Chapter 11

A few days after I closed on the ranch in Utah, Greg came into my office looking stressed.

"We've got problems," he said and he sank into a chair in front of my desk. "Just got off the phone with our surveillance guy in Houston. Julio Anterra sent a man to Colorado to check out Loni. He's in the air now."

"Why weren't we notified earlier?" I said as I reached for my phone.

"My mistake, boss. From all indications, we didn't have a problem with Anterra, so to save some money, I told our surveillance specialist to stop monitoring Anterra live, and instead rely on the recorded conversations. Surveillance checks the tapes only once a day, usually during the morning hours."

I dialed Peter Cornwall's phone number and got a recording telling me to leave a voice mail. I told the machine my name and number, and told Peter that the situation was urgent.

"Does Anterra have Loni under surveillance of any kind?" I asked before calling Loni.

"No," Greg said.

When I dialed Loni's phone number I received another recording, and I left a similar message for her.

"Loni's defending her dissertation today," Greg said.

"What caused Anterra to make this move?" I said.

"Nothing specific. I'm guessing it's because he's at a dead-end everywhere else, so he decided to look into Carson's trip to Colorado."

I nodded. "Does Sable know where Loni is defending her dissertation?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to ask. She'll want to know why I'm asking. When I tell her, she'll have a hissy fit."

I chuckled and said, "She'll need to know anyway, Greg."

He levered himself out of the chair as if he were my actual age, in other words, an old man. I figured he'd rather go to a rock fight than tell Sable her sister was at risk again.

"Greg, tell Sable we'll protect her sister. Tell her I've already put in a call to Peter. In fact, tell her if Loni is willing, we'll pick her up in Colorado and the four of us will fly to my ranch in the Uintas for a few days of R&R. I'm meeting my architects, and I have some other odds and ends to take care of there, but I'll have some time to play, too."

Greg smiled and nodded. He left my office with a spring in his step instead of shuffling like a senior citizen.

I didn't leave my office. I sat and wondered how Leah was doing. I hadn't heard from her, not since the night she rented a room for us. I knew she was dating. I'd read her mother's mind on my two trips to Utah while buying the dude ranch. According to Maria, Leah was partial to an architect named John Savage. Savage was a professor in the School of Architecture at ASU.

I won't remain celibate. Celibacy isn't in my nature. Leah's words, words I couldn't get out of my mind, couldn't forget.

Sometimes I wished I didn't love her.

At first, Loni was furious. Her sister's problem with her ex-husband had put her at risk again.

When Clint's executive protector in Denver finally found and told her she was in danger, she was celebrating successfully defending her dissertation.

Dr. Loni Masterson. The title had a nice ring to it. She preferred it to Zane, the supermodel. Becoming Zane was more difficult. To become Zane, she'd allowed a man to own her; she'd allowed him to make a whore out of her; she'd degraded herself, and finally, she'd become a murderer. Achieving fame and fortune as Zane was more difficult, but achieving her doctorate was immeasurably more satisfying. The work for her doctorate had been clean work. No one had owned her. No one had abused her. She had not fucked a professor for a grade. She'd earned every grade she received – all A's in graduate school, both for her masters and doctorate. And she certainly had not had anyone killed to earn the right to put Ph.D. after her name. She'd accomplished the goal with grueling long hours in the library and with her face in books at her home, or her eyes glued to a computer monitor, not to mention the lab work and writing chores. And with the achievement, she could put what she'd done to become Zane behind her and start a new life as Dr. Loni Masterson.

So, she'd been celebrating her achievement with her friends and colleagues when Peter Cornwall had arrived at her party. As soon as she saw him, she knew Robyn's problem with Carson had somehow involved her again. If the party had not been on its last legs when he arrived, she would have told him to go to hell. Instead, she sat down with him and listened. The drug lord wanted to talk with her now.

"Will this ever end, Peter?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "But I like Clint Wilson's style. This time you need to pack for chilly weather. Clint, your sister, and her fiancé will meet you at the airport in a private business jet. From here you will fly to a ranch he recently purchased in the Uinta Mountains in Utah. He says the scenery is eye candy, and you can go horseback riding and breathe clean, mountain air. It's just for a few days, Loni."

Infuriating cuss, she thought.

"Pack for at least a week, though," Peter said.

Deep in thought, Loni nodded. She'd believed she'd put Clint Wilson behind her, like she'd just put Zane behind her. But Clint kept showing up like a bad penny. Mostly in her mind. No man had ever turned her down, but Clint had. He'd said thanks, but no thanks. The days she'd spent with him in Arizona had been trying, but they'd also opened her eyes to a different sort of man. She'd watched how he treated those around him. Mostly with kindness and compassion. But he wasn't a weak man. He was rich and powerful. Everyone called him boss. But boss was an endearing title. They worked for him, and they loved him.

Like me. Like everyone around him, I also fell in love with him. And not just the admiration kind of love of one person for another person, like Greg and Greta love him. Robyn, too, for that matter. What I felt was romantic love, the same type of love my sister felt for the man at first. Until Greg came along.

I rejected my feelings for him, though. I fought how I felt because I wasn't just Loni Masterson; I was Zane, too. As Zane, I couldn't allow myself to fall in love, not the way I'd been treated by Carl Charney. I'd fallen in love with Carl, and he'd abused my love. As Zane, I couldn't trust any man.

And Clint knew this about me. He didn't like Zane. Well, I didn't like her either.

"We need to leave so you can pack, Loni," Peter said.

"All right." She stood up. Would Clint like the new me? Dr. Loni Masterson?

Loni surprised us. She didn't object to the trip. She was upset that she had suddenly become a target again, but with the successful defense of her dissertation, the new Ph.D. was in limbo until she decided where to hang her shingle. So, she'd agreed to join us for some R&R.

When we met her at the airport in Denver, Loni was friendly with Sable and Greg, but she ignored me.

Except with her thoughts. Mostly, she was still stuck in the approach/avoidance syndrome I provoked when she was around me. I didn't want to listen to her conflicting attitudes about me, so I cut my mental connection with her.

She was a sight to behold, though. Her beauty could compare favorably with the awesome vistas from the lodge at the Uinta ranch to Bald Mountain Pass and the pine-covered valley below Mt. Agassiz and Hayden Peak.

The small business jet set us down in Heber City, Utah, and we hopped in a helicopter that would fly us to the ranch. I didn't like helicopters. They were noisy, bumpy, and uncomfortable. I also didn't consider them very safe. I'd live forever if I could avoid injury. Ergo, I should avoid helicopters. Putting in a runway at the ranch that would handle small business jets would be my first order of business next spring.

Owen and Maria met us when we landed at the ranch. The wranglers, Vardis Hiller and Clete Jones, grabbed our luggage and helped everyone get settled in various rooms in the lodge. I took the master bedroom Ferris had used when he owned the place. The suites I'd built for my staff in Gold Canyon provided better accommodations than even the ex-owner's digs in the lodge.

This too shall pass, I thought with a sigh.

I looked forward to my meeting with my architect.

Besides Vardis and Clete, I'd agreed to hire three other long-term employees at the ranch. Mike Eddy was the cook, and Aaron Ely was an all-around handyman. Aaron's wife, Valerie, Val, for short, worked as a housemaid, but also helped Mike in the kitchen. The five employees had agreed to remain at the ranch as caretakers during the long winters. I'd followed Owen's recommendation and made Vardis Hiller the boss when Owen and I weren't around. I'd also folded the entire ranching operation into Owen's budget. I'd manage the development and construction of the buildings in a separate budget.

We ate a late dinner. Yep, you guessed it – steak and beans. Mike was more a chuck wagon cook than a chef. Loni surprised me when she dug in and ate like a sumo wrestler.

When she noticed my raised eyebrow, she grinned and said, "No more modeling, Clint, and a few pounds won't hurt me. I don't intend to end up voluptuous, but I'm not going to starve myself anymore." She stuck her tongue out at me. "So there!"

Everyone around the table laughed, including me. "Good for you," I said.

I found it curious that I hadn't noticed the Zane persona in Loni's behavior since shortly after we greeted her in Colorado. Perhaps ending her modeling career allowed Loni to rise to a dominant position over Zane. I checked out her thoughts. Yes, Zane was still there waiting to take over at a moments notice.

"No more Zane?" I said.

"Nope," Loni said, grinning. "Zane is the past, a past I've laid to rest. I'm Dr. Loni Masterson now, psychologist extraordinaire, shingle pending."

"Where will you set up your practice?"

"I have offers on both coasts," she said. "Los Angeles and New York City. I decided to work for a firm for a few years before hanging my own shingle, Clint."

And you, you infuriating cuss, could derail those plans, she thought.

Her silent comment made me choke on a piece of beef I was chewing. Sable patted my back. "Are you all right, Clint?" she said.

"Fine," I gasped and wiped my mouth with a napkin.

Without looking at Loni, I spent the rest of the meal experiencing her thoughts with care, searching for the girl-next-door Loni represented and the hard, manipulating woman I knew as Zane. They were there, but I also discovered a new personality, a new Loni that appeared to have discarded the submissiveness of the old Loni, a new Loni that had pushed the Zane persona into background static. I say background static because Zane was still making some noise, putting in her two-cents worth on occasion. The new Loni seemed to be the dominant personality.

I liked that, but I didn't know if I liked the new Loni, not yet anyway. I suspected I'd probably like her. I'd probably like her a lot. I also suspected that if the new Loni took a run at me, I probably wouldn't say no.

Probably. I still had my feelings for Leah to deal with. And lurking like albatrosses around my neck were my three secrets: my sterility, my long life, and my intrusive mind. Neither the old Loni nor Zane would ever accept my secrets. No way, no how. Could the new Loni accept them?

Probably not.

Leah couldn't. She could have and would have accepted two of the three, but not the third, not my long life.

"No woman can accept the fact that you won't grow old with her," Leah had said, or words to that effect.

Doesn't matter, not yet. Probably never will. Love has to happen before I inform any woman about the baggage I'd bring to a long-term relationship.

Owen had a surprise for me. The next morning before breakfast, he hustled me out to the corral where I saw a gorgeous appaloosa mare.

"Hellamighty, Owen! Where did you find that horse?" I said.

"A Ute friend of mine. She's a two year old. Never been shown, but after I work with her for a few months, I'd bet my bottom dollar she could win top honors at a Junior Western Pleasure Show. Got a good pedigree, not great, but good. She's yours for $1,000."

"Sold! She's a beauty, Owen. Why so cheap?"

"My friend needs the money. Sick wife."

"What's the mare's name?"

"My friend called her She Bitch, but she's registered as Appsalutely Cool." He spelled Appsalutely for me.

"Too cute for words," I said, referring to her name. "Why She Bitch?"

"She's a little cantankerous. I can fix that problem, though. Mostly she just needs some TLC. My idiot friend didn't treat her very well."

"What's she worth?"

"As she is I'd say triple what he's asking. With her problems fixed, double that number. There's a champion in that horse, Clint. I just have to help her find the champion in her and bring it out."

"Ah, hell, Owen, your friend has a sick wife. Give him $2,000."

Owen grinned. "All right."

Loni joined us at the corral, hopping onto the lower rail and leaning on the top rail, which made her backside an enticing sight.

"Beautiful," she breathed while looking at the spotted mare. I breathed the same word while looking at Loni's backside.

"That's an appaloosa, right?" Loni said.

"Yes," I said.

"Did you get her from the Nez Perce?"

I chuckled. "No, from a Ute with a sick wife."

"I thought the Nez Perce bred appaloosas," she said, looking confused by my flip answer.

"They did and do," Owen said. "But they'll sell them to anyone, and anyone can breed them."

I said, "You're right about the Nez Perce, Loni. They were highly sophisticated horsemen, selecting only spotted horses for breeding. Their most prized horses were ridden for buffalo hunts and war. A warhorse had to be strong, fast, courageous and intelligent. Horses with those qualities, as well as a flashy appearance like that mare, carry the most value. Because the Nez Perce lived in Palouse country, white settlers called the horses palouses. Eventually the name became appalousey, and finally appaloosa."

Know it all, she thought. Then she surprised me when she added, 'Course if someone plans to breed appaloosas, like Clint, it'd be appropriate to know the history of the breed.

"May I ride her while I'm here?" Loni said.

"No," I said. "She has some bad habits Owen needs to fix before I'd let anyone ride her."

"Shucks. Cook says come and get it." She hopped off the rail and grinned at me. "I love it up here." She hugged herself. "A little chilly early in the morning, though."

"Soon, it won't be chilly," I said. "It'll be deep-down cold with snow measured in feet, not inches." I put my arm around her, and she snuggled against me.

Hmm, that's nice, she thought.

After breakfast, everyone wanted to go horseback riding. I couldn't. My architects were due to arrive by helicopter momentarily, but Owen said that he'd take everyone out on the broken-down nags Ferris had left at the ranch as part of the sale.

"Are any of them worth keeping?" I asked Owen, referring to the nags.

"Unless you buy some more appaloosas soon, you'll need three of them so Vardis and Clete can get around over the winter, one for each of 'em and a spare. Got a buyer for what you don't keep. Won't get much for 'em, but feedin' 'em this winter is sorta dumb if you don't plan to keep 'em."

"Except for the three horses for Vardis and Clete, finalize the sale. Let Vardis and Clete pick the horses they want. The buyer can pick up the rest of them after we leave," I said.

Owen and Maria would be flying to Arizona with us. I'd arranged for a moving company to transport their belongings after we left.

"Will do, boss," Owen said.

I raised my eyebrow.

Owen chuckled. "That's what everybody else calls you."

I looked up when I heard the racket of a helicopter. I didn't need to hurry. In the clear, mountain air, sound traveled farther than in and around a city.

I had not met my architect. I'd spoken with her on the telephone, and I'd seen photographic examples of her work. I'd also roughly outlined the specifications for the various structures I wanted and how I wanted them to relate to the buildings we wouldn't tear down. She'd visited the ranch and walked the land. Owen had shown her around. And she'd also acquired the surveys, maps and satellite imagery necessary to complete the preliminary design work and present the designs to me, which was the purpose of her visit.

Her name was Ginger Flynn.

I stepped outside and watched her hop from the helicopter and run bent over to get out of the draft from the blades. Ginger Flynn was not a babe, but from the look of her, she had style.

Probably forty years old. Probably five-seven. Probably one hundred forty-five pounds. Black hair in a pixie cut. She wore blue jeans tucked into tan cowboy boots, a tan Western-cut blouse, and a stylish black leather vest. She carried a Stetson in her hand. She'd dressed Western, but she didn't look like a drugstore cowgirl. Her clothes had been worn before, and from what I could see, she was comfortable in them.

The man behind her was younger, her assistant, I assumed. I didn't know his name. Business casual clothes, not Western. He was a tall drink of water, taller than me by an inch or two, but thin, maybe one hundred sixty pounds. Long, brown hair. Down to his shoulders. The wind from the helicopter blades was wreaking havoc on his hairdo. He carried plans and other paraphernalia under both arms, and before introductions, he set his load down and returned to the helicopter to haul out more stuff. When he started back for the third load, Ginger stuck out her hand and introduced herself. She had a strong grip, and I liked her bright-blue eyes. The crinkles at the corners of her eyes had been caused more from laughter than the sun, I figured. She smiled with her entire face, not just with her mouth.

Ginger's assistant arrived huffing and puffing with more stuff. His name was Alex Tuttle. I liked his mind. His thoughts were clear without a lot of clutter, and from all indications, he was a decent man. He thought the sun rose and set for Ginger. I liked that about him, too.

Ginger's thought processes weren't as clear, but I experienced no malice or pronounced evil. I had her confused, though. She'd expected to meet an older man. I chuckled inwardly. She did meet an older man!

Tuttle wanted to know where they'd be making their presentation, and I guided him to the great room of the main lodge.

"This'll do," he said.

"Want some coffee?" I asked them.

"Go ahead," Tuttle said to Ginger. "I'll set everything up."

I guided Ginger to a table by the kitchen, and Mike served us coffee. She didn't like the coffee, believed it had been made hours before, so she added more cream and sugar.

"The coffee's fresh perked," I said. "Mike makes it to fit my taste." I grinned. "I like full-bodied coffee."

How about full-bodied women? she thought. Christ Almighty, he's rich and looks like a Greek God. Be still my heart.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

And so it went. My architect was a bawdy lady. Just naughty, though, not nasty. Not that nasty was all bad. There are times when nasty can be a lot of fun.

After chatting for a while, we returned to the great room for the presentation, and just as Ginger started to speak, Loni burst into the room.

"Mind if I sit in?" she said.

"Be my guest," I said.

She sat next to me on a leather sofa that was tufted with large, round brass nails. The sofa would end up in the scrap heap with the debris from the demolition of the lodge. I switched my telepathic connection from Ginger to Loni.

Sable had told Loni what my meeting with the architects was about, and according to Loni's thoughts, she wanted to watch me in action with the architect. She also wanted to see what the architect had planned for the ranch.

Ginger stuttered for a few seconds, and then took a deep breath. "Are you Zane, the model?" she asked.

"I was," Loni said. "I'm a psychologist now."

Loni was ambivalent about being recognized as Zane. On one hand, she enjoyed the fame. On the other, she'd put her life as a model behind her.

"Thought so," Ginger said. "I hate you."

"Huh?" Loni said.

"Look at me. I'm as thin now as I've ever been. If you wore what I'm wearing, you'd look like a million dollars. I look like a dollar two ninety-eight."

I laughed. "No such number, Ginger."

"I know. Zane, I don't hate you," Ginger said and then flashed her winning smile. "But I'd give that million dollars that you look like all the time for a body like yours. I'd keep my face. I'm used to it."

Loni laughed. "Ginger, I go by my real name now, Loni Masterson."

"Dr. Loni Masterson," I said.

She looked at me and thought, I don't need your help, buster.

I said, "Show us your preliminary designs, Ginger."

Ginger nodded, and I watched her take on her professional persona. Over the years, I'd learned not to interrupt a design presentation. Often the reason that caused me to interrupt the flow would be answered later, so instead of interrupting, I took notes. I liked her site plan. I'd make a few changes, but they were minor. When she set a rendering of the main house on an easel, I broke my rule.

"I don't like it," I said.

Talk about being doused with ice water! Ginger looked like I'd tossed her in a bay in Alaska dotted with bobbing icebergs and leaping humpback whales.

Know it all, Loni thought. No, not Loni. That was a Zane thought.

"Show me the floor plans for the main house. Maybe the exterior can be fixed," I said to get Ginger back on track.

I liked the floor plans. No, I loved them! They were perfect. I wouldn't change them by one small line, probably. I told Ginger exactly how I felt about them, which softened her anguished look considerably.

"Put the exterior rendering back up," I said.

She set it on the easel.

"You're using pre-cast concrete for the structural elements, aren't you?" I said.

"Yes. They can be cast elsewhere and hauled in here by helicopter. Using pre-cast concrete will save construction time, and a lot of money to boot," Ginger said with not a little bit of pride.

"Use wood and native stone," I said. "Bring labor crews in with the helicopters, not structural elements. Concrete doesn't fit this environment."

Tuttle was grinning like a cat that had cornered a flightless canary.

"Say it, Tuttle," I said. "Get it out of your system. Say, 'Ginger, I told you so.'"

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Long Life and Telepathy

Paul Phenomenon

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