The Wildes of Wyoming: Chance Page 2

  “Sorry to mislead you.” Chance’s tone chilled by degrees. “I’m not calling with good news.”

  At once the voice at the other end sharpened perceptibly. “What’s wrong, Chance?”

  “I’ve found a discrepancy in the Miller deal. We won’t be signing tomorrow, after all.”

  “We won’t be…?” The silence on the line was ominous. Simmons cleared his throat. “You know I spent months drawing up those documents.”

  “That’s why I’m calling you about this before I notify the others.”

  “You approved every word of that contract, Chance, after I had it cleared by our legal department.”

  “That’s right. But since then, some of the provisions have been changed.”

  “Changed? That’s impossible.”

  “Is it? Check page seventeen. And forty-two. You’ll find a clause on each page that wasn’t there when I approved this deal.”

  He could hear the rustle of paper and the muttered oath as Simmons found the first error. “I want you to know I didn’t approve this, Chance.”

  “Really? Then who did? Who else handled the Miller account?”

  “It was my baby. There may have been a few others who had input, but the final decisions were mine.”

  “Then the solution is simple. You find the source of the problem, and you have it cleaned up.” Chance paused for just a beat. “Or your head will be the one to roll.”

  Without waiting for a response, he disconnected and tossed the phone on the bed while he changed clothes. Minutes later the pilot’s voice came over the intercom.

  “We’re on our glide path, Mr. Wilde. We should touch down in twenty-five minutes.”

  “Thanks, Alex.” Chance picked up the phone and headed for the main cabin, where he strapped himself into the recliner, then turned to stare broodingly at the land shrouded in darkness far below.

  How his father would have loved this. Wes Wilde had known, of course, that the land would one day prove to be valuable. Hadn’t he poured his life into it? Hadn’t he risked everything to hold on to it? But he’d never dreamed of the hidden riches it would yield. Oil. Natural gas. Coal. Uranium. In the years since his death, the name Wilde had become a legend. Not just among ranchers, who considered the Double W to be some of the finest grazing lands in all of Wyoming. There was so much more to the Wilde empire than cattle. They now had corporate offices in Cheyenne, with representatives in Dallas and New York. Overseas, their representatives had offices in London, Paris and Rome.

  As their holdings grew and diversified, each of the brothers had taken charge of that part of the company that most interested him.

  The youngest, Ace, now a charming ladies’ man, liked nothing better than a game of cards, a roll of the dice and a tumble with a pretty woman. It was only natural that he was especially suited to be head of WildeMining. He considered speculating for gas, coal and uranium nothing more than a toss of the dice, only for bigger stakes.

  Hazard was now a veterinarian, whose love, as always, was the land. Since he was more at home with animals than people, it was only natural that his brothers had left the operation of the vast ranch, its lands and herds and cattle empire, to his capable care.

  Chance was still the toughest. The leader of the pack. He had mellowed enough to parlay his father’s legacy into one of the area’s most successful conglomerates. Like his brothers, he had an interest in all areas of the Wilde dynasty. But it was the oil company, WildeOil, that owned his heart. And he ran it with an iron fist.

  Chance’s next call was to his secretary in Cheyenne.

  “Carol Ann?” He paused. “Thanks. Yeah. It’s good to be heading home. I won’t be coming in tomorrow morning. The Miller signing is postponed. Let everyone involved know about the change in plans.” He listened. Nodded. “Yeah. I plan to take the copter in tomorrow afternoon. Fax me those documents. I’ll look them over on the flight in.”

  He rang off, then, on a whim, punched in a series of numbers. When he heard a voice on the other end he said, “Cody, bring my truck out to the landing strip. And throw in my rifle and parka. Oh, and have Martin follow you out with the limousine. He can bring you and the pilot and crew back to the ranch.”

  As soon as the jet landed and the door was opened, Chance stepped from the plane. A short distance away a truck and a limousine sat idling alongside the runway.

  When the drivers spotted Chance, they both stepped out to greet him.

  The driver of the limousine touched a hand to his cap. “Welcome home, Mr. Wilde.”

  “Thanks, Martin.”

  A leather-skinned cowboy with a thatch of white hair stood beside the truck. “Your old parka and rifle are right behind the seat.”

  “Thanks, Cody.”

  The two men shook hands. Chance slid behind the wheel and drove off, making a wide arc, before heading into the hills.

  “Must have something big on his mind,” the cowboy remarked to the formally dressed limousine driver. “Anytime Chance Wilde has a problem, he does one of two things. He either solves it immediately, in which case there’re just a small amount of casualties. Say, the size of a Texas massacre. Or he drives up into the hills to ponder, just like his daddy used to. And believe me, by the time he comes down from those hills, he’ll be meaner’n a wounded grizzly. And the fallout could be more like World War Three.”

  Chance sat on the big, flat rock, leaning back on his elbows so he could see the stars, high above the peaks of the Bighorn Mountains. He never tired of looking at them. Especially here. This had been his special place, where he’d often come to spend the night with his father. Even after all these years he could see his father’s face so clearly, and hear his voice sharing his philosophy with his first-born.

  I’ve been a gambler all my life, son. It wasn’t so much the winning or losing. It was just the thrill of the game. Until I won this. And I just knew this was different. Special. Take a look at this land, son. It’s all ours. As far as the eye can see. If we treat it with respect, it’ll give us everything we’ve ever dreamed of.

  But I’ve learned from experience that there are a million ways a man can lose everything. The simplest way is still the one that catches most men by surprise. It’s greed and jealousy. Don’t ever want more than you’re willing to work for. And don’t ever forget that other men will covet your treasure. They’ll try to steal it, by whatever means possible. So look over your shoulder. Mistrust any deal that sounds too good. Read every paper twice. Dot the i’s and cross the t’s. And then do it again. I know I didn’t always live by the rules. I risked everything for this land, so I could live the life I’d always wanted. This is your legacy, Chance. Yours and your brothers’. Take good care of it, son.

  Chance leaned his back against the rough stone and stretched out his legs. The rifle rested on the rock beside him. In his mind he went over the words in the Miller contract that had snagged his attention. The addition of those few words had changed the meaning entirely. It was possible, of course, that both the legal and financial departments had slipped up on the contract. But not very likely. What seemed more logical was that someone had included those words after the contract had been approved.

  But who?

  Simmons gave final approval. He was the last to read the documents before they went to signature. It would be a foolish mistake on his part to make such a blatant error, for he stood to lose everything when it came to light.

  Avery Simmons had been with them for ten years. In that time there had never been a single blot on his record. All the more reason why Avery was now suspect. If anyone wanted to do damage to WildeOil, the man to get to would be Simmons.

  Did he have a weakness that an enemy could use against him? A dirty little secret in his past? Or maybe just a fondness for money? How much would it take to buy his cooperation?

  The changes had almost slipped through without detection. With so much on his mind, Chance had almost let it get past him, trusting that his people had taken the necessary
care of the document.

  Read every paper twice. Dot the i’s and cross the t’s.

  Chance realized that it was his father’s admonition that had saved them. If he hadn’t decided to read the documents once more on his flight home, the contract would have been signed in the morning. And WildeOil would have been bound by its terms. The mistake would have cost them millions.

  Chance closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the wind whispering among the pines. Though he looked for all the world like a man at rest, in truth, his mind was mulling over every possible solution to the problem. And just below the calm surface, his temper was simmering.

  Maggie Fuller awoke with a start and struggled to sit up. Passing a hand over her face she waited for the feeling of panic to pass.

  She’d had the nightmare again. She’d been back home in Chicago. A shadowy figure was chasing her between buildings, down an alley. Suddenly she found herself trapped. No way to escape. And the figure kept coming closer, closer. In his hand was a gun. He lifted it, took aim, fired. And then, as always, before the bullet could reach her, she awoke. Cold. Trembling. Her heart racing. Her breathing ragged. And the beginning of another headache just behind her eyes. The headaches were something new. Just one more thing to deal with, in a life that had once been as normal as apple pie. A life that had suddenly begun a long, frightening slide out of control.

  She glanced at the bedside clock. Nearly four. Not a civilized time to be up, but she couldn’t face going back to sleep and dealing with the night terror.

  She took a long shower, letting the spray of hot water soothe her. She toweled her hair dry, then rummaged through her duffel until she located clean clothes. She dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a knit T-shirt before leaving the suite of rooms to explore the kitchen of the Double W.

  Oh, this was even better than she’d expected, she thought as she snapped on lights. There hadn’t been time last night to really see it. She’d been so exhausted, both mentally and physically, she’d nearly collapsed into bed. But now she stared around with a sigh of appreciation.

  The house, from what Ace and Hazard Wilde had told her the night before, was a sprawling, three-story building, with separate suites of offices to accommodate the three brothers who occupied it. Those rooms and the men who lived here held no interest for Maggie. But this kitchen was to be her domain. If anything could get her mind off her troubles, it was working in the kitchen. Especially one as well-equipped as this.

  There were two ovens and a microwave, four ceramic stovetop burners, plus a grill and a rotisserie. The refrigerator and freezer stood side-by-side and were fully stocked. Many restaurants couldn’t boast the food and equipment she was discovering as she opened doors and cupboards.

  She squeezed orange juice and used it to wash down two aspirin, before lining up several glasses of juice on the countertop. Then she filled an automatic coffee- maker with water and began to grind the beans. Soon the air was rich with the aroma of freshly made coffee.

  “So. You’re the new cook. I thought I heard somebody moving around in here.”

  At the soft, little-girl voice, Maggie whirled. In the doorway stood a woman in a shapeless gray dress. She was barely five feet tall and nearly as wide. Two fat braids fell across her shoulders. Her face bore the wrinkles of age, but her eyes were as sharp, as alert, as any child’s.

  “Hi. My name’s Maggie Fuller. You must be Agnes. I’m told you’re the housekeeper here.”

  “That’s right. Agnes Tallfeather.” The old woman looked her up and down. “You’re up early.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Maggie tried a smile, hoping the woman would return it. “I guess I’m excited about the new job.”

  “Where’d they find you?”

  “I was working at the E.Z. Diner.”

  “Huh. Another one.” It was obvious that Agnes had already dismissed her. She sniffed the air. “I see you made coffee. No need to waste your time. I make an individual pot in each of their offices. As for the juice, don’t bother. They don’t drink it. The same goes for breakfast. They’re usually too busy. Got appointments, phone calls, visitors. Big important businessmen. They take their meals on the run.”

  “I see.” Maggie turned away. “Well, since they hired me to cook, that’s what I intend to do. Even if they don’t want to bother eating what I fix.”

  The old woman shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She tucked a basket of laundry under her arm and waddled toward the opposite doorway. “Just so you clean up after yourself. I got all I can do cleaning up after my men.”

  Maggie noted the proprietary way she’d called them “my men.” She shrugged. Not her business. She didn’t want Agnes Tallfeather’s men. She just wanted to stay as busy as possible to keep from thinking.

  While she sipped her coffee, Maggie began to whip up biscuit batter. That done, she rummaged through the freezer until she located a package marked Steaks. When she unwrapped them she realized these weren’t the thin breakfast variety, but thick slabs of beef. All the better, she thought with a smile. Hadn’t the Wilde brothers told her that, when they had time, they had hearty appetites?

  The Wilde brothers. She paused, staring around as though she still couldn’t believe her good fortune.

  Two weeks ago she’d caught a bus out of Chicago with nothing but the clothes on her back. When the ride had ended in Prosperous, Wyoming, she’d taken refuge in the E.Z. Diner, not knowing where she’d even spend the night. But when she’d overheard the owner, Thelma Banks, complaining about losing her cook to a two-week jail term, Maggie had swallowed her pride and her fear and volunteered for the job. Thelma had hired her on the spot and had even allowed her to sleep in a small storage room in the back of the diner.

  In the next two weeks, Maggie had repaid Thelma’s kindness by turning her little diner into the most talked-about spot in town. The people of Prosperous stood in line for Maggie’s stew, her pot roast and her mouth-watering biscuits. When Thelma had asked where she’d learned to cook like that, Maggie had managed to evade the question. It wouldn’t do to admit that she’d once owned one of the hottest restaurants in Chicago. Right now, the less known about her, the better.

  She shook her head, dispelling the little sliver of fear that inched along her spine. Right now it was enough that that little job in Prosperous had landed her a chance to cook at the Double W Ranch. Ace and Hazard Wilde had tasted her herb-and-spice-roasted beef tenderloin and, learning that Thelma’s regular cook was ready to come back to work, asked if she’d like to cook for them. According to Thelma, the Wildes could never keep a cook for more than a couple of weeks. Mainly because of the isolation. The Double W was many miles from its nearest neighbor. A fact that suited Maggie perfectly. To her way of thinking, the more isolation, the better.

  Another reason the Wildes couldn’t keep a cook, according to Thelma, was because of the temperaments of the Wilde men. They were known around Prosperous as hot-headed, demanding cowboys, who didn’t care about cost, as long as they could satisfy their appetites. Though most often they ate alone, they had been known to fly in half a dozen business executives without notice when it suited them. Then there were the ranch hands. Dozens of them, according to Thelma. Men mostly, though some had wives and children. Scattered in ranches or bunkhouses over thousands of acres of the Double W. And though they rarely left their own sections, they were sometimes called upon to visit the main ranch and report to their bosses with any questions or problems. When they arrived, they had to be fed.

  None of that bothered Maggie. She didn’t care how many people she had to feed, or how plain or exotic their tastes, as long as the job afforded her enough privacy to hide and lick her wounds. She just hoped their tastes didn’t run strictly to chili and overdone burgers.

  With the biscuits baking and the steaks thawing, Maggie began assembling the ingredients for an omelette. She chopped mushrooms, onions, green peppers. She grated cheese, then set aside the mixture while she diced potatoes. And while she worked
she found herself mulling this latest change in her life. It had been a shock to step off that bus from Chicago. The first thing she’d noticed was the silence. No buses spewing dust and fumes. No teeming masses of people along the streets. And the size of everything in Wyoming. Vast stretches of open land. Highways that seemed to go on forever, without a single vehicle in either direction. Towering mountain ranges. Sweeping vistas of breathtaking countryside. And more cattle than people.

  Thelma had warned her that the Double W was the largest privately owned tract of land in the state. Hundreds of thousands of acres, stretching as far as the eye could see. From what Maggie had seen so far, she was beginning to think she’d made a wise choice. For a while, at least, she had found a very peaceful haven.

  She was humming while she searched the cupboards for jams and jellies. She managed to find six varieties, including wild strawberry. She gathered all six jars into her arms and was just turning toward the counter when the kitchen door was thrown open. In the shadows, the figure of a man filled the doorway—a tall, bearded man, carrying a large, deadly rifle.

  For an instant Maggie froze. The only thing she could focus on was the gun in his hand. It was her nightmare revisited.

  “Oh, no. No. No.” As she backed away the jars fell from her grasp, crashing to the floor, spilling rivers of grape, raspberry and orange across the scarred wood floor.

  For a moment she merely gaped, as did the man. Then, with a look that shifted from surprise to fury, he lunged forward.

  Maggie’s first thought had been to turn and race to the safety of her room. But now, having wasted precious seconds, she knew she had but one choice.

  Reflexively she snatched up a knife from the counter and sprang. The man’s hand holding the rifle swept in a wide arc, knocking the knife from her grasp. Both of their weapons clattered to the floor. She bent to retrieve them, but before she could make her move the man caught her and shoved her roughly against the wall. For a moment all the breath was knocked out of her. As she struggled for air, his hands grasped her shoulders, pinning her firmly against the length of him.