While she’d been busy with the bulls, Brock, true to his word, had sent in a backhoe and a trailer to clean up the remains of the burned house. The scorched hayfields, given extra sprinkling, were already sending up new green sprouts. The fact that Brock had kept his promise improved the chances of her family accepting the contract and him—but surely Brock would know that. She’d never known him to do anything without a good reason.
Was that why he’d kissed her?
Tess forced herself to dismiss the thought.
The Monday after Quicksand’s second rodeo, Tess phoned Andrea, who’d planned to read the contract after returning from her son’s wedding in Utah.
Andrea answered the phone on the first ring. “Tess, I was hoping you’d call,” she said. “Yes, the wedding was divine. They’re so much in love. I can hardly wait for them to make me a grandma. But now, about the contract . . . Yes, I’ve read it through. No problems there. I could mail it, but why don’t you come by and pick it up? There’s something I need to tell you, and I’d rather do it in person.”
Intrigued, Tess took Maria’s shopping list and left for Ajo. An hour later she was pulling up in front of Andrea’s small company house with its garden of artfully arranged desert plants.
Andrea opened the door before she could ring the bell. “Come on in,” she said. “I’ve made us some cold lemonade. We can enjoy it on the patio before the heat moves in.”
“Before I forget, here, with my thanks.” Tess handed her the check she’d written.
Andrea glanced at the amount. “But this is too much! You know I have a special rate for friends.”
“You need to live, like everybody else. And I’ll still be your friend.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Andrea put the check aside and led Tess out to the patio, which was even more inviting than the front yard. The manila packet containing the contract lay on a round table next to a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. Tess took a seat opposite her friend in one of the matching rattan chairs.
“I made a few comments on the contract.” Andrea filled the glasses with lemonade and added a mint sprig to each one. “Mostly suggestions on the wording and a couple of questions you should ask before you sign. We can go over them if you like. But for the most part, it’s pretty much a standard contract. I couldn’t find anything in it that might have been added to trap you or take unfair advantage. It does give Mr. Tolman the right of first refusal if you ever want to sell the ranch, but you already know that.”
“Yes, I do, although I don’t much like that part.” Tess sipped her lemonade. “Don’t worry about going over the pages. I can read your comments later and call you if there’s a question. What I’m curious about is what you wanted to tell me in person.”
“Oh, yes. That.” Andrea took a deep breath. “How well do you know Mr. Brock Tolman?”
Tess’s pulsed skipped like a needle on a scratched vinyl record. “I’ve known him since he conspired to buy a piece of land that my father needed for grazing. I’ve talked with him at rodeos, and he’s visited the ranch a few times.” Any mention of the kiss was definitely out. “And as you probably know, last fall, he forced a partnership with the ranch by buying my father’s loan.”
“Yes, you mentioned that earlier. So tell me, what do you think of him?”
“Arrogant, controlling, scheming . . . But he can also be generous, and I’ve never known him to break his word.” Tess felt a shadow of foreboding. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I believe in practicing due diligence, I took time to investigate Mr. Tolman’s background—insofar as I was able. He is every bit as rich as he claims to be, much of his wealth in stocks and in his ranch. And he has no arrest record—not so much as a speeding ticket.”
“You sound as if something’s wrong,” Tess said. “What is it?”
Andrea finished her lemonade and set the glass down. “Just this. Until twenty-one years ago, the man named Brock Tolman didn’t exist.”
* * *
The mail usually arrived at the Tolman Ranch between 10:00 and 11:00. The box, a deep one with a locked door that opened from the back, was mounted next to the gate. Deliveries were made by a postal driver who deposited the mail in the box, then turned around and went back to the highway.
The distance from the gate to the house was about a quarter mile. When a sensor on the box sent an automatic signal to the house, someone, usually Cyrus, would take the four-wheeler ATV to collect the mail. At least, that had been the routine before the arrival of the envelope without a postmark.
Now it was Brock, armed with a pistol, who picked up the mail. Every day, before going to the box, he checked the footage from the security camera mounted above the gate. So far he’d seen nothing except the mail truck and a few ranch employees going in and out. Even the twenty-four hours before the envelope had appeared showed nothing suspicious.
As the days passed and nothing else happened, the strain on Brock’s nerves was beginning to show. Somebody was out there, somebody who knew about his past and hated him because of it. Whoever it was, they were taking their time and they knew what they were doing. It was slow torture, not knowing what to expect or how this was supposed to end.
He hadn’t told Cyrus, or anyone else, about the contents of the envelope, only that it had contained a threat. He had locked the clipping away, with the earlier one, in his safe. But he couldn’t lock away his nightmares—the pitching car, the crash that ended in blackness, then nothing until he woke in the hospital and learned that Mia had died.
However, he couldn’t let worry keep him from running his ranch. He had bulls to send to spring rodeos. He had accounts and payroll due, which he preferred to handle himself, and he needed to protect his assets from this unseen threat to his reputation and the wealth he had built.
By now, Tess’s lawyer friend should have reviewed the contract for the hayfields. But Tess hadn’t contacted him. It was time he took the matter into his own hands.
When he phoned her at the ranch, she picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Brock.” Her voice had an edgy quality. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.”
“Well, since you haven’t, I hope you don’t mind my reaching out,” he said. “Did your lawyer finish her review?”