Knight in a White Stetson by Claire King Page B

farmer.
    “Well,” Dupree began slowly, leaning forward and locking eyes with her. She could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His office had an intercom, but not an air conditioner. The fan behind him ruffled the papers on his desk. “It’s a developer, actually. From out of town.”
    “A developer,” Calla repeated. “What in the world would a developer want with the Hot Sulphur? It’s not as if we’ve got easy access to the high life out there, you know.”
    “Yes, well, the party in question is very shrewd. They see your … our property,” he corrected pointedly, “as the perfect spot for a posh, private recreational club.”
    “Club? You mean a dude ranch?” Calla sputtered with barely suppressed laughter. “They want to turn it into a dude ranch?”
    Dupree put up a warning hand.
    “Don’t take this lightly, Calla. Dude ranches are extremely profitable. They plan to use the hot sprigs to develop some bass ponds for fishing and a spa, use the sinks for bird hunting, tear down the old buildings to make way for shops and restaurants. Very all-inclusive,” Dupree said smugly.
    Calla groaned inwardly. He’d probably just learned the phrase and was trying it out on her. “Posh” was another new one. Calla knew for a fact the word posh had never before been uttered in Paradise. And maybe in all southern Idaho.
    “Who are they?”
    “I can’t say.”
    Calla blinked. “You can’t say? These people are coming to my bank and talking to my banker about my place, and you can’t say?” Her voice was growing louder. She caught a glimpse of movement outside the glass door as Ruby shifted position for a better view. Ruby’s customer leaned eagerly over the teller counter, straining to see inside the office. Great, Calla thought when she saw who it was. Ida Bootsma. It’d be all over Paradise in an hour that Calla Bishop had had a fight with Dick Dupree down at the bank. Calla closed her eyes briefly and willed her hands to stop shaking.
    “Listen, Dick, you tell these guys they can take their offer and drop it off the Paradise Bridge. I’m not turning my great-grandfather’s homestead into a dude ranch.” She rose to leave.
    “Wait, Calla.” Dupree jumped to his feet, his eyes narrowed in that ancient way of moneylenders readying for battle. “You better sit down, young lady, and listen to what’s good for you. You all have been hanging by a string for years now. These guys are offering you a way out.”
    “A way out?” She wanted to laugh. “Of what? My home? My legacy? My children’s future?”
    “Don’t be so dramatic,” he chastised. “You could go back to college, finish your degree.”
    “Get bent, Dupree.” She stepped back to open the office door. Ida and Ruby peered intently at Ida’s bank statement.
    “Charming.” He moved to block her exit. “You always did have a smart mouth. Sit down.” He practically pushed her into her chair.
    There were distinct disadvantages to doing business in a small town with old friends and relatives, Calla thought sulkily. If any big-city banker had put his hands on her, she’d have decked him. Then called a big-city lawyer.
    “They’re offering a million-five.”
    “It’s worth more.”
    “Not in this market.”
    “What about my grazing rights?”
    “They don’t want ‘em. They’re not interested in running a herd. They plan to keep a few cows on hand so the tourists can run them from field to field when they get the notion.”
    Calla groaned and rested her forehead on Dupree’s desk. “Poor cows.”
    Dupree waited a long minute, waiting for her to squirm. She didn’t, to his exasperation. “I think you should take the money and run, Calla. You could buy a big house here in town for your daddy and Helen. You’d be free to go where you pleased.” He warmed to his subject. “Do what you please. Marry your college boy, move back East, whatever.”
    “What about Lester?” Calla asked distractedly, buying time to collect her