Cowboy Proud

She waved him off. “I actually came in because I wanted to follow up with you guys on the invitations I sent out for the inaugural cattle drive. Anyone have the head count as of today’s mail run? I haven’t heard from the PR company since Friday. I swear, we need to invest in better internet service. We could’ve handled all this so much faster than with rural post.”

“It’s Sunday. Mail doesn’t run,” Cade offered.

“You know it’s bad when you don’t even realize what day it is anymore,” Reagan grumbled.

Eli moved toward the small built-in desk. “Paper invitations are more personal. That’s what Michael Anderson, our contact from the public relations firm, advised, and we’re paying a pretty penny for his professional opinion. Regardless, I can give you the head count as of last night.” He pulled a worn Day-Timer his way. Absently flipping through several pages, he stopped and did a quick tally. “We have confirmations from twelve of the fifteen, and one regret. Leaves us waiting for the last two responses.”

Cade rolled his shoulders. Eli had won the argument about hiring a PR firm. Cade wasn’t sure why they’d paid the company so much money to put together a freaking guest list, but he’d given up the argument, keeping his mouth shut about that at this point. “Hard to believe that the moment all those folks show up, the Bar C won’t exist anymore.”

“She will,” Eli countered fiercely. “She always will. She’s ours.” He dropped his head to his chest. They stood in the ensuing silence, each of them surely lost to their own thoughts. Then his chin snapped up. “It’s like introducing her with a pseudonym for publicity purposes. She deserved something catchy, and Lassos & Latigos Dude Ranch is perfect for those who haven’t met her yet.”

Closing his eyes, Cade let his head fall back. “I still can’t believe you guys took me seriously on that name. I was joking.”

“It is sort of catchy.” The smile in Reagan’s voice rang clear.

“So, about the guests who haven’t responded?” Cade asked. “Do we chalk them off or plan on them showing up unannounced on opening—”

The phone rang, the jangle of the old bell ringer loud enough to nearly knock Cade out of his socks.

Reagan jerked her chin toward the phone. “Grab that, would you? My hands are wet and Eli’s lost in the guest list again. Could be a verbal RSVP.”

He hesitated, the idea of talking to a “guest” somewhat daunting.

Then he yanked the phone’s receiver off the wall.

* * *

“HELLO?”

The gruff voice infused that one word, an alleged greeting, with undisguised caution, throwing Emmaline Graystone off guard. “Hello?”

In the background, dishes clattered in a sink.

Did Michael give me the wrong number? Emma glanced at the invitation, and then checked the display on her smartphone. Nope. Right number.

Her business partner had handled this account save for a couple of phone calls she’d taken in his absence. For those, she’d talked to a man named Eli. He’d been cultured, polished and incredibly professional. This was clearly not the same man.

“Hello?” that deep male voice repeated, his impatience impossible to misinterpret.

“Hello...hi. Um, I’m...” She blew out a soft breath and squared her shoulders. “This is Emmaline Graystone. I’m with Top Priority Publicity, the public relations firm hired by Lassos & Latigos to guide the ranch through it’s inaugural—”

“I’m well aware of what your firm has been hired to do, Ms. Graystone. But I was under the impression Eli had been dealing with a man by the name of Michael Anderson.”

“Michael is the firm’s vice president and has been handling the account, yes. But he’s involved in another project where the opening date was unexpectedly moved up and has left him pressed for time. With your grand opening quickly approaching, I offered to take over your account.”

“You familiar with our account?” The Voice asked.

She lifted her chin a fraction and stared at the barren horizon. “I’m the firm’s president and owner. I’ve been through your account files extensively, and I fully understand the direction Michael had been taking things. He’s done a good job. I can take it from here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The perceptible smile in The Voice’s response irked her. “Do you have a problem with me assuming this account?”

“Nope. As long as you keep in mind the same principles we drilled into Michael, I don’t care who handles our account.”

Curious. She hadn’t seen anything in the notes about hardline principles to respect. “Which principles, precisely, are you referring to?”

“We want to keep the ranch family focused, make sure it doesn’t become a commercial machine but rather an intimate experience for each guest and every booking. Do that and I don’t care what kind of equipment’s parked behind your zipper.”

She blinked wide eyes. “Glad to hear it,” she said, mimicking The Voice’s dry tone. If this guy was a Covington, and if he would be interacting with ranch guests, they were all in trouble. He couldn’t speak to strangers—paying strangers—this way.

“You want to talk to Eli?”

“Not necessary. I’m currently standing in the Amarillo airport and there are no rental cars to be had. I would appreciate it if you’d have someone pick me up.”

“You’re here,” The Voice deadpanned.

“If by ‘here’ you mean at the airport, then yes,” she answered, irritated that The Voice offered no courtesy. “More specifically, in case you missed it, said airport is in Amarillo. That would be Texas. Right inside the infamous Panhandle. I’m staring out the huge glass windows at a landscape that’s flat, dust-colored as far as the eye can see, and the wind is blowing. It isn’t even remotely similar to the brochure Michael created. Still, if that’s what you’re referring to as ‘here,’ then the answer stands.”

“I should have asked, ‘Why are you here?’” he clarified.

“Unannounced visit to put you through your paces before your guests arrive.” She tried not to fume at his ensuing curse. “We have fourteen days to work out any last-minute issues.”

He sighed. Something—a hand?—slid over the receiver on the opposite end. The Voice entered into a brief, muffled discussion with what sounded like another man and a woman. The Voice’s words, though indiscernible, conveyed his frustration loud and clear. If the dude ranch intended to operate this way, they wouldn’t last a single tourist season.

The Voice’s hand must have slipped from the receiver because Emmaline was able to determine the three were arguing over who would drive in to retrieve her. Travelers, particularly those with both the money for the experience and those bringing children, wouldn’t tolerate being abandoned at tiny airports as their well-paid “hosts” argued heatedly over who was supposed to have been at the airport to pick them up.

She’d have to put an end to this and figure it out on her own. “Excuse me?”

Nothing. No response whatsoever.

“Excuse me,” she said again, louder.

Still no response.

“Hey!” she shouted, ignoring the startled glances from the few passersby in the tiny airport.

“Give me a minute,” The Voice ordered.

She ran her fingers through her pixie cut, well aware it would make the ends stand up and not caring one whit. “I’ve given you more than forty-five between landing and now. If I were an actual customer, I’d be watching the clock, too. Now you’re telling me, not asking me, to give you more time. Not the best foot to start out on.”

“You’re here unannounced, so cut me a little slack.” His words were short and sharp.

“I am, yes. And I won’t, no,” she snapped. “You have one chance to make a first impression. So far? You’ve blown it. Badly. You’ll have to do better with your paying customers or you’re finished before you get started.”

Silence traveled between them, weaving together to form palpably fractious tension. This was far from the first instance she’d had to assert herself as a woman in a male-dominant world, and if The Voice believed he could wait her out, he had another think coming.

Several minutes passed, the only sound between them their mutual breathing.