So that was what Montana looked like.
A row of thumbnail pictures lined the bottom of the screen. Natural beauty, advertised one caption. Surrounded by wilderness, read another. South of Glacier National Park.
Susan shut down her own computer, rising to sling three cameras over her shoulder. Gotta get to work.
Have fun, Melissa offered, clicking on a thumbnail of summer wildflowers. Red, purple, yellow, white. They really were quite gorgeous.
Susan grinned as she pushed a drawer shut with her hip. I will. Headshots today. Then theres a gala Friday night, and Im going to hitch a ride on the channel-ten chopper for the bike race Sunday.
Shut up, Melissa griped as Susan rounded the end of the desk.
Melissa would be sitting right here all week long, in the stuffy, hot office, combing through the minutes of various City Hall committees, looking for permits or variances or financial-policy news, anything that might lead to an interesting business story.
Whats that? asked Susan, nodding to the computer screen.
Melissa refocused on the verdant green and bright flowers. Montana, she answered. Where Id be if Seth had half a heart. Or half a brain.
She clicked on an area map. There was an airport in Missoula and everything.
Not my cup of tea, said Susan, popping a jaunty plaid hat on her curly brown locks.
Not mine, either, Melissa admitted, gathering her own straight, blond hair into a knot at the nape of her neck in an effort to let the buildings weak air-conditioning waft over her hot skin. But Id fly there in a heartbeat to meet Jared Ryder.
So do it, said Susan.
Yeah, right.
Why not?
Melissa swiveled to face her coworker. Because Seth turned me down flat.
Susan shrugged. Tell him youre doing City Hall research from home. Then get on a plane.
Oh, now that seemed brilliant. Lie to my boss and ignore his orders?
Hell forgive you if you get the story. Susans lips curved in a conspiratorial grin. Trust me.
Melissa let the hair slip out of her hand. The idea was preposterous.
Susan leaned in and lowered her voice. If you dont get the story, somebody else will.
At least it wont be Brandon.
Result will be the same.
Flying to Montana could get me fired, Melissa pointed out.
It could also get you promoted. Susan straightened.
Easy for you to say.
Susan shrugged the cameras into a more comfortable position, then adjusted her cap. Up to you. But no risk, no reward. My biggest payday was when those vandals let the lions loose at Lincoln Park.
That was insane, Melissa reminded her. Susan had been clinging to the branches of an oak tree with a hungry male lion pacing below when the animal-control officer had darted the thing.
Another shrug.
Are you suggesting that if I dont put myself in mortal danger, Im not trying hard enough?
Susan patted Melissas shoulder. Im suggesting if you dont torpedo Brandon and go after that promotion, youre not trying hard enough.
Point made, Susan winked and sauntered away, while Melissa drummed her fingertips on the desktop.
She glanced at the pictures of the Montana ranch. Then her gaze shifted to the spacious window cubicle reserved for the new feature writer.
She pictured Seths expression when she presented the article. She pictured Brandons face when he learned of her coup. She pictured her byline on the cover of the Bizz. Then just for good measure, she pictured herself at the podium, accepting a Prentice award next January. She could wear her black-and-gold-layered gown, with the teardrop medallion shed found last week in that funky little art gallery on Second.
Take that, Brandon Langard.
Her life would be perfect. All she had to do was talk her way onto the Ryder Ranch.
Body loose in the saddle, Jared Ryder held his horse Tango to a slow walk across the wooden bridge that led to his sister Stephanies place. Her jumping-horse outfit was built on Ryder land up on the Bonaparte Plateau, about ten miles into the hills from the main spread at Spirit Lake. Tangos ears twitched and his body tensed as he took in the nearly hundred head of horses grazing in the fields and milling about in the pens clustered around the main riding arena.
Jared was feeling just as twitchy as his horse. Far from the haven hed always known, the familiar sights and sounds of Montana brought a crush of memories. And a fresh surge of anger roiled in his belly.
His instinct had been to stay far away from the ranch this week. But his sister, Stephanie, needed him. Besides, Chicago had its own problems at the moment.
Ryder International had just signed a long-term lease to rent space to the City of Chicago in the Ryder office tower that was under construction on Washington Street. For some reason, the mayor had insisted on parading Jared from charity ball to art gallery opening. Jared had been out in public so often that the tabloids started to believe there was a reason to take his picture and stuff a microphone in his face.
It was beyond frustrating. He was a businessman, not a politician or a celebrity. And his personal life was none of their damn business. The reporter from Windy City Bizz camping out at the end of his driveway Monday night was the last straw. When he got back to the city, he was looking into restraining orders and disguises.
But for the moment he had no choice but to come to terms with the home front. He cleared the main equestrian barn, and a cluster of people on horseback at the riding arena came into view. His appearance caught their attention. One horse and rider immediately broke free from the group, trotting down the dirt road to meet him. Both Jared and Tango tracked the pairs progress past the pens, dotted outbuildings and sparse trees.
The prodigal returns, sang his twenty-two-year-old sister, Stephanie, pulling her mare to a halt, raising a cloud of dust in the July sunshine. Her smiling, freckle-flecked face peeked out from her riding helmet. Her long legs were clad in tight jodhpurs and high, glossy brown boots, while a loose, tan blouse ballooned around her small frame. Her unruly auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail.
I think youre confusing me with Royce, said Jared, watching her closely. She might not know what he knew, but theyd all been shaken by their grandfathers death three months ago.
He halted Tango, who eyed the mare with suspicion.
At least Royce makes it to my competitions, Stephanie pointed out, shifting in her stirrups. He was there to watch me win last week at Spruce Meadows.
Thats because he lives on his jet plane, Jared defended. His brother, Royce, routinely flew from New York to London, Rome and points east, checking out companies to add to the Ryder International empire. Royce was mobile.
I live in a boardroom, Jared finished.
Poor baby, Stephanie teased. She smiled, but Jared caught the veiled sadness in her silver-blue eyes. Stephanie had been only two when their parents died, and Gramps was the closest thing to a parent shed known.
Congratulations, he told her softly, reflexively tamping down his own anger to focus on her needs. Hed been fifteen when they lost their parents, and he liked to think hed had a hand in raising her, too. He was immensely proud of her accomplishments as both a rider and a trainer.
Congratulations, he told her softly, reflexively tamping down his own anger to focus on her needs. Hed been fifteen when they lost their parents, and he liked to think hed had a hand in raising her, too. He was immensely proud of her accomplishments as both a rider and a trainer.
Thanks. She leaned forward to pat Rosie-Jo, her champion gray Hanoverian, briskly on the neck, but not before Jared caught the telltale sheen in her eyes. Want to see our trophy?
Of course, he answered. There would be plenty of time later to talk about their grandfather.
Weve got a few hours before the meeting. She drew a brave breath and squared her shoulders, shaking off the sadness as she turned the horse to draw alongside Jared.
Together they headed toward her two-story blue-gabled ranch house.
The annual meeting of the Genevieve Memorial Fund, a charitable trust named in memory of their mother, would take place today. Each year, it was scheduled to coincide with the anniversary of their parents deaths. Picturing his parents, Jared felt his anger percolating once more. But he had to suck it up, be a man about it. There was absolutely no point in disillusioning his younger brother and sister.
I saw you in the Chicago paper last week, Stephanie chimed in as they left the river behind them.
That was a picture of the mayor, Jared corrected. Hed done his best to duck behind the burly man.
They named you in the caption.
Slow news day, he told her, remembering the flashbulbs outside the gallery and how the reporters had shouted inane questions as hed helped Nadine into the limo.
Stephanies expression turned calculating, her tone curious. So who was she?
Who was who? he asked, pretending he didnt know exactly where his baby sister was headed. Raised in a male-dominated household, shed been lobbying for somebody to please marry a nice woman since she was seven years old.
The bombshell in the picture with you.
She was my date, he offered, letting the statement dangle without elaboration.
Stephanie pasted him with a look of impatience. And?
He forced her to wait a beat longer. And her name is Nadine Romsey. Sorry to disappoint you, but shes not a bombshell. Shes a lawyer with Comcoe Newsome.
Stephanies interest grew. Looks and brains. This must be something serious.
It was a business arrangement. The mayor invited me to the party, and there were people attending that Nadine wanted to meet.
Stephanie pouted. But shes so pretty.
And youre so hopelessly romantic.
Will you take her out again?
Only if she needs to get into another party. He admired Nadine, but he didnt have any romantic interest in her.
Stephanie compressed her lips in frustration. Youve written her off after one date? You know, youre never going to meet a woman if you dont get out there and
Im out there 24/7, little sister. He gestured around the spread. Thats what pays for all of this.
Stephanie pointed her nose in the air. Ryder Equestrian Center brought in a million dollars last year.
Jared snorted a laugh. While you spent four million.
We also provided dozens of marketing opportunities for the firm, and we improved your corporate image. That is priceless.
You rehearsed that, didnt you?
You should get married, Jared.
Arent you a little old to be angling for a mother figure?
Im looking for a sister now. You should find someone young and fun. Who likes horses, she added for good measure, kicking her mare into a faster walk.
Jared shook his head. Between the revelation his grandfather had spoken on his deathbed, the mayor and the media, and Ryder Internationals accountants concerns that the company was expanding too fast, Jared didnt have a scrap of emotional or intellectual energy left over for romance.
As he followed Stephanie past the open door of a stable, a sudden tingle spread up his spine. He turned sharply and locked gazes with a blond-haired, green-eyed beauty who stood just inside the main doorway. She was wearing blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, and she held a manure fork in both hands.
She quickly glanced away, but his radar pinged.
What was it?
He stared at her a little longer.
It was the makeup. Her makeup was subtle, but she was definitely wearing some. And hed bet her blond highlights were from a salon, not the sunshine. Her collared shirt was pressed, and the hands that held the manure fork were soft, bare, no gloves.
Whos that? he asked his sister.
Stephanie turned and followed the direction of his gaze.
Why? You think shes pretty?
Anyone could see the woman was gorgeous. But that wasnt the point.
I think shes a rank greenhorn, he said.
Her names Melissa something. Webster, I think. You want me to introduce you? The calculating flare was back in Stephanies eyes.
Stop, Jared ordered.
His sister grinned unrepentantly.
What I want you to do, he continued with exaggerated patience, is to hire experienced staff. Were blowing enough money on this place as it is.
She needed a job, said Stephanie. Shes from Indiana.
He wasnt sure what the hell Indiana had to do with anything. While he watched, the woman awkwardly scooped a pile of horse manure from the wooden floor and dumped it into a wheelbarrow. If she needed a million dollars, would you give it to her?
She didnt ask for a million dollars. Shes on her way to Seattle. She needed money for bus fare.
Youre hiring transients now?
Shes mucking out our stalls, Jared, not signing the company checks.
Im not worried about embezzlement. Im worried about labor cost efficiency.
He was also worried something wasnt quite right. Why would a woman that polished take a menial job for bus fare?
She could be running away from something, he supposed. Or she could be running from someone. Which seemed more likely. An ex-boyfriend? Someones angry wife? It had better not be the FBI or the state troopers.
He considered her delicate profile, trying to decide if she was a criminal. She tackled the next pile of manure, her city-soft hands sliding up and down the wooden handle.
Shes going to get blisters, he voiced the thought out loud.
You want to give her some gloves? asked Stephanie.
Somebody better, he conceded. Aimless wanderer or criminal on the run, if they were going to employ her, the least they could do was make sure she avoided injury.
Hey, Melissa, Stephanie called.
The woman paused and glanced up.
Grab some gloves out of the storeroom.
Melissa gave her hands a puzzled look.
She hasnt a clue, said Jared, hit with an unexpected flash of pity. Maybe she was running from an angry ex. He quickly reined in his thoughts. None of his business.
You sure you dont want me to introduce you? Stephanie singsonged.
Jared turned Tango toward the house. You going to show me your trophy or what?
Cant blame a girl for trying.