crooked Creek; he’d turn it into a McTown full of chain stores, render it unrecognizable to everyone who knew and loved it. Cell phone towers would thrust up into the blue, clear air, and wires would be strung across the open fields. 

Finally, all cried out, with her nose so stuffy she could barely breathe, and the sleeves of her arms soaked with her tears, she turned her truck towards town.

Her mother hadn’t sold the house yet; she and her mother could move back in there, she thought, dully. She could let Ty and Clayton fight it out over who got to develop the ranch.

But as she drove away, she couldn’t escape the feeling she was making a terrible mistake.  The further she drove, the stronger she felt it, a tug like an invisible rope pulling her back to her house and her husband.

There were a thousand reasons why it didn’t make sense that Ty would trick her into a fake marriage if he planned to develop the ranch.

For one thing, he knew she’d never put up with it. She’d fight tooth and nail to save the land. He could easily have worked out a business arrangement with plenty of other women if all that he wanted was control of the ranch, but he’d picked her.

And yes, he’d teased her back in high school, but to deceive her to this level…that seemed completely out of character for him. Even when he was dating the string of skinny bimbos back in high school, he’d always made it crystal clear to them that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend.

Deceit wasn’t in his nature. If anything, Ty was too blunt, too plain spoken.