Diana Palmer Christmas Collection: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means / True Blue / Carrera's Bride / Will of Steel / Winter Roses

Maddie flushed. “Wow.”

“Not that those pretty drawings are bad, either. Sold one to Shelby Brannt, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She’d loved the idea of Cort having to see her artwork every day, because she knew that Shelby had mounted it on a wall in the dining room of her home. But he probably never even looked at it. Though cultured, Cort had little use for art or sculpture. Unless it was a sculpture of one of the ranch’s prize bulls. They had one done in bronze. It sat on the mantel in the living room of the Brannt home.

“Ought to paint that rooster while he’s still alive,” Ben said darkly.

“Ben!”

He held up both hands. “Didn’t say I was going to hurt him.”

“Okay.”

“But somebody else might.” He pursed his lips. “You know, he could be the victim of a terrible traffic accident one day. He loves to run down that dirt road in front of the house.”

“You bite your tongue,” she admonished.

“Spoilsport.”

“That visitor who came the other day, that developer, you see him again?” Ben asked curiously.

“No, but he left his name.” She pulled his business card out of her pocket and held it up. “He’s from Las Vegas. He wants to build a hotel and amusement park complex right here.” She looked around wistfully. “Offered me a million dollars. Gosh, what I could do with that!”

“You could sell and throw away everything your family worked for here?” Ben asked sadly. “My great-grandfather started working here with your great-grand-father. Our families have been together all that time.” He sighed. “Guess I could learn to use a computer and make a killing with a dot-com business,” he mused facetiously.

“Aw, Ben,” she said gently. “I don’t want to sell up. I was just thinking out loud.” She smiled, and this time it was genuine. “I’d put a lot of people out of work, and God knows what I’d do with all the animals who live here.”

“Especially them fancy breeding bulls and cows,” he replied. “Cort Brannt would love to get his hands on them. He’s always over here buying our calves.”

“So he is.”

Ben hesitated. “Heard something about that developer, that Archie Lawson fellow.”

“You did? What?”

“Just gossip, mind.”

“So? Tell me!” she prodded.

He made a face. “Well, he wanted a piece of land over around Cheyenne, on the interstate. The owner wouldn’t sell. So cattle started dying of mysterious causes. So did the owner’s dog, a big border collie he’d had for years. He hired a private investigator, and had the dog autopsied. It was poison. They could never prove it was Lawson, but they were pretty sure of it. See, he has a background in chemistry. Used to work at a big government lab, they say, before he started buying and selling land.”

Her heart stopped. “Oh, dear.” She bit her lip. “He said something about knowing how to force deals…”

“I’ll get a couple of my pals to keep an eye on the cattle in the outer pastures,” Ben said. “I’ll tell them to shoot first and ask questions later if they see anybody prowling around here.”

“Thanks, Ben,” she said heavily. “Good heavens, as if we don’t already have enough trouble here with no rain, for God knows how long.”

“Everybody’s praying for it.” He cocked his head. “I know a Cheyenne medicine man. Been friends for a couple of years. They say he can make rain.”

“Well!” She hesitated. “What does he charge?”

“He doesn’t. He says he has these abilities that God gave him, and if he ever takes money for it, he’ll lose it. Seems to believe it, and I hear he’s made rain at least twice in the area. If things go from bad to worse, maybe we should talk to him.”

She grinned. “Let’s talk to him.”

He chuckled. “I’ll give him a call later.”

Her eyebrows arched. “He has a telephone?”

“Miss Maddie,” he scoffed, “do you think Native American people still live in teepees and wear headdresses?”

She flushed. “Of course not,” she lied.

“He lives in a house just like ours, he wears jeans and T-shirts mostly and he’s got a degree in anthropology. When he’s not fossicking, they say he goes overseas with a group of mercs from Texas for top secret operations.”

She was fascinated. “Really!”

“He’s something of a local celebrity on the rez. He lives there.”

“Could you call him and ask him to come over when he has time?”

He laughed. “I’ll do that tonight.”

“Even if he can’t make rain, I’d love to meet him,” she said. “He sounds very interesting.”

“Take my word for it, he is. Doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s worth hearing. Well, I’ll get back to work.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

He smiled. “My pleasure. And don’t let that developer bully you,” he said firmly. “Maybe you need to talk to Cort’s dad and tell him what’s going on. He’s not going to like that, about the development. It’s too close to his barns. In these hard times, even the Brannts couldn’t afford to build new ones with all that high tech they use.”

“Got a point. I’ll talk to him.”

Maddie went back to the house. She put the feed basket absently on the kitchen counter, mentally reviewing all the things she had planned for the week. She missed Cort already. But at least it meant the rooster was likely to stay at home. He only went over to the Brannt ranch when Cort was in residence, to attack him.

“Better wash those eggs and put them in the refrigerator,” Great-Aunt Sadie advised. “They’re the ones for the restaurant, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Old Mr. Bailey said his customers have been raving about the taste of his egg omelets lately.” She laughed. “I’ll have to give my girls a treat for that.”

Great-Aunt Sadie was frowning. “Maddie, did you ever look up the law about selling raw products?”

Maddie shook her head. “I meant to. But I’m sure it’s not illegal to sell eggs. My mother did it for years before she died….”

“That was a long time ago, honey. Don’t you remember that raid a few years ago on those poor farmers who were selling raw milk?” She made a face. “What sort of country do we live in? Sending an armed raid team after helpless farmers for selling milk!”

Maddie felt uneasy. “I’d forgotten that.”

“I hadn’t. In my day we had homemade butter and we could drink all the raw milk we wanted—didn’t have all this fancy stuff a hundred years ago and it seems to me people were a whole lot healthier.”