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After drying the glass slowly, Jessie opened the cabinet door slowly, pulling out the only other stem I noticed. Another pang of guilt rushed through me, especially when I noticed a picture drawn and colored in crayon placed under a cheery magnet on the side of her refrigerator.
“How old?” I asked as she poured the wine.
“How old what?”
“Is your child?”
Her shoulders sagged and it was as if I’d discovered some horrible secret. She said nothing until she was finished, pushing the box away and turning around to hand me one of the glasses, doing her best to keep our fingers from connecting. “Britta is five.”
“What a beautiful name. Is it short for Brittany?”
“No!” The way she snapped was another clear indication of a sore point. She pressed her hand to her head, shaking it slightly. “Just Britta. A bartender I knew a long time ago had that name. She was a powerful woman, full of light and love and I knew if I ever had a daughter, that’s what I’d call her.”
“That’s a wonderful story.”
“Yeah, she’s the light of my life.” Jessie looked away briefly, sadness replacing the previous anger. But only for a few seconds. “As I said, I know you’re here for a reason. What is it?”
There was no beating around the bush with her. “First of all, what do you know about Hank Barclay?”
She laughed, the sound more bitter than before. “He’s a user. He’s from some rich family out of Denver who thinks he can bully people around.”
“He was friends with Walter?”
“I wouldn’t call them friends. Hank steered some clients in Walter’s direction, your grandfather providing boarding and lessons for the couple’s daughter. For some reason, Hank started coming around more.”
“What did you hear about the sale?”
“Just that Walter was being pressured. I overheard that when I was working in the barn one day. He was very private about his life and I didn’t pry. But I could tell he wanted nothing to do with selling the place.”
“That’s right. You’re a horse whisperer.”
At least this time her laugh held more of the lilt from the day before. When we were engaged in our sensual round of passion. “I love horses. They are gentle yet powerful, loving to a fault. Just like a dog. You don’t have animals, do you?”
Her question was genuine. “No. It wasn’t allowed in my house growing up.”
“That’s a shame. Maybe you wouldn’t be so surly.” When I gave her a hard look she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. That was uncalled for. You’re right that I don’t really know you.”
“I need to ask you, what was your relationship with my grandfather?”
“My relationship? Uh, he was nice to me. He treated me with respect and kindness and I admired him. Why do you ask? Did Hank say something like I’m a freeloader?”
I doubted the woman was a gold digger, but I had to know for certain. Telling her about the money now wouldn’t prove in my best interest until I learned more about her. “I wouldn’t worry about anything Mr. Barclay had to say. But I’m curious about all the employees who work here. You did work for him. Yes? He paid you for being a horse whisperer?”
She eyed me warily, taking a sip of her wine before saying anything. “Yes, I take care of the horses sometimes, offering lessons to children, grooming when George is shorthanded. They add another dimension to my life that I think I was missing.”
“How many hours do you work a week?”
“It depends, although I admit that after Walter’s death, I haven’t been able to stomach going to any of barns to see them. It was too painful because he loved the horses so much. If he could have spent all his time riding, he would have. He adored showing people around, taking them on a tour of the property. I went with him a couple of times and it was like heading into an adventure. The stories he could tell were amazing, going all the way back fifty years. He just had a way about him that could make you feel comfortable no matter the circumstances or who you were.” She laughed softly, but this time more to herself. “And let me guess. You couldn’t care less.”
I was coming close to being finished with her attitude, but I sensed she’d gone through a lot in her life. “You really don’t know me at all, Jessie. You know what you think you see but everyone has two sides.”
“Okay. So it appears you’re rich and likely from a large city. If I had to guess, from the East Coast. Am I right in that you have several fabulously expensive sports cars, likely all of them bold in color? You have a staff who handles everything for you. And I have no doubt you own a yacht somewhere fabulous, likely in the Caribbean where you hire people to fan you with palm leaves and bring you drinks by snapping your fingers. How am I doing?”
While her tone was more than a little dramatic, she had come close to pegging me much like she’d done the day before. “Close. You win, Jessie. I’m a rich asshole from back East who learned my grandfather passed, leaving me the ranch. Now I’m the bad guy to you and everyone else who worked for the fabulous man because I need to decide whether selling is in my best interest or if there is another choice. But rest assured, Hank and his buddies will have nothing to do with it.”
“Now I’m curious. Why did Walter leave it to you? You obviously don’t give a shit about him or the ranch. Or the people for that matter. They work hard for a living, by the way.”
“Including George?”
