Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,22
buy me out.”
“Does she?” Mitchell’s brows shot up. He cast Tessa a questioning glance.
“Where’s your father?” Denver asked. “I’d like to talk to him.”
“He’ll be here. He had to pick up some feed in town.”
Tessa threw her brother a worried look. That was a lie. They both knew it. Tessa was going into town later for supplies, not Dad. She was about to correct Mitchell, but the look in his eyes warned her to stop, before she said something that would embarrass him or Dad.
Mitchell said, “When he shows up, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
“Do that.” Denver shot a hard glance at Mitchell then strode into the house.
Tessa whirled on her brother. “Why did you lie?” she demanded.
“Because it’s none of his business what Dad’s doing.” Mitchell started for the barn.
“He owns the place,” she reminded him.
“How could I forget?” Mitchell threw open the barn door and walked swiftly to the medicine cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of pills. “I’ll be working with the calves—”
“Dad works for Denver,” Tessa cut in. “We all do.”
“Don’t I know it,” Mitchell grumbled, jamming the bottle into the pocket of his jacket. For years he’d felt it his duty to protect Tessa, and obviously he still did. “Don’t tell me you’re on McLean’s side!”
“Of course not.”
“He’s not interested in the ranch, you know.”
“He doesn’t claim to be.”
“Look, Tessa,” Mitchell said gently. “From what I hear, McLean’s had plenty of women—so don’t get any ideas—”
“I don’t have any ‘ideas,’” Tessa protested. “Denver doesn’t interest me in the least!”
“Tell that to someone who’ll buy it,” Mitchell murmured.
“You think I’m lying?”
“Nope. I think you’re deluding yourself. Just like you always do with Denver McLean.”
Tessa wanted to throttle her brother. Instead, she decided to change the subject before things really heated up. “What was all that baloney about Dad being in town? Where is he?”
“At the house. Sleeping.”
“Hung over?”
Mitchell shrugged. “I suppose. When I came in last night, I found him on the couch, passed out.”
“Wonderful,” Tessa said on a sigh. She slit the twine on a bale of hay and forked yellowed grass into the manger. “Denver won’t be as understanding as John was.”
Mitchell asked, “What’s all this nonsense about you buying the place?”
“It’s not nonsense.”
“Just impossible,” Mitchell decided.
“And why’s that?”
“Financing, for one thing. Who’s gonna back you now that old John’s gone?”
“I’ve already talked to Rob Morrison at the bank.”
Mitchell let out a hoot. “That guy? He’s still wet behind the ears. How old is he, twenty-two? Twenty-three maybe?”
“At least he was willing to listen to me,” Tessa grumbled.
“Big deal. He was probably hoping to put the make on you.”
“No way—he was interested in what I had to say.”
“Or sneaking a peek down your blouse when you were signing the papers.”
“Knock it off!”
Yanking the pitchfork from her hands, Mitchell gave her a knowing look. “He’s been after you for the past six months.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” he mocked, shaking some hay into the manger as he winked at his sister. A crooked smile slashed across his jaw. “But it just might work, you know. His old man does own the bank.”
“That’s enough!” she said, ripping the pitchfork from his fingers. “I don’t have to take this abuse from you.” Or Denver McLean, she added silently. She was tired of inquisitions. “Don’t you have something more important to do than snipe at me? Maybe you could muck out the barn.”
“Touchy this morning, aren’t we?” he teased. “I don’t suppose that has anything to do with the fact that Denver’s here.”
“Out!” she muttered, aiming the pitchfork at his chest and jabbing playfully.
Mitchell took off his hat in a sweeping gesture and bowed.
She poked at him again.
“I’m leaving already,” he said, hands raised, backing toward the door. But as he reached the doorway, he added, “Just be careful, Sis. Denver’s back. Don’t let him walk all over you.”
“I won’t,” she swore, lowering the pitchfork a little as he turned on his heel, opened the door and disappeared.
* * *
Denver snapped the file closed and rubbed his eyes. It was late afternoon, and he’d been studying tax forms, income projections, profit and loss statements and invoices for nearly six hours. The sandwich Milly had left him on the corner of the desk was still there, the bread dry, the filling oozing a little.
His stomach rumbled and he took one bite before tossing the rest back on his plate.
Tessa hadn’t shown up at the house. He’d seen some of the crew assemble for