Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,136
to buy some donuts and there he was, big as life, drinking coffee and talking to Jessica Monroe!” She motioned to the waitress, ordered a fattening, sinful dessert, then glanced back at Cassie. “The way I heard it, Denver McLean fired Ryan last winter. Caught him stealing supplies or something.”
Cassie remembered the rumors but didn’t put much stock in them. After all, she’d been on the unkind side of gossip more than once in her life. “I guess no one knows but Denver.”
“And Ryan,” Beth pointed out. “You know, I bet he’s only daring to show his face because Denver’s in L.A.!”
“Ryan has family here.”
“Just a sister,” Beth said. “And the way I understand it they don’t get along.”
“That could be just talk. Maybe he’s only visiting.”
Beth pursed her lips together and shook her head. “Nope. I talked to Jessica about him after he left the bakery. She said he was asking about work.”
“You think he’s back to stay?” Cassie was surprised. After Denver had accused him of stealing and fired him, Ryan hadn’t bothered defending himself and had simply left town.
“Who knows? According to Jessica, Ryan stopped over at her dad’s ranch earlier this week, looking for a job.” Beth’s eyes narrowed. “If you ask me, Ryan could’ve taken Black Magic—just to get under Denver’s skin. It would be like him, too—to wait until Denver was gone!”
“Then why would he stay?”
“Just to see Denver’s reaction.”
Cassie wasn’t convinced. “Seems farfetched to me.”
“Maybe,” Beth agreed. “Lots of people around here would like to get back at the McLeans. Nobody much liked John.” Her lips pursed. “He made more enemies than friends, and even though he’s gone, Denver and Colton haven’t won any popularity contests around town, either. Both of them turned their backs on Three Falls, then showed up again once John died and they inherited the place. It looks pretty mercenary to some of the ranchers who stuck it out through the bad years.”
“Some of the ranchers—meaning Josh?” she asked, mentioning Beth’s husband.
Beth shook her head. “No, Josh likes Colton and Denver, but his father Bill, and my dad never had any use for either of the McLean boys.”
“Neither does mine,” Cassie admitted, wondering just who disliked Denver and Colton enough to risk stealing their horse. This was more than a practical joke—taking a valuable stallion was a criminal offense, and Cassie didn’t doubt for a minute that, if given the chance, Colton would press charges.
Beth grinned as the curly-haired waitress deposited a huge wedge of chocolate mousse pie covered with a cloud of whipped cream in the center of the table. “This looks positively decadent,” Beth murmured, handing one of the long-handled spoons to Cassie. “Come on, help me out.”
Cassie sighed theatrically, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. “First Dad, now you,” she murmured, but plunged a spoon into the pie anyway. “I haven’t eaten so many calories in an entire month as I’ve consumed in the last two days.”
Beth’s lips curved upward. “You could use a few pounds.” She took another bite, then said, “I heard you had dinner with Colton last night.”
Cassie’s brows shot up. “How’d you find out?”
“Josh’s brother was there with his wife. They saw you together at Timothy’s.”
“Colton dropped by after work and twisted my arm,” Cassie explained. “Kind of like you did today.”
“And so how was Colton? The same as ever? Restless and mysterious?”
“Conciliatory,” Cassie said, thinking. “A little on the mellow side.”
“That’s not the Colton McLean I remember.”
“Me, neither,” Cassie admitted. “But it was nice.”
“So you two ended the feud in one date?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
Beth polished off the last dollop of whipped cream. “If you say so.” She leaned back in her chair, linked her hands around her protruding abdomen and sighed happily. “Does he still think someone took his horse?”
“I don’t honestly know. I’m just glad Black Magic is back where he belongs and Colton is off my dad’s back.”
* * *
Colton’s watch over Black Magic didn’t turn up anything suspicious. In fact, all he got for his efforts was a sore shoulder and a bad disposition from several nights of little sleep.
For years he’d existed on two or three hours’ sleep at a stretch, always wary, always concerned that he might wake up with a knife against his throat or the muzzle of a gun in his back. And yet, since he’d been back in Montana, the hours of physical labor on the ranch made demands on his