The Swinging R Ranch: The Swinging R Ranch / Whose Line Is It Anyway?

The Swinging R Ranch

Whose Line is it Anyway?

Debbi Rawlins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

The Swinging R Ranch

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Whose Line is it Anyway?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

The Swinging R Ranch

Debbi Rawlins

“He’s taking over the ranch. Aren’t you, Mr. Bennett?”

Max blinked and took a good look at Rosie. Her hair wasn’t blond. It was white. Attractive, but white. Looking a little closer, he guessed her to be in her late sixties. Was she the cook?

His gaze strayed over the other woman and he tried not to gape. She’d removed her apron and her black lace top fit her like a second skin.

“Max.” Mona grabbed his hand. “I assume I can call you Max? And of course, you already know I’m Mona. Mona Lisa.” Pointing to the other woman, she added, “And this here is Rosie Peach.”

“Mona Lisa. Rosie Peach,” Max repeated slowly, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.

Mona nodded. “Candy Kane is out shopping, but she should be home soon. There’s only the three of us these days.”

Max swallowed.

Mona and Rosie exchanged knowing looks. Then Rosie smiled. “Don’t worry, Max,” she said, patting his arm. “There may be snow on the chimney, but there’s still fire in the furnace.”

Dear Reader,

The state of Nevada is the last place I thought I’d ever set a story. It’s a desert, for crying out loud! Well, not only did I set my first Double Duets in that wonderful, wacky place, but I actually bought a house there. And guess what? I love it!

Even reading the newspapers in Nevada is entertaining—and inspiring! In fact, I came up with the idea behind The Swinging R Ranch when I read an article about a local brothel. How could I help playing the “what if” game in my head with all the juicy material I was finding? I’m still not sure how I came up with the name of the town—Bingo. I’d never played the game, and thought I wouldn’t like it. Now I’m hopelessly addicted, and on most hot afternoons, you’ll find me feverishly daubing numbers in the Bingo Room of The Reserve Casino. Just don’t tell my editor. She thinks I’m writing.

I hope the people of Bingo brighten up your days the way they’ve brightened mine.

Enjoy,

Books by Debbi Rawlins

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

691—MARRY ME, BABY

730—THE BRIDE TO BE…OR NOT TO BE?

741—IF WISHES WERE…HUSBANDS

780—STUD FOR HIRE?

808—HIS, HERS AND THEIRS

This is for the ladies of The Reserve Bingo Room—the best bingo agents in Nevada!

And a special acknowledgment to Carol, “the pretty one.”

1

“EVER CONSIDER WORKING for a living?”

The voice seemed to echo down a long tunnel. Max Bennett buried his head deeper under his pillow. It was practically the middle of the night. He was alone. Had to be a dream.

At a slight scraping sound, he peeked through one eye. Light flooded the room. Someone had opened the drapes.

He cursed into the pillow and closed his eye again. He’d thought he was alone. Had what’s-her-name from last night come home with him? You’d think he’d remember that.

“Come on, you bum. Rise and shine.”

Max let out a sigh of relief. It was only Taylor’s voice. Rolling over, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. His vision blurred and he had to squint. Groaning, he let his head drop back to the pillow. “For God’s sake, it’s only noon.”

“So, you can waste just half the day for a change.” She tugged at the covers he was trying to pull over his head and they landed bunched at his waist. “Did I tell you Hastings submitted his resignation? My firm will need a good contract lawyer.”

All Max had on was a pair of black silk boxers but that wouldn’t faze Taylor so there was no chance of embarrassing her into leaving. She’d been his best friend since their first year in law school. Although they’d dated once, they decided they made better friends. Taylor was ambitious, dedicated, serious. Everything he wasn’t. Of course she didn’t have three generations of blue-blooded Bennetts paying her tab.

“Very funny,” he mumbled and tried to get comfortable again.

“I wasn’t being funny. I’m dead serious.”

Oh, man. Serious was even worse. He hated when she got serious. When any woman did.

“If you came all the way over here to offer me a job, then you just wasted half your day,” he said, and she gave him a disappointed look. “Your time would be better spent finding a way to break into my trust fund.”

He squinted at the top of the nightstand again. His gold watch sat next to an engraved lighter he didn’t recognize. Where the hell was the aspirin?

“If you weren’t so damn lazy you’d have read the will and already figured out that’s impossible. Your grandmother was very specific about your money being dispensed in five-year increments.” Sighing, she reached behind the lamp and produced a small bottle of aspirin. “Why did you bother going to Harvard? You don’t need a law degree to be a vagrant.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Get me some water, huh?”

She stayed put and held up an envelope. “You should have told me about this.”

He stared at the unfamiliar envelope. “I’ve got the Aspen ski trip coming up, then the baccarat tournament in Monte Carlo. I need some serious cash. So unless that pertains to me getting at my trust fund early, I’m not interested.”

Shaking two white tablets out of the bottle into his palm, he contemplated trying to down them without water. A nasty thought. But so was rolling out of bed and trudging all the way across his room to the bathroom.

“You’ve inherited a ranch.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He sank back against the pillows. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks to get me some water.”

“Did you know it’s located in Nevada?”

“Yeah, I even know that’s a state. I checked.”

“Hope you didn’t strain yourself,” she said as she walked toward the bathroom. She returned with a crystal goblet of water and handed it to him. “This is only because I want you alert and concentrating. Now, who in the world is this Lily McIntyre who left you the ranch? Surely not one of the Bennetts. I doubt they’ve ventured west of Boston. Too uncivilized for them.”

He wasn’t offended by her remark. It was true. “Lily’s my great-aunt on my mother’s side.”

“Have I met her?”

“Nope. Neither have I.”

Taylor frowned. “I always thought you had a pretty close family.”

“Ah, but we like to leave the skeletons in the closet.”

Curiosity sparkled in her eyes as she sat at the edge of his bed. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

He grinned, then grimaced. His head still hurt like hell. “Okay, I confess…I don’t know anything about Aunt Lily. But she’s gotta be the family skeleton because everyone has suddenly developed acute hearing and speech losses. Then there’s the fact she was stuck out on some small ranch in the desert.”

“Think again. This ‘small’ ranch sits on over three hundred acres.”

Max sat up, alert suddenly. “You think it’s income producing?”

“Don’t get too excited. Nevada is still the desert.” She frowned and shook her head. “There’s something strange about this letter. Did you even bother to read it?”

“Yeah, most of it.” Taylor could be so damn annoying at times. Who wouldn’t have been interested in an inheritance? Even if it was a ranch. Cash would be better, especially when he had three more years before he’d be solvent again. “But it doesn’t make sense. A ranch is supposed to have cows and horses and chickens…stuff like that, right?”

She shrugged. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know about chickens though. Aren’t they raised on farms with pigs?”

One side of Max’s mouth lifted in wry amusement. They’d both lived their entire lives in Boston, he on Beacon Hill, Taylor in Roxburry.

She frowned thoughtfully as her gaze scanned the letter. “It’s near a town called Bingo. All that acreage should be worth something.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Her cell phone rang. “So you’re just going to roll over and play dead?”

Max smiled. “No, I’m going to let you look into it for me.”

She glanced up before taking the call. “God, you’re so predictable.”

He was about to make a crack when she answered the phone, her tone crisp and businesslike. If he knew Taylor, he wouldn’t be getting rid of her soon, so he thought about hopping into the shower. And then he heard her mention Nevada.

He shook his head with a half smile. Of course she was already on the case. Probably had had her calls forwarded. She was efficient, if nothing else.

“Isn’t there anyone besides Mr. Southby who can help me regarding a letter he sent out on the fifth?” she asked into the receiver. “When do you expect him?”

After a brief pause, she said, “It’s the middle of the week. He can’t just go fishing and not say what day he’ll be back.” Taylor’s expression tightened. “That’s not good enough. I need someone to help me now.”

Max checked a grin. It was really too bad about Taylor and him. There was so much to like about her. Yet the lack of chemistry was the least of their problems. As an attorney she could be a pit bull, which was good. But as a life partner, he needed someone who wasn’t so ambitious, someone more fun-loving and adventurous, like himself. And if she had her own trust fund, all the better.

“Yes, regarding the Swinging R Ranch. I’m Mr. Bennett’s attorney, and we’re somewhat confused about the lack of inventory outlined in Mr. Southby’s letter, or maybe livestock is a better word. Anyway—”

Her sudden silence drew his wary attention. He looked up at her stunned face.

“Would you please repeat that?” Color slowly tinted her cheeks. She visibly swallowed. “I see.” Then she cleared her throat, and he could tell she wanted to laugh. “I’ll be sure and tell him. Uh-huh. Yes, I will. Oh, I suspect he’ll be arriving in Bingo within a few days.”

He frowned as their gazes met. She couldn’t mean him.

Her sudden grin told him otherwise. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Crabtree.” She hung up the phone, not even trying to hide her amusement.

Whatever foolishness she was up to, he wasn’t in the mood. Only one thing interested him. “Is the ranch profitable?”

“Oh, I suspect it might be.”

“And?”

“Congratulations, Mr. Bennett.” Taylor struggled to stifle a laugh. “You’re the proud owner of an honest-to-goodness, legal-as-a-copper-penny brothel.”

“GOOD EVENING, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Abby Cunningham for Mayor dinner. Of course, as you all know, I’m Cabby Anningham.” Letting out a shriek of disgust, Abby made a face at her tired reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She’d known most of the people who’d be at the dinner since she’d started toddling around Bingo twenty-five years ago. How she could still get so nervous and tongue-tied was beyond her comprehension.

Her stomach in knots, she padded out of the bathroom, into her bedroom and headed straight for the dish of peanut M&M’s sitting on her dresser. Chocolate wouldn’t cure her nerves. In fact, she’d probably end up with a face full of zits for the dinner tomorrow night, but right now, those little suckers were the only things that would get her through this rehearsal.

She still had to decide whether to wear her hair up in a more sophisticated style, like maybe a French twist, or leave it long and loose to her shoulders the way she always wore it. The people of Bingo tended to favor familiarity, but Abby wasn’t sure how much her age was a deterrent. Twenty-six was awfully young to be mayor. Even if her father had held the office for three terms, as did his father before him.

After carefully sorting four red candies from the rest of the colors, she sank to her bed, leaned back against the pillows and started popping the M&M’s into her mouth. She’d eat the green ones next, and then the rest in no particular order. It wasn’t that she was superstitious exactly, but she saw no point in changing her habits now.

“Abby…yoo-hoo. Abby, I’m home.”

At the sound of her grandmother’s voice, Abby bolted upright and slid the dish of candy into her underwear drawer. She swallowed the last M&M whole, then cleared her throat. “I’m in my room, Gramms.”

Estelle Cunningham instantly appeared in the doorway. Her smile faded, her gaze narrowed, and she sniffed the air. “I smell chocolate.”

“In here?” Abby laughed. “You’re imagining things. Do you think I should wear my hair up or down tomorrow night?” She twisted it up and sent her grandmother a questioning look.

Gramms brushed past her, sniffing, and went unerringly to the dresser drawer. Abby’s only hope now was that the ill-favored peanut variety she’d purposely bought would discourage Gramms.

“Really, Abby, you shouldn’t mix these with your unmentionables.” Estelle sat on the bed with the dish on her lap, scooped out an orange-colored one and carefully nibbled the coating and chocolate off the nut. “You know, maybe that’s how someone thought to invent those edible panties. Do you suppose? I think they’re called Candies, or some such thing.”

“How do you know about that?” Abby frowned. “You’ve been hanging around those women at the Swinging R again, haven’t you?” She grabbed the dish of M&M’s. “And no more of these. Doctor’s orders.”

“You have no business talking to my doctor, Abigail. No business at all. You forget who’s the grandmother here.” She shook her snow-white head and briefly eyed the candy before directing her stern blue gaze at Abby. “And don’t let me hear you referring to the ladies of the Swinging R as those women again. Shame on you. Why, Rosie, Mona and Candy have all contributed handsomely to your campaign fund, young lady.”

Sighing, Abby sat beside her grandmother and patted her age-spotted hand. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It’s not that I don’t appreciate their support, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to be passing out gift certificates for future services at the Ranch.”

“Why not? The gift certificates are separate from the ‘Vote for Abby’ flyer. They’re stapled together but we were very careful not to make it sound like a bribe.”

“We? You haven’t been…Oh, Gramms.” Slumping, Abby dug into the bowl and popped candies into her mouth without regard to color. Why bow to superstition? Her career was probably over anyway.

Estelle chuckled. “You young people think everything is such a big deal, that the whole world is going to come to an end if one little thing goes out of whack in your life.” Her smile gentled, reminding Abby so much of her father that it made her chest ache with fresh grief. At forty-eight, her parents had been too young to die. But the driver of the speeding semitruck hadn’t taken that into consideration.

“I know you disapprove of the Swinging R,” Estelle continued, “but brothels are legal in this county and the place is practically an institution. Folks don’t mind having the ladies around. They’ve always contributed to the community just like everyone else.”

Abby decided to keep further comment to herself. There was no point in upsetting her grandmother. Besides, she really didn’t have anything against the Swinging R, as long as her grandmother didn’t start hanging around there too much. “I know,” she said, passing her two M&M’s. “And I’ll welcome each of their votes.”

Gramms frowned. “Don’t be stingy with those. You weren’t raised that way.”

“You know what the doctor said—”

“Abigail, you’re only twenty-six. How can you be such an old fa—?”

The phone rang, cutting off their conversation. Just as well, Abby thought as her grandmother pushed off the bed to get it in the next room. Abby had heard the admonishments before. Many times, in fact. She was too serious, too responsible, too staid for a person her age. Baloney. All of it.

Even if it were true, it wasn’t as if Abby had a choice. She was all Gramms had and someone had to look after her. Next month she’d be seventy without a hint of slowing down. That’s why Abby never bothered to get the phone anymore. It was always for Gramms.

“Some of the girls want to go play bingo tonight,” Gramms said as she breezed back into the room. “We’re going to grab a bite to eat on the way.”

Abby smiled, tucking her disappointment away. “No fries or cheeseburgers, and definitely no cheesecake.”

Her grandmother made a face. “I was going to ask you to come with us, but now I’m not so sure.” Her gaze strayed to the clothes spread out across the bed. Then her eyes met Abby’s. “Did you have plans for us tonight?”

“No.” Abby shrugged off the lie. “I’m just trying to decide what to wear tomorrow night.”

Gramms frowned at the selection, then went to the closet and pulled out the short red dress she’d given Abby last Christmas. “This is what you should wear. Not one of those old fuddy duddy navy or gray suits. Now let’s go.”

Abby took the dress and gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. “Go have fun. I’m still practicing my speech.”

Gramms waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to do that. You’ll beat old man Cleghorn just by showing up. No one wants that antiquated fool back in the saddle.” She put a finger to her temple, and lowered her voice even though there was no one else in the house. “His chimney’s been clogged for some time now, and he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when he was in his prime, if you know what I mean.”

Abby wasn’t sure she did, but she knew better than to ask. “I don’t want to win by default, Gramms. I want to win because I’m the best person for the job.”

Estelle’s eyes widened. “Everyone from here to Las Vegas knows you care more about this town than a bear loves honey. Even when all your friends flew the coop after college, you came right back here. Not that I agree with your decision, mind you.” Gramms gave her that gentle smile again that made Abby’s heart constrict. “No one here doubts your ability or your loyalty, Abigail. And when you win, it isn’t going to be by default or because your name is Cunningham.”

“Thanks, Gramms.” Abby sweetly smiled back. “But you still aren’t getting any more M&M’s.”

Estelle’s smile faded and she snorted. “Don’t buy the peanut ones anymore. They get in my dentures.”

“Good. Don’t eat them. Now, outta here. The girls are waiting for you.”

Gramms hesitated. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stick around and help you?”

“Nope. I’m just going to putter around a bit. Maybe take a nap before dinner. I made a casserole. Enough for three nights. Later maybe I’ll have time to bake a batch of cookies for your bridge club meeting on Sunday.”

Estelle frowned. “There’s something very wrong with this picture. It’s Friday night. You should be going out.”

Abby gently took her grandmother by the shoulders, faced her toward the door and walked her out of the room. “I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing.”

“Taking care of me?”

Abby grimaced at her grandmother’s weary tone. “Don’t say it like that. You hardly need a baby-sitter. I’m just a homebody, Gramms—I always have been. You know that. Now, go have fun. But don’t stay out too late.”

She hesitated again, and Abby had to give her another nudge before she grabbed her patchwork purse off the hall table. “You know I’ve loved staying with you here in your daddy’s house, don’t you, honey? And how much I’ve treasured our time together?”

Abby reared her head back at her grandmother’s serious tone. “You’re not leaving me and getting married or anything, are you?”

“Oh, good Lord, no.”

Abby had been teasing. Sort of. Gramms could be awfully impulsive at times. “Nothing’s going to change,” Abby assured her, realizing she was probably worried about their time together being upset by Abby’s job. “You’re not losing a granddaughter. Hopefully you’ll be gaining another mayor in the family.”

Oddly, Gramms didn’t look pleased. She merely stood motionless for a long moment, staring back with an uncertainty that made Abby uneasy. “Well, I’d better go. You know how I hate being late.”

“Gramms? Is there anything you want to tell me?”

She pushed open the front door and paused. “Just that I love you. And there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you.”

Despite the lingering summer heat, Abby walked out onto the porch, watched her grandmother climb into her car and waited until the blue sedan had disappeared behind the hedges of pink oleander that lined the end of their driveway.

The feeling that something wasn’t right stayed with her long after she’d returned to her room, selected an outfit, decided on a hairstyle, taken a nap and had some dinner. But it wasn’t until she went into Gramms’s room to get her laundry basket that Abby understood why she’d felt uneasy.

Gramms’s closet was half empty. So were her drawers. On the center of the handmade quilt that covered her bed was an envelope.

Heart pounding, Abby lunged for it.

She tore half the note along with the envelope and had to piece it together. When the message became clear, Abby let out a shriek that shook half of Bingo.

2

IT HAD ONLY BEEN AN HOUR since Max stepped off the Bennett family’s private plane and onto Nevada soil and already he hated Bingo and everything associated with it. The desert was not his idea of a good time. It was hot, dusty and he didn’t give a damn what the pilot said, Max knew he saw a friggin’ scorpion. So what that they’d still been forty feet from the ground. A scorpion was pretty damn hard to miss.