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“Because the ranch is a losing proposition now.”
“You’re still here, and it was you he was willing to bet on, not X number of cows.” Then she said, “There’s another option you haven’t mentioned.”
“What’s that?”
“I told you before, I have some money—”
He dropped his hands. “No. I’ve told you before.”
“Why not?” she asked calmly.
“I’ve told you that before, too. It hasn’t changed.”
“Do you mean you’d actually give up the ranch before you would let me put my money in it?”
His eyes looked like flint. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Maddie had changed a lot of his attitudes, but that one was still intact and as strong as ever. A business partner was one thing, because rights were limited by contract. A marriage was something else, subject to the whims of a judge with little regard to fairness. April had proved that to him.
Madelyn turned away before her expression betrayed her. Not for anything would she let him see how that hurt her. With perfect control she said, “It’s your ranch, your decision.”
“Exactly, and it will stay my ranch, my decision, until the day I get thrown off.”
Her mind was busy as she cooked dinner, and determination grew in her. If he thought she would stand by and see the ranch go under when she had the means to save it, he would learn differently. She didn’t know how much the mortgage was, and she had told him the truth when she’d said that her trust fund was far from being a fortune, but surely it was enough to buy them some time until the ranch was on a firmer footing.
He’d never said he loved her. Maybe he didn’t, but Madelyn thought he was at least fond of her. He certainly desired her, though it was true that a man could physically desire a woman without caring for her as a person. If he had lived with her for nine months and still thought she was capable of doing the sort of thing April had done, then perhaps he didn’t care for her as much as she’d thought. She had been happy, but now her balloon was fast going flat.
Now wasn’t the time to tell him she was pregnant. Or maybe it was. Maybe knowing about the baby would bring him to his senses, reassure him that she wasn’t going anywhere, and that they had to use whatever means were at their disposal to save their child’s inheritance.
But she didn’t tell him. His mood varied from taciturn to biting sarcasm, the way it did when he was angry, and she didn’t feel like prodding him into a full-scale blowup. Though she was only two months along, she was already beginning to feel the effects of pregnancy in lower energy levels and a slightly upset stomach—not the best time to battle with her husband.
He was still in a bad mood when he left the next morning, and he took a lunch with him, which meant he wouldn’t be back until it was time for dinner. Madelyn hesitated for maybe five minutes.
She didn’t like going behind his back, but if that was the way it had to be, then she would face the music later. It was a long drive to Billings; she might not make it back before he did, but that was another bridge she would cross when she came to it. While she was there she would also phone around for an obstetrician, because there wasn’t any sort of doctor in Crook, and she didn’t know of one any closer than Billings. It could get interesting around her delivery time, she thought, with her doctor a three-hour drive away.
She hastily dressed, got her checkbook and the necessary documents, and ran out to the car. It had snow tires on it if she needed them, but the highways were clear, so she hoped she would make good time.
She drove quickly but carefully, thankful that there wasn’t much traffic to contend with, and reached the bank at eleven-thirty. She knew who Reese dealt with, having accompanied him before, and she only had to wait about fifteen minutes before the man could see her.
He was smiling the way bankers do, his hand outstretched. “Good morning, Mrs. Duncan. What can we do for you?”
“Good morning, Mr. VanRoden. I’d like to know the amount of our outstanding mortgage.”
He stroked his upper lip as if he had a mustache, which he didn’t, and looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m not certain I can tell you. You see, the mortgage is only in your husband’s name.”
She didn’t bother trying to argue with bureaucracy or banking rules and went straight to the point. “If it’s under two hundred thousand dollars, I want to pay it off.”
There was nothing that got a banker’s attention like money. He chewed his lip, studying her. She sat very calmly and let him try to pick up what clues he could from her appearance, though she had deliberately dressed that morning in one of her New York suits and twisted her hair up. If he could read anything in a charcoal suit with a pink silk blouse under it and an iridescent peacock pinned to the lapel, he was welcome to draw any conclusions he could.
He made up his mind with a minimum of dithering. “Let me check the file,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
She waited, certain of the outcome. No bank would refuse the repayment of a loan, regardless of who was doing the p
aying. She supposed a rank stranger could walk in off the street and pay off any loan he chose, as long as he had the means to do it.
VanRoden was back in less than five minutes with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “I believe we’re ready to talk business, Mrs. Duncan. Mr. Duncan doesn’t have enough in his checking account to cover the loan, so how were you proposing to pay it?”
“I have a trust fund, Mr. VanRoden. I transferred it from New York to another bank here in Billings. First, is the outstanding debt on the mortgage less than two hundred thousand?”
He coughed. “Yes, it is.”
