"Not yet, but you might want to consider the practical realities of your situation. A woman managing a large property alone is a significant undertaking. Expensive. Time-consuming. " He says the word gently, like he's expressing genuine concern. "And ranching isn’t your chosen career. I understand you’re a photographer."
Harper leans forward. "Mr. Turner, I think you should?—"
"I'm simply offering a business opportunity," Cole continues smoothly, his eyes never leaving mine. "One that would relieve you of a burden you don’t have a passion for. I'm prepared to offer a fair price. More than fair, actually. Generous, even." He tilts his head slightly. "Eli didn't understand the subtleties of negotiation. He was too direct, too impatient. I prefer to think of these things as partnerships."
I keep my voice steady. "I'm not interested in a partnership with you."
"Not even if I can offer you entry to some affluent galleries to represent you and your work?"
I blink. Wow. Wasn’t expecting that. For a second, I’m tempted to ask him what galleries, but then I remember my dad’s notes. He’d absolutely haunt me if I sold his ranch to someone to use it for running drugs and weapons, like the Turners seem to.
I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”
“That’s too bad.” Cole's smile remains in place, but something shifts in his eyes—a flicker of something cold. He sits up, suddenly looming. "Because I think you should be. I think you should understand that having the right allies in a place like Iron Ridge is important. Especially when you're alone."
"She's not alone," Harper says sharply. "And if you're making threats?—"
"Threats?" Cole holds both his hands up, looking genuinely wounded. "Deputy, I'm simply having a conversation with a neighbor about a business opportunity. Nothing is threatening about that." He stands, buttoning his jacket with deliberate care. "Emma, I hope you'll think about what I've said. I'm staying in Iron Ridge for the next two or three weeks. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
He places a business card on the table. It’s embossed and professional, the kind of thing a legitimate businessman would carry. He taps the center. "My number's on there. Day or night. I'm very flexible."
Then he nods politely to both of us and walks out, stopping to chat with some men at the counter for a moment before leaving.
The silence that follows is heavy, charged. I feel everyone in the diner staring at us.
Harper sits back down slowly. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." I take a sip of coffee, my hands steady even though my pulse is hammering. "He's just trying to intimidate me."
"Maybe." Harper's expression is unreadable. "But he's also a Turner, and Turners don't let things go."
I meet her eyes. "I'm not selling the ranch to him. Dad wouldn't want that."
She studies me for a long moment, and I can see her recalibrating, reassessing me as more than a low-key photographer who keeps to herself. Tossing her napkin on her uneaten dinner, she says, "Emma, if Turner comes around again, if he tries anything, you call me. Immediately."
"I will."
"I mean it. Don't try to handle him yourself." She pauses, then she adds, "I don't think he was posturing."
I nod. He wasn't. But he was also smoother than Eli, more dangerous because he hid the threat under a veneer of civility.
Harper glances at her watch and sighs. "I need to get back to the station. I have to tell Dad about this."
I make a face. "FYI, he can’t do anything until a crime’s been committed."
"And if that’s not the stupidest law known to humankind, I don’t know what is." She stands, pulling out her wallet.
I wave her off. "I've got it."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Go. I'll be fine."
Harper hesitates, then leans down and hugs me. "Be careful, okay? Maybe ask Callahan to stay with you or stay at his place again." A sly grin overtakes her serious expression. "'Cause that'll be a hardship."
"Or just plain hard," I shoot back.
"Now you're bragging." With a wave, she saunters out of the diner.
