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She also knew better than to say so.
As her mother would have told her, now was the time for honey, not vinegar. Since Gina was more of a vinegar type she had her work cut out for her.
Maybe the dress would help.
“Gina,” Morris murmured, his voice so low it still startled her to hear it coming from a man so small in stature his feet couldn’t possibly be touching the floor from the height of his gigantic office chair. “What can I do for you?”
“I … well…”
Get it together, Gina. Smile. Dance. Show him what you’ve got!
Gina smiled, straightened her back, and walked to the guest chair, swishing the skirt for all she was worth. And Mr. Morris did notice. His gaze went from her face to her breasts, then did a quick leap to her feet and stayed there.
“Nice shoes.” He licked his lips.
“Thanks. I’ve come about this.” Leaning over, she set the letter in front of him. Instead of peering down her dress, as any red-blooded American male should, or so she’d heard, he leaned to the side so he could keep his gaze on her feet.
Gina tapped the paper, then snapped her fingers beneath his nose. She was starting to think that the dress had been a mistake. The shoes certainly were.
She snapped again when Mr. Morris continued to salivate over parts of her much lower than he should be and was at last rewarded with his attention.
His tiny dark eyes flickered over the letter before he pushed it back toward her. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“I’ll have the money next month.”
She wouldn’t, but she had to say something.
He stared down his also-short nose at her. “It wouldn’t matter if you did.”
“Because you don’t like money?”
“I adore money. Which is why I accepted the offer of the gentleman who was in my office this morning a single moment after I arrived.”
“I don’t understand.”
He leaned back and spoke to the ceiling: “They never understand.”
“Who’s they?”
He lowered his head. “People who can’t pay their bills. I warn them and I warn them; then when I sell off the merchandise they’re so confused.”
“Sell?” Gina stood, towering over the man. He
didn’t appear intimidated. He was no doubt used to it. “You sold my ranch?”
“Not yours. Not mine, either, anymore.” He wagged a finger at her. “I did warn you.”
Gina sat again. Her legs weren’t going to hold her much longer. “What happens now?”
“That’s up to the new owner.” Morris’s attention had returned to Gina’s shoes. “A doctor…”
“Crap!” Gina sprang to her feet just as Mr. Morris murmured, “Mecate.”
* * *
Matt returned to the Strater and began to make phone calls. He put a decent-sized crew on alert. They’d come just as soon as he found the area of the ranch that matched the photograph. A few more calls and he’d rented all the equipment he’d need for the dig.
He’d thought the meeting with Benjamin Morris would take longer, that the man would require convincing, that Matt might even have to bid against other interested parties or wait for a public auction. Instead, he’d walked out of the office a half hour later with the paperwork.
