Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)(3)

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Wishful thinking maybe. Listen, I’d like to speak with you. Can I drop by this morning?”

She paused before pouring the milk, staring at her cell as if it was the man she was speaking to. “What’s wrong?” she asked suspiciously.

He laughed. “Why should anything be wrong, Princess?”

“Because you never drop by before happy hour.”

“That’s because you make the best cocktails.”

Anya snorted. “Granddad taught me well. Shaken, not stirred. So what’s wrong?” She went back after her money man like a terrier nipping at an ankle.

He laughed, and even that had a Southern drawl. Marty had been with her family forever, advising them where to spend their old—and new—money. She actually treated him as she would a well-liked uncle, but right now her alarm bells were blaring.

“I guess I can’t slip anything past you. I have something I’d like you to look at.”

She dumped milk over her cereal until she could barely see the flakes. “What kind of something?”

“I’d like to keep a secret or two up my sleeve, Anya. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Shoveling a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, she rumbled around it, “Okay,” and ended the call. While she ate, she considered everything her life had been—and had become.

Halfway through reminiscing about her teen years, filled with beauty pageants and prize-winning horses, she stopped. This was becoming a bad habit. Rehashing all she’d done wasn’t getting her where she needed to be.

Wherever that was.

The doorbell gave a brief peal, and she went to the wall panel to check the security camera. Marty stood there in his usual suit and button-down shirt. She buzzed him in, and seconds later he entered the kitchen with a smile and outstretched arms.

“I had dinner with your parents last night, and they asked me to give you a hug.”

She accepted, patting Marty on the back before they settled on stools at the marble countertop. “How are Mom and Dad?”

“Well. Your mother’s golf handicap is better than your father’s now.”

“Good news.” She wanted to laugh because she really couldn’t care less about golf, country clubs or the expensive dinners her parents threw with their money. She was too busy worrying about what she was going to do with her own.

Who knew being filthy rich would be such a burden? She didn’t want to be one of those idle rich people lazing around the pool or investing in condominiums. She needed a goal.

Marty leveled his most serious expression at her. “I have something to present to you.”

A tingle of excitement zapped her fingertips. Maybe this was the answer she’d been hoping for.

He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of newspapers and magazines. She flipped through them, reading the same headline over and over. Death, destruction. Catastrophe. Ground zero.

Catching her breath, she skimmed the article on top. After a few words, she raised her gaze. “Los Vista? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Few had until last month. A small city in the heart of south Texas. The storm cell was massive. Over a mile wide. Wiped out the whole town.”

“This says two ranches were left standing.”

“That’s right,” he said, watching her face for a reaction she wasn’t feeling yet. The town and people didn’t mean much to her. She had no personal stakes in them, though her heart did go out to the families.

She opened one of the magazines and began looking at pictures of twisted silos and collapsed barns. One photo in the bottom corner was of the land after it was cleared. As she stared at the sunset and the beautiful lines of the countryside, she inhaled deeply, as if trying to drink in the air of such a peaceful place.

When she chose another magazine, Marty stopped her. “There’s a lot of news footage too. I’d like you to see it.” He pulled out a flash drive and went to the control on the kitchen wall. He pressed a button, and a flat screen appeared from behind a hidden panel. Soon Anya was looking at Los Vista in HD.

The segment had been aired recently, but as footage flashed back to Los Vista a year ago, her eyes prickled. “What a charming town,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” Marty echoed, riveted on the screen.

The reporter spoke of the population fleeing to nearby towns and how many were having difficulty finding work or places to live. Then an elderly woman came on. She was standing in front of a tent, declaring her old bones weren’t leaving Los Vista.

A laugh bubbled up Anya’s throat as she watched the feisty lady. The reporter gave two more interviews with some of the twenty-eight townspeople left. The longer Anya watched, the closer she felt to their plight. She started to wonder about where their children were going to school and how they worshipped on Sundays.

She glanced away from the footage, but her attention shot back as a gritty male voice filled her kitchen.

The man on the screen wore a straw cowboy hat. His eyes showed fatigue around the corners, but somehow that made him handsomer. A funny tickle sprang up in her stomach as she listened to him drawl out plans for building some vacation homes and bringing visitors and their money back into Los Vista, which would in turn bring the businesses and livelihoods for all.

She gulped and realized she’d been holding her breath as he spoke. A blink later he was gone, replaced by more beautiful scenery of the devastated town.