Accidental Cowgirl (27 page)

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, because neither you nor I have the time for it.”

“That sounds ominous.” Decker sat back in his chair, trying to brace himself for whatever Peterson was about to say. Had Ma gone ahead and offered up the ranch land to the highest bidder? Was he here to stake a claim? Decker’d sure rather see him buy up a parcel than Sully, but still. He’d asked for two weeks. Why had Ma gone out looking for a buyer without talking to him first?

Peterson pulled a sheaf of papers from a tired leather briefcase and shuffled them into his
lap. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Decker. I’m hoping you’ll hear me out, because I think it could be just what both of us need right now.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say.” He took one of the papers from his lap and unfolded it a couple of times so it was almost as big as Decker’s desk when he set it there with a decisive tap.

Decker sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward to look at it, then cocked his head. “I don’t get it. Looks like a housing development. You going into the contracting business?”
On my mother’s land?

“I am … but I need a partner.” Decker sat back with a chuckle. Boy, was he barking up the wrong tree. No way was he going to have a hand in chopping up Whisper Creek into half-acre lots. Peterson eyed him. “I imagine you have a vested interest in making sure the land around here gets developed responsibly.”

Decker eyed him carefully. They’d been friends for too long to screw it up by being a jerk here, but he couldn’t just sit here and let Peterson show him plans for slicing and dicing the land he loved. “I’m sorry, but that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t want this land developed at all. Ma’s family’s owned this land for three generations, and I’m not going to be party to chopping it into little pieces and putting up cardboard-cutout houses.”

Peterson put up a hand to stop him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pointed at the sketch on Decker’s desk. “This is
my
land. The back three hundred acres that’s not suitable for grazing or cropland. Can’t even do any decent fishing, really. It’s just sitting there idle, and though it’s a pretty piece of property, it’s not doing me any good as it is. I don’t know how Whisper Creek is doing in this economy, but I don’t mind telling you … if I don’t take this step, someone else is going to take it for me. And I’d rather be in control.”

Decker shook his head, looking back at the sketch again. Huh. This wasn’t Ma’s land at all. Well, that put a whole new spin on it. Except it really didn’t, because he didn’t have one red cent to help his friend with the project. He sighed. “Peterson, I’m sorry, but I’m in no position to go into business with you. Everything I’ve got is tied up between the ranch and my L.A. operations. I’m just not looking for investments right now.” He started to fold up the paper on his desk, but Peterson put a hand on it to stop him.

“I’m not looking for your money, Driscoll. I’m looking for an architect.”

Decker glanced back at the sketch on his desk. As much as he needed the money, the
thought of designing tract housing for yuppies who wanted a second home in the Wild West gave him nightmares. Every identical house would sit a prescribed number of feet back from the cul-de-sac on its chirpy little quarter-acre lot, and he’d go completely nuts trying to fit someone’s request for a garden tub or a sunroom or a third garage bay into a completely constricted design.

“I appreciate you asking, but you could get guys fresh out of school to do this a lot cheaper.”

“I don’t want guys fresh out of college. I want you.”

“Peterson, I don’t do this kind of stuff. I do one-of-a-kind, one-at-a-time designs. Not suburban paradise.”

“I know very well what you do. And I also have a feeling that designing for the stars can be lucrative, but can also be a gigantic pain in your ass.”

Decker sat back slowly, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “Peterson, why are you really here? If this is some sort of neighborly bail-out, again, I appreciate the effort, but we’re doing just fine.”
Right
.

Peterson leveled him with a look. “Driscoll, the state of your ranch, whatever that may be, has nothing to do with this offer. I’m a businessman. I did my research. Bottom line—you build the kind of houses I want on this property. Your reputation is stellar. I will make it worth your while, I promise you.”

Decker looked back down at the map, stalling for time. “Peterson, you draw like a third-grader. I can’t even tell where the lake is on this map.”

“This is why I need an architect.” Peterson raised both hands, palms up.

“I hate to break it to you, but the cliff houses I build in Malibu are not exactly replicable here, for a lot of reasons. How do you know I can build what you’re envisioning?”

“I’m not looking for movie-star houses, Driscoll. I saw your portfolio online. It’s impressive. Damn impressive. But I’m talking about
these
kinds of houses.” Peterson pulled a sketch pad out of his briefcase and set it in front of Decker.

Decker looked down at the gray sketchbook, sucking in a confused breath. “Where the hell did you get this?” He opened the cover and slowly paged through sketch after sketch that he’d made in college.

“Got it in the mail, actually.” Decker sighed. Ma must have sent it, dammit. He could have sworn it was buried in a box in the L.A. office, but maybe he’d left it at the ranch at some
point. This offer was all part of her ploy to keep him here on the ranch. For a moment, he’d believed Mike Peterson wanted to hire him on his own merits, but no.

Though he knew his website portfolio was impressive beyond compare, Peterson would have no way of knowing whether or not Decker could design the kind of houses he envisioned on his property. And he was too smart a businessman to hire him based on a bunch of college sketches in a beat-up notebook. Some of the drawings were downright elementary, but he stopped longer on a few jewels hidden among the pages. He couldn’t believe Ma had engineered this job offer. Had she no pride at all? Did she think
he
had none?

“Who sent it, Mike?”

“Your partner.”

His
partner
? “Forgive me if I’m confused.” He shook his head as he put the notebook down on his desk. “But I’m confused. How do you know Jerry?”

“We went to school together. Phi Kappa brothers.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“So you called him in L.A.?”

Peterson nodded. “And he said I might find his hotshot partner at the Whisper Creek Ranch, if I knew where that was. Imagine my surprise. Course, I had to think about it for a minute, since we always called it the Double D when we were idiot teenagers.”

Decker shook his head. “Surreal. We’ve been so busy getting this place fixed up that I’ve barely ventured into town, let alone had time to go visiting. I’m an ass for never even letting you know I was back.”

“
Are
you back?” Peterson raised his eyebrows and lifted his chin toward the plans he’d laid out for Decker. “Or maybe I should say,
could
you be back?”

“You gonna go talk to her?” Ma scared Decker out of yet another long stare out the bay window behind his desk.

He spun around. “What are you talking about, Ma?”

Ma leaned on the door frame, sipping her tea. “Don’t be obtuse. You’ve been mooning around staring out that window ever since Kyla got back from the hospital.”

“Have not.”

“Have so. Except for a brief hour with Michael Peterson. What was that about, anyway?”

“Sit down, Ma.” Decker motioned her forward.

“No. I don’t like news I have to sit down for. Just tell me straight.”

“It’s good news, Ma.”

“He giving us a fair price?” She maintained her stance against the door frame. She probably wasn’t aware that her voice had shaken on the last two words, but Decker heard it loud and clear.

“No, he’s not.”

She shook her head sadly. “Well, what’s good news about that?”

Decker opened his desk drawer and pulled out Kyla’s quick sketches and Peterson’s chicken scratches, laying them side by side on the desk. “C’mere, Ma. Let me show you something. I think maybe we might be able to save this place after all.”

Ma took a couple of steps into the office. “Don’t play with me, Decker. Do you mean it?”

“Just come see this.”

Twenty minutes later, he’d filled her in on Peterson’s offer and showed her Kyla’s plans, but all she’d done was nod as he pointed out figures and buildings and projections. He finally sat back in his chair and looked at her for a long moment. “Ma. You’re not saying anything.”

She sat down in the chair opposite his desk, pulling her mug toward her chest. “I’m digesting. This is a lot to think about.”

“Well, actually, there’s not much at all to think about right now. Peterson’s willing to front enough to make sure it’s worth my while to build here instead of L.A., but we wouldn’t be
able to start much building until spring. By summer, we’d have better capacity and bigger earning potential, by far.”

Peterson’s offer had been generous. Combined with what he’d secreted away in the past month, Decker could pay off the bookie and be free at least of that debt.

“It’s a lot to take in, Decker.”

He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. Why wasn’t Ma looking more relieved? “You don’t sound nearly as thrilled as I thought you might, quite honestly. This could be the answer to making this ranch survive, Ma. First I help out Peterson and front-load the accounts, and then we create the getaway paradise this place really needs to be in order to be self-sufficient.

“Look at Kyla’s figures here.” He pointed at a different piece of paper, but Ma didn’t seem to want to look. “She projects we’ll break even in two years, if we ease in the new buildings. Profitable in three, very profitable in six. I sort of like the sound of that, I gotta be honest.”

Ma sat back, studying him. “This is all well and good, honey, but it’s
your
money. Not mine. Not the ranch’s. I’m not going to take any more of your money so I can live out a silly dream here.”

Decker sighed. “It’s not a silly dream, Ma. It’s your life. It’s your land. Your grandparents’ land.
Our
land. We can’t lose it to some asshole like Sully who’s just waiting to scoop it out from under us.”

A ghost of a smile played at the corner of Ma’s lips, but she wiped it clean almost before he saw it. “Decker, if you invest more money in this place, it ties you even tighter to it. You’ve made no bones about the fact that your life is in L.A. How’s that gonna work?” In a flash, Decker realized that Cole wasn’t the only one who thought he’d left by choice. His goddamn father had let Ma believe it all these years, too.

“I don’t know yet, Ma. I really don’t.”

“I think it’d be tough to do Peterson’s job from L.A., don’t you?”

“Yeah. Almost impossible.”

Ma pushed herself out of the leather chair and set her mug on the side table. Looking down at the plans on Decker’s desk, she nodded. “I think you have a lot to think about, Decker. And I know you’ll make the right decision.”

She put her finger under his chin like he was five, surprising him. “Just make the right decision for you. Don’t make it out of guilt. Don’t make it out of obligation. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe this ranch anything. You don’t owe Cole anything. You’ve done more than your part this summer, not that there was ever any debt to clear.”

She sighed, letting go of his chin. “I have missed you every damn day since you left this ranch. And I will miss you every damn day again if you go back west. But you need to do what’s right for you. If you stay, do it for the right reasons. Do it because you love it here, because you want to live here, because you want to find a wife and raise your kids here. If you can’t imagine doing those things here, then don’t do it. You deserve to be happy, Decker. Do what’s going to make you happy.”

Ma turned to head out of the office, then stopped, spinning slowly back toward him. “And Decker, don’t you dare talk to Kyla until you’ve figured it out. You be fair to that girl.”

* * *

“Kayla, right?”

Kyla’s eyes popped open when she heard Marcy’s voice, way too close for comfort. She’d only been back at the ranch for a few hours, and was sitting on the cabin’s porch swing, dead tired but unable to sleep. Marcy was at the bottom of the steps, dressed in some spangled version of cowgirl clothes that looked ridiculous.

“Kayla Bennett?”

“It’s Kyla. What can I do for you?” Kyla’s voice was tight, suspicious. How did Marcy know her last name?

Marcy glanced around. “Where are your friends?”

Jess and Hayley had left on a hike a half hour ago, upon Kyla’s insistence that they soak up as much sun and greenery as possible before they had to head back to the city tomorrow. Fat chance she was going to admit that right now, though. Last time she’d met Marcy she’d almost gotten slapped. God knows what the woman would try to do if she thought no one was around to see. “They’re around.” Kyla waved her hand vaguely.

“Good. I was hoping to talk to you alone.” Marcy pranced up the steps and sat down in the chair across from the swing, opening her huge, sparkly purse. “I think we may have gotten
off to an awkward start the other night.”

“Awkward?”
You think?

Marcy gave a pretty little toothpaste commercial smile. “I lost my cool a little bit, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Lost your cool.”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

“Sorry. Bad habit.” Kyla shifted on the swing, wincing when her air cast hit the porch table.

“So anyway, I apologize. And I also thought it might be good to come meet you in person and—I don’t know—explain things a little.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Marcy.”
Nor do I want to hear any, especially the kind that have Decker in them
.

“I know, I know. I just realized that once again, Decker’s making complete strangers fall for him, and the poor boy just doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”