leaned one shoulder against the door frame and watched as she walked down the path to the fence, opened and closed the gate, then rounded the front of her car and slid beneath the wheel.
What the hell am I going to do about her? He shook his head as she drove away, aware of the tighter fit of his jeans. Just watching her walk turns me on. Irritated, he turned back to the waiting broken floorboards.
Unaware she’d been observed, Rebecca retraced her journey from yesterday, but this time, she wasn’t as travel-weary and was able to take in more details of her surroundings. The land stretching away from each side of the road was as different from San Francisco as the earth from Mars. Instead of urban streets and glimpses of the sparkling blue waters of the Bay from the city’s steep, crowded hills, Rebecca saw a patchwork of green wheat fields and the black dirt of plowed land. The cultivated fields were interspersed with rough pastures dotted with silvery sagebrush. Large, often flat-topped buttes rose to loom over fields and pastures and above it all, the dome of endless, bright blue sky stretched without a cloud in sight.
As much as she appreciated San Francisco’s charm, Rebecca felt drawn to this extremely different landscape with a deep pull on her emotions that felt oddly as if she had come home.
Which was silly, she reflected. She’d never before visited Montana, let alone called this area home.
Dismissing the notion, Rebecca switched off the air conditioner, rolled down the window and luxuriated in the clean, sage-scented air that blew in, tangling her hair and sending it skeining across her face, her sunglasses keeping the strands out of her eyes.
The bright sunlight, already hot though it was only June, heated her bare arm. Rebecca wasn’t used to real summer heat. In San Francisco, the breeze off the Pacific cooled even the hottest days.
And I’ll be here for a few months, she reflected. Which means that perhaps I’ll see the fall season, too. The thought was appealing. Raised in the mild climate of California’s Pacific Coast, she hadn’t experienced the changing of seasons with the same degree of intensity Montana residents were accustomed to seeing.
The weather is one of those unique-to-the-area things that I told Jackson I’d find to enjoy here. She felt smug satisfaction that barely a day after he’d doubted that she’d find anything of interest in Colson, she had already proved him wrong.
Strange not to be stuck in traffic, nor to smell exhaust and be hit by noise with the car window down, she thought idly.
She crested a hill and below her lay the small ranching community of Colson. Slowing at the outskirts, she checked her directions. Deciding that the attorney’s Main Street address was most likely in the center of town, she turned right at the next cross street. A large, flat-roofed building on one corner had a big neon sign declaring that the Crossroads Bar and Grill was open for business. She wondered briefly if the Crossroads was the local version of a singles’ bar.
Rebecca drove through a residential area with old Victorian houses set back amid immaculate green lawns and beds of roses, peonies, marigolds and alyssum that bloomed profusely; majestic old maples shaded the wide streets. Without a map, she relied on instinct, turning left. Houses gradually gave way to commercial buildings, and in moments Rebecca found Main Street.
“Dennings Pharmacy, Annie’s Cafe,” she murmured aloud, noting that the street numbers were climbing higher. At least I’m going in the right direction.
The attorney’s office was tucked between the First National Bank and Marnie’s Dress Shop, the gold lettering on the spotless window reading “Foslund and Bowdrie, Attorneys at Law.”
Rebecca angled the car into the curb and switched off the engine, gathering her purse and briefcase.
A bell jangled as she opened the office door, and the pleasant-faced woman behind the reception desk looked up, smiling a welcome.
“Good morning. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I don’t have an appointment but I wonder if Victoria Bowdrie is available?”
“I’ll check. May I tell her who’s calling?”
“Rebecca Wallingford of Bay Area Investments.”
Moments later, a petite blonde in a cream summer business suit followed the secretary into the outer office where Rebecca stood.
“Ms. Wallingford? I’m Victoria Bowdrie.” Smiling, she held out her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and please call me Rebecca.” She returned the smile and shook the attorney’s hand. “I spoke with my mother this morning and she asked me to see you today. I believe you have some documents that need to be signed?”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Victoria waved Rebecca ahead of her and into the inner office. “An addendum to the original contract that addresses your review reports and release-of-funds dates. Have a seat, Rebecca.”
Rebecca dropped into one of two leather chairs facing the polished oak desk while Victoria took a seat behind the desk and collected a folder from a wooden tray. She opened it and handed her a sheaf of papers across the glossy desktop. “I think you’ll find these self-explanatory.”
Silence reigned while Rebecca carefully read the pages of legal jargon, puzzlement growing before she finished and looked up at Victoria.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t see any outstanding differences between this document and the original in my file.”
Victoria chuckled. “The changes are fairly small, but your mother wanted the details clarified.” She flipped a page on her copy of the document, scanning quickly until she found what she was looking for. “If you’ll look at page two, paragraph four, I believe you’ll find that the due date on your first report is moved back two days, with the resulting release of funds to Mr. Rand upon receipt of a favorable review by Bay Area Corporate Office to be moved back an equal amount of time.”
Rebecca reread the paragraph, noted the dates and pulled her electronic daytimer from her leather briefcase. Victoria was right, she thought, the dates were changed by two days in each instance.
Odd that Kathleen wanted her to sign the revised documents immediately, she thought with a frown. But then, she mentally shrugged, it gave her a good excuse to visit Colson and see what the town was like.
Ten minutes later, Rebecca stepped out of the office, pulled the door closed behind her, and glanced up and down the wide main street. She took a few moments to return her briefcase to her car and then strolled down the sidewalk to window-shop. Murphy’s Market yielded her favorite brand of English Breakfast tea and browsing the aisles of Dennings Pharmacy added a new bottle of hot-pink nail polish to her bag.
Rebecca strolled down one side of Main Street and halfway up the other when she reached Annie’s Cafe. An elderly gentleman pushed open the door and stepped briskly out to move off down the sidewalk. The aromas that wafted out to Rebecca through the briefly open door reminded her that it was nearly lunchtime and that more than a few hours had passed since she’d eaten a piece of toast for breakfast.
Forty minutes later, replete with homemade soup and a delicious turkey sandwich on wheat that was the luncheon special, Rebecca left the cafe, pausing to hold the door open for a group of older women entering.
The first two ladies smiled absentmindedly and murmured, “Thank you,” but the third glanced at Rebecca and halted abruptly, her eyes widening in shock, her face visibly paling.
“Who are you?” the older woman demanded.
Taken aback, Rebecca stared at the woman for a second before finding her voice. “I beg your pardon?”
“Who are you?” the woman demanded again. “And what are you doing in Colson?”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your business.” Rebecca eyed the woman. “Do I know you, ma’am?”
“You most certainly do not. Nor are you likely to.” The woman drew herself up, chin