Lana asked for specifics about the project, and Diana kept talking. Her vision was comprehensive, her passion clear. She knew the market, and she had a good handle on how wellness ranches made money and where they spent it. The project sounded ambitious. Expensive. Maybe even good.
After ten minutes, Lana had heard enough. “So you want to buy your brother out?”
Diana gave Lana a wry smile. “That, my dear, would require filling two sloughs with money. My husband has obligations to me, but there are limits to his capacity. No. I’ve got to find a way for Martin to see things my way.”
“Or else what?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you and Martin can’t agree on the future of the ranch, what happens?”
A crease deepened between Lady Di’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Victor Morales.”
Lana waited.
“He has a signed letter of intent from my father indicating his plans to donate the ranch to the land trust.”
This must be the document Beth had mentioned. “You have a copy of it?”
Diana shook her head. “The lawyers do. The original’s at the land trust. Martin thinks it’s meaningless, but . . .”
“What do you think?”
“I think more than anything, Daddy wanted us to hold on to the ranch. He was old-fashioned. He would have loved for Martin to keep running cattle and leasing out strawberry fields. But clearly Martin has other interests.” Diana’s hand started stroking the leather again. “I could never be his son. But I understood what mattered most to Daddy. Family. Legacy. Progress. I like to believe he’d have supported the equine spa if he’d fully had the chance to hear about it.”
“And the letter at the land trust?”
“Maybe it was Daddy’s backup plan. Or he felt pressured. Victor Morales has been after our ranch for years, like a rat terrier. He’d do anything to get the land.”
“Does Victor have some kind of leverage over your family?”
Diana stared at her for a long moment. It seemed as if she was about to say something. Then, instead, she shook her head.
“I don’t know what he’s capable of.” Diana looked up toward a wall of heavy metal stamps and carving tools, as if she were deciding which she’d like to use to fend off the director of the land trust.
“Diana, I want to be honest with you.” Lana kept her voice calm. “My meeting in Santa Cruz this afternoon is at the land trust, with Victor. I don’t intend to talk about any of this. Our conversation—everything you’ve told me here—I’ll keep confidential.”
Diana’s hand wrapped tightly around a metal stirrup. “If you find something, will you let me know?”
It was an impossible question. If Lana said yes, it would shift the balance of power in Diana’s direction. But saying no would close the door to any further information from her.
“I will.”
Diana gave her a brief nod. When she spoke again, her voice was low and hot. “This isn’t just about my family or what Daddy wanted. If Victor gets control of our ranch, the entire slough will become a national sanctuary. It would regulate every farm in the region out of business. Everything our neighbors and tenants worked for, handed over to the hawks and swamp grass.”
She broke off her tirade to reach down and pull a buzzing cell phone from the side pocket of her tight breeches. Her angry countenance fell away, her face softening to reveal a calm, almost warm smile.
“My daughter. A freshman in college, which means she’s far too busy to text me back most days. But she still sends me a picture every time the plane takes off.”
Diana raised the phone to show Lana. “It’s awful when they move away, isn’t it?”
Lana pretended to look at the phone. But she didn’t see the preppy, well-kept girl on the screen. Instead, she saw Beth at seventeen, her frizzy hair and oversize sweats, standing in the hall of her old house. Pregnant.
Lana remembered her makeup bag crashing to the floor, the panic rising inside her like a steam engine cranking itself to life, firing out accusations and threats before she fully knew what she was saying. And Beth had just stood there, solid as a concrete wall, not responding. Maybe not even listening. Lana remembered speaking faster, louder, trying to get through to her, to help her see reason, to do anything she could to get her daughter back, and failing.
Lana could still feel the white-hot pain of Beth’s departure, could still see her toss her duffel bag with the broken zipper onto the back seat of her car and slam the door. Beth drove away from the house without saying goodbye. Not that Lana had said it either.