The Discreet Cowboy (Cowboys of Nirvana Book 6) (23 page)

Pushing through the glass door, the bell dinged loudly and Blake grabbed a plastic carrier. Esther Crane stood at the pharmacy counter speaking to the pharmacist about a pill that would keep her from having so much gas. Blake smiled and continued down the aisle to load her basket with toothpaste, toilet paper, and, just because, a large bag of sour cream chips. The way she was feeling, she’d eat all of them in one sitting, then work out extra hard later.

“Hello, Blake.”

Hearing the voice of Sheila Clark behind her, Blake had a good mind to turn and walk—no, run. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the other woman, the wife of Deputy Daryl. In fact, she had helped Grams out many times. The big problem was, Sheila worked at the Sheriff’s Department, with the devil himself, Duff. Blake looked at the EXIT door, then over her shoulder to Sheila and back at the door that was her only way out of a conversation. If she dropped her basket, she could sprint right out of the store. But, unfortunately, Sheila would know why Blake was acting like a coward.

With a straight back, she met Sheila halfway in the aisle next to the boxed cakes.
I’ll take one of those too.
She placed two in with the rest of her items.

“How’s your grandmother, honey?” Sheila asked.

“Not much different, I’m afraid.” Blake had a strong urgency to cry, which was very unlike her. Her hormones were out of whack, but she wasn’t due to start her monthly for another two weeks. She hadn’t slept but a wink or two in the last week and was always looking over her shoulder for a cowboy.

“I’ve been meaning to come over and visit, but with all of the changes going on at the Department, I haven’t had much of a chance for a breather. I’m sure you heard that Duff—” Her face paled. “I’m sorry, Blake. Forgive me for my lack of a filter.”

“Sheila, no worries. I knew he was back and I’m fine with it.”
Liar!
Unfortunately, living in a small town meant everyone knew everyone else’s business, especially when it involved heartbreak.

“I’d better go. My lunch break is almost over. I’ll be calling soon, you hear?” Sheila waved and started for the checkout counter.

Once Blake’s basket was filled with items she didn’t need, she checked out and, like a sleuth in the night, she glanced both directions on the sidewalk and street before she scrambled to her truck.

  Back on the farm, she drove the narrow lane, seeing that a new hole had been dug underneath an ancient oak tree. She shook her head and smiled. She’d made the mistake of jokingly telling Amos, one of the hands, that she’d give him a portion of the treasure if he ever found it. Here lately, the man seemed to believe the story that had surrounded her grandfather and the farm for years.

Rumor alleged that Bill McKenzie was part of a gang of three that had robbed a number of banks almost fifty years ago and he’d kept his share of the loot buried somewhere on the farm. Over the years, the tales had grown larger and so had the amount of the treasure, from thousands to millions. She thought it all was a little silly considering they’d always scrimped and saved. The rumors had even escalated to people suggesting that her Gramps had been involved with the mob, which she found quite ludicrous. Her Gramps was quite the badass as a kid, but she’d only known his sweeter side. He’d always been kind, gentle and giving to those around him. When Blake would ask her Grams about the stories, she’d laugh and blow them off as tall tales. Blake had always thought there was a sense of mystery about her Gramps, but bank robberies and mob involvement seemed outlandish.

Either way, Amos could keep digging and she was certain he’d never find anything except maybe the bone of a dead animal or two.

At the barn, she saw that the delivery truck was still loaded with bags of feed and bales of straw. She pulled up and climbed out of the truck, confused. The supplies should have been unloaded by now. She stomped toward the three men standing in a semi-circle. Two were her hands, Amos and a newer worker.

“Do we have a problem, boys?” Blake asked, seeing the hard set of Amos’s jaw.

He scrubbed his cheek. “Looks like we do.” He handed her a piece of paper.

Blake skimmed the invoice, seeing the numbers that were ten percent higher than they had been paying. Her stomach twisted. “Doogal, this isn’t what we agreed on for each bale and bag.”

Doogal, a broad shouldered, short statured man, smashed his straw hat lower onto his head. Wanting to hide his eyes, maybe? “We made the agreement years ago. I have to pay my bills too, Blake.”

She took a step closer, clutching the paper tightly in her fingers. “You’ve supplied feed and straw to this farm for twenty years now and the price has never gone up. For goodness sake’s, Doogal, you are friends with Grams.”

He shrugged a shoulder and tugged at his wiry beard. “I have to do what I have to do. This is business.”

“You mean you have to please Ethan Branson, right?”

Doogal’s tan disappeared for an unusual shade of grey. “I don’t like what you’re accusing me of, little lady. Your grandparents would never have crossed such a line.” He shifted in his worn boots.

She shoved the invoice into his chest and he caught it before it floated to the ground. “And you would have never done this to them. Are you thinking because I’m running this place now that you can exploit me into paying more than what the supplies are worth?”

“The cost of living,” he mumbled.

“Cost of living my ass! Can you actually stand there, look me in the eye and tell me Branson didn’t put you up to this?” The man shifted and lowered his gaze. “Just as I thought. He’s managed to get you to do his dirty work. Doesn’t anyone in this town have the balls to stand up to Branson? Well, I’m telling you now that he’s not getting this farm. Over my dead body!” She stomped toward her truck.

Amos was on her heels. “Blake? Where are you going?” He finally caught up to her as she was sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door.

“Amos, you know this is a shakedown. Will Ethan not stop at anything? He knows we can barely afford to pay what we have been, let alone an increase by this much. He’s fighting dirty. Someone’s got to show him he doesn’t own this entire town, and he definitely doesn’t own me!”

“Listen here, Blake. I know you’re angry and you have every right to be. Why don’t you come on out of that truck and think about this for a minute before you go flying off the handle and do something you’re going to regret. You’re right, Branson doesn’t play fair and you can’t trust him.” More wrinkles appeared around Amos’s silver-grey eyes.

She chuckled. “And let Branson get away with his lowdown tactics? Not going to happen!”

Amos nodded then took a step back as if he knew arguing would be futile. She shoved the truck into drive and kicked up dust on the narrow lane. She watched as Amos disappeared in her rearview mirror, reminding her of her near run-in with Duff earlier. She had no clue that when she got up that morning, she should have considered staying in bed. “The men of Buttermilk Valley,” she groaned.

Her coffee cup, still full, sloshed as she hit a hole, spilling the contents over the rim. “Shoot!” She let off the gas a little. Cleaning out the truck wasn’t on the itinerary for the day.

The short drive to the neighboring property didn’t take long enough for her irritation to dwindle, so she was still as mad as a hornet when she pulled into the private drive of Ethan Branson. This was the first time she’d been there in a year and instinct warned her this visit wouldn’t be any better than the last. Maybe with more time she would have reconsidered her decision to come to the Branson Ranch, but she doubted it, not when she pulled in front of the luxurious cedar home with massive windows, the immaculate landscaping, and the expensive cars parked in the driveway. It all reeked of enough-money-to-burn, sending her anger doubling. She was surprised that Ethan didn’t have security set up at the entrances of his property since he’d become the richest man in the Valley, and maybe top ten in the state of Georgia. He’d always liked money, just like his father, but she had no idea that he’d allow the riches to go to his head.

Sliding out of her truck, she was greeted with a nuzzle against the back of her leg. “Hello there, Barney.” She bent and gave the five-year-old German Sheperd a scratch behind the ears. He was the only thing she missed from her time she had spent there. Wiping the thought from her mind, she marched up onto the porch and pounded on the door.

A second later, the door swung open, but it wasn’t Branson who greeted her. His gangly assistant sized her up in one sweep of his piercing glare. She’d had her run-ins with Patterson a few times over the years. He’d never liked her, and quite frankly, he reminded her of a rat. Blake pushed past him. “Where’s Ethan? I need to see him.”

“Mr. Branson isn’t accepting visitors right now. He’s in a meeting. I can make you an appointment, if you’d like?”

She turned on the man, narrowing her gaze, not in the mood for pretending to tolerate him. “An appointment?” She laughed. “I’m not leaving here until I’ve seen your boss. Got it?” She lifted her chin, spine straight, ready to take Patterson on if necessary.

“Miss McKenzie. Why is it that you must always show your ladylike charm?” One overly groomed eyebrow slithered up above dark eyes. “You are no longer in a relationship with my boss, therefore, you don’t have the right to barge in here and make demands.”

“I know he’s not in a meeting.”

He took a short step toward her, his jaw sharp. “Do you really want me to force you out?”

“Tell me something, Patterson. How does it feel to be Ethan Branson’s lap dog?” The city man had no clue what living in Buttermilk Valley was like or what hard work on land meant. He wore a chip on his shoulder as often as most men shaved. Blake remembered how Ethan had ordered the assistant to do his bidding and she’d often wondered why he stuck around.

Patterson’s lips thinned and before she could react, he had Blake by the elbow, his vice-like fingers digging into her skin while turning her toward the door. “Let go of me, you jackass!” she forced through clenched teeth.

“I will once you’re outside,” he murmured next to her ear.

“Unhand her, Patterson.”

The request worked. He immediately let her go, straightened his suit jacket, and grinned at Blake as if to silently promise they weren’t done. Blake rolled her eyes. She’d dealt with bunny rabbits that scared her more than him. She lifted her chin to where Ethan stood at the top of the stairs, like an image from a movie. He was always one for drama. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that he was a strikingly, good looking man. Tall, dark and confident. Those features weren’t what attracted her to him, though. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she’d even fallen for his calculating charm.

“Leave us,” Ethan told his assistant.

Patterson gave Blake one last glance before he disappeared down the hall.

With a tilt of her chin, she watched Ethan descend the stairs, trying to put her anger into a more constructive emotion. In school, she, Ethan and Duff had called themselves the Three Musketeers. Things had certainly changed. Duff had left town twelve years ago and Ethan was the slayer of Buttermilk Valley, taking down one business, one farm, at a time.

She crossed her arms over her chest as he strolled toward her, his boots thumping the polished wooden planks. She slipped her gaze over his clean shaven jaw, tidy plaid shirt, and dark jeans, but all she could see was a man who lost the understanding of small town living. Since his brother, Cooper Branson, the prior sheriff, had been killed last year, Ethan’s terrorizing had only gotten worse. There were a lot of rumors floating around about what happened to Cooper, but Blake knew the whole story—knew that he’d almost killed her friend, Grace Atwell.

“And what do I owe this pleasure, Blake?” he drawled and smiled, attempting to put her on the defensive. His deep grin showed off a row of even, white teeth, and dimples that probably worked on a few women, but not Blake. Not anymore. She could remember when he was bucktoothed, way before he got braces.

“Please, stop with the antics. You know why I’m here.”

He squinted. “Really, help me understand.” He was within a few feet of her now and she caught a whiff of his expensive cologne. She hoped he hadn’t applied it just for her. If he only knew how it made her sick to her stomach.

“Doogal raised his prices on feed and straw. Are you going to pretend you know nothing about this?” She dropped her arms to her sides, concentrating on the heavy beating of her heart. Why did she allow the likes of Ethan to ruffle her feathers? Maybe because she’d realized he’d do anything to have the upper hand. “What deal have you made with him?”

“Didn’t Doogal tell you the news? I bought half of his business.” Branson rolled up one sleeve, slowly, then moved to the next one.

This caught her off guard, but she was quick to gain her logic. “Why would he ever sell to you?”

He shrugged a shoulder smugly. “Why do you think?”

“You bullied him?” She raised a brow.

He chuckled. “No, I didn’t bully him. I made him an offer, a great one, and he accepted. He gets to keep half and work his land. I think that’s fair. We’ve already turned numbers around and are now seeing a twenty percent increase in profits.”

“Of course you would by jacking up prices. So, you’re making a profit off townspeople who can’t afford the cost increase.”