Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [35]
“Between the kids’ activities and the laundry I was happy to come to work this morning.”
Jenny, the receptionist, sitting next to Leslie, said, “My car wouldn’t start and my dad couldn’t figure out what’s wrong with it, so I spent the entire weekend carless, at home watching TV instead of barhopping with my friends.” She sent Leslie a sly look. “If I can’t get my car fixed, I might have to come to you for a loan for a new car.”
“You’d have to make an appointment for next week, because I’m full up this week,” Leslie said.
“That’s always good news to hear first thing on Monday morning.”
“So what did you do this weekend, Miss Hamilton?” Jenny asked, giving Ainsley’s suit a thorough inspection.
Miss Hamilton. Like she was an old spinster. The twenty-something woman was a tad mean-spirited, but efficient, so usually Ainsley let her barbs slide. Not today. She poked Jenny back. “Oh, I went to a club.”
Jenny furrowed her brow. “Like a supper club or a knitting club or something?”
The little snot. “No, to a night club.”
“Which one?”
“You wouldn’t know it. It’s out of town. I had a great time but it was exhausting. I discovered muscles I hadn’t used in years.” She smiled and sailed from the room.
Her taunt literally came back to bite her in the ass when her butt met the leather seat of her office chair.
Ben ditched his gloves and dug his cell phone from his front pocket after it rang for the third time. “Hello?”
“Thank God you’re home. I need a huge favor.”
He set aside his ax. “Sure, Rielle. What do you need?”
“My car has a flat tire. When I went to change it I discovered the spare is flat too. I have a meeting at the new bank in fifteen minutes. Is there any way you can pick me up and take me to town?”
Ben dusted off his Wranglers, scraped the muck from his boots and grabbed his keys from the workbench. “Hopping in my truck now.”
Rielle’s place was up the road three miles. The top half of her one hundred and forty-six acres bordered Casper McKay’s land and Ben’s portion of the McKay Ranch. According to family gossip, thirty years ago both Charlie and Casper had wanted that section. They’d fought over it to the point the original owner had sold the parcel to the Wetzlers, a family from California.
Ben never put much faith in local speculation that the Wetzler’s were dope-selling hippies, but they were an odd bunch. Their housing setup had a commune-like vibe—from the individual cabins spread out from the new main structure, to the acres of gardens, the chicken coops, the animal pens, the dairy cows, the bee hives and the fruit trees.
No one knew how many people had squatted on the land with the Wetzlers’ blessing. But in the two years since the deaths of her parents, Rielle Wetzler had built the Sage Creek Bed and Breakfast to supplement her income from her organic farm. Even with all the improvements, there was still much to be done. And those improvements didn’t come cheap.
Rielle stopped pacing on the porch and bounded down the steps when he pulled up.
The willowy blonde strode toward his truck with an air of gracefulness. Although Ben knew how strong and capable Rielle was, her waif-like appearance didn’t appeal to him. Despite his family’s teasing, she never hinted about them becoming romantically involved—a first in Ben’s life when it came to dealing with a single woman. So their friendship meant a lot to him.
She gathered her long, tie-dyed skirt and slammed the door. “You are a lifesaver, Ben McKay.”
“Happy to help.” He didn’t speak until they were zipping along the blacktop toward town. “So why you goin’ to the bank?”
“Because it’s new. They won’t know my family history and wonder if I’m asking for a loan for new grow lights to increase my secret crop of marijuana.”
Ben laughed.
“Seriously. I’m hoping they’ll loan me money to pay off some debts. Like what I owe you.”
“I told you not to worry about that.”
“I do worry.” She smoothed her palm from the top of her scalp down to the ends, trying to tame her baby-fine hair. “I’m so nervous.”
“You shouldn’t be. Them