He hesitated, the idea of talking to a “guest” somewhat daunting.
Then he yanked the phone’s receiver off the wall.
“HELLO?”
The gruff voice infused that one word, an alleged greeting, with undisguised caution, throwing Emmaline Graystone off guard. “Hello?”
In the background, dishes clattered in a sink.
Did Michael give me the wrong number?Emma glanced at the invitation, and then checked the display on her smartphone. Nope. Right number.
Her business partner had handled this account save for a couple of phone calls she’d taken in his absence. For those, she’d talked to a man named Eli. He’d been cultured, polished and incredibly professional. This was clearly not the same man.
“Hello?” that deep male voice repeated, his impatience impossible to misinterpret.
“Hello...hi. Um, I’m...” She blew out a soft breath and squared her shoulders. “This is Emmaline Graystone. I’m with Top Priority Publicity, the public relations firm hired by Lassos & Latigos to guide the ranch through it’s inaugural—”
“I’m well aware of what your firm has been hired to do, Ms. Graystone. But I was under the impression Eli had been dealing with a man by the name of Michael Anderson.”
“Michael is the firm’s vice president and has been handling the account, yes. But he’s involved in another project where the opening date was unexpectedly moved up and has left him pressed for time. With your grand opening quickly approaching, I offered to take over your account.”
“You familiar withour account?” The Voice asked.
She lifted her chin a fraction and stared at the barren horizon. “I’m the firm’s president and owner. I’ve been through your account files extensively, and I fully understand the direction Michael had been taking things. He’s done a good job. I can take it from here.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The perceptible smile in The Voice’s response irked her. “Do you have a problem with me assuming this account?”
“Nope. As long as you keep in mind the same principles we drilled into Michael, I don’t care who handles our account.”
Curious.She hadn’t seen anything in the notes about hardline principles to respect. “Which principles, precisely, are you referring to?”
“We want to keep the ranch family focused, make sure it doesn’t become a commercial machine but rather an intimate experience for each guest and every booking. Do that and I don’t care what kind of equipment’s parked behind your zipper.”
She blinked wide eyes. “Glad to hear it,” she said, mimicking The Voice’s dry tone. If this guy was a Covington, and if he would be interacting with ranch guests, they were all in trouble. He couldn’t speak to strangers—payingstrangers—this way.
“You want to talk to Eli?”
“Not necessary. I’m currently standing in the Amarillo airport and there are no rental cars to be had. I would appreciate it if you’d have someone pick me up.”
“You’re here,” The Voice deadpanned.
“If by ‘here’ you mean at the airport, then yes,” she answered, irritated that The Voice offered no courtesy. “More specifically, in case you missed it, said airport is in Amarillo. That would be Texas. Right inside the infamous Panhandle. I’m staring out the huge glass windows at a landscape that’s flat, dust-colored as far as the eye can see, and the wind is blowing. It isn’t even remotely similar to the brochure Michael created. Still, if that’s what you’re referring to as ‘here,’ then the answer stands.”
“I should have asked, ‘Whyare you here?’” he clarified.
“Unannounced visit to put you through your paces before your guests arrive.” She tried not to fume at his ensuing curse. “We have fourteen days to work out any last-minute issues.”
He sighed. Something—a hand?—slid over the receiver on the opposite end. The Voice entered into a brief, muffled discussion with what sounded like another man and a woman. The Voice’s words, though indiscernible, conveyed his frustration loud and clear. If the dude ranch intended to operate this way, they wouldn’t last a single tourist season.
The Voice’s hand must have slipped from the receiver because Emmaline was able to determine the three were arguing over who would drive in to retrieve her. Travelers, particularly those with both the money for the experience and those bringing children, wouldn’t tolerate being abandoned at tiny airports as their well-paid “hosts” argued heatedly over who was supposed to have been at the airport to pick them up.
She’d have to put an end to this and figure it out on her own. “Excuse me?”
Nothing. No response whatsoever.
“Excuse me,” she said again, louder.
