ZANE NICHOLSON BELIEVED in listening to his gut. At nine fifty-five that morning, it was telling him that today wasn’t going to be a good day.
He glanced out the window at the rolling hills that made up the Nicholson Ranch and wondered if being a farmer would have been easier. Crops didn’t break through fences in the night and wander away. Crops didn’t try to be born breech. He could be growing corn. Or wheat. Wheat was patriotic. All those amber waves.
He turned his attention back to his paperwork and shook his head. Who was he kidding? He was a fifth generation rancher. The closest he would come to farming was the vegetable garden the ranch cook grew out behind the bunkhouse.
“Hey, boss.”
Zane watched his foreman step into his office. Frank Adelman took off his worn cowboy hat, slapped it against his left thigh, then eased into the hard, plastic chair in front of the desk.
A visit from Frank before noon wasn’t going to bring good news.
“What?” Zane asked, more resigned than annoyed.
Nicholson Ranch had been annexed earlier this year by the city of Fool’s Gold, California, meaning that it was now inside the city’s jurisdiction, a decision which the mayor had sworn would be good for him. She said everyone out this way would benefit from more city services, but so far, it had only meant an increase in paperwork. He didn’t see the win, though his brother was happy about the faster internet speeds that came from the city laying cable out this way.
“There’s a busted pipe in the bunkhouse,” Frank said. “Under the kitchen sink. All the boys are out with the herd. I turned the water off, but we’re going to have to see to it today. You want me to pull someone in or call for a plumber?”
Zane dropped his pen on the desk and rubbed his temples. What he wanted was a little cooperation from fate. A couple of weeks without a crisis. Apparently that was too much to ask.
He weighed his options. Frank couldn’t take care of the busted pipe because they were expecting buyers in an hour or so, and Frank was going to take them around to see the kids. Zane had a meeting with some research scientists from Cal U, Fool’s Gold, that afternoon, which meant he couldn’t take the buyers around. A plumber from Fool’s Gold would be easiest, but he might not be able to get someone out today.
“Call in a couple of the boys,” he said at last, then shook his head. “It’s Monday, right? It always hits the fan on Monday.”
Frank grunted his agreement, then rose. The phone rang before he’d even walked to the door.
So much for getting his paperwork finished on time, Zane thought as he reached for the receiver.
“Nicholson Ranch,” he said. “This is Zane.”
“Hi,” a woman said, her voice low and friendly. “I’m calling to talk to someone about facilities. Can you help me with that?”
Zane blinked at the question. “Facilities? You mean horse boarding? We don’t do that here, ma’am. You could check with old Reilly Konopka. Last I heard he was taking in boarders. Or Castle Ranch in town. Ask for Rafe.”
The woman laughed. “No. Not facilities for my horse. I meant for my husband and myself. We’re coming up for the cattle drive this weekend, and I was wondering if there were any spa facilities. We’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I was thinking that a couple’s massage might be a nice start to our vacation. Maybe deep tissue. Or those heated rocks. Aren’t they all the rage right now?”
Massage? Vacation? Cattle drive?
“Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zane said, his temper rising steadily as a knot formed in his gut. His gut feeling turned downright ugly.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “The website didn’t say anything about a spa, but I was hoping. Can you recommend a hotel with a spa in Fool’s Gold? We’ll come a day early. I do want to be rested before we arrive for our cattle drive on Saturday.”
“Ma’am, could you please tell me about this cattle drive you’re expecting?”
“Excuse me? Aren’t you an employee of the ranch?”
He was supposed to own it. What was going on? “I’m, ah, filling in,” he lied.
“Oh. All right. My husband and I are going on a cattle drive.”
She chatted away, giving details, including the website where she’d first found her vacation. While she continued to talk, Zane turned to his computer and typed in the web address. When the site popped up, his jaw dropped. He barely remembered to say goodbye before hanging up the phone.
In less than two minutes he’d explored the site, which detailed all the delights of a Northern California cattle-drive vacation. On Zane’s ranch. There was only one person who would dare a trick like that—his brother.
Rage bubbled and boiled into something Zane couldn’t begin to name. It filled him until he knew he was going to explode.
Chase had screwed up before, countless times, but compared to this new stunt, all that had been kids’ stuff. What had he been thinking?
Zane stood and headed for the door, then stopped himself. He wanted to hit something, throw something, break something. If he went to Chase right now, he would say and do a lot of things they would both regret. He knew the kid saw him as a cross between the devil incarnate and the worst guardian since Scrooge. He also knew Chase was nearly an adult, and if the teen didn’t get his shit together, he was going to spend his life screwing up and living with regrets.
Regrets. The single word was enough to calm Zane’s temper. He’d lived with them himself, since he was Chase’s age. They had a way of eating at a man’s insides. Of making him want to outrun the wind, if only he could leave the past behind. But the world wasn’t that tidy. Once done, a thing couldn’t be undone. He didn’t want that for his brother.
Ever since Chase had been a toddler, following him around the ranch, mimicking his every move, Zane had loved him so much, it was painful at times. He had vowed back then to watch out for the kid, to protect him—even from himself.
So instead of going gunning for Chase, he returned to his desk to consider the best course of action. Once and for all he was determined to teach his brother about responsibility so he could become the kind of man who respected himself. The kind of man who didn’t have to live with the ghost of blame.
* * *
“I’VE DECIDED NOT to put you in prison, Ms. Kitzke,” Judge Haverston said, looking stern as she peered over her half-glasses. “I believe you had the best of intentions.” She paused. “You know what they say about the road to hell.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“There will be no punitive damages. The earnest money will be refunded.” She glanced at the paperwork on her wide desk, then gave her gavel a light tap. “I believe we are adjourned.”
Phoebe Kitzke remained standing as everyone else in the small Los Angeles courtroom was told to rise. Judge Haverston swept through the doorway leading to her chambers, or whatever it was that judges had. The legal secret place, she thought, looking for humor but unable to feel anything except lingering terror. Hopefully relief would soon follow.
Not going to prison was a good thing, she reminded herself. She’d seen plenty of teenage prison movies when she’d stayed up late watching cable while babysitting back in high school. She knew what sorts of things could happen. Far better to stay on the right side of the law.
Phoebe shook hands with the company attorney and thanked him for his help, then turned to find her boss, April Keller, waiting for her. April was taller than Phoebe—who wasn’t?—and the kind of sun-streaked blonde Southern California was famous for. Phoebe had always felt a bit out of