of Amy’s clenched hands turned white in her lap. “Leila is afraid that selling the ranch might be the only option.”
“You can’t—” His jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t—”
“I’m just preparing you for the worst.” Amy’s voice was gentle again, but it tore through Hank’s skin. Like thistle-down coating barbed wire, it did nothing to ease his pain.
“But things aren’t that bad. Donna at the bank would have warned me,” Hank insisted, his heart pounding his ribs.
“Because of the letter Leila received, she seems to think they are. We have to consider all options.”
Hank couldn’t figure out what was going on here. He’d been so careful.
Leila was making a mistake. This woman shouldn’t be here, talking about worst-case scenarios. He surged out of his chair.
No, he refused to accept this.
Hank pointed a finger Amy’s way and raised his voice. “Maybe where you come from, people consider all options, but in these parts, we don’t consider options we don’t believe in.” The pain of his unruly emotions, and his shame, and his fear of his own incompetence built in his chest. “We work hard to keep what’s ours.”
He towered over her and, for the briefest moment, she shrank against the back of the couch.
Then, her green eyes glittered with defiance, like she was building her own head of steam, and she sat up straight. One cheek turned pink, only one, fascinating him. It was the damnedest thing to watch that cheek turn even redder, while the other stayed pale. Peculiar. Another of those words he loved.
Forget the damn words you love!
She was casting a spell over him. Was this how she worked? Pulling men into some kind of obsession? Damned if he’d let her.
He felt the heat and anger of his own helplessness, at his own lack of control over the ranch he’d grown up on and loved, steamroll over this petite, dangerously beautiful woman.
“You’ll sell this ranch over my dead body,” he hollered.
He turned and stormed from the room, only to draw up short. Willie was herding the children out of the dining room into the hall and toward the front door. They stared at Hank with wide eyes.
His gut churned. He’d never raised his voice in front of any child before.
He rushed from the house and raced across the yard to the stable.
CHAPTER THREE
AMY STARED at his retreating back. The man wasn’t as mild-mannered as he looked.
The counselors began to herd the children through the front door.
“Take them to the field and start a game,” Willie said. The counselors nodded.
Willie walked to where she sat on the sofa.
“He has a temper,” she said, glancing at him for confirmation, but the ranch foreman looked at her as if she’d crawled out from under a rock.
“That there,” he said, leaning toward her, “is the first time I’ve seen that boy lose his temper since he was sixteen.”
He smacked his dirty hat onto his gray hair and pinned Amy with shrewd eyes. He got close enough for her to smell coffee on his breath. “You couldn’ a picked a better way to make an enemy of the sweetest boy on the face of this earth.”
He left the room, the heels of his cowboy boots banging reproach on the floor of the hall.
Amy sat dazed.
She’d seen the censure of every child and teenager standing in the hall when Hank had stormed out. Rather than blame him for his bad behavior, they’d looked at her as if she were the one at fault.
She raised her hand to her hot cheek, thinking of the way Hank had looked at her a few moments ago, not with the heat of anger, but with something almost like hunger. Then rage had taken its place, all of it directed at her.
The commingled heat of anger and chagrin burned through her.
How dare Hank make her look bad in front of these children?
Two years ago, she would have found a way to handle the situation better, but she was so far off her stride these days. Why hadn’t Leila warned Hank about this option? Perhaps she’d been wary of Hank’s reaction and had left it for Amy to deal with. So odd for take-charge Leila.
Amy stood and walked to her room, where she sat on her bed and fumed. How dare he treat her as if she was the villain here? He’d gotten himself into financial trouble, not her.
She had a good mind to march right back home to Billings and leave the ornery man to deal with his own problems.
Him and his useless pride. Over the past ten years, she’d often run into foolish pride in mismanaged corporations. Boards and managers who called on her for help routinely ignored her hard-won reputation and refused to consider her solutions.
Stubborn, stubborn man. Did Hank think she would be here if the situation wasn’t dire? Did he think übercapable Leila panicked at the drop of a hat?
And Willie. Did he have to look at her as if she was the cause of their problems?
She knew what would come next on Hank’s part—resistance, sly questions about her competence, the insistence on a second opinion. All in all, a noxious brew that wouldn’t let up until she either saved the ranch for them, or sold it.
She rubbed her temples. She was so darn tired of fighting, and she wasn’t sure she had the patience left to help people who wouldn’t help themselves.
The hell with it.
She was leaving.
She picked up her purse and dragged her suitcase from the bed.
As she reached the door, an image of Leila’s worried face popped into her mind. Leila had been her rock for the past two years. Amy owed her big-time and didn’t resent the debt one iota.
She sighed. Of course she wouldn’t leave. One more image of Leila’s normally indomitable face creased with worry was enough to make Amy stay put.
More importantly, if Amy went home, she would be back to square one. Living like a hermit. Ignoring decisions that needed to be made about her business. Wallowing in self-pity.
Leila hadn’t asked Amy to come. Amy had volunteered, both for her friend and for herself.
It was time to get over her problems and get on with life. These children could help her.
She set down her bags, walked to the window and stared at the massive fields of waving grain, at the neat-as-a-pin grounds, and at the large solid buildings—stables, barns, garages—all white and red in the blazing sun. Not one sign of neglect.
Admittedly Hank took care of the place.
In one of the fenced corrals, a mother horse and her baby nuzzled noses. Colt? Calf? No, calves were cows. Weren’t they?
This ranch could help her.
She’d stay.
For one week.
Not one day longer.
If an accountant with her skills couldn’t set this place right in a week, then it was time to change careers.
Amy took a deep, sustaining breath and turned from the window. She needed to call her mother, who would fret until she heard from Amy.
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed the number in Billings.
“Hello?” Mother’s voice quavered more with each passing week.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“I was expecting you to call a long time ago, you know?” Rarely