Chapter 1
The girl standing in the cool shadows of the front porch was tall and slender. The tight denims molded snugly from her small waist to the tops of her dusty cowgirl boots revealed the round swell of her hips and the softer curves of tapered thigh. Her blue plaid western style shirt, unsnapped to the third snap with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, was thrust out provocatively by the twin mounds of her full, wide-set breasts. Her limbs were long and lanky, yet strong and tanned. The mass of chestnut curls tumbling riotously about her shoulders, bleached by the scorching Oklahoma sun, added a healthy depth to her golden tanned skin.
Standing on the bottom porch step below, the teddy-bearish little man in polyester western style pants stared up at the lush lines of her high-breasted body and licked his lips. "You 'spose you could spare a few moments?" the pudgy little man drawled. "I have a proposition I'd like to discuss with you."
Jody Powers smothered a sigh of exasperation. The short man's name was Simon Lokken, law his profession. And this wasn't the first time he'd called unannounced-and although the price varied, it was always the same unwanted negotiations he pressed to make.
"I was just about to ride out to the back forty to check on a calf," she replied civilly. "The water's been low this summer and a few of my cattle have been getting bloated from drinking it...."
"Only a few minutes, Miss Powers ... only a few minutes," the man insisted.
Wearily, Jody drew an arm across her sheening forehead. "I don't see much point in dragging this out," she began. "If it's the same deal you offered me last time...."
"You owe it to yourself," the lawyer urged. "If you're the business woman you claim to be."
Jody glowered in annoyance. Really, it was irksome being pestered by these small town hustlers when she had so darn much to do! But she supposed she would have to listen to the wretched man once more. How else could she get rid of him? "Come on in then ... and get out of that hot sun," she invited if only to be polite.
Lokken glanced around as he'd waited for her invitation. Years ago, when the girl's father had bought this cattle ranch when his wife was still living, this had been one of the best pieces of property around Beaver, Oklahoma. It stood on a rise ten miles out of town, looking over a small but substantial lake. But as Powers got older and began diminishing his inventory of cattle, the place had become neglected until now, six weeks after his burial, the two story wooden home was peeling and shabby. The flower garden was completely overrun by ragweed and wild grasses. One of the barns had a huge hole in its roof and where ten horses had once galloped around the corral, now only two old mares barely raised dust. The only thing on the whole property that wore a shine was the two-tone green pick-up truck parked in the driveway.
Lokken hitched his attache case under his arm, pushed back the wide brim felt hat on his head and mounted the steps into the house, passing by a yawning German shepherd as he stepped through the creaking screen door into the kitchen.
The interior wore the same aging listlessness of an ailing old man. Empty coffee cans were stationed about the peeling countertops, filled with an assortment of nuts and bolts and useless bits of string that might come in handy someday. An animal's dog dish sat in the corner and the chairs were sturdy wooden ones, painted a rainbow of colors over the years, as their chipped paint attested.
Jody led the way through the kitchen into the sitting room overlooking the weed-infested garden and turned to confront him. Her face, slightly taut by impatience and irritability, was still beautiful. The nose was short and straight; the eyebrows curved over amber brown eyes with a striking luminous quality, as if illuminated from behind. Above a dimpled, determined chin a soft lipped mouth curved upwards at the corners as if ready to break into a laugh any second. And across it all, a splash of brown freckles gave a spontaneous appearance to her girlish-womanish face.
"What do you want this time?" she asked curtly, eyeing the lawyer's pudgy, waddling figure with disapproval. She had never liked this man even as a child. His tight lipped mouth had a predatory nervous twitch and his small eyes reflected that same gleam. Under that roly-poly light hearted nature was a cold, calculating man-the type of person who would pick you up only to strike you again.
Lokken laid his brief case carefully on the table, hitched up his polyester western style pants and lowered himself into an armchair. "First of all," he said mendaciously, "I should like to express my sympathy over the death of your father-that was a tragic-ah, accident that befell the man."
"Accident?" Jody repeated. "I doubt that was an accident! My father was born and raised on this land. He certainly wouldn't have set an animal trap where he or his dog could stumble onto it."
Indeed, Martin Powers' fatal accident had dubious origins. The death certificate read 'accident' but Jody knew that the bullet that entered her father's heart when he 'accidentally' stepped upon the animal trap, sringing it so that the knife-like teeth bit into his ankle, was not from his own gun. That coyotes had been sneaking around the hen house was a fact of farm life, but Martin Powers didn't believe in slow agonizing death for animals, predatory though they may be. He was a decent man who would have shot the animal and given it a decent burial ... not left it there to chew its own flesh free of the trap. To this date, no one had bothered to examine the gun that Martin Powers had been carrying to see if it had indeed been fired. As far as the Beaver authorities were concerned, the issue was closed.
"He certainly left you with a handful, didn't he?"
Jody stared at him without replying. When she'd heard of her father's death, the decision was already cemented in her head to take over the ranch. After three years of studying veterinary medicine at the university and a childhood of living around animals and the rugged, often inhospitable terrain, she was far from giving up. The five hundred acres of range land was some of the best in the county, and though the beef cattle herd had diminished lately for some mysterious reason she had hopes of building it back up. She needed help, a confidant, someone familiar with ranching who could help bring the ranch back on its feet. She was still shocked and grieved by her father's loss, for her father had been one such man.
"Yes, siree," Lokken was saying unctuously, "too darned bad. Especialy when the drought is gettin' the best of us ... hard business trying to build up a herd under those conditions."
"There's plenty of grazing land for those cattle, Mr. Lokken," she replied tartly. "There's at least one hundred and fifty acres of untouched grazing land."
"But you've got creditors, Miss Powers. Don't forget that." He spread his hands and shrugged. "In fact, when your father died he left a hell of a bill down at the farmer's cooperative."
"You seem to know an awfully lot about my father's monetary affairs," said Jody raising an eyebrow. The toe of one of her dusty cowgirl boots was tapping impatiently on the wood floor. "What is it you came here for, Mr. Lokken. Please ... I have things to do ... "
"Ah, yes." Lokken's round belly hid his silver belt buckle as he leaned over the table to reach for his attache case and draw out a manila envelope from which he took a sheet of paper.
"My clients have requested that I approach your one more time to make you a formal offer of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which would cover your father's debts and-"
Jody's amber eyes were flashing. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for all that land? You must be joking!"
"It's a lot of money just the same," said Lokken hastily. "I doubt if you could make that much of a profit off this place if you put it up for auction and certainly...." and here he paused to smile thinly. " ... certainly a young woman like yourself doesn't want to shut herself off from the rest of the world out here in God's country."
"I don't have to defend my reasoning, Mr. Lokken," the angry girl stormed. "I've told you before ... I am not going to sell this land! My father was born and raised here and so was I, and I'll be damned if a high fallutin' lawyer like you is going to talk me into selling it!"
Lokken drew in a long breath. "I must tell you that my clients will not raise their offer," said the lawyer imperturbably. "This is the last and final offer. My clients say...."
"Your clients!" Jody spat fiercely. "I'd like to know who these mysterious clients are. Even if I decided to sell-which I won't do-I wouldn't dream of doing busines with somebody who hasn't the courage to deal with me in person."
"There is nothing out of the ordinary about a lawyer bargaining on a sale of land on behalf of his clients, who, incidentally, have every right to remain unknown to you."
"Obviously, Mr. Lokken, what's acceptable to you is not to me! And why you keep coming back again and again, even after I've told you I will never sell, is a bit of a mystery to me. Who are these people anyway and what's the big deal about this ranch?" She jabbed a finger out the window where the softly rolling prairie lands golden for want of water, stretched as far as the eye could see. "There's at least half a dozen ranches in the county up for sale because of the drought and high prices. Why this ranch ... that's what I want to know!" She rested her hands on her hips, glaring down at the plumped up man.
"As their paid representative I have no right to divulge their identity." He sounded terribly pompous for such a runt of man, thought Jody. "If you're half as bright as you appear to be, Miss Powers, you will consider the offer."
Jody breathed hard. Lokken had appeared the day she returned from Oklahoma City, bearing an unsolicited offer to buy her out for a hundred and seventy five thousand dollars. She had sent him packing, but he returned the second day bearing an offer raised by twenty thousand dollars. From then on it was like a traveling poker game ... him raising and she folding. On this, the sixth visit, she was angry-angry at the insolence of these unknown buyers who seemed to think that everything had a price. They could offer her four million dollars and she wouldn't sell this land. This was her heritage, it bore a tradition, a proud one at that. She was angry at the intrusion on her privacy, angry because she distrusted Lokken and angriest of all because what he said about her father's debts was true.
In fact, any accountant would have advised her to accept the offer and consider herself to be lucky, ridded of a losing proposition. But Jody was a idealist, a tempestuous, hard-headed country girl who preferred tradition to money.
"I have heard you out, Mr. Lokken and the answer is still no!" she said emphatically. "You can tell your clients, whoever they are, that I will not sell under any conditions. Is that clear? Furthermore, I prefer that you never set foot on this land again. Now will you please be good enough to leave?"
Jody stood before him, her lushly ripened breasts heaving, her lip curling scornfully as she jerked her tawny head imperiously at the door. Lokken flushed darkly as he stuffed the envelope back into his attache case, grabbed his felt hat by the high lips and perched it atop his head like some kind of toadstool on a fat stem. His eyes lingered for a moment on the sensually swelling contours thrusting out her shirt as he stood up, meeting her eye to eye. He'd bet ten dollars that bitch wasn't wearing a brassiere under that shirt! He could see her breasts move softly under the faded cotton as she breathed, the nipples clearly outlined. His fingers whitened momentarily on the leather of his attache case and then he said: "That is your last refusal?"
"I'm glad you finally understand."
Lokken's eyes were glittering angrily now. "I can promise you, Miss Powers, that you have made a mistake." For such a short man he had a powerful voice. "A very poor decision...."
Raking her voluptuous young body with his eyes, he swung on his heel and left the house. She heard his cowboy boots battering against the rickety front steps. A moment later the motor of his truck turned over and the crunch of gravel caused a twister of dust to cloud the driveway.