Cattleman's Courtship

She stared at the empty doorway, regret mixed with irritation.

Men. Who can understand them? And cowboys seem to make less sense than general, run-of-the-mill guys. Maybe working outside in all that fresh air affects their brains!

She shook her head and returned to her dusting, determined not to spend another minute thinking about Quinn Bowdrie.

Unfortunately, Victoria discovered over the next week that commanding herself not to waste brain power thinking about the handsome rancher and actually accomplishing it were two very different things.

Saturday morning found her seated cross-legged on the floor of Hank Foslund’s office, a pile of file folders on her lap. Behind her, the top drawer of a low filing cabinet stood open, the files that had crammed its now-empty space surrounding her in a circle of neatly labeled stacks. She’d been pulling and organizing files for two hours, finishing the A’s and moving on to the B’s.

She scanned the last three remaining folders and shifted them off her lap, placing them in the proper alphabetical stack.

“Hank,” she muttered to herself with a fond shake of her head. “You may be a great attorney, but you’re terrible at organization. You should have hired another file clerk when Shirley retired.”

She pushed the top drawer closed and pulled open the bottom one. Like its mate, it too was crowded full of files, loose papers jammed haphazardly to hang half-in, half-out of folders.

The first file was so thick that she had to slide both hands beneath it to lift it from the drawer. The sides bulged and when she set the folder on the floor, it popped open, papers slithering loose to slide across the carpet.

Exasperated, Victoria shuffled the papers together before settling cross-legged once again to attach loose pages and reorganize the file. One look at the heading on the topmost document, however, had her mouth dropping open.

She hadn’t known that Hank Foslund represented the Bowdries.

But I should have, she realized. He’s the only attorney in town, and he’s represented most of the ranchers for years.

Feeling almost guilty, Victoria tried to deal with the file in an objective, professional manner. But she had to read at least a portion of each document in order to determine in which section of the big file the paper should be placed.

It became quickly obvious that the contents related to Eileen’s attempt to break Charlie Bowdrie’s will. It was also clear that Eileen had alleged that her husband had been mentally incompetent after suffering a stroke. Her attorney had used the public forum to villify Quinn and Cully, contending that Charlie was clearly not of sound mind or he would not have left his valuable property to two such unworthy recipients.

Victoria frowned and flipped through the pages to the original document. Her frown deepened as she read the allegations and double-checked the date of the will against the date of Charlie’s illness and subsequent death.

He made the will years before he suffered the stroke that eventually killed him. She shook her head, considering the significance of the dates. The attorney representing Eileen Bowdrie must have known there was little basis for filing this lawsuit, she mused. No wonder Quinn dislikes attorneys. It seems clear that the only reason this suit was filed was malice.

She shook her head in disgust and went back to sorting and attaching documents into the thick file until at last, there were only two sheets of paper left. The two letters were from a law firm in Helena, and both appeared to be an annual report on the status of a trust fund of some sort. Although the name Bowdrie was scrawled across the top of the letters in Hank’s bold, almost illegible hand, the file number below the name wasn’t the same as the thick file spread open on the floor before Victoria.

She paper-clipped the two letters together and added them to the stack of misfiled documents on top of the filing cabinet. Then she slipped the thick Bowdrie file back into its place in the file drawer. A quick glance at her watch told her she was going to be late for dinner with Aunt Sheila and Uncle John.

She quickly gathered her purse and let herself out of the office, carefully locking the door behind her, the puzzling letters forgotten on top of the cabinet.

Struggling to deal with the culture shock of her sudden shift from city to small town life, Victoria found herself brewing tea at two on Sunday morning, unable to sleep. She wasn’t sure if her sleeplessness was due to the lack of traffic noise outside or the hazy dream she’d had about dancing with Quinn.

Whatever the cause, Victoria stifled a yawn and struggled to concentrate on the minister’s sermon much later that morning.

Oh, what I’d give for a double shot latte, she thought longingly. Flavored coffee brewed strong enough to jolt her awake was only one of a long list of things she missed about Seattle. Six months, she lectured silently. I will make the best of living away from city comforts for the next six months.

Later, as she followed her aunt down the aisle and stepped out into the sunshine, she reminded herself that there were many things she enjoyed about living in this small Montana town. The pleasure of breathing air untainted by city exhaust, the friendliness of neighbors and the opportunity to spend time with her aunt, uncle and cousin were only a few of the reasons she liked Colson. I need to focus on what I enjoy about living in Montana, she thought. And not on what I miss about Seattle.

“Hello, Sheila.”

A plump, middle-aged woman, flowers bobbing atop her white straw hat, halted Sheila Denning. Victoria’s aunt paused on the wide sidewalk, Lonna and Victoria beside her.

“Good morning, Laura, everyone.” Sheila smiled pleasantly at the two women standing in a semicircle with Laura Kennedy. “I don’t think you’ve met my niece, Victoria. She’s recently moved to Colson. Victoria, I’d like you to meet Laura Kennedy, Becky Sprackett and Eileen Bowdrie.”

“Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Victoria murmured in response to the chorus of greetings. The woman that Sheila had introduced as Eileen Bowdrie piqued her interest. The impeccably dressed older woman had elegant features, but her patrician beauty was marred by cold blue eyes and a haughty air.

“I’ve met your relative—Quinn Bowdrie.”

Eileen Bowdrie’s eyes grew icier and she stiffened.

“I am most certainly not related to Quinn Bowdrie. Nor to his brother, Cully,” she said emphatically. “If you were more familiar with our town, you’d know that those two are absolutely no blood relation of mine. I’m their father’s widow, but I am certainly not their mother. Unfortunately for the community, they inherited all of their father’s weaknesses and none of his strengths. They ought to be locked up somewhere, there isn’t a decent woman in the county that’s safe with either of them.”

Despite Lonna and Nikki’s description of Eileen, Victoria was still stunned by the woman’s bitter attack. Her shock quickly gave way to anger, however, as bitterness continued to pour out of the woman. Stubborn and impossible though Quinn had been, Victoria thought, he’d gone out of his way to step in when Sam Beckman had proven difficult. Even when he’d discovered that she was an attorney he’d been angry but polite.

At last the woman paused to catch a breath.

“An interesting viewpoint,” Victoria interjected smoothly. “However, my experience with Quinn was quite different. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Quinn Bowdrie, I would have had to fight off the unwanted attentions of a local rancher at the Crossroads several weeks ago. I’m very grateful that Quinn was there and stepped in, and I found him to be a perfect gentleman.”

Eileen’s face flushed with anger, and her thin body stiffened. She seemed to expand and grow taller with affront.

“Well! I refuse to stand here and waste my time being corrected by a young woman who clearly has no understanding of this situation.” Eileen glared at Victoria before turning a fulminating stare on her aunt. “Sheila, I suggest you apprise your niece of the facts.” She switched her furious gaze back to Victoria. “And after you are aware of the true situation, I shall expect a full apology from you, young woman.”

Clutching her purse between a rigid elbow and the cream silk suit covering her thin waist, Eileen Bowdrie turned on her heel and stalked away down the sidewalk, nearly vibrating with self-righteous fury.

“Well, I…” Laura Kennedy managed a feeble smile. “I’ll see you ladies at the Garden Club meeting on Tuesday.” She hurried off after Eileen, the flowers on her hat dipping and swaying in time with her quick strides.

“Well,” Sheila declared in a puff of sound, before she eyed her niece. “You stirred up a hornet’s nest, Victoria.”

Victoria was so angry she could feel her cheeks radiating heat. “That is the most obnoxious woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.” She paused to draw a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an attempt to rid herself of the anger that coursed through her veins and beat at her temples. “Outside of opponents in divorce court, I’ve never heard such vicious comments.”

“Hah!” Becky Sprackett snorted inelegantly. “That wasn’t as bad as some things I’ve heard her say.” One capable, work-roughened hand patted Victoria’s shoulder approvingly and she smiled, her faded blue eyes twinkling. “Good for you, girl. I’m glad you stood up to her. I think it’s about time somebody reminded her that not all the folks in the county agree with her about the Bowdrie brothers.”

“Becky’s right,” Sheila commented. “Eileen just isn’t rational about those boys and never has been. To listen to her talk about them, a person would think that they had horns, tails and carried pitchforks.”

“That’s a perfect description of Eileen Bowdrie’s ridiculous opinion,” Becky declared with a sniff of disgust. “I’ve known those boys ever since they came to live next door at their daddy’s ranch,” she said firmly. “And they’ve never done anything worse than snitch a warm pie off my windowsill. Of course, they were a mite wild growing up. But their father, bless his soul, would be proud of the men they’ve become, despite what Eileen says.”

“I’ve never met Cully, but I’ve met Quinn and saw no evidence of horns or a pitchfork,” Victoria said.

“Hmm, that’s right. You told Eileen that you met Quinn,” Sheila murmured, eyeing her niece with interest. “And where was that, exactly?”

“At the Crossroads Bar and Grill—the night that Lonna and I went to hear a band she loves. And then I saw him again last Friday when he came into the pharmacy.”

“He was in the pharmacy?”

“Yes. He dropped off a prescription—I believe it was yours, Becky.”

Victoria noted the raised eyebrows and speculative glances between her aunt and Becky, but before she could question them, the minister joined their group and her query was forgotten in the ensuing conversation.

“Hey, Quinn!”

Cully’s shout, followed by the slamming of the front door, shattered the silence of the ranch house.