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And the potential word-of-mouth clients that might come afterward.
An instant later, however, it became apparent from the size of the man’s outline that it couldn’t be Drake. The newcomer was both shorter and wider than the tall, muscular rancher next door.
Not that she’d given much thought to Drake’s body, damn it. She called a voice command to the Bluetooth speaker to lower the volume on her tango music before opening the door.
“Hello. Can I help you?” she greeted the stranger.
A grizzled older man pushed his hat back on his head as he took her measure in the June sunlight. Dirt-smudged overalls suggested he’d been working with his hands.
“I’m not sure. I’m Josiah Cranston, your grandmother’s tenant. I’ve been trying to reach you to find out your plans for Crooked Elm since I’ve been leasing most of the rangelands for the last five years.”
“Fleur Barclay.” She extended her hand, remembering the small cottage that had once served as the foreman’s quarters for Crooked Elm. Her grandmother had rented out the house when she’d leased the acreage. “Thank you for stopping by. Would you like to come in?”
The man’s lower lip curled, hesitating. “I’m not really fit for company since I’ve been in the fields. I just wanted to see if you’re still planning to lease to me this year or if I’ll need to make other arrangements?”
His voice was gruff, his tone impatient as he shuffled from foot to foot on the welcome mat.
“I apologize, Mr. Cranston. My sisters and I haven’t had the chance to discuss our next move, but we are considering selling the ranch.” There was no other way to afford her dream of owning a restaurant. And she understood the financial windfall would help Lark, who’d been struggling to make ends meet since her divorce after refusing her ex-husband’s offer of alimony. Fleur understood all too well the need to be independent after the games their father had put them through with finances.
Jessamyn might not need the funds, but she certainly had no sentimental attachment to the Crooked Elm. A fact that struck Fleur as very sad when they’d all been happy here once.
The rancher on the porch narrowed pale blue eyes at her, then took a moment to spit over one side of the porch rail.
“Well, that’s not going to make things easy for me. But that’s no concern of yours, I suppose.” Another spit. “The creek has been drying up, anyway. I don’t think you’re going to have much luck selling a property with no irrigation.”
She wanted to ask him why he’d want to keep renting the land if it was no good, but his confrontational demeanor kept the thought on lockdown. “I’m surprised to hear about the creek. Maybe it’s just a dry year?”
“Nope. Bad land management practices. But your grandma didn’t have any money to put into the place.” He rocked on his heels, old boots creaking under his weight.
She bristled at the slight.
“What do you mean ‘bad land management’? Gran hadn’t even ranched the land for over a decade.” She should have made it a priority to walk more of the property. Or borrow a horse and ride it so she could see for herself what it looked like these days. Antonia had long ago sold off all but a few goats that she kept for making her own cheeses.
“Why don’t you ask your neighbor about that?” he suggested, smiling in a way that looked more like a grimace, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “The Alexander boy is the local conservation hero. I’m sure he’ll be too glad to tell you everything your grandmother was doing wrong here dating back to well before my time.”
Drake? He was the last person she wanted to talk to these days, but before she could quiz Josiah any more, the man tipped his hat in a way that seemed more than a little patronizing as he wished her a “good day.”
She fixed a polite expression on her face and said goodbye, but as soon as she closed the door she asked no one in particular, “How am I supposed to have a good day now?”
Worried, Fleur wandered over to the stove and lifted a spatula to move herpolvoronesto a cooling rack while she considered her next move. She didn’t know anything about local conservation efforts or land management practices. Her ranching knowledge was limited to horseback riding, summer vacations at Gran’s and whatever she’d learned in 4-H about animals. Oh, and she could make cheese from goat’s milk, too. A good thing, since she’d inherited her grandmother’s goats and had been caring for them daily.
Had Antonia known the creek was drying up? Or was Josiah just trying to worry Fleur about selling the land so she’d keep leasing it to him? Gran had kept her tenant on because the income paid the yearly land taxes and provided enough for Gran’s living expenses. But would she have continued to lease to him if she’d known about the irrigation problems?
She had no way of knowing the answers to those questions, but she suspected Josiah was right that Drake would know. She’d overheard a conversation at the feedstore earlier in the week about how he’d expanded his father’s operation and how successful he’d become with his yearling steers. Drake wasn’t just playing at being a rancher. He was the real deal.
Maybe it was just as well that she had a reason to visit Alexander Ranch. She owed Emma an answer about her wedding, and if she had to eat humble pie in front of Drake for letting her temper get the better of her, she would do so. Emma had always been kind to her, even in the old pageant days when most of her peers had written her efforts off as attention-seeking.
Still, the thought of seeing Drake again stirred a hunger inside her...
With a curse, she swiped one of the warm cookies off the cooling rack and took a big bite. The rush of sugar and almond was perfect, as was the wave of nostalgia that followed. The crumbly, shortbread-like texture transported her to Christmases past when she would bite into the treats her grandmother shipped to their family. Excited, she knew she’d found the right combination for the recipe and made a note in her food binder.
Even better, she’d have a freshly baked confection to offer in a trade for information at the Alexander Ranch.Polvoronesbeat the taste of humble pie any day. Besides, she seemed to need a substitute snack lately whenever she thought of Drake after their last encounter. She’d never stood so close to him as she had in the parking lot under the stars.
And she recalled the precise moment during her tirade when her anger at him had suddenly felt like something entirely different. Something twitchy and hungry. Like maybe she wanted to throw herself into his arms instead of arguing with him.
Just remembering the moment inspired the need to fan herself. So, as she packed up the cookies in a container to walk over to the ranch next door, she reminded herself that Drake Alexander had assumed the worst about her five years ago, upsetting her so much that she’d done exactly what he’d suggested and broken things off with his brother.
Hurting herself in the process, since it meant losing Colin’s support at the most difficult time of her life.
