Riding High Page 2

  God, she certainly hoped not.

  Rhys followed Flynn out the door, leaving Gia alone in blessed solitude. She heard gravel sputter and watched out the front window as both men rode up her long driveway in their separate trucks. The place was all hers and Gia began aimlessly wandering the rooms of the eight-thousand-square-foot log home, taking in the soaring ceilings, the gorgeous hewn beams, and the views of endless fields, mountains, and the Feather River.

  She’d planned to move in last fall, right after escrow closed. But the feds, who’d originally cleared Gia of collusion in Evan’s Ponzi scheme, had stunned her by reversing themselves and bringing her case before a federal grand jury. Jurors had ultimately failed to find enough probable cause to indict her. Nevertheless, her lawyers had advised her to stay in New York for the duration of the hearings.

  Now she was here. Finally home, even if the place still felt foreign. She’d only been to Nugget a few times, once as a kid and then as an adult to scout out property.

  Far from the ocean and with its freezing winters, this part of the state wasn’t the most coveted. But she’d liked what she’d seen. It was the way she remembered it from all those years ago. The last vacation before her dad had died from a massive heart attack. The town, which consisted primarily of a commercial district built around a verdant square, and the obligatory Main Street, wasn’t all that charming. Yet, only four hours northeast of San Francisco and less than three hours from Sacramento, it still managed to attract tourists.

  The whole setup fit in perfectly with her long-term plan. All of it except Flynn Barlow and his cattle. But what could she do? His lease had been a condition of the sale and she’d wanted Rosser Ranch more than anything she could remember.

  Gia continued to walk from room to room. The house dwarfed her New York penthouse, which she’d sold for a hefty sum. The first thing she’d do here was get rid of the animal-head trophies. Ray Rosser had been a big-game hunter and liked showing off his prizes. His last kill had been of the human variety, landing Rosser in prison for life.

  Despite its ginormous size, the house was warm, like a ski lodge. In the kitchen, a caterer’s dream, there was a big basket on the center island. Gia read the card from Dana and unwrapped the cellophane to find a treasure trove of local delicacies, including chocolates, jams, beer, and two tickets for a train ride through Gold Country. She would thank her real estate agent later that evening, during dinner. The two had plans to meet at the Ponderosa—the only sit-down restaurant in town.

  Small-town life would certainly take some getting used to. In New York she could eat at a different restaurant every day for years. But there was no turning back from this new leaf and even if Gia could, she didn’t want to. Not after what she’d been through. There was something that felt inordinately innocent about this mountain town.

  Yeah, she laughed to herself, a place where a person felt perfectly entitled to sneak into her house and take full advantage of her shower.

  Still pent up from the ordeal, she decided to take a stroll down to the barn. The sun was out and the air warm—a beautiful April day. She supposed spring came earlier in California than it did on the East Coast. The walk did her good after being crammed on an airplane all morning and then in a car for the forty-five-minute drive to Nugget.

  She took her time hiking down to the paddocks and stable, stopping to admire a patch of yellow poppies and the clear blue sky. Nothing like the layer of smog that hung over Manhattan like a smoke cloud. The property went on forever. And despite the drought, there were plenty of lush, green fields, which Gia attributed to recent rain showers. Across the pasture, she saw cows—dozens of them—and let out a huff of frustration. The animals would put a crimp in her plans. But as she always said, where there’s a will there’s a way. Gia had plenty of determination left in spite of everything that had happened in the last several months, including losing a multimillion-dollar franchise. Her television show, her syndicated column, her financial self-help books, and her high-paying public appearances were all gone. Dust in the wind.

  But Gia had this, she thought as she gazed out over miles upon miles of breathtaking land. The smell of bark and wildflowers and fresh grass . . . and something else. She would’ve sworn it was the musky scent of horses. But Rory wasn’t due to arrive until later in the week.

  That was when she heard a soft neighing and followed the sound into the stable. There, in the end stall, was a black gelding. The quarter horse had to be at least sixteen hands high with a coat as shiny as a newborn foal’s. The big fellow was throwing his head as if happy to have company. The question was, where had he come from?

  She flashed on Flynn Barlow’s stock trailer and the answer became all too clear. Apparently the SOB wasn’t satisfied to just steal the use of her shower; he’d helped himself to her barn as well.

  The last man Gia knew with that kind of chutzpah had not only stolen her money and ruined her career, he’d stomped on her heart.

  Chapter 2

  By the time Flynn got to Highway 70, Gia’s identity hit him like a lightning bolt. Funny how he’d watched her on television for years but out of context couldn’t place her.

  Her financial show had always impressed him. Beauty and brains, a lethal combo where he was concerned. Who would’ve guessed she was crazier than a loon?

  Then again, who would’ve guessed Miz Money Wizard would sleep with a crook?

  Flynn had been watching the Evan Laughlin case play out in the media with a keen eye. It was just the sort of case he handled, first as an FBI agent, then as a federal prosecutor, and now as a defense attorney. Smart lady like that should’ve seen right through an investment fraud of that scale. Promises of 50 percent returns in ninety days. Yeah, Flynn laughed to himself, and I’m Santa Claus.

  He could see why the feds were looking at her hard. In their position, he would’ve suspected she was either an accessory or an early stakeholder who’d made plenty of cash off the new investors and kept her mouth shut when she realized there were no legitimate earnings. That the whole thing was a house of cards.

  Though he’d read somewhere that her lover had bilked her out of half her fortune before absconding with twenty billion dollars from thousands of investors, it could’ve been a cover the two had cooked up to make Gia look innocent. In a case of this magnitude who knew what to believe?

  Too bad, because he’d really admired her. On her show, geared toward the average Joe, she broke down everything from the complexities of retirement funds to the pros and cons of reverse mortgages in simple, layperson terms. His own mother, who was financially illiterate, had learned how to follow the Dow by reading one of Gia’s Investing for Dodos books. With all the self-help crap out there, someone like Gia Treadwell made a difference.

  And bank.

  She’d turned herself into a small media empire. The show alone had probably catapulted her into the seven-figure income bracket. The books, public appearances, and syndicated column were just gravy.

  But Flynn had learned long ago that some people were never satisfied. Greed could be a powerful motivator. Whether she was involved or not, it would be best to keep a wide berth. And after this morning he didn’t think that would be too difficult. Gia had made it abundantly clear she didn’t like him.

  He shook his head; the crazy broad should keep away from guns.

  Flynn headed to his family’s spread in Quincy, about a forty-minute ride away. Most of the time, he lived in Sacramento, where he ran his law practice. But his parents were getting up in years and he and his brother were slowly taking over the family’s cattle operation. With the spring calving, he was living up here almost full-time, racing back and forth between Quincy and Rosser Ranch. Because of the drought they’d leased the Nugget property for more grazing land so they wouldn’t have to cull their herd. Between the two ranches, the Barlows, unlike a lot of California cattlemen, were doing okay. As long as the price of beef held, they’d even make a profit this year. He had enough good people run
ning the law firm that he could get away with telecommuting most days. Sacramento was close enough for him to make his court dates.

  About ten miles out of Nugget, Flynn got a flat. He pulled over at the first turnout, hopped out, and found what he thought was a barbed-wire puncture in the front right tire. One of the casualties of ranch life. In the bed of the truck he found the jack but took one look at the spare and let out a frustrated breath. The tire was low on air, not safe for towing a twenty-four-hundred-pound stock trailer.

  “Ah, crap,” he muttered, then grabbed his cell from the cab’s console. A few seconds later he had the local tow service on the phone, told the owner his location, and flipped down the tailgate to wait, wondering how the day had turned out so shitty.

  Hey, he reminded himself, no one died. A vision of Gia holding Rosser’s Winchester on him roused a chuckle. Nutjob lady didn’t even know where the safety was. He was sitting there soaking up the sun when a Ford, traveling east, turned off the road and parked next to him.

  “You need a ride?” It was Clay McCreedy. They’d known each other since they were knee-high boys, competing at the Plumas County Fair for the best 4-H steer.

  Even though Flynn had grown up in Quincy, he knew a lot of people in Nugget. The beauty of a rural county was that everyone roamed the same mountains and knew everybody else.

  “I’m waiting for a tow. Tire’s flat and my spare isn’t much better.”

  “You call Griffin Parks at the Gas and Go?” Clay got out of his truck.

  “Yep.”

  Clay grabbed a seat next to Flynn on the tailgate and said, “I could hitch your trailer to my truck and park it at my place until you get your tire repaired. I don’t know if the tow truck can handle them both.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem. How’s things?”

  “Good. Met your new neighbor.” Flynn grinned at the thought of the little blonde walking in on him in the shower.

  “Gia Treadwell?”

  “Yup. You meet her yet?”

  “Not formally. But ever since last summer the whole town’s been talking about her. You think she was in on her boyfriend’s scam?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, Clay. But innocent until proven guilty.” Flynn wouldn’t publicly hypothesize about her; it wasn’t right.

  “You know what she’s planning to do with that ranch? There’s a lot of concern that she’ll turn it into a shopping center. That land is zoned agricultural.”

  Flynn laughed. “A shopping center . . . in Nugget?” The population, even when the weekenders descended, wasn’t more than six thousand.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Flynn did. Farm and ranchland was shrinking all over the Golden State. Strip malls and track homes now dotted what used to be fruit and nut orchards, ground crops, and grazing land. “Our meeting was short and not very friendly. I doubt she’ll be telling me her plans anytime soon.”

  Clay raised his brows. “What happened?”

  Flynn told him about the shower incident and how Gia had called the cops on him. Clay got a good chuckle over the story. It had been a long time since they’d gotten a chance to talk, so they spent the time catching up on each other’s families, friends, and the cattle business.

  When Griffin arrived, Clay helped Flynn unhitch his trailer. They hooked it up to Clay’s truck. Then Griffin attached the hook and chain from his tow truck to Flynn’s Ford.

  “All set?” Griffin asked. The tow-truck driver was not only the proprietor of Nugget’s sole gas station but owned a planned community on the edge of town where he was slowly selling off second homes to vacationers.

  Flynn had heard through the grapevine that Griffin was part Native American and came from a small tribe that owned one of the largest gambling casinos in California. Apparently the guy would rather rescue stranded motorists than count his money. Hell, nothing wrong with that.

  “Yep. Thanks for coming to get me.” Flynn waved goodbye to Clay, climbed into Griffin’s rig, and rode back to town with him.

  It turned out the tire was destroyed. Griffin couldn’t get a new one until the next day, so Flynn was stranded there for the night. He would’ve bunked at Rosser Ranch but under the circumstances didn’t think he’d be welcome. Instead, he walked over to the Lumber Baron Inn. The hulking Victorian took up a quarter of the town square and had been completely refurbished a few years back. The interior was as elegant as any hotel in the city.

  “Hey, Maddy, got a room?”

  Maddy, the inn’s owner, looked up from the check-in desk and smiled. “For you, of course. But why are you staying in town and not at Rosser Ranch?”

  “The new owner is there now.” He left it at that. Because Maddy was married to the police chief, she’d find out soon enough that Flynn and Gia had gotten off to a bad start.

  “How are things?” she asked while searching for an available room on her computer monitor. In spring the inn did a brisk business.

  “Good but busy with the cattle.”

  “Yeah, Clay too,” she said. “I guess it’s calving season.”

  “Yup. How ’bout you?”

  “Busy too. This year we’re getting extra summer help. It’s too much now that we have Gold Mountain.”

  Flynn had heard that she and her brother, a San Francisco hotelier, had purchased and restored the old cabin resort fifteen minutes away. “How’s that taking off?”

  “Like gangbusters. This is our second summer and it’s booked solid, many of the same guests who came under the old ownership. We thought we’d lose a lot of them because we jacked the price up after an extensive remodel. But the guests are happy with the new amenities.”

  “That’s great. Good for you and Nate.”

  She grabbed a key off a hook. “Looks like 206 is available. Let me take you up.”

  “You have a laundry service?” He only had the clothes he’d worn that morning while riding fences. They were pretty rank.

  “Absolutely. There’s a bag in your closet. Just send it down when you get settled in.” She walked him up the flight of stairs and opened the door to a spacious room with a king-sized bed.

  “This is perfect, Maddy. Thanks.”

  “It’s our pleasure to have you as a guest.” She left him to unpack.

  Because all he had was a duffel of dirty clothes, Flynn quickly transferred them to the laundry bag. He took in the room, sticking his head in the bathroom. Pretty luxurious digs. He ran the laundry down to the front desk, came back up, and called Clay to let him know that he wouldn’t be collecting his stock trailer until the next day. Then he spent a couple of hours checking in with his law office, reading emails, and returning calls.

  Sometime after six he decided to hit the Ponderosa. He was hungry and could use a drink. For a week night the place was swinging. Flynn snagged a stool at the bar and ordered a Jack Daniel’s neat. Not five minutes later the police chief walked in and took the seat next to Flynn.

  “Heard you’re staying at the inn,” Rhys said.

  “News travels fast in Nugget.”

  “It helps that I know the innkeeper.”

  Flynn chuckled. “Maddy working late?”

  “Nah, I’m about to pick her up. Just thought I’d drop by to say hi because we didn’t get a chance to really chat this afternoon.” Rhys tossed his head back and laughed.

  “The woman’s crazy, you do realize that?”

  “I don’t know, Flynn, if I found some random dude in my shower. . .”

  “Hey, that’s a damn fine shower. She wasn’t supposed to show up for another week.”

  Amused, Rhys said, “Do me a favor and make peace with the lady. I like a quiet town and I have a feeling with her around it’s gonna get noisy.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You know who she is, right?”

  “Gia Treadwell.”

  As if on cue, Gia and another woman walked into the restaurant. Both men watched as they were escorted to a table in th
e middle of the dining room.

  Flynn turned back to Rhys. “The feds still looking at her?”

  Rhys lifted his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not like they would share that information with me.”

  Flynn suspected Rhys knew more than he was saying. Before coming home to Nugget, Rhys was a rising figure in Houston PD’s command structure. Savvy guy. And, unlike the rest of Plumas County, he was tightlipped. Back when Flynn was still law enforcement, Rhys might’ve confided in him. But not now that Flynn had gone to the other side. And he respected the hell out of Rhys for it.

  “I’ve gotta roll,” Rhys said. “Take it easy.”

  “You too.”

  After Rhys left, Flynn ordered a steak. “And bring over a couple of drinks on me to the two ladies over there,” he told the bartender, and hitched his head at Gia’s table.

  “You mean Dana and the Rosser Ranch woman?” When Flynn nodded, the bartender said, “They like margaritas.”

  “Whatever they want.” It was a peace gesture.

  He watched the drinks get delivered and the server point him out. The two women stuck their heads together. Flynn assumed Gia was telling her friend about their run-in. By tomorrow it would be all over town. Gia glanced his way and nodded. It appeared that was all the thanks he was going to get from her. Fair enough, he supposed, and cut into his steak when it arrived.

  He was just sopping up the last of his meal with a piece of bread when Gia approached.

  “Thanks for the drinks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She was actually better-looking in real life than on television. Before, when she’d been holding the Winchester—and his Glock—he’d been too preoccupied to notice. But her eyes were bluer, her lashes longer, her lips fuller, and her face more heart-shaped. “We good now?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You left your horse in my barn.”