The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [84]
“Only . . .”
“Oh, it’s a big ol’ ranch, the Double K. Fact, it’s a corporation, and lately there’s been talk of movin’ me up to superintendent.”
“Goodness. That sounds like it would be quite different.”
“Quite different, yes, ma’am. Lot more . . . administration.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I got what you call mixed feelings. Course, it’s nice they think I’d be good enough and all—”
“A feather in your cap.”
“Yep, but then again . . .”
“So much more responsibility. It worries you.”
“Nope. No, that’s not it.”
“No, it’s not the responsibility,” she amended quickly, “that doesn’t bother you. It’s more that . . .”
“More that . . .”
“That . . .”
“I always thought someday I might . . .”
“Go out on your own,” she guessed.
“There you go.”
“Have a little ranch of your own.”
“Yeah. Well, not too little.”
“No, not too little. Just right.”
“That’s it. You hit ’er square on the head, ma’am.” After a little leading from him. But that was all right. He felt uncommonly tranquil, for some reason. It was that voice of hers.
“I can see it’s a dilemma for you, Shorty.”
“Well, I reckon it’s time to shoot or give up the gun.”
“But it’s a good dilemma, yes? Two ways you can go, and neither one is bad. Or . . . ?”
“Wellll . . .” He thought about leaving Cullen Pratt, which would come out of the blue to most of his colleagues. “I’d hate to let the boys down, that’s for sure. But then again, there’s a few things about the way they’re runnin’ the place that don’t set right with me anymore.”
“You feel that you could do a better job.”
“Well, different. More modernlike. There’s big changes comin,’ and the Double K’s not, uh, not always ahead o’ the curve, you could say.”
“Cattle-raising is changing?”
“Oh, heck yeah. All kinds o’ new techniques and . . . energy-saving measures and what-have-you. Long overdue. So, ma’am, what do you think I should do?”
A long pause this time. In the background, he thought he could hear a cat meow. Or a baby cry? “It’s difficult,” she said at length. “I’m sensing a great deal of ambivalence. Feelings of duty, loyalty, but also of restlessness and discontent. It’s as if a chapter of your life is drawing to a close, but you are reluctant to end it just yet. It’s easier for you to be passive, let others shape your destiny for you. But in the end, it is you who must take the action.”
“Yeah, but what action?”
“Oh, dear one. I think you already know the answer to that.”
She was either very good or he’d just been hornswoggled. Or both.
“If you like,” she said, “I can read the cards for you.”
“The cards?”
“Tarot cards.”
“Do they tell the future?”
“I’m afraid not. They’re only a guide, a vehicle, to help clarify the choice you must make.”
“I guess not, not tonight. Prob’ly gettin’ late for you.”
“What time is it there?”
He calculated Mountain Standard Time. Or was it Pacific? “Almost nine,” he hazarded. “Maybe if I call you again sometime, we can do the cards.”
“I would like that.”
“I could tell you all about my love life.”
“Oh, a very long call,” she teased.
He’d been joking, but now the thought of talking to Madame Romanescu or anyone else about his so-called love life brought him down. “Nope. Shorter than . . . than me.”
“You do not have good luck with women?”
“More like they don’t have good luck with me.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. No. No, that does not feel right to me, Shorty.”
“It’s true, ma’am. Either that or they’re gold diggers. You shoulda seen the one I met today—just for instance. Meaning no disrespect to women, this one could give all o’ you a bad name.”
“Or perhaps you were too quick to judge?”
He thought of Krystal with a K and her “bowling bag.” For about two minutes, she’d reduced him to speechless staring, and he didn’t even know why. Attractive, sure, but she wasn’t exactly a beauty queen. Still, something about her . . . But soon enough, luckily, he’d gotten her number, and if she was a physical therapist, he was Wyatt Earp.
“Don’t think so,” he told Madame Romanescu, “but I’ll be keepin’ my eye on her,