Page 12 of Impossible Love

“You know, it smells so good here,” she says. “These must be ancient trees.”

I remind myself she’s a vulture, no matter how tender her face looks in the sunlight or how sweet her voice sounds when she’s not tightly wound. “Yep. Old growth Ponderosa Pines.”

“Well, it’s some of the most beautiful land I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been everywhere, let me assure you.”

I see the ranch spread out below, seven houses, a dozen barns and outbuildings, corrals and pastures and training rings. It’s now or never. “So, Victoria,” I say.

“Yeah?” She turns to me, her face relaxed.

“How are you feeling about this business transaction, this problem you're about to solve at Yosemite Ranch? Feeling good about it?”

She laughs. “This is going to be the easiest money I ever make. From what I can tell, the MacLaines are pushovers.”

The tendons in my neck tighten. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel. “You don’t say.”

“Well, let me put it this way—they don't know I'm coming, and when I get there, they won’t know what hit them.”

“Cool,” I say, turning off the highway.

“They won’t be able to say no.”

“Go for it, killer.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

Her head is on a swivel as she looks around. “This place is huge! I heard it was a thousand square miles or something ridiculous. Could that be right?”

“Absolutely. It’s the same size as the Ponderosa.”

“The what?”

“The old TV show. Bonanza.” I turn to see that she has absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. “Never mind.”

By the time we drive beneath the ranch gateway, I’m so furious I’m gritting my teeth. Special K waves to me from one of the outdoor training rings, where he’s exercising a colt. I wave back, watching him do a double-take when he sees the redhead at my side. We continue up the lane.

“Who exactly are you here to see?”

“James MacLaine.”

I drive up to the main house, my father’s home. My two best girls, Ripley and Sarah Connor, run out to greet me, their tails swinging in happiness.

“I’m not a fan of dogs,” Victoria says.

“That’s a damn shame.” I cut the engine, wishing, for the first time ever, that my girls were Rottweilers instead of Golden Retrievers.

I get out and walk over to the passenger door, opening it for our vulture visitor. She’s struggling to put her shoes back on, and when she steps out, she nearly falls. I catch her.

Fuck. I wish she didn’t smell so good. Feel so good.

The heavy oak door opens, and Dad walks out onto the log porch. His hands are in the front pockets of his jeans, and there’s a big smile on his weathered face. “Well, hello there, Cal!” he says. “Who do you have with you?”

Victoria has brushed off my help and regained her balance. With one hand she tries to smooth down her tousled hair. With the other, she holds her expensive purse against her knees to prevent the dogs from licking her.

“Go away. Git!” She uses her bag as a shield. It’s now covered in Retriever spit. Excellent.

I answer my father. “Dad, this is Victoria. Victoria, this is my dad, Jamie MacLaine.”

She spins toward me, eyes wild, face red. “What the fuck?” she hisses in my direction. “Cal—” I watch the realization hit her. “As in Callum MacLaine?”

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