Two-Week Texas Seduction

Two

Afternoon sunlight lanced through the mini blinds covering the broad west-facing window in Brandee’s home office, striping the computer keyboard and her fingers as they flew across the keys. She’d been working on the budget for her summer camp, trying to determine where she could siphon off a few extra dollars to buy three more well-trained, kid-friendly horses.

She’d already invested far more in the buildings and infrastructure than she’d initially intended. And because she needed to get the first of three projected bunkhouses built in time for her summer session, she’d been forced to rely on outside labor to get the job done.

Brandee spun her chair and stared out the window that overlooked the large covered patio, with its outdoor kitchen and fieldstone fireplace. She loved spending time outside, even in the winter, and had created a cozy outdoor living room.

Buying this five-thousand-acre parcel outside Royal four years ago had been Brandee’s chance to fulfill her father’s dream. She hadn’t minded having to build a ranch from the ground up after the tornado had nearly wiped her out. In fact, she’d appreciated the clean slate and relished the idea of putting her stamp on the land. She’d set the L-shaped one-story ranch house half a mile off the highway and a quarter mile from the buildings that housed her ranch hands and the outbuildings central to her cow-calving operation.

The original house, built by the previous owner, had been much bigger than this one and poorly designed. Beaux Cook had been a Hollywood actor with grand ideas of becoming a real cowboy. The man had preferred flash over substance, and never bothered to learn anything about the ranching. Within eighteen months, he’d failed so completely as a rancher that Brandee had bought the property for several million less than it was worth.

Brandee was the third owner of the land since it had been lifted from unclaimed status ten years earlier. Emmitt Shaw had been the one who’d secured the parcel adjacent to his ranch by filing a claim and paying the back taxes for the five thousand acres of abandoned land after a trust put into place a century earlier to pay the taxes had run out of money. Health issues had later compelled him to sell off the land to Beaux to pay his medical bills and keep his original ranch running.

However, in the days following the massive storm, while Brandee was preoccupied with her own devastated property, Shane Delgado had taken advantage of the old rancher’s bad health and losses from the tornado to gobble up his ranch to develop luxury homes. If she’d known how bad Beaux’s situation had become, she would’ve offered to buy his land for a fair price.

Instead, she was stuck sharing her property line with his housing development. Brandee liked the raw, untamed beauty of the Texas countryside, and resented Delgado’s determination to civilize the landscape with his luxury homes and fancy resort development. Her father had been an old-school cowboy, fond of endless vistas of Texas landscape populated by cattle, rabbits, birds and the occasional mountain lion. He wouldn’t be a fan of Shane Delgado’s vision for his daughter’s property.

Her smartphone chimed, indicating she’d received a text message. There was a phone number, but no name. She read the text and her heart received a potent shock.

Hope Springs Ranch rightfully belongs to Shane Delgado. –Maverick

Too outraged to consider the wisdom of engaging with the mysterious sender, she picked up the phone and texted back.

Who is this and what are you talking about?

Her computer immediately pinged, indicating she’d received an email. She clicked to open the message. It was from Maverick.

Give up your Texas Cattleman’s Club membership and wire fifty thousand dollars to the account below or I’ll be forced to share this proof of ownership with Delgado. You have two weeks to comply.

Ignoring the bank routing information, Brandee double-clicked on the attachment. It was a scan of a faded, handwritten document, a letter dated March 21, 1899, written by someone named Jasper Crowley. He offered a five-thousand-acre parcel as a dowry to the man who married his daughter, Amelia. From the description of the land, it was the five thousand acres Hope Springs Ranch occupied.

Brandee’s outrage dissipated, but uneasiness remained.

This had to be a joke. Nothing about the documentation pointed to Shane. She was ready to dismiss the whole thing when the name Maverick tickled her awareness. Where had she heard it mentioned before? Cecelia Morgan had spoken the name before one of the contentious meetings at the TCC clubhouse. Was Cecelia behind this? Given the demands, it made sense.

Brandee had been doing her best to thwart every power play Cecelia, Simone and Naomi had attempted. There was no way she was going to let the terrible trio bully their way into leadership positions with the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Was this their way of getting her to shut up?

She responded to the email.

This doesn’t prove anything.

This isn’t an empty threat, was the immediate response. Shaw didn’t search for Crowley’s descendants. I did.

That seemed to indicate that Maverick had proof that Crowley and Shane were related. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t ignore this. Brandee set her hands on the edge of the desk and shoved backward, muttering curses. The office wasn’t big enough for her to escape the vile words glowing on the screen, so she got up and left the room to clear her head.

How dare they? She stalked down the hall to the living area, taking in the perfection of her home along the way.

Everything she had was tied up in Hope Springs Ranch. If she wasn’t legally entitled to the land, she’d be ruined. Selling the cattle wouldn’t provide enough capital for her to start again. And what would become of her camp?

Sweat broke out on Brandee’s forehead. Throwing open her front door, she lifted her face to the cool breeze and stepped onto the porch, which ran the full length of her home. Despite the chilly February weather, she settled in a rocker and drew her knees to her chest. Usually contemplating the vista brought her peace. Not today.

What if that document was real and it could be connected to Shane? She dropped her forehead to her knees and groaned. This was a nightmare. Or maybe it was just a cruel trick. The ranch could not belong to Shane Delgado. Whoever Maverick was, and she suspected it was the unholy trio of Cecelia, Simone and Naomi, there was no way this person could be right.

The land had been abandoned. The taxes had ceased being paid. Didn’t that mean the acres reverted back to the government? There had to be a process that went into securing unclaimed land. Something that went beyond simply paying the back taxes. Surely Emmitt had followed every rule and procedure. But what if he hadn’t? What was she going to do? She couldn’t lose Hope Springs Ranch. And especially not to the likes of Shane Delgado.

It took a long time for Brandee’s panic to recede. Half-frozen, she retreated inside and began to plan. First on the agenda was to determine if the document was legitimate. Second, she needed to trace Shane back to Jasper Crowley. Third, she needed to do some research on the process for purchasing land that had returned to the government because of unpaid back taxes.

The blackmailer had given her two weeks. It wasn’t a lot of time, but she was motivated. And if she proved Shane was the owner of her land? She could comply with Maverick’s demands. Fifty thousand wasn’t peanuts, but she had way more than that sitting in her contingency fund. She’d pay three times that to keep Shane Delgado from getting his greedy hands on her land.

And if she absolutely had to, she could resign from the Texas Cattleman’s Club. She’d earned her membership the same way club members of old had: by making Hope Springs a successful ranch and proving herself a true cattleman. It would eat at her to let Cecelia, Simone and Naomi bully her into giving up the club she deserved to be a part of, but she could yield the high ground if it meant her programs for at-risk teenagers would be able to continue.

Bile rose as she imagined herself facing the trio’s triumphant smirks. How many times in school had she stood against the mean girls and kept her pride intact? They’d ridiculed her bohemian style and tormented anyone brave enough to be friends with her. In turn, she’d manipulated their boyfriends into dumping them and exposed their villainous backstabbing to the whole school.

It wasn’t something Brandee was proud of, but to be fair, she’d been dealing with some pretty major ugliness at home and hadn’t been in the best frame of mind to take the high road.

When it came to taking care of herself, Brandee had learned how to fight dirty from her father’s ranch hands. They’d treated her like a little sister and given her tips on how to get the upper hand in any situation. Brandee had found their advice useful after she’d moved in with her mother and had to cope with whatever flavor of the month she’d shacked up with.

Not all her mother’s boyfriends had been creeps, but enough of them had turned their greedy gaze Brandee’s way to give her a crash course in manipulation as a method of self-preservation.

And now those skills were going to pay off in spades. Because she intended to do whatever it took to save her ranch, and heaven help anyone who got in her way.

* * *

Standing in what would eventually become the grotto at Pure, the spa in his luxury resort project, The Bellamy, Shane was in an unhappy frame of mind. He surveyed the half-finished stacked stone pillars and the coffered ceiling above the narrow hot tub. In several months, Pure would be the most amazing spa Royal had ever seen, offering a modern take on a traditional Roman bath with a series of soothing, luxurious chambers in which guests could relax and revive.

Right now, the place was a disaster.

“I’m offering people the experience of recharging in an expensive, perfectly designed space,” Shane reminded his project manager. “What about this particular stone says expensive or perfect?” He held up a sample of the stacked stone. “This is not what I ordered.”

“Let me check on it.”

“And then there’s that.” Shane pointed to the coffered ceiling above the hot tub. “That is not the design I approved.”

“Let me check on that, as well.”

Shane’s phone buzzed, reminding him of his next appointment.

“We’ll have to pick this up first thing tomorrow.” Even though he was reluctant to stop when he had about fifty more details that needed to be discussed, Shane only had fifteen minutes until he was supposed to be at his mother’s home for their weekly dinner, and it was a twenty-minute drive to her house.

Shane wound his way through The Bellamy’s construction site, seeing something that needed his attention at every turn. He’d teamed with hotelier Deacon Chase to create the architectural masterpiece, and the scope of the project—and the investment—was enormous.

Sitting on fifty-plus acres of lavish gardens, the resort consisted of two hundred and fifty luxury suites, tricked out with cutting-edge technology. The complex also contained fine farm-to-table dining and other amenities. Every single detail had to be perfect.

He texted his mother before he started his truck, letting her know he was going to be delayed, and her snarky response made him smile. Born Elyse Flynn, Shane’s mother had left her hometown of Boston at twenty-two with a degree in geoscience, contracted to do a field study of the area near Royal. There, she’d met Shane’s father, Landon, and after a whirlwind six-month romance, married him and settled in at Bullseye, the Delgado family ranch.

After Landon died and Shane took over the ranch, Elyse had moved to a home in Pine Valley, the upscale gated community with a clubhouse, pool and eighteen-hole golf course. Although she seemed content in her six-thousand-square-foot house, when Shane began his housing development near Royal, she’d purchased one of the five-acre lots and begun the process of planning her dream home.

Each week when he visited, she had another architectural design for him to look over. In the last year she’d met with no fewer than a dozen designers. Her wish list grew with each new innovation she saw. There were days when Shane wondered if she’d ever settle on a plan. And part of him dreaded that day because he had a feeling she would then become his worst client ever.

When he entered the house, she was standing in the doorway leading to the library, a glass of red wine in her hand.

“There you are at last,” she said, waving him over for a kiss. “Come see how brilliant Thomas is. His latest plan is fantastic.”

Thomas Kitt was the architect Elyse was currently leaning toward. She hadn’t quite committed to his design, but she’d been speaking of him in glowing terms for the last month.

“He’s bumped out the kitchen wall six inches and that gives me the extra room I need so I can go for the thirty-inch built-in wine storage. Now I just need to decide if I want to do the one with the drawers so I can store cheese and other snacks or go with the full storage unit.”

She handed Shane the glass of wine she’d readied for him and gestured to the plate of appetizers that sat on samples of granite and quartz piled on the coffee table.

Shane crossed to where she’d pinned the latest drawings to a magnetic whiteboard. “I’d go with the full storage. That’ll give you room for an extra sixty bottles.”

“You’re right.” Elyse grinned at her son. “Sounds like a trip to Napa is in my future.”

“Why don’t you wait until we break ground?” At the rate his mother was changing her mind, he couldn’t imagine the project getting started before fall.

“Your father was always the practical one in our family.” Elyse’s smile faded at the memory of her deceased husband. “But you’ve really taken over that role. He’d be very proud of you.”

Landon Delgado had never been proud of his son.

You’ve got nothing going for you but a slick tongue and a cocky attitude, his father had always said.

Elyse didn’t seem to notice the dip in her son’s mood as she continued, “Is it crazy that I like the industrial feel to this unit?” She indicated the brochure on high-end appliances.

Shane appreciated how much fun his mother was having with the project. He wrapped his arm around her and dropped a kiss on her head. “Whatever you decide is going to be a showstopper.”

“I hope so. Suzanne has been going on and on about the new house she’s building in your development to the point where I want to throw her and that pretentious designer she hired right through a plate-glass window.”

Growing up with four older brothers gave Elyse a competitive spirit in constant need of a creative outlet. Her husband hadn’t shared her interests. Landon Delgado had liked ranching and believed in hard work over fancy innovation. He’d often spent long hours in the saddle moving cattle or checking fences. His days began before sunup and rarely ended until long after dinner. When he wasn’t out and about on the ranch, he could be found in his office tending to the business side.

To Landon’s dismay, Shane hadn’t inherited his father’s love of all things ranching. Maybe that was because as soon as Shane could sit up by himself, his father had put him on a horse, expecting Shane to embrace the ranching life. But he’d come to hate the way his every spare moment was taken up by ranch duties assigned to him by his father.

You aren’t going to amount to anything if you can’t handle a little hard work.

About the time he’d hit puberty, Shane’s behavior around the ranch had bloomed into full-on rebellion, and when Shane turned fifteen, the real battles began. He started hanging out with older friends who had their own cars. Most days he didn’t come home right after school and dodged all his chores. His buddies liked to party. He’d been forced to toil alongside his father since he was three years old. Didn’t he deserve to have a little fun?

According to his father, the answer was no.

You’re wrong if you think that grin of yours is all you need to make it in this world.

“So what have you cooked up for us tonight?” Shane asked as he escorted his mother to the enormous kitchen at the back of the house.

“Apricot-and-Dijon-glazed salmon.” Although Elyse employed a full-time housekeeper, she enjoyed spending time whipping up gourmet masterpieces. “I got the recipe from the man who catered Janice Hunt’s dinner party. I think I’m going to hire him to cater the Bullseye’s centennial party,” Elyse continued, arching an eyebrow at her son’s blank expression.

Shane’s thoughts were so consumed with The Bellamy project these days, he’d forgotten all about the event. “The centennial party. When is that again?”

“March twenty-first. I’ve arranged a tasting with Vincent on the twenty-fourth of this month so we can decide what we’re going to have.”

“We?” He barely restrained a groan. “Don’t you have one of your friends who could help with this?”

“I do, but this is your ranch we’re celebrating and your legacy.”

“Sure. Of course.” Shane had no interest in throwing a big party for the ranch, but gave his mother his best smile. “A hundred years is a huge milestone and we will celebrate big.”

This seemed to satisfy his mother. Elyse was very social. She loved to plan parties and when Shane was growing up there had often been dinners with friends and barbecues out by the pool. Often Shane had wondered how a vibrant, beautiful urbanite like his mother had found happiness with an overly serious, rough-around-the-edges Texas rancher. But there was no question that in spite of their differences, his parents had adored each other, and the way Landon had doted on his wife was the one area where Shane had seen eye to eye with his father.

At that moment Brandee Lawless popped into his mind. There was a woman he wanted to sweep into his arms and never let go. He imagined sending her hat spinning away and tunneling his fingers through her long golden hair as he pulled her toward him for a hot, sexy kiss.

But he’d noticed her regarding him with the same skepticism he used to glimpse in his father’s eyes. She always seemed to be peering beyond his charm and wit to see what he was made of. He’d never been able to fool her with the mask he showed to the world. It was unsettling. When she looked at him, she seemed to expect...more.

Someday people are going to figure out that you’re all show and no substance.

So far he’d been lucky and that hadn’t happened. But where Brandee was concerned, it sure seemed like his luck was running out.

Three

After snatching too few hours of sleep, Brandee rushed through her morning chores and headed to Royal’s history museum. She hadn’t taken time for breakfast and now the coffee she’d consumed on the drive into town was eating away at her stomach lining. Bile rose in her throat as she parked in the museum lot and contemplated her upside-down world.

It seemed impossible that her life could implode so easily. That the discovery of a single piece of paper meant she could lose everything. In the wee hours of the morning as she stared at the ceiling, she’d almost convinced herself to pay Maverick the money and resign from the TCC. Saving her ranch was more important than besting the terrible trio. But she’d never been a quitter and backing down when bullied had never been her style. Besides, as authentic as the document had looked, there was no reason to believe it was real or that it was in the museum where anyone could stumble on it.

Thirty minutes later, she sat at a table in the small reference room and had her worst fears realized. Before her, encased in clear plastic, was the document she’d been sent a photo of. She tore her gaze from the damning slip of paper and looked up at the very helpful curator. From Rueben Walker’s surprise when she’d been waiting on the doorstep for the museum to open, Brandee gathered he wasn’t used to having company first thing in the morning.

“You say this is part of a collection donated to the museum after Jasper Crowley’s death?” Brandee wondered what other bombshells were to be found in the archives.

“Yes, Jasper Crowley was one of the founding members of the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Unfortunately he didn’t live to see the grand opening of the clubhouse in 1910.”

“What other sorts of things are in the collection?”

“The usual. His marriage license to Sarah McKellan. The birth certificate for their daughter, Amelia. Sarah’s death certificate. She predeceased Jasper by almost thirty years and he never remarried. Let’s see, there were bills of sale for various things. Letters between Sarah and her sister, Lucy, who lived in Austin.”

Brandee was most interested in Jasper’s daughter. The land had been her dowry. Why hadn’t she claimed it?

“Is there anything about what happened to Amelia? Did she ever get married?”

Walker regarded Brandee, his rheumy blue eyes going suddenly keen. “I don’t recall there being anything about a wedding. You could go through the newspaper archives. With someone of Jasper’s importance, his daughter’s wedding would have been prominently featured.”

Brandee had neither the time nor the patience for a random search through what could potentially be years’ worth of newspapers. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone who would be interested in helping me with the research? I’d be happy to compensate them.”

“I have a part-time assistant that comes in a few times a week. He might be able to assist you as soon as he gets back from helping his sister move to Utah.”

“When will that be?”

“Middle of next week, I think.”

Unfortunately, Maverick had only given her two weeks to meet the demands, and if the claims were true, she needed to find out as soon as possible. Brandee ground her teeth and weighed her options.

“Are the newspaper archives here?”

The curator shook his head. “They’re over at the library on microfiche.”

“Thanks for your help.” Brandee gave Reuben a quick nod before exiting the building and crossing the street.

The library was a couple blocks down and it didn’t make sense for her to move her truck. She neared Royal Diner and her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten breakfast. As impatient as she was to get to the bottom of Maverick’s claim, she would function better without hunger pangs.