The Wildes of Wyoming: Ace Page 5

  “Nobody deserves it more, Red,” he muttered as he turned onto the dusty one-lane road that seemed to lead to nowhere. She wasn’t guilty of a simple pool-hustle now. This was serious business.

  Ace had been driving for miles along this narrow, rutted dirt track. Daylight was quickly fading behind a solid wall of storm clouds that billowed overhead.

  His first guess was probably correct. The address was a phony. But here and there he saw scrawny cattle grazing on dried patches of range grass. And in the distance he could make out what appeared to be a ranch house and some outbuildings. None of the Double W’s herds or range shacks were in this area. The closest was miles from here.

  As he drew near his eyes narrowed with disbelief. Up ahead was a shabby ranch house. From the looks of it, someone was living here. Living smack in the middle of Wilde property.

  His temper went up another notch as he remembered. From the time he’d been a kid he’d heard the stories about Harlan Brady, a crazy old coot who’d refused to sell his hardscrabble strip of land, even though Wes Wilde had offered him twice what it was worth. To this day the old man lived out here all alone, thumbing his nose at civilization. Ace shook his head. Harlan Brady. And then another thought struck. Brady. Allison Brady. If he hadn’t driven out here, he might never have made the connection.

  If she was related to Harlan Brady, it wouldn’t have taken money to get her to do whatever she could to ruin the Wildes. She’d have done it just for spite. To even the score for some feud that had erupted a generation ago.

  He rolled to a stop and stepped down from the truck. The wind had picked up, whipping his hair about wildly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a streak of yellow, seconds before a big shaggy dog came running at him, teeth bared. Behind him was a little brown-and-white mutt that kept up a steady barking.

  “Hello, old fellow.” Ace stood perfectly still and held out his hand.

  The yellow dog sniffed and watched him, but made no attempt to come close.

  The door slammed and Ace looked up to see Allison standing on the rickety porch. She had changed into faded jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  She lifted a hand to drag a lock of hair out of her eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  He took a step toward her and the yellow dog growled a warning low in its throat.

  Ace glanced from her to the dog. “Think you could call off your attack dog first?”

  “I’m not so sure that’s wise.” She paused a mo ment, then said grudgingly, “Buster. Good dog. Come.”

  The yellow dog moved away to stand beside her. Behind him, the little yapper fell silent and followed suit.

  “All right. What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “This.” He walked up to her and held out the contract.

  She flicked a glance over it. “What about it?”

  He was watching her face, hoping to see some change in her expression. He was almost disappointed to see none. She was a better actress than he’d anticipated.

  “Read the first page.”

  With a puzzled look she began to read. Suddenly her head came up. “Why did you make these changes?”

  “I didn’t. You did. And I came here to find out why.”

  She shook her head and handed him back the paper. “I typed that contract exactly as you wanted it. You ought to know that. You proofed it before I contacted the carrier.”

  He tried to keep the anger from his voice, but it wasn’t possible. “There was plenty of time for you to make these changes before the carrier arrived.”

  “I just told you. I didn’t make those changes.”

  “Then who did?”

  She gave a sigh of impatience. “I don’t know. And furthermore, I don’t care. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t work for you anymore. You fired me.” She started to turn away.

  Stung by her attitude he grabbed her by the shoulder. At once the yellow dog leapt up and closed its jaws around Ace’s hand.

  Hearing the snarl, followed by a string of oaths, Allison whirled and called frantically, “Down, Buster. Down, boy.”

  It took no more than her shouted command to have the dog release its hold on him. She lifted Ace’s hand for her inspection. “The skin’s been broken, but it doesn’t look too serious. Still, you’re bleeding. Come inside.”

  He yanked his hand free, annoyed by the sizzle that had raced up his arm like an electric current the moment she’d touched him. “Look. Forget about the blood. What I want to know is why you altered this document. Were you paid to do this? Or was it just because of who I am?”

  For a moment he thought he saw fire streaking out of those green eyes. Then they frosted over and her voice was pure ice. “I don’t intend to say this again. I never made those changes. If you didn’t authorize them, you’d better take a close look at the rest of your employees.” Seeing blood dripping from his hand she held the door. “Anything else you have to say you can say inside while I get that bleeding stopped.”

  Because his hand was beginning to burn like the fires of hell, he followed her inside. He paused and looked around in surprise. He’d expected it to look as tired and shabby as the outside. Instead, it looked inviting. Colorful rugs had been tossed artfully over gleaming hardwood floors. The furniture was a comfortable mix of Western antiques with a few contemporary pieces. An ancient rolltop desk sat against one wall. Beside it was a black, high-back leather chair. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, soaring up two stories. Along the far upper wall was a gallery that ran the length of the house. An ornate leather-and-silver saddle had been tossed over the balcony. Directly below the gallery was a pool table, with an exquisite silver lamp hanging above it.

  With the two dogs trailing behind, Allison led Ace through the great room into a big open kitchen, where a streak of lightning was clearly illuminated through the skylights. Here were more surprises. The cabinets were mountain ash and appeared to be hand-hewn and very old. The countertops were Spanish tile. The table had been set in a large bay window. The base of the table consisted of a giant boulder on which had been placed a circle of glass. The chairs looked as old as the original structure. Seat cushions had been added, giving the room a splash of color. Beyond the windows the occasional flashes of lightning revealed a patio, with tables and chairs and a charcoal grill set atop a stone fire pit.

  Allison turned on the kitchen taps. “Here. Let’s get this blood first.”

  She plunged Ace’s hand under the water and scrubbed. His fingers, she noted, weren’t soft like a businessman’s. They were hard and calloused like those of a rancher or a man who worked with his hands. That realization came as a surprise.

  He sucked in a breath as she poured disinfectant over the cuts, then wrapped the hand with strips of gauze.

  “Sorry if this hurts.” She could feel him watching her as she worked.

  “No, you’re not.”

  She looked up. Shrugged. “You’re right. I’m not sorry.”

  He struggled to ignore the pleasant sensations he experienced with every touch, and reminded himself why he was here. “Now about that contract. It could only be altered from my computer or yours. The other computers in the office don’t have access.”

  When she said nothing more in her defense he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “All right. Since you insist that you didn’t make these changes, tell me this. Did you leave your desk from the time you printed out these contracts until the carrier arrived?”

  She thought a moment, then said, “Yes. Cass had left a list of instructions on my desk. One of them was to check the supply room for printer paper and additional fax paper. I was gone for maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Was your computer on?”

  She nodded. “But when I returned, the completed contracts were lying on top of the mailing envelope just the way I’d left them.” She looked up. �
��But wait. They were already signed. If anyone altered them, what would they do about your signature?”

  He hadn’t thought about that. He’d been too busy worrying about the errors. He flipped the pages until he came to the last page. Both of them stared at the signature.

  Allison looked up at his muttered exclamation. “It isn’t yours?”

  He shook his head. “A pretty good imitation. But that isn’t my signature.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He mentally went over every line and curve of his name. Someone had taken a great deal of time learning his distinctive scrawl. Someone who was determined to ruin him. “Now about your…”

  He looked up at the strange sound that seemed to be coming closer. Through the open doorway came an old man seated in an electric scooter. His snowy hair was so long it resembled a lion’s mane, sweeping back from a leathery face that was still ruggedly handsome. His eyes were as bright as a child’s at Christmas.

  “Hoo boy, look at this, Allycat.” The voice was a deep rumble of laughter. Though he scraped the doorway as he passed through, and nearly ran over the yellow dog’s tail, he seemed not to notice. “I can’t believe how I can get around in this.”

  He came to a screeching halt and looked up in surprise. “What’s this? Allycat, you never mentioned you had a fella.”

  Ally flushed. “Gramps, this isn’t a boyfriend. This is my boss, Ace…”

  “Boss is it?” The old man’s eyes, as green as Allison’s, studied Ace with intense, almost childlike, interest. “Name’s Harlan Brady. And I’m mighty grateful to you for giving my granddaughter a job that pays so well.” He indicated the scooter. “She bought me this with that bonus you gave her.”

  “Bonus?” Ace glanced at Ally, but she quickly avoided his eyes.

  “My little Allycat promised me when she got all those college degrees that she’d come back here to take care of her old gramps.” He shook his head. “Truth is, I figured with her good looks she’d find some fella and go off and get herself hitched. But here she is, just like she promised. And the first thing she did was buy me a set of wheels when she found out I’d been house-bound.” He pressed a button and rode in circles around them. “I’ve been getting the hang of it all day, and I think I’m getting pretty good. How’m I doing, girl?”

  “You’re doing fine, Gramps.” She waited until he came to a halt before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  He sniffed the air. “Something smells wonderful. What’s for supper?”

  “Chili. It’s all I had time for.”

  “Great. I love chili.” He turned to Ace. “You’ll stay for supper. It’s the least we can do to thank you for this.” He patted his scooter, and before Ace could respond, he started away. “Got some beer somewhere. Allycat, where’d you hide my beer?”

  “It’s in the fridge, Gramps. But Ace can’t stay for supper.”

  “He can’t? Why not?”

  “He…has an appointment.” She turned to him with a challenging look that dared him to argue. “Don’t you, Ace?”

  Though it was on the tip of his tongue to agree, he couldn’t resist a chance for revenge. Besides, he still wasn’t convinced that she was telling the truth. Maybe, with a little more time, he’d catch her in a lie.

  Seeing how eager she was to get rid of him, his lips curved in a smile. “I canceled that appointment. I’m free all evening. I’d love to stay for supper.”

  “Good.” Harlan opened the fridge door and held up two cans. “You drink beer, Ace? Or would you rather have whiskey? I got some of that here someplace.”

  “Beer’s fine.” Ace stared pointedly at Ally. “Maybe your granddaughter would like to join us.”

  “Ally doesn’t drink.”

  “She doesn’t?” He watched as she turned away. “I’m sure she must have some vices.”

  “Well.” Harlan handed Ace a can of beer and popped the top on his own as he chuckled conspiratorially. “None that she tells me about, anyway.”

  “That’s too bad.” Sharing the old man’s smile, Ace watched Ally’s backside as she stormed around the kitchen, slamming plates and bowls on the table, stirring the chili like it was a witch’s brew.

  “Why too bad?” Harlan took a long pull on his beer and gave a sigh of pleasure.

  Ace shrugged. “I just thought it might be fun to find someone who could challenge me to…a game of pool now and then.”

  “Well, sir, pool’s not a vice.” Harlan took another sip of beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I consider pool a game of skill and strategy, much like chess.”

  “Like chess, you say?” Ace had to keep from laughing as Ally paused to glower at him behind the old man’s back.

  “That’s what I told my little Allycat when I taught her the game.”

  “You taught her to play pool?”

  The old man nodded. “When she was just a toddler. She lived with me then. And every night she’d climb up on a stool and shoot ball after ball.” He shook his head remembering. “Why, by the time she was five or six, that girl could sink every ball in sequence, without ever missing. You don’t ever want to play her for money, son. In no time, she’d own you.”

  “You don’t say?” Ace turned to see the blush that stained Ally’s cheeks. It gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction to see her embarrassed. It served her right.

  Harlan nodded. “Probably could have put herself through college winning tournaments, if she’d had a mind to.”

  “How did she put herself through college?”

  “Scholarship,” the old man said proudly. “My little Allycat was smart as a whip. Still is. I’m sure that’s why you hired her, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Ace set his drink aside. He figured it might take him awhile before he enjoyed the taste of beer again. “A man can’t have too many smart employees.”

  “Dinner’s ready.” Ally set a crock and ladle on a hot pad in the middle of the table.

  “Where would you like me to sit?” Ace watched as the old man rolled his scooter to the table.

  “Outside might be nice,” Ally muttered as she passed him with a salad bowl.

  “Right here, Ace.” Harlan indicated a chair and Ace waited until Ally sat down before settling himself beside her.

  When he saw her shrink back from his touch, he deliberately moved his chair closer.

  She passed him the salad bowl and he filled his plate, before passing it to Harlan.

  The old man glanced at Ace’s hand. “How’d you do that?”

  “Buster and I were playing a little rough.”

  “Dog doesn’t know his own strength. Thinks he’s still a pup.” The old man filled his plate and passed the bowl to his granddaughter.

  “Yeah. But I’ll know better next time.” Ace reached down and scratched the dog behind his ears.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ally nodded toward the two dogs, who were standing guard on either side of her. “As you’ve already learned, they don’t take kindly to strangers.”

  “Then they won’t mind me.” He gave her that famous Wilde smile that had melted the hearts of females all across Wyoming. “Now that you’ve had me to supper, they’ll just think of me as one of the family.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re too smart for that.”

  Ignoring her he touched a hand to the slab of glass. “This is a beautiful table. It looks handmade.”

  Harlan nodded. “I made it more’n thirty years ago. Used my tractor to roll it into place, then installed the windows around it.”

  “Why?”

  “For the challenge,” the old man said simply. “To see if I could do it.”

  That was something Ace could understand. He’d always loved a challenge. “Is that your trade? Building furniture?”

  “Gramps is an artist.” Ally’s voice revealed her pride. “He built this house, and most of the furniture in it. But his real craft is saddle-making.”

  “I noticed o
ne on the balcony.” At the time he’d thought it looked more like a work of art than a mere saddle.

  “Horsemen from all over the world used to commission saddles from Gramps.”

  Ace turned to him. “I figured you for a rancher, like most of the folks out here.”

  Harlan shrugged. “I tried my hand at ranching. Figured it would pay the bills during my lean years. But I’m just no good at it.”

  “Then why do you stay here, if not for the ranching?”

  The old man smiled. “It’s my land, son. Been in my family for five generations. I get my inspiration from the land. If I lost my land it’d be like…” He looked down. “Like losing the use of my legs all over again.” He rubbed a gnarled hand over his knee. “Some kind of degenerative disease, the doctor calls it. Hell, it’s nothing but old age. Rheumatism, my father used to call it. Now they give it a fancier name.”

  “So you grew up here.” Ace smoothly changed the subject.

  “Yep. Like my father, and his father before him.”

  “It must have been something, seeing this place before there were people and towns and buildings.” With little prodding, Ace drew the old man into talking about the Wyoming of his childhood.

  Before long Harlan Brady was regaling them with stories of his misspent youth. “I was a wild kid. Thought nothing of riding horseback clear across Montana and back, carrying nothing but a rifle, and living off the land.”

  It wasn’t until Ace had finished two bowls of chili that he realized just how good it was. And how much fun he was having. By the time he’d polished off a piece of cherry cobbler and a cup of coffee, he was feeling positively mellow. And, he realized, the headache that had plagued him all day was now gone.

  After topping off their cups with more coffee, Ally began to clear the table. Without a word Ace helped, stacking the dishes in the sink.

  “You don’t need to do that.” Her words were clipped.

  “I know I don’t. But you fed me. The least I can do is load the dishwasher.” He began rinsing the dishes and placing them on the racks.

  Beside him she lowered her voice. “I don’t want you helping me. I just want you to leave.”