She thought of all the materials she’d sent to Hermione, all the questions she’d answered and plans they’d made. Hermione Townley did not like surprises—which meant Jameson Cabot didn’t, either. Luke hadn’t raised this issue for weeks after what had happened with Nannie. He understood that changes had to happen carefully in a business like this.
“Roping class is already on the calendar. Let’s keep things as they are until we can decide on the exact changes and get all our materials revised. Nannie was the first animal to be hurt so badly in all the years we’ve been running, right?”
“Yeah, but now we know it can get that bad.”
“We can’t make changes right now, Luke, and you know it. I leave it to you to protect the animals when you teach that class.”
Again his eyes narrowed. When he was actually angry, he looked pretty scary, in fact.
“Fine,” he huffed.
“Okay. And we’ll talk again as soon as possible to figure out the changes we need to make and when.”
With that, she got up, hurried her half-eaten meal to the bussing table, and followed Marcie up to the front desk.
Hopefully Hermione wasn’t ready to set another little fire. Ellen had as many as she could handle.
*****
Cabot Communication & Technology was a massive company based in California, but its first corporate headquarters had been in London. When Jameson Cabot, reading the landscape of the early days of the internet, had seen that interesting things were happening just south of San Francisco, he’d packed up his whole operation and planted himself smack in the middle of what was now Silicon Valley. Before there was anything called ‘social media’ or ‘smartphones,’ CC&T had sunk deep roots in the scene and had a piece of every pie in the neighborhood now, from hardware to software and everything in between.
Ellen was not especially technologically inclined, but she always did research on her guests, so she could make sure their experience at the Moondancer met their needs and exceeded their expectations. She hadn’t needed to do any research to know CC&T was a huge whale to land. The company name was the literal definition of a household word. She doubted any household existed that didn’t have some kind of CC&T product in it.
Petite and pale, with small blue eyes and wispy straw-hued hair wound into a French twist, Hermione Townley seemed notably younger than Ellen—say mid-ish twenties. Quite young for a job with so much responsibility. She was too young to have moved over from London with her boss; Ellen wondered if he recruited personal assistants from home as a way to stave off homesickness or something.
Young she was, but she lacked neither confidence nor drive. When Ellen met her in the lobby, Hermione leapt at once into a barrage of questions and comments about the readiness of the Moondancer for the CC&T retreat.
As soon as she could get a word in, Ellen said, “Why don’t I show you to your room, and then I’ll give you a quick tour.”
“You’ve not placed Mr. Cabot in a room, I hope?” Her clipped accent managed to convey horror and contempt in equal parts.
“No. He has the largest private cabin. The other C-level executives are in cabins as well. But you said you wanted to be in the main house, right?”
“Yes, yes. That’s fine. I’d like to see the cabins as well, please.”
Ellen did a quick scan of Hermione’s ensemble. She was dressed like a city girl, perhaps particularly an English city girl, who had scanned Pinterest for ideas about how to dress for the country: obviously brand-new skinny jeans, obviously brand-new tall leather boots with a stacked 3-inch heel, a silky white tunic, belted with a skinny double-wrap belt in the same leather as her boots. The tunic had embroidered accents at the collar, cuffs, and placket: tiny blue cowboy hats and red roses on trailing green vines.
Even by the usual city-slicker standards, she was not dressed for the tromping around the ranch.
“Let’s start here in the house. You might want to change into a lower heel before we walk the ranch.”
Hermione glanced down and lifted a foot off the floor so she could study its boot, and Ellen knew at once that she hadn’t brought more suitable attire.
In the Moondancer guidebook there was a whole section—two full pages—of information about appropriate apparel and footwear.
“I’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Hermione said, with the perfect confidence of the uninitiated.
*****
She was fine—primarily because Ellen made sure to keep her close to the buildings, where there were flagstone walks or well-graded pea-sized gravel, or level grass. After a tour of the house, they checked out the cabins, and Hermione pored through each room like a health inspector with a grudge.
Used to this kind of pre-arrival inspection—though this one was much more detailed than average—Ellen stood near the main doors and waited, answering any questions Hermione called out.
When she came from the farthest room at the last cabin, Hermione brushed her hands like she’d been hard at work. “Right, then. These all look fine. I don’t need to see the other rooms. I would, however, like to see the stable and speak with the man who’ll be in charge of all that—what was his name again?”
“That’s Luke. Luke Taylor, our livestock manager.” Ellen checked her watch. It was unusual for anyone to ask to interview Luke in a situation like this, and she hadn’t arranged for him to be available. Luke didn’t like things to be sprung on him without warning. But there wasn’t much Ellen could do about that now.
“He’ll probably be in his office in the stable. Why don’t we head there and see?”
*****
Heath Cahill’s truck was outside the stable, and he was working on Creampuff, one of their trail horses. Heath was the younger son of the Cahill family and had chosen not to work his family’s ranch, though he lived there with his wife and kids. Instead, he was a blacksmith and farrier. He’d done the artisanal ironwork of the Moondancer’s main gate, and made regular trips up here to see to their horses’ hooves.
Heath was a good-looking man, tall and broad-shouldered, well-muscled but not massive. He had a serious, ruggedly handsome face and keen green eyes. Ellen had entertained a fairly steady crush on the man for several years, though he’d never been available for anything more than pining from afar. He’d married young, then reeled in tragedy, then married again.
Heath Cahill was the marrying kind. Sigh.
“Oh, my,” Hermione muttered as they approached the barn. “Is that Luke?”
Ellen heard the naked thirst in Miss Townley’s prim accent. “No, that’s Heath Cahill, our farrier. And he’s extremely married.”
Hermione’s cheeks pinked, but she managed a very English, “Pity.”
“Agreed,” Ellen said, and the two women shared their first authentic smile. “Hey, Heath,” she said, since they’d reached him. “How’re you doin’?”
“Hey, Ellen.” Heath was one who’d taken her wish to be called Ellen to heart, and had leaned on his brother and friends to do the same. “I’m good. You?”