Page 66 of Texas-Sized Secrets

“Let me.” Ann took control of the computer mouse and clicked a view of that morning’s news release from a Dallas newspaper. “Lang’s been beat out by Teague in just about every deal over the past six months. And the land and mineral rights they’ve purchased haven’t panned out. Whoever’s feeding them information should be fired.” Ann stepped back, leaving the mouse to Mona. “I pity the investors.”

“You’re telling me.” Then why had Jeffrey Kuhn pushed Lang Oil Exploration as a potential purchaser for the Rancho Linda? Her breath caught in her throat. Kuhn had to be one of the duped investors.

Maybe it was time she asked what was in it for him. “Thanks for the information.” Mona logged off and left, headed for the bank. She felt frivolous driving when she could just as easily have walked the two blocks.

Inside, she smiled at the teller she recognized as Nora Cleary. “Is Mr. Kuhn in his office?”

“I haven’t seen him since he left over an hour ago, but I’ve been on break. Let me check.” She left her position and walked down the back hallway to Mr. Kuhn’s office. After a short knock, she waited a sufficient amount of time, and then opened the door. “Mr. Kuhn, Ms. Grainger would like to speak to you.”

Mona pushed past the clerk and entered the office. “Thank you, Miss Cleary.” Nora backed out of the office and closed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, Miss Grainger, I don’t have time to talk with you.”

“Perhaps you should make time.” Mona stalked up to his desk and leaned her hands on it, getting as close to the man in the leather seat as possible. “I don’t know what all that was about back there at the diner, but I did some digging and found out some interesting facts. Would you like me to tell you what I learned?”

“No, actually, I’m late for an appointment.” He rose.

“Sit down, Mr. Kuhn.” Mona didn’t shout, but she leveled a killer look at the man who’d made her life miserable over the last few days.

He hesitated, then sat.

“I found that the oil company you’ve been pushing me to sell to is filing for bankruptcy.” Her brows rose. “Why would a banker suggest I sell my ranch to a business about to go under?”

“I had no idea they weren’t solvent.” He shuffled the papers on his desk without meeting her eyes. “What exactly are you trying to imply?”

Mona’s brows rose farther. “Tell me, Mr. Kuhn, do you or your bank have investments in Lang Oil Exploration?”

He blanched, his hands curling around the knifelike letter opener lying on his desk. “I don’t think that’s relevant. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I’m right, aren’t I? Either you or the bank are investors in the Lang holdings.”

Kuhn leaned forward, his green eyes blazing. “And they would have made a lot of money with the purchase of Rancho Linda.”

“Only problem is that I’m not selling.” Mona backed away. “Put a little dent in your plans?”

“You will sell. You can’t afford that place. Not with the loss of your cattle.”

“I suppose that’s your doing, isn’t it?”

“Oh no. I’m not the one responsible for that. I don’t know who is, but whoever it is couldn’t have timed it better.” This time Jeffrey Kuhn walked around the desk to stand face-to-face with Mona.

“You’re Reed’s real father, aren’t you?”

His green eyes narrowed. “Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t leave my office now, I’ll be forced to call the sheriff.”

“I can see the resemblance.” He was as tall as Reed and their eyes the same color. “You had an affair with his mother before you married Patricia, didn’t you?”

He picked up the telephone. “I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Go ahead. I’ll tell him you’re behind the rustling. That you’ve embezzled the bank’s money to invest in speculative oil exploration.” She planted her fists on her hips. “Go ahead, call the sheriff.”

“You have no proof.”

“I won’t need any. You’ll be so tied up in court, whatever money you’ve sunk into Lang will be long gone by the time they clear up the mess.” Mona pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and flipped it open. “What’s the number? Ah yes…911.”

A muscle in Kuhn’s jaw flickered and a red stain rose up in his cheeks. He snatched the letter opener from the desk, grabbed Mona’s hair and yanked her head back. With the tip of the letter opener to her throat, he growled a warning. “You won’t call the sheriff.”

“Too late. I already did.” She held her phone up for him to see it make the connection.

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