silent for a moment before observing, "This is the best mood he's been in for months. I'd better strike while the iron is hot." He got to his feet.
Devon winced. "Maybe you should wait a couple of days, Ryan."
"I can't. I haven't got the time. Phil wants to move now and I have to know if I'm going to get Garth's backing."
"I don't think his mood has changed enough to make him want to give you money, Ryan," Devon warned.
"All I'm going to try for tonight is to get Garth to agree to at least talk to Phil."
"Good luck."
"Thanks, I'll need it."
Devon picked up a magazine without glancing at the title. She turned the pages absently while she listened for sounds of an explosion from the study.
There was silence for a reassuring length of time and as she grew less tense, Devon took more notice of what she was reading. It was, predictably enough, a magazine for breeders and buyers of Arabian horses and it was more than a year old. She was about to toss it back down onto the stack when she saw a familiar photograph of Royal Standard. The stallion was posed in all his arrogant beauty, his small delicate ears at attention, fine nostrils flared and smoothly muscled shoulders well displayed. The equine intelligence and quivering vitality of the animal came through brilliantly.
Devon had worked for hours getting Royal Standard so beautifully posed. Garth had handled the stallion while she took her shots. The result had been pretty good, even if she did say so herself.
The page with the photograph had been well thumbed, Devon noted. She realized that Garth must have turned to it many times. She was thinking about Garth sitting alone here in the evenings studying the photo she'd taken of the stallion, when the long-delayed explosion finally occurred in the study.
Actually, it was Ryan's voice she heard most clearly. He was arguing passionately while Garth, as usual, was under full control. Garth never yelled. He didn't have to raise his voice to accomplish his goals. Ultimately he was always in charge and he knew it. So did everyone else around him. The outcome was quite predictable. Ryan eventually gave up and stormed out of the study. He headed straight upstairs, without bothering to say good-night to Devon. The study door slammed behind him and remained ominously closed.
Devon waited five long minutes and then she got up, went into the kitchen and took down the ancient brandy bottle from the high cupboard where it was stored between Christmas and Thanksgiving. Bottle in hand, she went down the hall to the study and knocked.
Without waiting for an answer she opened the door and stepped inside. Garth was sitting behind his desk, his face a grim mask as he examined some account books open in front of him. He looked up with a forbidding expression as the door opened and then he relaxed slightly.
"I thought you might need this," Devon said, tipping the brandy bottle over a small glass and handing the drink to him.
"Ryan's the one who needs the drink, but I'll take it. That boy is going to succeed in making me lose my temper one of these days."
"I think," Devon said gently as she sat down on the other side of the desk, "you're going to have to stop thinking of him as a boy."
"How can I do that as long as he's coming up with these hare-brained schemes?" Garth took a long swallow of the brandy.
"Can't you give him a chance with this particular scheme, Garth?"
He eyed her consideringly . "A chance? Have you any idea of how much money he's asking for?"
"No. And I didn't mean for you to just hand over the money. But you could agree to meet his partner."
"This so-called partner of his sounds fishy, Devon."
She sighed. "I'll admit you're usually right when it comes to judging people, but you haven't even met this guy."
"There's no need. I can tell from what Ryan says that this Phil Ordway is nothing but a fast-talking con man who's got his hooks into my brother. Probably thinks he can use Ryan to drain money out of Ryan's dumb
Devon winced. "Maybe you should wait a couple of days, Ryan."
"I can't. I haven't got the time. Phil wants to move now and I have to know if I'm going to get Garth's backing."
"I don't think his mood has changed enough to make him want to give you money, Ryan," Devon warned.
"All I'm going to try for tonight is to get Garth to agree to at least talk to Phil."
"Good luck."
"Thanks, I'll need it."
Devon picked up a magazine without glancing at the title. She turned the pages absently while she listened for sounds of an explosion from the study.
There was silence for a reassuring length of time and as she grew less tense, Devon took more notice of what she was reading. It was, predictably enough, a magazine for breeders and buyers of Arabian horses and it was more than a year old. She was about to toss it back down onto the stack when she saw a familiar photograph of Royal Standard. The stallion was posed in all his arrogant beauty, his small delicate ears at attention, fine nostrils flared and smoothly muscled shoulders well displayed. The equine intelligence and quivering vitality of the animal came through brilliantly.
Devon had worked for hours getting Royal Standard so beautifully posed. Garth had handled the stallion while she took her shots. The result had been pretty good, even if she did say so herself.
The page with the photograph had been well thumbed, Devon noted. She realized that Garth must have turned to it many times. She was thinking about Garth sitting alone here in the evenings studying the photo she'd taken of the stallion, when the long-delayed explosion finally occurred in the study.
Actually, it was Ryan's voice she heard most clearly. He was arguing passionately while Garth, as usual, was under full control. Garth never yelled. He didn't have to raise his voice to accomplish his goals. Ultimately he was always in charge and he knew it. So did everyone else around him. The outcome was quite predictable. Ryan eventually gave up and stormed out of the study. He headed straight upstairs, without bothering to say good-night to Devon. The study door slammed behind him and remained ominously closed.
Devon waited five long minutes and then she got up, went into the kitchen and took down the ancient brandy bottle from the high cupboard where it was stored between Christmas and Thanksgiving. Bottle in hand, she went down the hall to the study and knocked.
Without waiting for an answer she opened the door and stepped inside. Garth was sitting behind his desk, his face a grim mask as he examined some account books open in front of him. He looked up with a forbidding expression as the door opened and then he relaxed slightly.
"I thought you might need this," Devon said, tipping the brandy bottle over a small glass and handing the drink to him.
"Ryan's the one who needs the drink, but I'll take it. That boy is going to succeed in making me lose my temper one of these days."
"I think," Devon said gently as she sat down on the other side of the desk, "you're going to have to stop thinking of him as a boy."
"How can I do that as long as he's coming up with these hare-brained schemes?" Garth took a long swallow of the brandy.
"Can't you give him a chance with this particular scheme, Garth?"
He eyed her consideringly . "A chance? Have you any idea of how much money he's asking for?"
"No. And I didn't mean for you to just hand over the money. But you could agree to meet his partner."
"This so-called partner of his sounds fishy, Devon."
She sighed. "I'll admit you're usually right when it comes to judging people, but you haven't even met this guy."
"There's no need. I can tell from what Ryan says that this Phil Ordway is nothing but a fast-talking con man who's got his hooks into my brother. Probably thinks he can use Ryan to drain money out of Ryan's dumb
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