Chapter 5

Chapter 5

INDYA

8:32. Exactly one minute since the last time I’d checked my phone.

I had said eight, not eight thirty. Not 8:32. Eight. Where the hell was he? Where was Curtis? Or Jax?

I tapped my pen on the desk, the tat-tat-tat turning furious as I thwacked harder and faster.

“Damn it.” I tossed the pen aside and shoved to my feet, pushing out of West’s uncomfortable office chair—I’d ordered its replacement last night, but the chair I wanted was back ordered, and the company wouldn’t do overnight shipping to Middle of Nowhere, Montana, so it wouldn’t arrive for nearly two weeks.

He wasn’t coming. That obstinate bastard. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? Not that I’d expected anything about this situation to be easy.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten so heated when he’d come to my room last night. But when he’d told me I didn’t belong here, my temper had gotten the best of me, and I’d snapped.

No, I didn’t belong here. But I was here. And I wasn’t leaving.

Yet.

I blew out a deep breath and paced to the window. The meadow behind the lodge was overgrown. They’d always kept that space mowed short so guests could play horseshoes or yard games. Who was the groundskeeper?

Another item on another list. Another employee to hire—or fire if there was in fact a groundskeeper.

Too long, but pretty. The grass sparkled with morning dew. There were wildflowers in the field beyond the lawn. Maybe later today, I’d make a bouquet of white and purple wildflowers for my room.

The last time I’d picked wildflowers was, well . . . a long time ago.

Turning from the window, I studied the office for the tenth time this morning. West’s office.

It didn’t feel like him. It was too plain. Too dull. When I closed my eyes and thought of West, I saw rich color. Chocolate brown hair. Blue denim Wranglers. Gold flecks in hazel eyes.

West’s office should have deep-green walls and leather armchairs. Instead, the walls were beige. I hadn’t moved the folding chairs Curtis had brought in yesterday.

There was nothing to actually work with, not in the desk’s drawers or cabinets. There wasn’t a hint of his spicy scent lingering in the stale air. The only hint that West might have spent time here was that watercolor painting.

The room was also too neat and tidy. West wasn’t a messy man, but he loved the outdoors. His boots were always dirty. He could usually be found with a pair of leather gloves or a coffee mug. There were no cup rings in the desk’s layer of dust. No discarded items in the trash can.

Given the state of the business, maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that the office had been neglected. Though I doubted Curtis had even given West a chance to help. Curtis had always been in charge. This was his ranch. Even I’d known that, and I’d simply been a spectator.

It was such a contrast to how Dad ran his business. Before his retirement, he’d treated me like a partner. He’d asked for my opinions and given me advice.

For all intents and purposes, West was Curtis’s employee. Another man probably would have left. But West loved this ranch, and even if it meant taking orders and biding his time until Curtis’s retirement, he’d stayed.

He’d stayed while his father had run their business into the ground.

It wasn’t Curtis’s problem anymore, was it? Now it was mine.

And it would be freaking great if the Havens could answer a few questions.

I checked the time again.

8:37. Apparently, I was on my own.

I’d pored through the ranch’s recent tax returns countless times in the past month. I’d gone through them again last night, staying up until well past midnight to make sure I had a good understanding of the numbers.

They’d had a string of unprofitable years with the resort, and the reservation count for this summer was at an all-time low. In the past, when the resort income had waned, the ranch had made up the difference.

Except five years ago, they’d bought a piece of property to expand their cattle operation. They’d taken a loan from the bank to fund the purchase. I wasn’t an expert on Montana land prices or how much a cattle operation could make from additional acreage, but the price point seemed high.

That expansion had depleted their cash reserves, making it nearly impossible to recover losses from the resort. And after four years, they’d fallen behind on bank payments. The only thing keeping them from bankruptcy was this sale.

The numbers told only part of the story. I still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, and without West or Curtis here to explain, I was guessing.

Why hadn’t Curtis carved off some property to sell? Land prices had fallen over the past couple of years. Maybe he’d hoped to wait out the market until it swung the other direction.

I’d seen plenty of real estate investments fail because the owner had overpaid, then hung on too long.

By the time Curtis had been willing to bring in help, well . . .

It didn’t matter now. The deal was done.

Curtis had millions of my dollars in his pocket.

And I had a resort to keep from crumbling to the ground.

Alone.

8:41. “Stubborn, stubborn man.” I seethed.

The last thing I wanted was for this ranch to fail. We were both working toward the same goal. We were fighting on the same side. But West had cast me as the villain.

Fine. I’d play that role. And when I turned this place around, I’d revel in his apology.

My first order of business would be cleaning this office, so I marched down the hallway, opening every door until I found a supply closet. Fury and frustration fueled my cleaning. It took only thirty minutes to scour the room, wiping away dust and replacing the stale scent with the smell of lemon wood polish.

With that task complete, I closed the door and dived into phone calls, starting with the marketing agency in Dallas that we’d used for years at Keller Enterprises.

After thirty minutes of chatting with their CEO, I’d filled her in on why I was in Montana. She called a graphic designer into her office. Then we spent another thirty minutes brainstorming a rebrand for the resort.

“I’ve got some ideas,” the designer said. “Let me work up a few new logos, and I’ll email them over before the end of the week. Just to confirm spelling, it’s h-a-v-e-n.”

“Yes. Haven River Ranch.”

“Great name.”

It was a great name. “Thanks for jumping on this so quickly.”

“Anytime.”

After ending the call, I stood, rubbing the ache in my lower back from that damn chair. I collected the notebook I’d filled last night with lists upon lists, then squared my shoulders and left the office.

If West wouldn’t come to me, then I’d track him down. There were only so many places he could hide. But before I could start my search, my phone buzzed, Blaine’s name on the screen.

My lip curled. If I didn’t answer, he’d just keep calling. “Hello.”

“You didn’t call last night.”

Because I no longer needed to report my whereabouts. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in.”

“You drove across the country and didn’t think I might be worried about my wife? Indya.” Blaine had a wholly unique way of saying my name. He could turn those five letters into a verbal slap, crushing disappointment, or a scathing accusation.

And I’d foolishly assumed our conversations would stop now that the divorce was finalized.

“Ex-wife,” I corrected. “No need to worry. I’m fine and in Montana.”

Was he really worried for me? Or was he just making sure I still had a pulse? Making sure I was alive to sign his precious paperwork?

“We need to set a date,” he said.

“Just pick one.”

“When are you flying back?”

“I’m not.”

He scoffed. “You’re actually going to stay there? Live there?”

“For now.”

I liked room 208, but it wasn’t permanent. Eventually, I’d have to find a place to live. Maybe a house in Big Timber. Maybe one of the resort cabins. My plans were none of his business, not anymore.

The sound of his molars grinding made me pull the phone from my ear. “You’re really doing this,” he said.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anything else?”

“What happens when you fail?”

Then he’d find a way to rub it in my face. “Have a nice day, Blaine.”

“Ind—”

I hung up before he could finish my name. Just a little while longer—then I wouldn’t have to answer his calls. Then Blaine and his judgmental bullshit could go to hell.

Despite Blaine’s insistence that I wasn’t qualified or capable of running a multimillion-dollar business, I could do this. I would do this. For Dad. For me. And if that wasn’t motivation enough, I’d do it simply to spite my ex-husband.

I’d been working for Dad since college, and if Grant Keller was anything, he was a savvy businessman. He’d made millions upon millions of dollars in his lifetime, and he’d personally mentored me after college.

Did I know anything about running a cattle ranch? No. But the resort was a different story. Sure, I had no experience in the hospitality industry, but I did know our target audience. The latest reviews were abysmal—probably why reservations were dwindling. Rich people wanted certain amenities, and it was time to offer more.

Whether West liked it or not, we’d have to work together. Somehow, I would figure out the resort. But I needed him to run the ranch.

I needed him to stay.

The reception desk was empty when I reached the lobby. It had been empty when I’d come down this morning too. Where was Deb? It was her job to be here, right? To answer the phone and help guests?

I rang the bell, then waited until its chime had faded before ringing it again. By the third time, there was still no Deb. So I dug my phone from my pocket and called the resort’s number. It rang three times before she answered.

“Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort.” Her voice was breathless, and the rush of wind made it hard to hear.

“This is Indya Keller. I’m at the front desk.”

“Sorry. Be right there. Two minutes.” She ended the call.

It took her five to blow through the front door, her black bob disheveled and her cheeks flushed.

“Sorry. My boyfriend is leaving for the weekend and came over to say goodbye.”

Could this boyfriend not come inside to say goodbye? Or say farewell before she came to work? I bit back the questions. Deb was a problem I’d deal with later.

“Please call Curtis and West. Tell them they’re needed immediately at the lodge.” There wasn’t a chance they’d answer if I called. If this lodge were on fire, I had a feeling they’d let me burn with the building.

Deb’s eyes narrowed. “Um, okay.”

“I’ll be in my office.”

“I’m sorry. Your office?”

It had taken a month for Curtis to tell his sons that I’d bought this resort. I wasn’t going to wait around for him to make an announcement to the staff.

“My office. I’d also like you to organize a staff meeting for this afternoon. Let’s plan for one o’clock. Everyone who is not occupied with guests needs to meet here in the lobby.”

Deb gulped. “W-what?”

“One o’clock. We’ll discuss it all then.” I retreated down the hallway but was still within earshot when I heard her on the phone.

“West, you’d better come to the lodge. Right now.”

I wasn’t holding my breath that he’d show, but ten minutes later, I heard the angry stomp of boots outside my office.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He stopped outside the door, but his scent wafted inside.

Leather and wind and soap. There was no smell on earth better than West Haven. It was rugged and real. The way a man should smell.

He’d been outside working this morning. The top button on his shirt was undone, and there was a sheen of sweat at the base of his throat. His hair was trapped beneath a baseball hat, and the longer strands curled at his nape.

The hat was embroidered with the ranch’s brand. CMC, the letters stacked together. Too bad there wasn’t an H for Haven. That would fit the new name better.

Still, maybe we could work the cattle brand into the new website. Was there a photo of it somewhere I could send to the designer?

“Indya,” West barked.

I ignored him and took my phone, aiming the camera at his face. “I need a picture of your hat.”

“My—what the fuck?” He scowled as I snapped the photo.

“Do you have any more of those hats?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his legs planted wide. The scowl deepened.

“Never mind.” I nodded to one of the folding chairs that Curtis had left behind yesterday. “You’re late. I said eight o’clock.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Baby, I do not answer to you.”

Baby. He used that word like a weapon. It used to bring me to my knees.

Good thing I was sitting in his terrible chair.

“You do, actually.” I folded my hands on the desk’s gleaming, dust-free surface. “All I’m asking is for a bit of your time.”

His jaw clenched beneath a layer of thick stubble. If he didn’t shave soon, he’d have a beard. I’d never seen him with a beard.

“West.” My voice gentled. “I’m not your enemy.”

Those hazel eyes shifted to a window. “I don’t know what to do here, Indy.”

He wasn’t the only person who’d ever called me Indy. But I liked the sound of my nickname best when it came from his lips.

“Just give me an hour,” I said. “Tomorrow morning. Please. Let’s talk.”

The stiffness in his frame eased slightly. “Figured the last time you were here was the last time we’d talk.”

That memory was the sharpest. A dagger through the heart. I swallowed hard as it sliced. “Me too.”

“Fine.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow morning at eight. This meeting needs to be short. I’ve got work—”

Deb flew down the hall, skidding to a stop before she crashed into West’s frame. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He looked at her, lips pursed and arms still crossed. “Because you weren’t at the desk.”

“I was organizing the staff meeting.”

West blinked. “What staff meeting?”

Deb’s eyes darted to me, then back to West. A slow, malicious grin stretched across her mouth. “Hers.”

Would she lose the attitude when she learned I was her boss? Doubtful.

I ignored her and met West’s glare. It was lethal. The fragile truce we’d found just moments ago suffered a quick, painless death.

Shit. “There’s an announcement to make,” I said gently.

“What announcement?” Deb asked.

West didn’t answer. He glowered at me, a storm brewing in those hazel eyes. Then he was gone, brushing past Deb and disappearing from sight.

If angry was a sound, it was the thunder of his boots on the floor.

“What announcement?” Deb repeated.

I held up a hand. “One o’clock.”

She frowned and raced after West. With any luck, she’d go back to the desk and stay there to do her job.

I dropped my elbows to the desk and buried my face in my hands. “What the hell am I doing here?”

West was right. I didn’t belong here.

Where did I belong?

I dropped my hands and reached for my phone, then called Dad’s number. Voice mail. Again. “You’ve reached Grant Keller. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”

“Hi, Daddy.” I didn’t have the energy to muster false cheer. “Just calling to say hi and check in. The first day is going, well . . . like a first day. I’ll catch you up on everything later. I love you.”

Yesterday’s headache had faded but hadn’t disappeared. The throb in my skull warned it would be back in full force, likely before my staff meeting.

I stood and walked to the window, measuring deep inhales and exhales as I massaged my temples. When I opened my eyes, beyond the meadow of grasses and wildflowers was a man on a black horse, galloping toward the mountains.

West.

He looked as comfortable in the saddle as he did on his own two feet. It was like a dance, that man on a horse. Beautiful. Graceful. Sexy.

And definitely not coming to the staff meeting.