Page 38 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

“Well, forget him,” he said. “He’s probably just like any other high roller playboy, a hit-and-quit-it kind. He’s probably one of those men who flies a girl out to Cabo or Fiji or…or…Jamaica or somewhere just to have a roll in the bed and move on.”

His knuckles were tight on the wheel, and his tone was harsh and grated—but even he sounded pissed off and made me want to laugh. “Warrick. Do you know you sound…like a jealous boyfriend?”

“Do I?” he snorted. “Sorry. There is just something about that family that rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like how Drayton Senior looks down on others over the tip of his nose as if he alone was on the top of the mountain and we were all shit under his silver tip boots.”

“Oh. I’ve met a couple of those guys—” I said. “The pompous dickheads, not the gazillionaire with some kind of robot butler. Anyway, who is this Blackwood lady?”

“Janie Blackwood is the matriarch of the Blackwood family,” Warrick said, “She manages the largest ranch, and with her ties to Europe and DC, she has dedicated herself to a lot of charitable causes. You know what, I think it’s time you meet her.”

Warrick got the truck going, and he headed another way through the town that I didn’t know about. We crossed a wide bridge with a river running under it. “That is the Silver Ridge River, and over there—” he nodded to a café with a green awning “—is Riverbend Café. A lot of tourists stay there for a drink. They have the same artsy-fancy drinks you like.”

I gave an aghast gasp. “You mean to tell me they have my venti caramel Frappuccino with nonfat coconut milk, two and a half cups of sugar with four chocolate drizzles, six and a half pumps of caramel drizzle, three espresso shots mixed in, and extra whip cream there? And you didn’t tell me?”

“That’s exactly why,” he snorted.

I rolled down the window and got a whiff of clean water and earthy smell, and…dead leaves? Huh. Strange scent.

As we passed the river, the road started to curve, and at one point, it drew close to the canyon, exposing its colorful layers of striated rock. A sheer cliff overlooking what seemed like an alien landscape was off to the east. It looked like this part of town was the opposite of Warrick’s mountain home because all I could see were sage-covered plains.

We crested another hill, and a never-ending prairie stretched out before us and across the landscape around us, and then the cows appeared. Most of them were red; a few black ones were there, and some big white ones broke up the herd.

I was not used to so much open space. I was also not used to driving miles and not seeing a single soul. “Holy shit, how big is this ranch?”

“Thirteen thousand acres,” he replied. “Not the largest in the state, but it’s the biggest one around here.”

I watched out the window as we drove up to a house that might have been ripped out of time. Its solid brick edifice and solid stone foundation led up to a very tall and sprawling house with multiple stories, grandiose ceilings, and an inviting wraparound porch. Rocking chairs were on the porch, and a vase of petunias stood on a round table.

Warrick shut the truck off and hopped out. “Let’s go meet the woman who is about to save my ass.”

Chapter Thirteen

Warrick

Iprobably should have asked Treeve to call Lady Blackwood before I drove over here and dropped in on her doorstep unannounced—but there we were anyway.

Zara looked positively gob-smacked as she looked around, clearly wondering the same thing I had decades ago: how utterly out of place the house was. She joined me on the porch as I pressed the doorbell, and the wind fluttered with the silver windchimes hanging from the rafters, briefly drawing my attention.

As someone answered the door, I turned back in time to jerk my head back in shock. Janie Blackwood stood there touching her pearls, her icy blond bob carefully cut to her chin, her slim form clad in tan tailored pants and a white blouse.

“Warrick, dear,” her eyes widened, and she smiled. “Come in, you and your friend, too. I never expected you.”

“I know, and I am sorry to drop in on you like this,” I said as we stepped into a foyer as elegant as she was. Janie was a Mississippi-born, southern belle who did cotillion as a girl and baked the best gooseberry pies I’d ever tasted. “Lady Blackwood, please meet my newest PA, Zara Harrington.”

“Pleased to meet you, dear,” Janie replied.

“So am I.” Zara smiled. “You have a wonderful home.”

“Thank you. It has the charm I love and the functionality I need,” Janie replied, then turned to me. “I suppose Treeve told you I’d gotten the equipment you’d wanted from the dawn of creation.”

“Guilty as charged,” I replied. “You are a miracle worker.”

She laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I do know some powerful people in high places. They will be here in a week or two as they are coming from the United Kingdom, but be sure I will contact you when they get to me. I’d ask if you wanted to share a cup of tea and some of my freshly baked pie, but I suspect you just dropped in for a spell.”

“Right on that, too,” I nodded. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Oh no, no, no,” Janie laughed. “Let’s get you some pie to go. My nana would send me back to cotillion school if I didn’t give you some. Plus, I baked more than me and my guys can eat, so give me a moment.”

Ten minutes later, we were back down the road to my ranch while three large foil-wrapped wedges of pie rested on Zara’s lap. “I didn’t tell you this, but I plan on going to my grandfather’s cabin for the rest of the weekend. It’s way up in the hills. I go there to decompress when things get a bit…tense.”

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