Espino, Stacey - Corralling the City Girl [Ride 'em Hard 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

Ride ’em Hard 2

STACEY ESPINO

Copyright © 2011

Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it
.—Mark Twain

Chapter One

Jane dug her nails into the upholstered arms of the Vimercati armchair. “How many did you say?”

“Five thousand head, Ms. Williams.” The overpriced lawyer tapped his pen on the contract, becoming impatient with her many questions. What did he expect? It wasn’t every day a girl inherited enough cattle to feed a small country.

“And these stipulations… Why? It makes no sense.”

“Ms. Williams, your uncle was very specific in his will. If you don’t personally oversee the cattle roundup, and get the animals to the designated area by the deadline, you’ll forfeit your rights to not only the herd, but the ranch and acreage as well.” He leafed through the contract until he reached the signature page, and then turned the stack of stapled paper toward Jane. “I suggest you sign. Just the value of the ranch alone is worth a small fortune.”

Her uncle had been an eccentric man, but she hadn’t seen him since she was a young woman. Why would he leave his entire estate to her? He had other nieces and nephews he could have passed his legacy on to. Although she should be thrilled with the prospect of inheriting a million-dollar cattle operation, it wasn’t a sealed deal. She was expected to join in on a cattle run, to spend weeks on the open fields. Jane knew absolutely nothing about farming, cattle, or country living.

As she signed the contract, she continued to question the lawyer. “And how do you expect me to get this done when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing?”

Once the papers were signed, his demeanor changed, a satisfied smirk on his face as he returned the contract to a folder on his desk. “I suggest you hire yourself some cowboys, Ms. Williams.”

Cowboys?
Weren’t those historical characters from black-and-white Wild West movies? Was there really a need for real, live cowboys in this day and age, the twenty-first century? She glanced around the room one last time. Tiffany lamps, priceless artwork on the plum-painted walls, and Fabergé eggs displayed on waist-high pillars. Mr. Reznik must be earning a pretty penny for being the executor for her uncle’s will. She imagined he’d get paid whether or not she succeeded on her little adventure. The haughty look on his face as he stood and showed her the door confirmed her suspicion.

“Where am I supposed to hire a cowboy?” she asked as he ushered her out of his office into the reception area. Desperation crept up her collar, along with enough heat to make her skin turn clammy in the overly air-conditioned office. She’d just got the call this morning to come in for the reading of the will, and then had her world turned upside down from all information thrown at her.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it work. If you don’t, I’m instructed to give the same offer to your cousin, Ronald.”
Great.
Did she really expect he’d hold her hand through the process?

She swung her purse high up on her shoulder and made haste getting out of the office. Jane was on borrowed time, and had to get her ass back to her own office before the clock struck the hour. She really didn’t need another overbearing suit breathing down her neck for being late back from lunch.

As she took the elevator down the fourteen stories to the ground floor, she pulled her compact from her purse to touch up her lipstick. She scowled at her image. It was only late May, but the heat was already unbearable, thanks to the recent heat wave. Her makeup had begun to melt off her face just from travelling from one point to the next. Once she got outside, the humidity would finish her off, leaving her a hideous mess when images were everything.

She fished for her keys as she neared her car. Heat waves radiated off the vast asphalt parking lot, the sun blinding. Where had she left her sunglasses? Jane continued to struggle with her purse as she leaned against her car. She blamed her nervous fingers on the array of worries and thoughts pounding in her head, working together to build up a wicked migraine.

“Cattle roundup?” she muttered as she started her car. Jane pulled out of the parking lot and squeezed her way into the gridlocked downtown traffic. “
Cattle roundup?
” After offering her finger to the ass that honked behind her, she cut across the two lanes of traffic to make a left at Galveston. She’d worked too hard at her job to get where she was, and had no plans on ruining her ironclad reputation by being late. The inheritance wasn’t even a done deal, so she wouldn’t play roulette with her job just yet. When the ranch was officially signed over to her, she’d sell it in a heartbeat, quit her job, and spend the rest of her days lying on some nice, sunny beach somewhere.

She pushed open the glass doors to the office, wiping the sweat from her brow with a folded napkin. “Cattle roundup?”

“Did you say something, Jane?” Mandy tilted her head as she assessed her. She couldn’t think about the ranch right now. Pushing all thoughts and worries out of her head for the time being, she readjusted her ponytail before slipping into her seat behind the main desk.

“Sorry, Mandy. Traffic.”

“You’re right, it’s like a cattle roundup, isn’t it.” Mandy relayed the messages, shuffled through more contracts that needed typing, and warned Jane that Mr. Seymour wasn’t in the best mood. That made two of them.

She hadn’t even had time to freshen up, but her job needed her.
Who was she kidding?
Her nails may be manicured, her skirt suit a very good designer knockoff, but she was no executive. Jane was an executive assistant—the fancy word for secretary. If this whole inheritance deal didn’t pull through, she’d be pushing pencils for the rest of her life. She had to make it work. Her sanity depended on it.

After getting her to-do list done, she stole a few minutes to sift through the yellow pages. Where the fuck could a woman find a cowboy? How much would they even charge her? She’d have to work out some sort of deal—if they didn’t get her to the finish line by the due date, nobody got paid. Hopefully they’d go along with it, because her bank account had about ten bucks in it. There was no listing of any use to her, so she looked up cattle farming. She jotted down a few numbers just before her boss came down the narrow hallway to her right, forcing her to slam the phonebook shut.

“I need the files for the Harrow account, and the contracts I asked to be typed up this morning.” Before continuing on to the conference room, he turned back. “When Peters and Branner get here, send them on in. Oh, and be a dear and set us up with a full round of coffee and sandwiches.”

He didn’t wait for a reply or bother to use basic manners.
Please
and
thank you
could go a long way, but she’d never heard them from her boss’s lips. She ground her teeth together and paged Mandy on the phone. “Can you watch the desk for me again? Seymour wants Timmies.”

The bubbly accountant was at her desk in a flash, all smiles and optimism. Too bad it wasn’t contagious. It pissed her off that her boss couldn’t settle for the coffee they made in the office, or donuts from the little café on the main floor. It had to be Tim Hortons, and the only one was ten minutes of wall-to-wall traffic away from their building. She grabbed her purse and stormed out. If her car had air conditioning it wouldn’t be half as bad, but she wasn’t ready to fork over eight hundred dollars to get it fixed. Instead, she drove with the fan on and back windows rolled down in a futile attempt to save her hair.

It was rush hour at the coffee shop, so the lineup trailed through half the store. She clicked her heels on the tiled floor, tapping out an impatient beat, checking her watch continually. There was a small group of construction workers in the line ahead of her. They looked rough-and-tumble. Maybe they’d know where she could find some cowboys. A lot of locals attended The Calgary Stampede every year, so it wasn’t a completely off-the-wall question.

She cleared her throat to get their attention. “Excuse me. Would any of you know where I could find some cowboys to hire?”

They took note of her now, sizing her up with goofy grins on their faces. When she replayed what she said back in her head, she mentally cringed. This was downtown Calgary, not a small farming town. Surely they didn’t think she was looking for a good time.

“I’m a cowboy,” said the balding man with the potbelly.

“Yeah. Sure.” She stepped away, her back hitting the person in line behind her making her face heat.

“What do you need a cowboy for? Do you need someone to teach you how to ride?”

Jane felt nauseated. Whatever happened to good manners and common sense? Men were pigs, every last one of them. Maybe she needed to escape this urban landscape more than she realized. It would be nice to be around people with old-fashioned values, respect, and more on their minds than just the bottom line. The idea of taking off work for a few weeks to escape to the country was gaining appeal by the minute.

After half an hour of waiting in line and then ordering, she precariously balanced the two trays of coffees and bag of sandwiches while making her way to her car. Her spiked heel got caught in a sidewalk grate, nearly making her lose her load. She recovered, hot coffee splashing her chest and burning her exposed skin. Jane stood in place for a couple minutes after letting out a shriek and several unladylike obscenities. She took deep breaths, dealing with the pain from the hot coffee and a newly twisted ankle. Did anyone offer to give her a hand? Countless women and men brushed past her, but nobody had time to care about another human being. She sucked it up and limped the remaining distance to her car and made her way back to the office.

The same thought continued to plague her mind as she fought traffic. Where the hell was she supposed to find a cowboy?