The Rancher Returns Read online

  Amused, Trent dropped ice into a glass and poured her a drink. Fixing a lime to the rim, he pushed the glass across the bar toward her. As much as he could use a scotch to settle his nerves, he refrained. Dealing with Savannah was complicated enough without a fuzzy head.

  A familiar mixture of fondness and rage filled him as he watched her sip the drink.

  From the moment the naive eleven-year-old with the big blue eyes had moved into the servants’ quarters of his family’s Beverly Hills home, he’d been drawn to her. Unlike his twelve-year-old sister, she’d exhibited none of the gawkiness of preteen girls. And her lack of street smarts had driven Trent crazy.

  As a kid he’d slipped into rebellious and resentful mode pretty early. Being a troublemaker came easy. He wasn’t anyone’s hero. But he’d come to Savannah’s rescue more times than he could count. She’d been a magnet for anyone eager to take advantage of a young girl from some backwoods town in Tennessee. To look at her you’d think she would turn to smoke if you touched her, but in fact there was supple muscle beneath her soft skin, something he’d discovered firsthand when he’d taught her a couple self-defense moves.

  In some ways, she was still the same ragamuffin who’d needed protection from the mean girls in school and the boys who thought to take advantage of her naïveté. But being on her own in New York had given her a new set of skills. For one, she’d learned how to go after something she wanted. And for a while it was pretty apparent that what she’d wanted was him.

  Which was why it had come as such a surprise that she’d chosen to marry his brother. Despite the years she’d spent in LA and New York, she remained a small-town girl at heart. She had no lofty dreams of fame and fortune. She’d never known stability growing up, so as an adult, Savannah craved marriage and children, a secure, safe life.

  Her vision of a traditional family situation was completely foreign to Trent. His father was an ambitious tyrant who’d married late. His misogynistic behavior had driven his wife away not long after Melody was born. The prenup their mother had signed granted her nothing if she fought for custody of her children. Trent had never been surprised that she’d chosen the money.

  Was it any wonder he had so little interest in marriage and family? But knowing how important it was to Savannah should’ve warned him to keep his distance. He might have, but she was irresistible to him.

  No matter how many times he’d cautioned himself to stay away, he couldn’t stop coming to her rescue. Only once had he abandoned her to trouble—the day she’d declared her intention to marry Rafe.

  “Widowhood becomes you,” he said. If he’d hoped to shock her, he failed.

  Reproachful blue eyes fixed on him. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “Perhaps, but it doesn’t stop it from being true.”

  Young Savannah had possessed a guilelessness that left her open for the world to read. And take advantage of. He’d expected her to be eaten alive in the cutthroat world of modeling and acting in New York City, but she’d figured out a way to survive. When he’d visited Melody during her junior year at Juilliard, he’d been checking in on Savannah, as well. At first he’d been surprised. The naive girl wasn’t gone, but she’d become a little wiser. She’d also gained an air of mystery. He’d been intrigued.

  He still was.

  “Perhaps you should tell me why you’re here, dear sister-in-law.”

  Her lips formed a moue of distaste at the specific emphasis he put on the last three words. Trent took no pleasure in highlighting the chasm between them, but it needed to be done.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  Trent had been dodging her for a week, assuming something of this sort. For sixteen months he’d been waiting for her to admit that marrying his brother had been a mistake. It irritated him that she hadn’t. And now she wanted something from him.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “You haven’t even heard me out.”

  “We have nothing to talk about.”

  Her facial muscles tightened, lending her expression a determined look he’d never seen before. She’d always seemed untouched by demons that drove most people, unfazed by success or obstacles. What had changed? Marriage to his brother? Motherhood?

  These were questions best left alone. Trent didn’t need to venture down the rabbit hole of turbulent emotions conjured whenever he spent time with Savannah. Better to speed her on her way back to LA and be done with temptation.

  “Maybe we don’t have anything to talk about, but I have a great deal to say.”

  “Why don’t you make an appointment with my office for some time next week.” He knew he was taunting her but couldn’t help himself. She’d become another in a long list of people who brought out his bad side.

  “I’ve already been here five days and you’ve been avoiding me. I’m closing on the sale of my house tomorrow afternoon, so Dylan and I are leaving in the morning. I had hoped to have everything settled before we returned to LA.”

  Against his better judgment—because he was playing directly into her hands—Trent asked, “What exactly did you intend to have settled?”

  “When Rafe died, he left his shares of West Coast Records to Dylan. That means until Dylan’s eighteenth birthday, I’m in charge of the business.” She shook her head. “I need help.”

  Now Trent was starting to see where she was going. “You’ve got Gerry.” Gerry Brueger had been Siggy’s second in command for twenty years. Passed over for president when Siggy stepped down and installed Rafe as the head of the company, Gerry would jump at the chance to take over.

  “It’s not that simple. I need a CEO I can trust. Someone who gets the business and can turn things around.”

  “So hire someone.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.” She cocked her head and scowled at him.

  “Me?” This was not at all what he’d expected. Trent shook his head. “Not interested.”

  “It’s your family’s company.”

  “It’s my father’s company.” And his brother’s. They’d never wanted him to be a part of it. “Besides, my father isn’t going to welcome my interference.” He noticed that her gaze shifted away. “Have you talked to Siggy about this?”

  “It’s my decision.” But she sounded less confident than she’d been moments earlier.

  “So you haven’t mentioned any of this to Siggy?”

  “He sold a majority of his shares in the business to Rafe. Dylan inherited them. Siggy isn’t in control of the company anymore.”

  Her naïveté was showing. She might think she was in charge, but she was in for a huge battle if she thought she could bring Trent into the record company. He almost felt sorry for her.

  “Sell the company back to Siggy and wash your hands of it.”

  “It’s not that cut-and-dried.” She set her untouched glass of water on a nearby table and squared her shoulders. “He won’t buy back Rafe’s shares, but I know he’s planning to control things behind the scenes. Siggy intends for Dylan to run the company someday.” Savannah paused and compressed her lips into a thin line. With a sigh, she continued, “In the meantime, I can’t run it and I don’t trust your father to be able to turn things around.”

  “Turn things around?” Trent had heard rumblings that West Coast Records was having financial problems. No surprise there—Siggy Caldwell’s approach to the music industry was uninspired and his eldest son had been a chip off the old block. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, because I’ve been getting the runaround from Gerry, but I think they’re behind on paying royalties to their artists.”

  “When did this start?”

  “I don’t know. Shortly after we were married, Rafe confided to me that the company was struggling financially before your father retired.” That had occurred t
hree years earlier. “And after the cancer started eating away at Rafe, he wasn’t making the best decisions. I’m sure things got much worse then.”

  Trent ignored the compulsion that demanded he step in and fix everything. “While this is all fascinating, what does any of it have to do with me?”

  “The company needs you.” Her big blue eyes went soft and concerned in the way that always kicked him hard in the solar plexus.

  Trent’s first impulse was to laugh. He never got the chance. Questions crowded in. He didn’t give a damn about the company. But did she need him? Trent crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her through half-closed eyes. She was beautiful. Poised. But not happy. He should’ve felt triumphant. Instead there was a dull ache in his gut.

  “You know, better than most, that isn’t going to sway me. Try again.”

  She gazed at the blank walls that made up his office. If she was looking for some clue about how to appeal to him, she wouldn’t find it there. He was a man who didn’t give a damn about anything. Or that’s the face he showed the world. It made it much harder for someone to hurt him if he showed no vulnerability.

  “Prove to your father you’re a better businessman than he is.”

  He should be gloating. Trent—not his father or brother—would be the one to save the struggling West Coast Records, but his only emotion was bitterness.

  “He would never believe that.” The great Siggy Caldwell never owned up to his mistakes. He sure as hell wouldn’t admit that his pitiful excuse for a second son was a better anything. “If that’s the best you have, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

  She let the silence fill the space between them for a beat before speaking. “I need your help.”

  He resisted the urge to sweep her into his arms and pledge his support. She was staring at him in desperate hope, as if he was her knight in shining armor. That was the farthest thing from reality. Sure, maybe he’d helped her out a time or two in the past, but she wasn’t his responsibility anymore. The time for rescuing her had ended sixteen months earlier when she’d promised to love, honor and cherish his brother.

  “And just like that, you expect me to drop everything and rush to your aid?” It cost him, but he gave his words a sardonic twist and hardened his heart. “It’s not going to happen.”

  Copyright © 2016 by Catherine Schield

  ISBN-13: 9781488001987

  The Rancher Returns

  Copyright © 2016 by Brenda Streater Jackson

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