Fool's Gold Collection Volume 3. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.
going to be one part of our defense. That you want to make good on the money. Come up with a payment plan. What is it you do?”
“I raise goats. I use their milk for cheese and soap. Two of my goats are pregnant. I’ll be able to sell the kids.”
Trisha raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Just once I’d like to work with someone doing an internet start-up. But do you bring me that?” She returned her attention to Heidi. “Goats. Okay, well that ties you to the community. This Harvey guy—the source of the trouble. Get him here. The judge needs to see the reason Glen took the money. How’s Harvey doing?”
“He’s great. His cancer treatments worked, and the doctors expect him to die in his sleep in about twenty years.”
“Good. Have Harvey bring medical records.”
Trisha continued to detail their strategy. When she was done, she said, “What was the son’s name?”
“Rafe Stryker.”
Trisha typed the information into her laptop. Her perfect lips twisted. “You picked the wrong man to mess with, missy. He would scare a shark.” There was more typing, followed by a groan. “Is he good-looking?”
Heidi thought about the tall, slightly frightening stranger who wanted to destroy her world. “Yes.”
“If I were you, I’d think about getting him into bed. Sex might be the only way to win this one.”
Heidi felt her mouth drop open. She consciously closed it. “Is there a plan B?”
* * *
RAFE DROVE SLOWLY THROUGH Fool’s Gold, his mother’s car a half block behind his. He hadn’t been in the town in years and he could easily, not to mention happily, go a lifetime without returning again.
It wasn’t that the town wasn’t attractive—if one was into pretty, small towns and local color. Storefronts were clean, sidewalks wide. Windows advertised sales and festivals. Despite the fact that it was a weekday, plenty of people were out walking around. From a business perspective, Fool’s Gold seemed to be thriving. But for him, this would always be the place he’d been trapped as a kid, taking on more than he could manage.
Everything was smaller than he remembered. Probably the perspective of being an adult, he told himself. He recognized the park where he’d met his friends on a rare afternoon away from chores and family. The road up to the school was the same, and he saw three boys on bikes riding in that direction.
He’d had a bike, he recalled. A bike one of the women in town had given to him. He’d been ten or eleven and desperate to be like his friends. But the bike was charity and his pride had battled with practicality.
He couldn’t complain—the town had been plenty kind. Every August there had been new clothes for school, new shoes and backpacks filled with the necessary supplies. On the holidays, baskets of food had appeared. At Christmas, toys had been left. His lunch at school had been free, something that had humiliated him, even though the cafeteria workers never drew attention to the fact. Once when he was walking home from school, a woman had pulled over, opened her car door and handed him a jacket. Just like that.
The jacket had been new and thick and warm. In the pockets, he’d found gloves and five dollars. Back then, it was all the money in the world. He’d been grateful and furious at the same time.
While he’d appreciated the gestures and the care, he’d hated that either had been necessary. Several nights a week, he’d been forced to lie to his mother and say he wasn’t hungry for dinner so his brothers and sister could have enough to eat. He’d gone to bed, determined to ignore the burning emptiness gnawing at him.
He’d never understood the vicious old man his mother had worked for—a man who had made sure there was plenty for himself, but not enough for a hardworking housekeeper to feed her children. The only bright spot in coming back was that, while the old caretaker’s house still stood, the place where
the old man had lived was gone.
None of which was the town’s fault, he told himself. Still, the memories were there. Things he’d tried to forget, to grow past. He was a powerful man, wealthy. He could pick up the phone and be put through to a senator or diplomat. He knew the CEOs of nearly half the Fortune 500 companies. But, driving through Fool’s Gold, he was once again the too-thin kid who’d longed to know what it would be like to feel safe and secure. To have a full belly and toys and a mother who didn’t hide worry behind a loving smile.
He turned into the courtyard in front of Ronan’s Lodge, the main hotel in town. The Gold Rush Ski Resort was too far out of town to be practical, so the lodge would do.
Ronan’s Lodge, or as the locals called it, Ronan’s Folly, had been built during the gold rush. The large, three-story building was a testament to fine craftsmanship from a time when detail work was done by hand. As a valet hurried toward his car, Rafe took in the carved double doors that led to the lobby.
Years ago, when he’d been small, he’d never imagined he would ever be able to stay in a place like this. Now he got out of his car and took the ticket the valet offered, as if he showed up at places like this every day. Which he did—but it never got old.
He collected the small leather duffel he’d packed and went back to help his mother. May was staring at the hotel and smiling.
“I remember this place,” she told him, her eyes bright with delight. “It’s so beautiful. Are we really going to stay here?”
“It’s convenient.”
“You need a little more romance in your soul.”
“Now you have a project.”
She laughed and touched his cheek. “Oh, Rafe, isn’t it wonderful to be back? Driving through town like that, I didn’t know where to look first. Don’t you love everything about this town? I’m sorry we had to leave. We were so happy here.”
He supposed in some ways they had been, but getting out of Fool’s Gold had been a goal that consumed him. Which wasn’t a conversation he was going to have with his mother, he reminded himself.
“You can be happy again, once you have your ranch,” he told her, taking her suitcase and escorting her into the hotel.
The lobby was large and three stories tall. There were carved panels on the wall and a chandelier made of imported Irish crystal. He wasn’t sure where that small fact had come from or why he’d remembered it, but there it was.
Even as May paused to press both hands to her chest and gaze around in wonder, Rafe walked to the reception desk and gave his last name.
“There should be two rooms,” he said, knowing his ever-efficient assistant would have handled things.
“Yes, Mr. Stryker. Of course. We have you and your mother each in a suite on our third floor.” The young woman in a blue suit gave him paperwork to sign, then told him about the restaurant hours and that room service was available around the clock.
He was more interested in getting a drink. Make that several. After glancing briefly toward the bar, he collected his mother and herded her toward the elevator.
“I only need a very small room,” she said as they rode to the third floor.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out with Glen and Heidi, and then I won’t be in the hotel at all.”
He stopped in front of the first door and inserted a key card. “Mom, even when you own the ranch, do you really think you’ll want to live there? You’ll be out in the middle of nowhere.” While his mother was only in her fifties, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with her being alone on a ranch. “The house is old and I doubt it’s been updated.” He thought about the roof and the fading paint, and felt the beginnings of a headache.
May patted his arm. “You’re sweet to worry, Rafe, but