Книга - Temporary Rancher

Temporary Rancher
Ann Evans


Riley Palmer needs a fresh start, and managing Echo Springs Ranch is the break she's been waiting for. There's only one problem. Her new boss, Quintin Avenaco, thinks he hired a man. Riley's confident she can handle the job. But convincing Quintin? With only three weeks to prove her case, it won't be easy.Single mom to four-year-old twin daughters, Riley can't afford to risk everything for a flirtation with Quintin. Even if he does make her heart flutter, she has her kids to think of! If only her heart would listen to her head…









Quintin touched his lips to her fingers.


He laid his mouth gently against the slight rise of an almost-healed blister. It felt so warm, and was ridiculously like some heady perfume. When he kissed it, he heard Riley drag in a deep breath of her own.

“Quintin…”

“I know,” he said in a slow, husky voice. He lifted his head to catch her gaze. Her mouth was parted, and she was frowning. “Insane, isn’t it?”

“I—” The word was a trembling sigh, barely more than a whisper. She wet her lips. When she tugged her hand away, he released it immediately. “I think I should get back to the men.”

He watched her walk away from the shadows and back into the soft light where the cowboys stood. Watched her, and thought how much he had liked what happened. How he had enjoyed it more than he had anything in a long, long time.

But what he’d done had made a difficult situation even more so, and he couldn’t help but realize how foolish he’d been.


Dear Reader,

By the time I finished writing That Last Night in Texas, I had developed quite a fondness for Ethan’s business partner and best friend, Quintin Avenaco. As the story evolved, I grew more and more interested in exploring his tragic past and what had brought him to this point in his life. So when my editor asked if I might like to write about Quintin, I was ready.

Unfortunately, that’s where my muse deserted me. I knew what Quintin’s goals for himself were. But for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine the kind of woman who could bring him out of his painful past and make him willing to face the world again. Weeks went by, and I began to wonder if I’d ever find her.

Then I came across a magazine article about a group of people who had lost their jobs as a result of the economy. They had been brought to the lowest point in their lives, but instead of giving up, they reevaluated the talents they had developed, the strengths they could tap into, the dreams they had left behind as too impractical. Instead of trying to find a new position in their chosen fields, they channeled their efforts into creating new careers for themselves. Some of them succeeded on a grand scale. Others had to adjust to earning a bit less money, but they were far happier than they’d ever been in their old jobs.

I thought a woman with that kind of brave, single-minded purpose might work well as my heroine and make an excellent match for a loner like Quintin. So that’s how Riley Palmer came to life—a divorced mother of twins who is desperately determined to make a good life for her children, even if she has to persuade a lonely, no-nonsense cowboy like Quintin that she will make an excellent ranch manager for him.

I hope you enjoy Quintin and Riley’s journey. Please don’t hesitate to contact me at eannbair@gmail.com or visit my Facebook page. I love to hear from readers.

All the best,

Ann Evans




Temporary Rancher

Ann Evans





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Ann Evans has been writing since she was a teenager, but it wasn’t until she joined Romance Writers of America that she actually sent anything to a publisher. Eventually, with the help of a very good critique group, she honed her skills and won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America for Best Short Contemporary Romance of 1989. Since then, she’s happy to have found a home writing for the Harlequin Superromance line. A native Floridian, Ann enjoys traveling, hot-fudge sundaes and collecting antique postcards.


Times are tough right now.

This book is dedicated to anyone who has hit

their own rough patch in life and found the

courage to climb to their feet and fight again.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN




CHAPTER ONE


THE COMPUTER SCREEN glowed in the darkened shadows of the living room. Riley Palmer stared at it, wondering why she couldn’t seem to hit the email send button.

“Do it, Riley,” she muttered softly. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Do it for Wendy and Roxanna and yourself. Do it for the National Organization for Women. Just do it!”

Her fingers hovered over the mouse as she tried to find courage.

Tonight her sister’s small apartment felt cozy, but foreign somehow. Both the girls were sound asleep in Jillian’s spare bedroom—as they should be this close to two in the morning. Her sister had gone to bed after the late news. The place was so quiet Riley thought she could hear her wristwatch ticking.

It was the perfect time to think about making life-changing decisions, the perfect time to work through her thoughts in peace and quiet, and she’d spent the past two hours doing just that. So why couldn’t she send this email?

She knew that some of her reluctance was because her email wasn’t completely honest. She hadn’t lied, exactly. Just embroidered a little. Considering the current job market, who didn’t do that when they applied for work these days?

Desperation made a powerful motivator. She’d been divorced from Brad for almost a year, but she was still sleeping on the couch in her sister’s apartment while the twins took the second bedroom. Jillian had been an angel about all of them sharing such tight quarters, but it wasn’t right.

Riley needed a job. She needed decent money coming in. Most of all, she needed a home for her eight-year-olds, Wendy and Roxanna. The decision to leave their father had been hard enough on the girls. They deserved stability. Security. Faith that their mother could provide for them. So if that meant adding a few embellishments to her résumé and omitting one big, stupid drawback that shouldn’t even be an issue… Well, so be it.

And really, would Charlie Bigelow ever steer her wrong intentionally? He’d been friends with her family for nearly forty years. He’d helped Riley and Jillian plan their parents’ funeral after the accident, guided them through probate, even walked Riley down the aisle. All those times when Brad had left her on the ranch to figure out things for herself, hadn’t Charlie been the one she’d turned to for advice?

If he thought this Quintin Avenaco guy would make a fair boss, and she’d be a great ranch manager for him, then who was she to disagree? Charlie didn’t just know livestock. He knew people.

Riley had always been a little impulsive, and in the past had made a few foolish decisions she’d been forced to live with. But this was a chance she had to take. She couldn’t stand the idea of spending another week searching for a job and coming up empty-handed. With that thought, she surrendered to impulse and clicked the send button before she could change her mind. The email zipped into cyberspace. “There you go, Quintin Avenaco of Beaumont, Texas. You’ve got mail, cowboy.”

Almost immediately she had second thoughts. She should have checked her résumé one more time, tried to find a way to honestly address the only problem she could see that might get her a big fat no right off the bat.

She placed her hands on either side of the screen. “I take it back! Give me a do over, darn it.”

“So now you’re talking to yourself?”

Riley nearly yelped out loud. She turned to find her sister at her shoulder, yawning. “Geez. You scared the life out of me.”

Jillian frowned down at her. “Why are you still up?”

“The usual. Job hunting. Charlie Bigelow called me yesterday afternoon with a lead. I’m following up on it before it hits the classifieds.”

“Great,” her sister replied, though she sounded too sleepy to care much.

“I hope it will be great. I hope it pays a ridiculous amount of money, though right now, I’d settle for a place to live.”

“You have that here.”

“I know, but you’re family. You have to pretend you like living in a two-bedroom apartment with four people. And when two of those people are rambunctious eight-year-olds…”

Jillian gave a grumpy growl. “Don’t say a word about my nieces! They’re angels. You’re the one I just tolerate.”

Riley smiled up at her. Really, how would she have managed without Jilly’s help this past year? Her life had been torn to shreds by Brad’s infidelity, Wendy’s stay in the hospital and that bitter court battle for custody. Through it all, Jillian had been a rock.

“I know my kids,” Riley told her. “Somehow they’ve reverted to the terrible twos without my permission. Wendy starts bawling if you just look at her the wrong way. And Rox…Rox’s answer to everything I say is ‘Why?’ I checked her scalp yesterday to see if 666 had been branded there.”

“They’re just…unsettled right now. But I think we’re managing.”

“I have to do more than just manage, Jilly. We can’t continue to impose on you this way. I know Doug wants to take your relationship to the next level, as they say. But he can’t do that with the three of us underfoot. So that means I need a decent paying job and a place to call home.”

Jillian conceded that point with a grimace, then stared down at the computer screen. “Anything else encouraging out there? I heard Wegman’s is thinking about opening up a third store. They might need accounting help.”

Before the girls were born, Riley had been a pretty competent bookkeeper. “I’m not going after any more accounting jobs. Every bean counter in the country seems to be looking for work in Texas.” She put a big smile on her face, ready to go into sales mode for Jillian’s sake. “I’m reinventing myself. All the magazines say that in this job market you need to review the talents you have and find work that fits them. So I did.”

Jillian looked at her askance. “What talent do you have besides accounting?”

“You don’t have to sound so incredulous. There are lots of things I can do. And I just took the first step.”

She tapped the computer screen and clicked into her sent mail so Jillian could see her latest message.

“‘Dear Mr. Avenaco,’” Jillian read over Riley’s shoulder. “‘I understand from a mutual friend of ours, Charlie Bigelow, that you’ll soon be in the market for a ranch manager…’” She straightened and scowled. “You’re applying to be his ranch manager? When have you done that kind of work?”

Riley frowned back. “Who do you think managed Hollow Creek? While Brad was playing footsie with his boss’s daughter, I kept our place up and running. I might not have the official credentials, but I can do that job, and pretty well, I think.”

“Really?” Her sister looked very skeptical now. “You know everything about running a ranch.”

Riley felt her cheeks grow hot. All right. Admittedly, there were a few holes in her résumé that she’d glossed over. But she didn’t see her shortcomings as a serious problem. “Well, maybe not everything. But close enough. Charlie’s been out to this guy’s place in Beaumont. He says Avenaco’s only going to run about one-hundred head. Strictly horses.” She lifted her eyebrows. “He’s probably a Sunday cowboy who’s in love with the idea of the Old West. Which means he’ll be open to someone else’s direction.”

“Or he’ll second-guess every move you make, and watch every dollar you spend to be sure he’s getting his money’s worth. He could drive you nuts, micromanaging. And what about…what about the other thing? The fact that you’re…”

“A woman?” Riley finished, wishing her sister hadn’t gone there. It had taken Riley two hours to convince herself she could overcome the gender problem. “I keep reminding myself that this is the twenty-first century. Texas State had thirty students in their ranch management class last year. Four of them were women. I checked. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it?”

“Did any of those women get jobs? This is Texas. You know the men here can be…kind of chauvinistic.”

“Some of them. That’s why I’m not telling this guy I’m a female.” She lifted her chin, prepared to argue if her ultraconventional sister found fault. Which she did. Immediately.

“You lied to him?”

“No!”

Riley pointed to the bottom of the message, where she had signed off. “I used my real name. It’s not my fault Dad wanted a boy, and I ended up with a name that could work either way.”

“But Avenaco will probably think you’re a man.”

“Then that’s his foolish mistake,” she said, determined to be positive. “If he flat out asks me, I’ll tell him, but otherwise…”

“Did you tell him you have two little girls?”

“No. What difference does that make, as long as I can do the job?” Seeing her sister’s face, Riley called up some of the same reasoning she’d used on herself only hours ago. “Look, it’s not like I’m going to dress up as a guy and lower my voice to try to fool anyone.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“Stop staring at me like I’m one of the trespassers who sneaked into the White House. I just want to establish an email relationship with him, chat back and forth. Maybe he’ll realize how capable I am before we actually talk on the phone or meet in person.”

“Charlie must have told him you’re a woman.”

“He didn’t, because the conversation never got that far. Avenaco said he was looking for a ranch manager, and Charlie told him he knew a couple of good prospects and would send them his way. That was it.”

“But surely…”

“This guy doesn’t exactly own the King Ranch, you know?” Riley argued. “Who’s ever heard of Echo Springs? How demanding can it be?”

“Who’ll watch the girls while you’re out digging postholes and herding horses?”

“The twins are getting old enough that they should expect to help out. Didn’t Mom and Dad have a whole slew of chores for us to do when we were their age? Time for them to stop playing with dolls and start making a real contribution.”

As expected, Jillian’s eyes went wide. Their parents had been pretty tough. Memories of the family ranch in Oklahoma weren’t filled with parties and fairy tales.

Riley laughed and gave her sister’s arm a shake. “I’m kidding,” she said. “I’d never turn them into the slaves we were.”

“Still, it seems like awfully hard work, Rile. A lot harder than crunching numbers as a bookkeeper.”

Riley set her jaw and shook her head. “You know what real hard work is? Trying to find a reason to keep a marriage alive with a man who’d rather be with his mistress than at the hospital with his own sick child.” The words came out angrier than she expected. She had thought she was all through with that. She forced out a deep, calming breath. “I can handle this, Jilly. I know I can.”

Unexpectedly, Jillian reached down to give her a hug. “I don’t want you and the girls to move away.”

“Beaumont’s only a five-hour drive from Cooper. Charlie thinks there’s a decent-size apartment on the property. You could come and visit us.”

“But—”

Riley held up one hand. “You can’t talk me out of this. Besides, the email’s sent. Please don’t make me feel bad about it. When Charlie suggested I send my résumé, it just felt…right. And if Quintin Avenaco isn’t interested, if he’s too dumb to recognize what a catch I am, then someone else will. I’m not giving up on this idea.”

Jillian reached out again, hugging her even tighter. “I hope you’re right. You know I want you and the girls to be happy, after everything Brad put you through.”

Riley couldn’t have agreed more, but a lump had formed in her throat and she couldn’t respond at the moment. She had wasted nine years trying to make her marriage work. Nine years. She shouldn’t have to be reinventing herself at age thirty-one. It wasn’t fair or right. But that was life. And if she didn’t take a few chances, how would she ever get back on track?

Unexpectedly, the computer chime went off, notifying her that she had mail. She and Jillian both glanced down at the laptop in surprise.

“Who’s after me now?” Riley complained with a laugh. Secretly, she was afraid it might be the automatic notification for her car payment popping into her inbox. She didn’t want Jillian to see that she was late with it. Her soft-hearted sister would just try to give back the money Riley had shelled out for this month’s share of the groceries.

She opened her email. After reading the subject line, she jerked back as if something had tried to reach out and grab her. “Oh, my God,” she said softly. “What’s he doing up at this time of night?”

“Who?” Jillian asked.

Riley gave her a stunned look. “Quintin Avenaco. He’s already answering my email.”



STANDING ON THE BACK PORCH of the Echo Springs ranch house, Quintin Avenaco stared out at the property he now owned lock, stock and barrel.

The dilapidated cattle chutes and a rusty-looking windmill that creaked in the early-summer breeze.

A sagging barn the color of tomato soup.

A line of perimeter fencing as jagged and crooked as a jack-o’-lantern’s teeth.

This house, a three-bedroom Victorian with a century-old foundation and a family of raccoons playing in the attic.

He’d closed on the place last month and moved in two weeks ago. It was his now. All of it.

God help him.

He tried to remember that, on the surface, there might not seem much to recommend about Echo Springs. But a year ago, he hadn’t been searching for a spread to call his own. He’d wanted only to lease good pastureland, and he’d found that here. But now his plans had changed. In spite of the deplorable condition of the horse and hay barn, the poorly-maintained equipment and loafing shed, the investment he’d made was sound.

The life he planned to carve out for himself could work.

At least, he’d been sure of that until about a week ago.

From the corner of his eye Quintin caught movement. He turned his head to see his best friend, Ethan Rafferty, coming around the corner of the wraparound porch. In one hand, he carried a bottle of Jack Daniels. In the other, two glasses.

“I rang the bell, but it doesn’t seem to work,” Ethan said with a grin.

“One more thing I need to fix.”

“Long list, I’ll bet.”

“Getting longer every day.” Quintin indicated the booze. “What are you up to?”

Ethan shrugged. “Just paying a visit to my best friend and ex-partner.”

For years Quintin had been Ethan Rafferty’s equal partner in Horse Sense. Three years ago they’d brought the business down here to Beaumont from Colorado Springs. Since then, Horse Sense had flourished, garnering a reputation in the horse world as the place to go if you had a problem horse or wanted mounts trained to interact with the public.

But last month, Quintin had sold his half of the company to Ethan. The amount they’d settled on had made it possible for Quintin to buy Echo Springs, and since then, they’d both been so busy there was little time for social calls.

“You look like hell, man,” Ethan said with a sad shake of his head. “Like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I’m not sure I have.”

“Well, I can fix that.” He wiggled the whiskey bottle. “Time we had a celebratory drink and a little guy talk.”

They settled into a couple wooden patio chairs Quintin had picked up yesterday. Their newness looked out of place on a porch with missing balusters and rotted railings.

Ethan uncorked the bottle, poured a generous amount in each tumbler and passed one over. Then he raised his glass. “Congratulations, pal. You’re now officially a Texas rancher.” He glanced out at the land, chewed the inside of his cheek a moment, then turned back to Quintin. “Poor dumb bastard.”

Quintin couldn’t help laughing. Ethan could always lighten his mood, and they’d been friends too many years for him to mind being gigged.

“You still mad about me quitting Horse Sense?” he asked.

“Hell, yeah. I miss you, man.”

That was nice to hear, even if it couldn’t possibly be true. Ethan had a business going, a big ranch to oversee and a pregnant wife at home.

“I had a great run with Horse Sense,” Quintin admitted. “But I was ready for a change.”

When it came right down to it, Horse Sense had probably saved his life, giving it meaning and purpose for a long time. What had started out small and shaky had grown into a thriving business over the years. Quintin and Ethan, and Ethan’s father, Hugh, knew how to coax ground manners and fearlessness into the most stubborn, skittish animal. Now they had contracts with mounted police associations around the country to train cops and their mounts. Those contracts kept Horse Sense’s books in the black these days, and the six-week course for horse and rider was booked solid until winter.

Ethan turned his head, giving Quintin a serious look. “I mean it, Quint. You may have lousy people skills, but even Dad can’t hypnotize a horse the way you can.”

“I need more in my life than a good set of parlor tricks,” he countered. “And all that wheeling and dealing you seem to enjoy these days… It isn’t for me. I’m just a nag wrangler at heart, and you know it.” He glanced toward the far pasture. “It’s one of the reasons I bought this place.”

Ethan blew out a resigned breath. “Okay. I get that. But now what? You still planning to run Dutch Warmbloods?”

“As much as I can. They’ve got the best temperament for police work.”

For a couple years now, Quintin had grown more and more disgusted by the quality of the stock they saw coming through Horse Sense. At the start of every new session, cops showed up with sleek, expensive trailers marked with law enforcement decals and filled with equally sleek, expensive horseflesh. Some of the animals were top-notch and would serve their masters well. But others were completely unsuitable as mounted police horses and had to be washed out of the program by the end of the second week. It frustrated Quintin to see how many of those hay burners couldn’t cut it. A year ago, he’d decided to do something about it.

“I don’t know where most of these cities are buying their stock,” he went on, “but they’re getting ripped off.”

Ethan nodded. They’d talked about this before, but there seemed to be little they could do except deal with the bad apples on a case-by-case basis. “You remember Bob Simmons with the Louisville bunch?”

“Yeah.”

Ethan refilled his glass before answering. “He called me a week ago. He has two Thoroughbreds he wants to put through the program. They were donations. Couldn’t cut it on the race track, I guess.”

Maybe it was the whiskey helping him out, but Quintin felt the heat of his blood kick up a notch. “Donated.” He swore softly in disgust. “It wouldn’t matter if they were Secretariat and Man O’ War. Prima donnas on toothpick legs. These guys are putting their own police officers at risk just to save a little money, and Horse Sense is supposed to fix the troublemakers.”

“Well, it is what keeps Horse Sense in business,” Ethan remarked with a light laugh. “You start supplying them with Warmbloods and I won’t have anything to fix.”

“I can give them good stock, but that doesn’t mean the horse can cut it. At best, it will only make your job a little easier.”

Ethan pursed his lips, seeming to consider. “How many head are you going to run?”

“No more than fifty at first. I want to concentrate on quality, not quantity.”

Ethan pointed north, past the pines and toward the far pastures of the ranch. “You still got your six-pack out there?”

Last year, when Quintin had decided to quit Horse Sense, he’d begun to put his plans for a new career in place, purchasing a gelding and five mares at an auction in Houston. He had needed someplace to put them, and that’s what had led him to Echo Springs.

He nodded. “They’re out there. Getting fat on sweet-grass.”

“I still don’t understand why it had to be here. You know you could have set up temporarily at my place. Granted, we mostly run cattle at the Flying M, but we could handle another small herd of horses. Hell, Cassie’s Arabians would probably love the company.”

“I’m not sure I’d want my herd mixing with those spoiled show ponies your wife insists on breeding.”

Ethan laughed. “She’d cut out your heart if she heard you say that.” He pressed the toe of his boot against one of the raised floorboards on the porch. The house might have a sound foundation, according to the county inspector, but the wraparound porch was a goner. “Why didn’t you get Meredith to show you something in better shape than this old relic? Surely she has enough turn-key operations available, given the economy.”

Instead of answering, Quintin stood and went into the house. From the kitchen table he scooped up a file folder, withdrew a single sheet of paper and returned to the porch.

He handed the paper to his friend. “You know how mineral-poor the land is in this area. Take a look at the report from the Department of Agriculture.”

When Ethan finished reading, he looked up at Quintin, surprise clearly stamped on his features. “Damn, Quint. The soil may be even better than what I’ve got going at the Flying M.”

Quintin nodded. “Nutritional content. Potential carrying capacity for twice as many head as I’ve got planned. The guy who owned this place before me may not have known how to keep a ranch from going belly-up, but he started out right. He made enough improvements to the pastures that it’s nearly perfect for raising stock. Some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

They fell silent as Ethan seemed to be absorbing what he’d said. After a long moment, his former partner turned back to Quintin, eyeing him speculatively. “So what’s keeping you up nights? Why don’t you sound more excited? You get this place up and running, and you’ll be on your way.”

“I would be excited. I am. Except…I’ve run into a little hiccup.” He shook his head. “I think I let my mouth get ahead of my brain.”

“Cassie claims I do that all the time,” Ethan said with a grin. He reached over to fill Quintin’s glass again. “Tell me. I find it gratifying to know I’m not the only one who screws up sometimes.”

Quintin swallowed a large gulp of whiskey. It licked his insides like wildfire. “I told James Goddard I’d be ready for him by October.”

Ethan frowned. “Who’s James Goddard?”

“Head of purchasing for the National Mounted Police Association. Every fall, he and a couple of buyers come down to Houston to negotiate stock contracts. I’ve been making a case with him for better horseflesh for months, and now he’s actually agreed to consider my proposal.”

“So? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“He wants at least three-dozen horses ready for him to check out by then. More, if I can swing it.”

Ethan frowned. “Ouch. That’s a lot of stock to move and evaluate between now and fall.”

“That’s why I asked Charlie Bigelow to keep an eye out for me. If what I’m looking for passes through East Texas stockyards, he’ll know it.”

Charlie ran one of the largest stock auction houses in Texas. Both Quintin and Ethan had become friends with the man over the years, Quintin slightly more so because Charlie had a fascination for all things Native American, and Quintin could lay claim to being part Arapaho.

“I’m going to do my best to make it happen,” he said. “But if I bring Goddard here, this place has to look like I’m a viable player. The house doesn’t have to be a showplace, but I should at least have decent barns and corrals where he can check out the stock. I want him to take me seriously.”

Ethan looked a little incredulous. “Be reasonable, man. You can’t really believe you can make all this appear respectable by fall.”

“I don’t have a choice. It has to look like a working ranch by then.”

“It’s been a long time since you ran a ranch.”

“You don’t forget how. And I like the idea of watching things take shape here, making the place productive again. I just wish I had more time.”

His friend nodded slowly, considering. “You can’t do it alone.”

“Well, I’ve just signed a contract with a renovation outfit for the house, and I’ll bet Cassie knows someone who would make a good housekeeper.”

Ethan tipped his head toward the outbuildings. “And who’s going to tackle the rest?”

“You’re not making me feel better about all this.”

“Sorry,” Ethan said. “But how are you going to pull this together if you’re out on the road buying stock? Suppose I loaned you a couple of my guys?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I need to do this myself. I can work some of it in between buying trips. I’ve got three hands starting in a few days. And I’ve hired a ranch manager. A guy named Riley Palmer from up near Cooper. Charlie referred him to me.”

Ethan cocked his head. “Palmer,” he mused out loud. “Palmer… Where do I know that name? What did he look like?”

“Hell if I know. We haven’t met. I’m trusting Charlie’s judgment, and a pretty good résumé that Palmer emailed me. I made a conditional offer. Told him if he gets here and we talk, and either one of us doesn’t like the deal, no harm done. Otherwise, he can start immediately.”

“You’re moving pretty fast, aren’t you?”

“I have to. I don’t have a lot of time. The sooner I get someone here, the better.”

“When does he start?”

“He says he can be here tomorrow or the day after.” Quintin grimaced. “Which brings up another problem. I’m taking off later tonight. Charlie called just before you got here. There’s an auction in Dallas that I need to make. Some really nice stock coming through. I’ve emailed and left a voice message on Palmer’s phone, but haven’t heard back. So when he gets here, he’s going to be on his own for a little while. I just hope he doesn’t take one look at the place and hightail it back to Cooper.”

“You want me to come by tomorrow? Get him settled in?”

“Isn’t Cassie planning to kidnap you for your anniversary?”

“Oh, crap, that’s right,” his friend said with a scowl. Then he smiled. “Sorry, pal. No way am I missing that. We’re going to San Antonio, and she’s promised to rock my world. You’re on your own, I’m afraid.”

“It’ll be fine. I wanted us to get a slower start, see if we were going to hit it off and be able to work together, but with the deadline, he’ll have to hit the ground running. I’ve told him where to find the keys, and left my cell phone number.”

The two men talked a few minutes longer. There wasn’t anyone Quintin trusted more than Ethan, anyone whose opinion he valued more, and it helped to walk through a few details and concerns that had kept him sleepless at night.

When they returned to Ethan’s truck in the front drive, his friend looked him straight in the eye. “You know I’ve got your back, Quint. I’ll help any way I can.”

“Thanks. I know I can count on you,” he replied. He ducked his head, then met his friend’s gaze. “Actually, I’m sort of looking forward to putting down roots again. And this place can use someone to bring it back to life.”

Ethan frowned. “I thought…”

Quintin waved a hand. “I know what I said back then. But that was a long time ago, and we were both drunk.”

Years ago, he and Ethan had been snowed in during a Colorado winter. Four miserably cold nights. When they’d run out of tall tales and worked their way through enough beer, they’d both ended up confessing their biggest fears, their wildest dreams, their greatest regrets. Quintin had never told anyone else what he’d admitted to Ethan that night. And although it had felt pretty damn good at the time to unload, looking back, he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. That kind of past shame needed to stay buried and never see the light of day.

“Look how things have turned around for you,” Quintin pointed out, hoping to focus attention away from himself. “Five years ago, could you have imagined that you’d be back with Cassie? That you’d have a nearly-grown son and a baby on the way?”

“Is that what you’re really looking for?” Ethan asked. His voice was soft, like a leaf falling. “A wife and kids?”

“Hell, no,” Quintin replied with a laugh. Why had he ever taken this detour? “I’m not crazy enough to bite off that much more than I can chew.” When his friend remained silent, he added, “I’m just saying that I feel like I need a change. Like I’m ready for something different.”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, but Ethan was no fool. From personal experience, they both knew that so much of grieving was just holding things at bay. No more. Quintin had spent a decade trying to forget the life he had lived and lost. Teresa, his pretty young wife. Tommy, his son, a cheerful little boy who could make the most ordinary day seem special.

Sometimes Quintin could see both their faces so clearly in his mind’s eye. But these days their features were often like mists across a pond, formless and just out of reach.

As though he knew they needed to switch topics, Ethan pulled his truck keys from the back pocket of his jeans. He took one last look around. “You’ve got one hell of a job ahead of you, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

“Thanks.”

He clapped Quintin on the shoulder. “Call me if you need anything. And look at it this way, if all your plans end up in the toilet, you know where you can get a job.”




CHAPTER TWO


FIVE MILES FROM BEAUMONT, the weak sunshine that had spilled through the SUV’s windows all morning faded. It started to rain, hard. Definitely not a good sign from the gods, Riley thought.

She glanced in the rearview mirror. Both girls were napping in the backseat, curled against one another like puppies. Wendy flinched in her sleep as the first clap of thunder sounded in the distance. She’d always been afraid of storms, the exact opposite of Roxanna, who thought rain and wind made perfect dancing partners.

“Girls,” Riley said softly. “Wake up. We’re almost there.”

They sat up with groggy interest, watching water streak down the side glass of the SUV. Neither one said a word, and Riley was glad for the silence so she could concentrate on negotiating the road.

She almost missed the turnoff to the ranch. The sky had darkened to a muddy gray and bruised purple. The trees beyond the wildly swishing windshield wipers looked as if they were doing a mad waltz with the wind. The dirt drive had potholes nearly large enough to swallow the car, and she came upon the house so suddenly that she had to brake hard to keep from taking out a couple bushes in the yard.

Because of the way she’d parked, the headlights sent a direct beam of harsh light onto the Echo Springs ranch house.

It wasn’t what Riley expected.

In his few emails, Quintin Avenaco had told her that the original home was still standing—a three-bedroom Victorian. It needed work, he’d said, but it had potential, and a sound foundation.

Riley had pictured a quaint dollhouse of a place. Perhaps with the look of a tattered Southern lady, but charming. A house just waiting to be nurtured back into a real home.

But this…this place needed more than a woman’s loving touch.

Shutters that must be hanging by a single screw bracketed some of the second-floor windows. There were cockeyed porch balusters, crumbling bricks along the entry stairs and whole sections of gingerbread trim missing along the eaves. The house probably hadn’t been properly cared for since Roosevelt was in office. Teddy, not Franklin.

The disrepair gave it a sad, slightly creepy appearance. The fact that a storm was raging, whipping rain and debris everywhere, didn’t help.

Roxanna had unfastened her seat belt and hung over the seat back. “Cool!” she exclaimed, her eyes alight with excitement. “Do you think it’s haunted?”

I hope not, Riley said to herself. I certainly hope not. In as steady and upbeat a voice as she could master, she replied, “It’s not haunted. It just needs a little work.” And a bulldozer.

Wendy was hanging over the front seat now, as well, but her face told quite a different story from her sister’s. “Are we going to have to live there?” she asked in a whispery tone, her eyes full of grave concern.

“Of course not,” Riley replied. “We have a cozy little place all to ourselves. Somewhere…” She squinted through the rain and eerie darkness until she spotted the watery image of a big barn a short distance away. “Over there, I think.”

“I want to go back to Aunt Jillian’s,” Wendy said, unswayed.

Roxanna sniffed. “Big baby.”

The rain beat a hard tattoo on the roof, making Riley’s headache pound in unison. She released her seat belt and turned to face both girls. “Stop it, you two. We’ve come all this way and we’re not going to turn back now without even getting out of the car.”

“We can’t get out of the car,” Roxanna pointed out. “It’s raining too hard.”

“I mean we’re not going anywhere until we’ve given this a fair chance. The man who owns this place wants me to help him turn it into a real ranch. I’m going to work very hard for him, but I can’t give it everything I’ve got if you aren’t on my side. I know you’re nervous and a little afraid—”

“I’m not afraid,” Roxanna stated.

Riley eyed her with the most intimidating look in her mom arsenal. “I know you’d probably rather be back with Aunt Jillian. But girls, we have to give this our best shot. I need your help. So keep an open mind, will you?” She smiled. “For my sake?”

The twins nodded solemnly.

“Wait here,” Riley added, giving Roxanna a warning glance. “Do not get out of the car. I’ll find the keys, and then we’ll make a run for it. This is going to be great. I just know it.”

Her daughters looked at each other doubtfully, but refrained from comment.

Riley gasped as the first hard, cold raindrops hit her. It did little good to cover her head with her arms. In moments she was soaked.

She took the steps two at a time, nearly twisting her ankle as the wood gave under her foot. Flipping over the flowerpot by the front door, she retrieved the keys and an envelope Avenaco had left for her, then dashed back to the car. The whole ordeal took less than a minute, but by the time she slid into the front seat again, she had to wipe rainwater out of her eyes just to see anything.

The twins remained silent as she carefully drove toward the barn, splashing through more potholes. Those will have to be filled, she thought, automatically starting a to-do list in her head.

The map Avenaco had left for her indicated that the apartment was attached to the right side of the barn, a pretty standard setup. Most ranchers liked their second-in-command to be close, with easy access to both the main house and primary barn.

Riley parked, wrenched open the car door and hustled the twins out. They squealed as the rain hit them. She jammed the key into the lock, and was never happier in her life than when she felt the dead bolt slide back. They practically fell through the opening as the wind and rain swirled around them.

Gasping and dripping in near darkness, the three of them stood a moment, trying to catch their breaths. Riley’s hand found the light switch by the door. She flicked it on, and the room sprang into life.

Oh, dear God.

The place was smaller than Jillian’s. A miniscule kitchen to one side led out to a dining-living room combination. A closed door on the far wall probably accessed the only bedroom. Through another door Riley glimpsed a slice of sink and tub in a very small bathroom. The walls were wood-paneled in knotty pine, giving the place a gloomy, closed-in feel.

But it was the decor that had them speechless.

In Texas it wasn’t unusual to decorate a ranch house with a Western flavor. Nor was it uncommon to outfit the manager’s apartment with castoffs from the main house. But whoever had created this nightmare seemed determined to turn the place into a Western theme park.

There was a dining room table made out of an old wagon wheel. A sagging plaid couch draped with Indian blankets that looked as scratchy as steel wool. Two barrel chairs made out of actual barrels. Battered ten-gallon hats lined one wall, held in place by horseshoes that had been turned into hooks. Branding irons crossed one another like swords over the ancient television, while one corner of the living room boasted a fake saguaro cactus festooned with Indian dream catchers.

It might have been laughable. In fact, Riley could feel a giggle vibrating in her chest. But there was one big decor issue that would have to be dealt with immediately.

A white-tailed deer head adorned the space over the couch and seemed to be in a direct face-off with the mounted antelope head on the opposite wall. An angry-looking bobcat sat on the coffee table, posed to feast on a helpless rabbit with beady eyes.

Wendy’s fingers were already tightening around Riley’s.

“Mommy…” her daughter began, her voice a mere whisper, as if she’d suddenly found herself in church.

Riley bent down, bringing her face level with Wendy’s. “I know, honey. I know. But we can fix it.”

Seeing the fear on Wendy’s face, Riley felt a flicker of annoyance. All right. Granted, this was Texas, a state with some of the best hunting in the country. By why would anyone think stuffing the poor creatures he shot and using them for decoration was a good idea?

Wendy glanced back over her shoulder. Her features were as pale as milk. “They’re looking at us.”

Riley had to agree it must seem that way.

“I think they’re kind of cool,” Roxanna said, giving her sister a superior look, but Riley could tell most of it was pure bravado.

“Can we put them outside?” Wendy asked.

“Not right now,” Riley said. “It’s still pouring.” The rain made a good excuse. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure about her options. If they stayed, would Avenaco allow her to get rid of poor stuffed Bambi and his pals? He might be an avid hunter himself and see nothing wrong with it. And he’d expected a man to show up, someone who probably wouldn’t care one way or another about a few hunting trophies.

She felt Wendy start to shiver, whether from the rain or the taxidermy, Riley didn’t know. Probably both.

The downpour had slackened, so she made a couple of runs to the SUV to bring in suitcases, bags of groceries and a box of supplies. The girls didn’t move an inch until she tossed them towels and began drying them off.

Wendy particularly didn’t need to catch a cold. Last year, just before Riley had left Brad for good, a case of the sniffles had turned into pneumonia, putting their daughter in the hospital. They’d nearly lost her. Now, anytime Wendy even looked like she was going to sneeze, Riley’s heart leaped up in her throat.

She gave her daughters a big smile and nudged them farther into the room. “Let’s check out the place,” she said, even though there didn’t seem to be much else to investigate. “See what the bedroom’s like. I’m going to unload the groceries. I brought the stuff to make spaghetti tonight. How does that sound?”

Since that was one of their favorites, they nodded absently. Riley headed for the small kitchen, while Roxanna and Wendy drifted slowly toward the bedroom.

The range and fridge were old, but functional; work space was on the skimpy side, but manageable. There was a decent supply of pots and pans. A maid service card was on the counter. Avenaco had emailed her that he’d had the place cleaned, which was a relief. She wondered what the cleaning crew had thought of all the taxidermy.

On top of a cupboard she spotted a stuffed flying squirrel in midflight peering down at her. “Don’t even think about trying to tell me how to cook,” she muttered up at the creature.

“Mom…” Roxanna called from the bedroom.

Now what? Riley wondered.

She stopped at the bedroom door. The girls stood on either side of a queen-size bed. The space was less cluttered with tacky Western decor than the living room, and at least the bed looked comfortable. She had planned to give the twins the bedroom, since the setup had worked so well at her sister’s apartment.

Thankfully, there were no stuffed animals on the dresser or in the corner, looking ready to pounce. A pretty normal-looking bedroom, actually.

As long as you didn’t mind the huge stuffed buffalo head glaring down at you from over the bed.



WITHIN AN HOUR, the rain had stopped and sunshine made a welcome reappearance. Covering the buffalo head with the biggest bath towel in the linen closet seemed to reassure Wendy. They unpacked, though Riley couldn’t help wondering if it was a waste of time. When Quintin Avenaco returned, would she and the girls find themselves back on the road?

Riley decided they should spend the rest of the afternoon checking out their new surroundings. The girls refused to stay in the apartment alone, and trooped after her, with promises not to squabble or wander off.

The main house was off-limits, of course, much to Roxanna’s disappointment, but there were plenty of other things to see. Since the girls had been raised on a ranch, they didn’t find anything particularly interesting, but nothing scared them, either. Inspecting the barn, the equipment sheds and stock structures, Riley saw that Echo Springs had potential, just as Avenaco had said, but most of it seemed buried under years of neglect.

There were signs that he had begun to make progress already. Fifty-pound bags of grain were stacked in one corner of the horse barn, along with fresh, sweet-smelling hay and vitamin supplement pellets. Several unidentifiable delivery cartons were tilted up against one wall, plus boxes of cooling blankets, rubber wash mats, breeding hobbles and cross ties.

They found a late-model ATV parked in a dilapidated-looking loafing shed, probably for quick trips out to the pastures. Both girls wanted to take it for a spin, but Riley found an easy no in the fact that she didn’t have the key.

From the moment they’d left the apartment, they’d been aware of a high-pitched squeal coming from somewhere on the property. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, and it was a sure bet they would never sleep tonight if it continued. They discovered the source of the problem behind the big barn.

A sixty-foot windmill stood beside a large tank, probably used to pump water to the pastures. Every time a breeze caught its weather vane and the fan blades turned, the screeching began.

Riley pulled out her pad and pencil, adding one more item to the list of chores she’d been compiling—fix windmill. Even as she wrote, the wind sent the blades whirling, and the twins cupped their hands over their ears.

Making a sudden decision, Riley tossed her list aside. “Come on, you two,” she said as she turned to head back to a toolshed they’d investigated earlier. “Help your mother with her first project.”

As a teenager growing up on her parents’ ranch in Oklahoma, Riley had gravitated toward helping her father with his chores, while Jillian seemed more interested in, and adept at, assisting their mother. Riley felt sure she could handle silencing the windmill. How many times had she been at her dad’s side as he tackled problems with their old mill?

She found tools and a cupboard holding replacement parts. She and the girls carried everything back out to the water tank. Riley glanced up, checking out the loop steps that led up to the platform where she could access the gear assembly. The mill seemed taller from this angle, and it had been a long time since she’d climbed a ladder that high, but no way were they going to put up with that noise tonight.

“What if you fall?” Wendy asked, her head tipped back as far as it could go as she looked up.

“She’ll get squished,” Roxanna added, and to Riley’s mind, she sounded a little too gleeful about the possibility.

“I won’t fall. Watch. I’ll make it up there faster than a monkey going up a coconut tree.”

That didn’t turn out to be entirely true. Riley wasn’t as limber as she’d been at fifteen. The loop steps were made of tightly welded metal, and the anchor posts of the tower were solid, but halfway up, the height got to her and she had to pause a moment to recapture her courage. Below her, the twins seemed impossibly small.

At last, she swung onto the tower platform. She sat down immediately to catch her breath. Below, the Texas landscape looked green, so full of abundance and grace. The buildings made it seem like a Monopoly board come to life.

Placing one hand to her brow in her best impersonation of an Indian scout, Riley stared off into the distance. “Hey!” she called down to the girls. “I can see Aunt Jillian’s apartment complex from up here.”

“Really?” they replied in unison.

She laughed and set to work.

The structure had to stand up to tough weather, so it was well constructed from galvanized metal, and looked to be in pretty good shape. Neither the vane nor blades needed replacing. Riley pulled out the screwdriver she’d tucked into her back pocket and removed the face plate from the gear assembly. Using detergent-free cleaner, she wiped down all the moving parts, then discovered the culprit—a rusty pump rod. Fifteen minutes later, she had it back in working order.

When she jumped to the ground from the last loop step, Riley couldn’t help grinning. Not bad for her first duty. Even Wendy and Roxanna seemed impressed. Now if only she could persuade Quintin Avenaco that she could handle any job.

She wanted to explore further, but the girls seemed to be running out of steam. Riley settled them in front of the television while she sat at the dining table, making lists, writing down questions she’d need to ask Avenaco and studying a detailed layout of the ranch that she’d found in a desk drawer. Probably a previous ranch manager’s paperwork. Her new boss had said he might be back by midafternoon tomorrow, and she wanted to be prepared if she had to fight for the chance to stay here.

By bedtime, all three of them were yawning. It had been a full day, and a nerve-racking one in some ways. A good night’s sleep would feel wonderful, Riley decided, even on the lumpy couch with Bambi staring down at her.

Tucking the twins in bed went more smoothly than she could have hoped.

“Do we get to go to that camp tomorrow?” Roxanna asked as Riley plugged in their night-light.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, so not until the day after.”

She had made arrangements before they’d left Cooper for the girls to attend a summer day camp that would keep them busy while she worked—movies, arts and crafts, games. The woman she’d spoken to on the phone had agreed to take the twins even though it was last minute, but Riley wished she’d had more time to check out the camp more thoroughly. It was barely within their budget, and suppose the girls didn’t like it? Well, she’d have to cross that bridge if she came to it.

The twins scooted into bed. Wendy glanced up only once at the towel-covered buffalo head, and Roxanna, in a show of unexpected sisterly love, promised to hold her hand all night. “If it falls down on us, don’t worry,” she said solemnly, snuggling under the covers until Riley could barely see her face. “I’ll pull you out.”

Wendy’s eyes went huge. The possibility of being crushed hadn’t occurred to her.

Riley bent forward to plant kisses along her daughter’s brow and move aside stray bangs. “It’s not going to fall down. It’s probably been up there for a hundred years.”

“What do buffalos eat?” Wendy asked.

“Not people,” Roxanna answered. “Unless they’re starving.”

“Not people, period,” Riley said firmly, and kissed the girls good-night, giving them an extra ration of snuggling hugs.

A rocking chair made out of cattle horns and cow hair sat next to the bed. After snapping on the night-light, Riley settled into it. Since this was a strange, new place—big emphasis on the strange—she wanted to make sure her daughters didn’t have difficulty falling asleep.

They tossed and turned a few times, fussed with one another over bed space, then seemed to accept that nothing could harm them, especially with their mom in the room to stand guard.

Within ten minutes Riley heard their soft, slow breathing. The sound always made her feel oddly content. Really, they were her own little miracles, these two. They were the most important part of her life and the only part of her old life she had wanted to hold on to. After some initial stubbornness, Brad had been willing to turn them loose with embarrassing ease. She would never forgive him for that, even though she’d been shaking with relief to have full custody.

In return she’d had to hand over her share of their ranch and everything in it.

Exhausted, Riley cocked her head to rest her cheek against her fist. She ought to make up the couch. Go to bed, her weary brain ordered. But it felt so good to just sit and drift for a while, to put all her worries in the basement of her mind. It was so hard to plow your way through a life that offered no guarantees about anything.

She heard the air-conditioning kick on, and knew she should get up and boost the thermostat. The shorty pajamas she wore would offer little warmth if the unit ran all night. But under the veil-like prelude to sleep, she couldn’t seem to manage it. Really, who would have guessed that a chair made out of cattle horns could be so comfortable?



A SCREAM WOKE HER. High-pitched, terrified and familiar.

Wendy.

Riley’s eyes flashed open, then fought against the bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. She shot out of the chair, her breathing tight, her heart missing beats. Both her daughters were awake. Roxanna was struggling with the covers, while Wendy, her blond hair falling into her face, jumped off the bed and threw herself against her mother’s legs. Her eyes were wide and panic-stricken.

Riley caught Wendy by the shoulders. “What is it, honey?” she asked softly. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Her daughter pointed toward the buffalo head. “It moved, Mom! It’s coming down to get us!”

“It can’t come get us, dummy,” Roxanna said in a grumpy voice. “It doesn’t have feet anymore.”

“Sweetie,” Riley crooned gently, rubbing her hands up and down her daughter’s slim back. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

“No, Mom. Look!” Wendy said. “See what it did?”

The girl snatched up the bath towel they had used to hide the buffalo head. Sure enough, when Riley glanced up at the wall, the creature was no longer covered. And from this angle, he did look pretty mad.

“He threw it over my face,” Wendy exclaimed, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Wendy. The towel must have slipped loose when the air-conditioning kicked on.”

“No, really! He tried to smother me in my sleep!”

“Oh, brother,” Roxanna muttered, sitting up in bed to scratch her head.

“Rox, be quiet,” Riley said with a twinge of frustration.

Since she’d spent those days in the hospital last year, Wendy had become clingy and fearful. She also tended to be a bit paranoid. Everything from the tiniest ant on the sidewalk to Bigfoot was personally out to get her. Riley didn’t have a clue how to fix it.

She sat on the bed hugging Wendy tightly, and stared up at the buffalo. Enough was enough. The damned thing was coming down.

Trying to lighten the mood, Riley yanked up her pajama bottoms and stood on the mattress. “All right, varmint,” she told the head. “This apartment isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

With a giggle, Rox bounced to her feet, nearly sending Riley off the side of the bed. Wendy had planted herself in one corner, waiting to see how her mother would save the day.

Now that she was standing, Riley was nearly eye-to-eye with the thing, and she could almost feel sorry for it. Its dark hair was matted and dusty. A huge chunk had been taken out of its left ear. She couldn’t help wondering if that had happened before or after it had met its tragic end. But it still had to go.

She reached up and grabbed a horn in each hand, wiggling the head to see if there was any give. There wasn’t. Whoever had mounted it up there had intended it to stay secure through a tornado.

Riley tugged some more, every which way she could think of. “Come on,” she groaned between clenched teeth. “Give it up. Come down from there.”

“Don’t touch it!” Wendy squealed from behind her, but there was a giggle in her voice.

“Go, Mom!” Roxanna encouraged. “You’re like the Incredible Hulk.”

The mounting plaque didn’t budge. The buffalo looked bored. All Riley succeeded in doing was breaking a fingernail. She blew hair out of her eyes and redoubled her efforts.

“No one scares my kids, you hear me?” she threatened. “Don’t make me get my chainsaw.”

Roxanna, bouncing on the bed, laughed at that.

Poor Wendy gasped, but at least she seemed caught up in this crazy new adventure. “You’re making it mad. What if it tries to eat us?”

Riley might have refuted that possibility, but she didn’t get the chance. From the doorway of the bedroom, a male voice said, “I’m pretty sure the buffalo is a vegetarian.”

This time, all three of them screamed.




CHAPTER THREE


WHATEVER QUINTIN HAD thought he would run up against when he’d heard that scream, it hadn’t been three pajama-clad females in a face-off with a stuffed buffalo head.

Returning from the trip to Dallas with five Dutch Warmbloods in his thirteen-horse trailer, he’d seen the muddy blue SUV parked close to the horse barn. He’d assumed it belonged to Riley Palmer.

But now, having let himself into the manager’s apartment with his spare key, he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

He’d found a woman, standing with her back to him, tussling with the buffalo head mounted above the bed. Two children—little girls—were cheering her on, and all three females were so intent on their mission that they were unaware of his presence. He blinked in surprise. It wasn’t every day you ran into a woman trying to go three rounds with a buffalo head, accompanied by her own small cheering section.

But he’d expected a man. One man only. Riley Palmer. This was definitely not that man.

He watched, filled with curiosity, as the blonde continued to rail against the buffalo. He couldn’t help staring—those thin, shorty pajamas defined her rear end nicely and complemented a pair of strong, slender legs that went on forever.

She seemed to be trying to amuse the children, or maybe lessen some unknown fear. That scream had been real enough. But now, with every one of her tugs, the kids urged her on, laughing in that little girl way that would make anyone want to be part of the fun.

The woman paused for a moment, and one of the kids gasped out her suspicion that the buffalo might eat them. Quintin had decided it was time to reveal himself, but answering the child’s question only seemed to scare the crap out of them.

Almost as though it was planned, they yelped and squealed in unison. The woman reached to gather the children close, a sweet, protective gesture. He’d bet money these were her kids.

The problem was, they were probably Riley Palmer’s, as well, and wherever the guy was right now, he and Quintin were going to have to talk. No mention had been made about bringing a family. Or even having one, for that matter. Lots of ranchers hired married couples to run both the house and the ranch, but that hadn’t been Quintin’s plan. He hadn’t wanted to bring an entire family on board.

Kids at Echo Springs, for God’s sake. Underfoot and in need of constant attention.

He felt a weary kind of irritation. Palmer should have told him. Now Quintin would have to send them packing. Valuable time lost, as well as an upheaval for this mom and her children.

They stared at him, mouths open, eyes full of uncertainty. Twins, he realized, with a lot of their mom in them. Same silky blond hair. Same eyes, the color of a tropical sea.

Their mother, obviously realizing how scantily clad she was, snatched up a portion of the sheet and pressed it against her breasts. In spite of his annoyance, Quintin almost laughed at that.

Relax, honey, he wanted to tell her. Believe me, I’ve pretty much seen everything you’ve got.

She might be another man’s wife, but Quintin could still appreciate a good-looking female, and this one had prettiness to spare. He’d been out of circulation for a while, but he couldn’t deny the effect a pair of big blue eyes and honey-blond hair could have on his system.

When she lifted that strong chin as if to brazen out the awkwardness of the situation, Quintin felt his lips twist. Palmer had chosen well. This woman was no shrinking violet.

“I’m sorry to have frightened you ladies,” he said. “I knocked, but I think you were too busy fighting with the buffalo to hear me.”

The woman came off the bed quickly, but with surprising grace in spite of the fact that she pulled the sheet with her. She marched over to him, straight as a drum major. In her bare feet, she was much shorter than he was in boots, even with those long legs.

She held out her hand. “You must be Quintin Avenaco. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He took her slim fingers in his. Her handshake was firm, and he felt an odd twinge of regret that very soon he’d have to send this family on their way. And where was Riley Palmer while his wife and kids were taking on stuffed monsters?

“I’m Quintin,” he confirmed. “And I assume you’re Riley Palmer’s wife?”

He saw her swallow hard before answering. Whatever she intended to say, she didn’t like it. “Actually… I’m Riley Palmer.”

Quintin felt a kind of lurch inside him, then a wild rush of anger as he realized what those four simple words meant. What they meant to his plans for the future. He had thought having this family show up was unacceptable. But this… The reality that he’d been deceived pretty much sent him over the edge.

Behind Palmer, her children were watching, listening to every word. For their sake he fought to keep his face neutral. “You’re not what I was expecting.”

“I know, and I can explain that,” she said quickly. “Just give me a minute to put on some clothes and get the girls in front of the television.”

He still had her hand in his, and he used it to pull her forward so that he could reach her ear. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said in a low, crisp voice. “You have an hour to pack your things and go. Take the buffalo head with you as a souvenir if you like.”

She inhaled sharply, but Quintin had already turned and left the room. “Wait a minute—” He heard her call after him, but he kept going, out of the apartment, out of her sight.

He took long strides back to the horse trailer. Halfway there, Riley Palmer pulled him up short by catching his arm. He noticed that she’d thrown on a robe, and her feet were tucked into a pair of unlaced sneakers.

“Mr. Avenaco…” She spoke his name with a raw undertone of clear desperation. “If you’ll just listen for a moment. Let me explain—”

“There’s no need,” Quintin replied. “We agreed to hold off making this job offer final until we had a chance to meet. We’ve met. You’re not what I’m looking for.”

“You mean because I’m a woman asking to be considered for a man’s job?” Her voice was flat, reproachful.

In his entire life, no one had ever accused Quintin of discrimination. Of any kind. Part Native American, he’d grown up with too much of it in Wyoming to ever indulge in the same himself. Her claim nearly tore the breath out of him.

Deliberately, his eyes riveted to hers, with an intensity he hoped would send her back to the apartment to pack. “No, not because you’re a woman,” he said plainly. “Because you’re a liar.”

She had the grace to flush. That flawless, creamy-white complexion went beet-red, even if the look in her eyes remained determined and defiant. “I never lied to you, really. I can’t help it if you assumed I was a man.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Lady, I don’t like being played for a fool. You made every effort to keep your sex a secret. Now I understand why you weren’t answering my phone calls. Whose voice was that on your voice mail?”

“My sister’s boyfriend. But I didn’t have him record the greeting to fool you. He did it months ago, because I was getting some crank calls.”

“Convenient. I don’t know how you thought you were going to pull this off once you arrived, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no job for you here.”

“I didn’t intend… I hoped we could talk this out, that you’d be fair—”

“Fair seems like an odd word coming from you. But I think you’ve wasted enough of my time. Have a safe trip back.”

He shook her hand off his arm and unlatched the back door of the trailer. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and hoped that being on the receiving end of the cold shoulder would do the trick and send her off. But while he ignored her and went through the process of removing safety gates and dividers that would allow him to back the first horse out of the trailer, he was aware of Riley Palmer standing there.

She was in an old-fashioned fury, he could tell, but she could hardly act on it. Not if she thought she could still sway him. Which she couldn’t. She could stand there until hell froze over if she wanted to.

“So you won’t even consider me for the job?” she asked, unable to keep a touch of belligerence out of her voice.

“Afraid not,” he replied mildly, in spite of the anger churning inside him.

He guided the first gelding backward, forcing the woman to move aside. Some horses didn’t trailer well, and he was pleased to see this one step down to the ground without the slightest sign of nervousness. Alert and curious, but definitely not afraid.

He began to lead the animal to the pasture gate, but Riley Palmer blocked his way. It seemed ridiculous that she was still here, standing with a stranglehold on the neck of her robe, trying to persuade him to change his mind. She looked like a woman controlling herself at some cost. He recognized it because that was pretty much the same way he felt.

He suddenly didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by such determination.

“You read my résumé,” she said. “My experience—”

“Was any of that résumé even true?”

Oddly, the color didn’t come up in her cheeks again. They went a little pinker maybe, but mostly she seemed…hurt. In the bright sunshine, her features suddenly looked very young. He almost felt sorry for her.

Don’t, he cautioned himself.

She said in a voice that was slightly less antagonistic, “In spite of what I did, what you might think, I’m qualified for this position. I ran a three-hundred-acre spread for nine years while I was married.”

“If you ran the place, where was your husband?”

“Managing the Bar Seven, outside of Cooper.” She lifted her hand to stroke the gelding’s neck. “We raised cattle mostly, but I know horses, too.”

“These aren’t hack ponies I plan to rent out to Sunday riders. They’re going to need specialized attention and a nutritional regimen as stringent as any racehorse in Kentucky.”

“I understand that. I’m not afraid of hard work. And what I don’t know, I can learn. Very quickly, too.”

He took her hand from the gelding’s neck, clearly surprising her. Turning it upward, he inspected the fingers, the soft palm, then lifted his eyes to hers. “This isn’t the hand of a woman familiar with manual labor.”

“I said I did it for nine years. Before that I was a bookkeeper. Since my divorce, I’ve been looking for work in that field, but the job market’s flooded.”

“So you decided to be a little more creative in your search.”

Her nostrils flared as though she’d caught an unpleasant scent. He noticed that she had a small nose, snubbed at the end, as though it had been drawn by an illustrator of children’s books. “You spoke to Charlie Bigelow. Would he have referred me to you if he didn’t think I could handle this work?”

Quintin realized he was still holding her hand, and dropped it immediately. “I’m not sure what Charlie was thinking,” he growled. “Someday I’ll ask him.”

The woman held his gaze and wouldn’t turn loose. “I can do any job you give me. I swear it.”

“Mrs. Palmer—”

“Just listen for a moment,” she said, cutting him off. “What do you hear?”

He didn’t understand what she meant, but he fell silent. The air between them felt charged with tension, the stillness electric. At last he said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s right. Nothing but peace and quiet. Want to know why?”

He thought about it for a moment. Then, in mild surprise, he swung his head in the direction of the water tank. “The windmill.”

“Exactly. I fixed it yesterday. No big deal. I just thought a good night’s sleep might be nice for everyone.”

He turned back to her. She looked pleased. His eyes narrowed. “You climbed up there and fixed it.”

“I did. It was a rusted pump rod, and it cleaned up fine. That’s only one of dozens of things I have on the list I’ve started. I can get this place in shape. All I need is the chance.”

He had to admit he was impressed and intrigued. He didn’t like that. Admiration. Sympathy. Any of those feelings for this woman could be fatal for what he wanted to accomplish here. With a rush of discipline as sharp as a steel trap, he drew back from any willingness to see her side.

“Thank you for fixing it,” he told her. “I appreciate your efforts. Send me a bill when you get home.” It occurred to him that she might not have enough money to get home. “Or tell me what I owe you right now,” he added.

Quintin tugged on the lead rope and the gelding followed. He opened the paddock gate, unhooked the halter and sent the animal off with a light slap. Resting his arms on the top of the gate, he stood there, pretending to admire the wild gallop of a creature delighting in its freedom.

“Courageous. Friendly. Intelligent. Dependable. Eager to work.”

The Palmer woman stood looking at him, and though her eyes were full of challenge, he thought he saw little tremors in the muscles around her mouth.

He frowned at her. “What?”

She came closer, facing him, jaw set. “Those are the five attributes you need in a mounted police horse. The ones you’re probably looking for in a Dutch Warmblood.”

“How do you know that?”

“As I said, I learn quickly. You told me in one of your emails what you wanted to do with this place. I made it my business to find out the kind of horse you would look for, and what kind of care they’d need. I assumed it would all be part of the ranch manager’s job.”

Scowling, he stared at her, and this time he studied her from head to toe. She didn’t flinch or look away. She didn’t say a word. Maybe she’d run out of them. Or out of arguments, at least.

He told himself that anyone could parrot back a few lines from the internet or a book. And even if she’d burned the midnight oil learning everything she could, that didn’t take the place of real experience. So she was a woman who’d been forced to run the ranch while her husband did his thing on a bigger spread. Did that mean she knew anything, really? Did that mean she’d be an asset to him?

In order for Echo Springs to make the October deadline, the ranch manager would need to work his ass off. Hard, demanding, hands-on work, not simply overseeing a bunch of hired help. The toughest guy in the business would have found it a challenge. But this woman? With two kids in tow?

“Look…” he began with what he considered an air of great reasonableness.

“I know how to properly fertilize, test pH levels, correct for mineral deficiencies and maintain disease control.” She rattled off the list. “I managed for herbicides and parasites. I’ve treated horses for colic and thrush, and I’ve even floated teeth. If yours need something special, I can learn to do it. I’ll do anything I can to help you succeed.” She stopped, and he watched as her lips turned inward, making her mouth disappear as she bit on them. “Isn’t that what’s important here?” Her voice sank lower, as if it had begun to tire.

He remained silent for a long time, unsure he could speak. He’d never met any woman more willing to fight for what she wanted. Sure, she was probably desperate, but there was something else, too. There was some quicksilver quality about Riley Palmer, something nimble in her spirit. He had the random, unexpected thought that she’d probably make one heck of a partner in bed. Full of passion and life. He could imagine what being married to her must have been like. Her husband probably thought he’d hooked up with dynamite.

Quintin knew it would be a major miscalculation in judgment if he let her stay, but he had to admit he was curious about her.

His silence must have smacked of rejection. Her shoulders moved impatiently, and she said with more anger than she’d likely intended, “I guess hiring me is a chance you’re not willing to take. Too bad, really. You’d have gotten more than your money’s worth.” She raked a hand through her already mussed hair. “We’ll be off your property in fifteen minutes.”

She marched away, looking as dignified as a person could in a bathrobe and unlaced sneakers.

“What about the kids?” he called after her.

She swung around. “What about them?”

“This isn’t the place for them.”

She walked back. Those blue eyes were watchful, but tinted with hope. “Why not? They’ve been raised on a ranch. That’s all they know. If you’re worried that they’ll get in the way, they won’t.” A little more quickly, she added, “I’ve already lined up a summer day camp that starts tomorrow. When they’re on the ranch, I won’t allow them near anything, and I’ll have a baby monitor with me to keep tabs on them. You’ll hardly know they’re here.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re their mother. Is that what you want to do? Work like a dog and hardly see them?”

“I’m a divorced mother,” she replied, her neck arching back. “I’ve learned that there are things a single parent has to accept. I need the money. Besides, your email said half days off on Saturday, and all of Sunday. I’ll have nights and weekends with them.”

She radiated confidence, and as far as bluffs went, she was damn good. Given the challenges ahead, Quintin thought he could use someone that positive. But again, was she the right someone? He couldn’t afford to make too many mistakes between now and October.

“No, I’m sorry….” He shook his head and watched her blink in disappointment. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he continued. “You and your children can stay here for a while—”

“I’m not asking for charity—”

He lifted his hand to stop her. “Hold on. I’m not offering any.” When she pressed her lips tightly together, and he seemed to have her full attention once more, he said. “Stay and work for me until the end of the month.”

“That’s barely three weeks away!”

“That will give me time to do what I should have done in the first place—run an ad, interview, do a background check. Once I get someone hired, you’re done here. But you’ll have enough time to regroup.”

“And you’ll have enough time to see what I can do.”

He shook his head again. “That’s not the way this is going to play out.”

She pinned him with a shrewd glance. “If I prove to you that I can do this job better than anyone else, would you be honest enough to admit it and hire me?”

His brow lifted as he feigned surprise. “Do you really think it’s my honesty we have to worry about here?”

Her mouth quirked. “Touché.”

“So three weeks,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” she replied quickly.

He felt suddenly weary and yet oddly invigorated at the same time. He wouldn’t allow himself to wonder if, by this time in his life, he shouldn’t have had a little more sense than to make such a foolish offer. But it was too late for rational acts and plain logic.

They shook hands, and she began walking toward the apartment. Her stride was confident, her back straight.

“It’s not your day off yet, Mrs. Palmer,” he called out to her. “Meet me at the house in thirty minutes, and we’ll get started. Bring your list.”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said without looking back.




CHAPTER FOUR


RILEY SAT THE TWINS DOWN in front of the Cartoon Network with bowls of cereal and some toast.

Quickly, she slipped into a pair of jeans and comfortable boots. She bypassed her most worn work shirts for a fairly new one the color of Texas bluebonnets. Makeup had never been her thing, so she kept it pretty simple. A little mascara and lipstick, and she was done. She didn’t want to look like she wasn’t willing to get down and dirty for this job. First impressions were important.

Although it was probably too late for that.

She picked up her pad and pen, then went back out to join the girls.

Seated on the rug behind the coffee table, they were absorbed in their program. Riley twisted her hair into a ponytail and tried to catch their attention. “I’m going to the house to talk to Mr. Avenaco. You know the drill. Put your dishes in the sink, brush your teeth, comb your hair. Your clothes are on the bed.”

She glanced at the television. Three cartoon kids in space suits were cautiously walking through alien territory. They looked nervous.

I know just how you feel, she thought.

“Can we go outside?” Roxanna asked without taking her eyes off the TV.

“Later. When I get back.”

Wendy glanced up at her. Her forehead creased. “Is that man your new boss?”

“Yes.” For nearly three weeks, anyway.

“I don’t think he likes us very much.”

“Once he gets to know you, he’ll love you just like I do.” She caught Wendy’s head in her hands and planted a noisy kiss on her daughter’s blond hair. Then she did the same to Roxanna. “You two behave. And don’t make a mess.”

The twins nodded absently. On the television, the space adventure was heating up—bubble-headed aliens were shooting ray guns at the kids.

Riley took calming breaths as she walked the short distance to the house. Somewhere nearby she could hear two squirrels having an argument, and overhead the sky looked as if it had been painted in oils. After yesterday’s cleansing rain, today would be a hot one.

She knocked so determinedly on the front door that little chips of white paint flew off. The entire house needed a fresh coat. After a significant amount of rotted and missing wood got replaced.

The door swung wide and Riley straightened. As expected, Quintin Avenaco stood there. He wasn’t scowling, exactly, but his expression looked as though it had been permanently set on skeptical.

“Morning!” she declared, putting more confidence in her tone than she felt. “I’m ready to get started.”

He expelled a deep sigh. Then, as though he had no choice, he stepped aside. “Let’s go to my study.”

She followed his broad back as he led her past the foyer and a nondescript staircase, through a sparsely-furnished living room and down a gloomy hallway. Idly, she took in the sight of linoleum floors rippling like tide pools, dark paneling from the sixties and flocked wallpaper stamped with faded square ghosts where photographs had once hung.

It would be generous to say the house spoke of gracious neglect. More like dilapidation. It was pretty depressing, actually, and desperately in need of a make-over. Did Avenaco live here alone, amid the wreckage of former tenants? In their emails back and forth, he hadn’t mentioned having a wife or family.

The study was a different matter. A big desk with the requisite computer setup. Comfortable looking chairs and a leather couch in front of a fireplace. Surprisingly little clutter. Stylish and tasteful, but definitely a man’s room.

“This is a great house,” Riley said, feeling the need to start making a connection somewhere.

He looked at her and did an eyebrow hike. Checking for sarcasm, maybe.

“I mean, it has great potential. Obviously it needs work.”

“I have a renovation crew starting tomorrow.”

“Will I need to be involved with that in any way?”

“No.”

Well. A very definite negative to that question. She stood in the middle of the room, waiting as he moved behind the desk and shuffled through papers.

During their earlier conversation she’d barely had time to notice, but it struck her as she watched him now—the guy was good-looking. Not GQ material, but the kind of handsome a woman should feel comfortable with, not intimidated by. His hair was silky and black, worn at a length that wouldn’t please a boardroom, but looked right on him. A calligraphy of lines around his eyes suggested he might have a killer smile, though she’d yet to see it.

Maybe they were just squint marks from too much Texas sun. Regardless, he had a great body, like a man who’d been an athlete once and kept his shape.

He motioned absently toward a sideboard holding a carafe and mugs. “Do you want coffee?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Give me a minute.”

She nodded, though he didn’t see it. Unwilling to just stand there with her pad and pen hugged against her breast like a census taker, she tried to find something to take her mind off how nervous she was.

She found it on the sideboard. A photograph. A woman tucked close to a man who held a child in his arms. All three were smiling for the camera, dressed in denim and cowboy hats. Even the little boy. There were trappings of a rodeo in the background, but it couldn’t have been Texas. Enormous snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance.

Riley guessed that the man was Quintin Avenaco, though he looked at least ten years younger. The woman next to him, probably his wife, wasn’t beautiful, but she had appealing features that spoke of deep experience and rural wisdom. Definitely Native American with those prominent cheekbones and all that dark, flowing hair.

It was the little boy’s face that made Riley smile. He was a miniature version of his father, and his slightly lopsided grin seemed to say he knew magical secrets. He couldn’t have been more than four. She remembered the girls at that age. Complete charmers.

She wondered if his family was living someplace else right now, waiting for Avenaco to get Echo Springs on its feet. Funny he hadn’t mentioned them, but maybe that explained why he was in such an all-fired hurry to make headway here. Missing his wife and kid, no doubt.

She picked up the frame and held it toward him. “Nice looking family. Yours, I assume?”

He glanced up, then straightened. After too long a silence he said, “My wife, Teresa, and our son, Tommy.”

“Do they live here, as well?”

Avenaco’s mouth pulled flat as his eyes met hers, black as night and unyielding. “No.”

She returned the photo to its place on the sideboard. Okay. He wasn’t willing to go further down that road. He looked calm, almost as though he had no interest in the picture, but the muscles in his jaw betrayed him.

Probably a messy divorce. Join the club, buddy.

Clearly, the door had been slammed on any more discussion of his family. Silence fell, and she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” he said at last.

She approached the desk and waited until he took a seat, before she slipped into the chair in front of him.

“I didn’t see a strange horse in the barn,” he told her. “So I assume you didn’t bring your own mount.”

Memories rushed in. The image of Ladybug, the sweet-faced mare she’d ridden for so long, still stung. With no way to take care of her, and Brad determined to hurt Riley in any way he could, she’d been forced to leave the animal behind, another victim of the divorce.

“No,” she said. “My ex-husband got the ranch and everything on it.”

“Sounds like you could have used a better divorce lawyer.”

Had she sounded bitter? Better work harder on that. “I came out of the marriage with what I wanted,” she said, as though unfazed by one of the most traumatic events of her entire life. “Do I need my own horse?”

“Not necessarily. I have ranch stock stabled at a friend’s right now. As soon as the main barn’s ready, I’ll move them over, and you can use one of them. I assume you can ride?”

Wow. After finding out she’d been less than honest just to get here, he really had no trust in her. She gave him a mild look, determined to be pleasant and professional. “Very well, actually.”

“Can you drive a stick shift?”

“Yes.”

“Even with a trailer attached?”

“We had a six-horse. I think I can manage.”

“What about an ATV?”

“No problem.”

“Do you know how to take care of horses?”

The way he looked at her was starting to bug her. As if he was trying to match her face to one he’d seen during his last visit to the post office. “In my résumé I told you we had horses,” she said briskly.

He cocked his head to one side. “Yes, well…I think we’ve already established that your résumé wasn’t…completely accurate. I’m simply trying to get a feel for what duties you’re capable of handling.”

She suppressed her annoyance. When it came to her employment for the next three weeks, this man held all the aces. “Yes. I know how to take care of them. My family had a small herd, and we always kept horses at the ranch my husband and I owned.”

“Can you groom?”

“Of course.”

“Pitch hay and carry bags of feed? You’re not very muscular.”

She opened her mouth to say something she shouldn’t, thought better of it, and instead said, “I’m stronger than I look. I’ll manage fine.”

“What about hoof care?”

“What about it?”

“Do you know how to clean and check for problems?”

“One of the first things my father ever taught me. No hooves, no horse.”

“Can you muck out a stall, Mrs. Palmer?”

His eyes were so watchful now. Did he expect her to balk at that lowly task?

Deliberately, she gave him her most winning smile. “With the best of them,” she said. “And really, Mr. Avenaco, if we’re going to get down to the nitty-gritty and talk horse manure, I think we should be on a first name basis. Please call me Riley.”

He gave a little snort and raised his eyebrow infinitesimally. She couldn’t tell if that was a bad sign or not. Then he turned his attention back to the desk, searching for something. Riley sat there, her insides feeling as though they’d just spent time against the rough side of a cheese grater.

Finally, he handed her a page torn from a legal pad. “This is the schedule for hauling hay to the pastures. You’ll need the truck for that. The ATV can be used to make smaller runs. Extra keys for both are on a hook in the tack room.”

She scanned the page of instructions. Nothing much out of the norm.

“I’d like to keep to this schedule as closely as possible,” he said. “If you can’t make a run, then I’ll do it.”

“I don’t see a problem.” She frowned as something caught her eye. “Pretty heavy on the protein supplements, considering it’s summer. They’ll sweat like crazy.”

“These animals are going to need a good set of chest muscles for police work.”

Darn. She should have realized that. She nodded, placed the paper inside her pad and smiled up at him. “All right. What else?”

He frowned. “What do you mean, what else? That’s it.”

“Surely there are other things you’ll need me to do.”

“If I think of any, I’ll let you know.”

The small blister of annoyance inside her got a little bigger. She sat straighter in her chair, fixing her eyes on him with intense determination. “Mr. Avenaco, let’s be clear with one another. You weren’t looking for a stable hand. You wanted a ranch manager. And while I’m perfectly willing to do the work you’ve just given me, I’m capable of handling a lot more than this.”

He tilted his head back slightly. “Mrs. Palmer—”

“Riley.”

“Riley. Since you’ll only be here until the end of the month, I don’t see the point of involving you in anything long-term.”

“Perhaps not. But it doesn’t have to be all or nothing, does it? Surely there are things you need help with besides grunt work. I’m good. I’m willing. You’ve already told me you don’t have the luxury of time to waste, so why not make the best use of it?”

Silence descended again as he seemed to consider her words. She saw the indecision in him, the way his shoulders shifted uncomfortably. His lips pursed to form a rejection but he never voiced it.

Instead he said in a polite, businesslike and slightly chilly tone, “Have you ever managed men?”

Her heart bounced upward with hope. “I assume you mean ranch hands. Yes. We often hired seasonal help when we needed them.”

“But did you manage them?” His mouth quirked. “Please don’t give me the stink eye. I’m the one who has everything at stake here. Just answer the question.”

The stink eye? It seemed she had something else to work on besides a bitter tone. “Yes. I was the one who managed their work. My husband was…” She almost said that Brad was busy boinking his mistress, but decided against that. “…Brad was needed at the Bar Seven, where he worked.”

“I have three men starting tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. The Ramseys. Cousins Jim, Steven and Virgil. I don’t know them well, but they seem reliable. They can do most of the manual labor. One of them used to be a carpenter. Jim, I think. If I decide to bulldoze the main barn, I’ll want his input on rebuilding, but right now they should be able to handle the schedule I’ve given you.”

“I walked the barn yesterday. It needs work, but…” She stopped there, wishing she hadn’t voiced an opinion where it probably wouldn’t be welcomed. “I’m sorry,” she amended quickly. “You were saying?”

“Tomorrow I’ll get these fellows started. Then you can take over. If they don’t want to take orders from you—”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“For whatever reason, then I’ll handle them, and we’ll have to find something else for you. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Irritating to think Avenaco had such little faith in her ability, but she’d show him. The relieved smile she gave him was sincere. “What else?”

For a half second, before he remembered that none of this was to his liking, the man’s mouth tilted upward, just a little, and Riley saw those creases at the corners of his eyes deepen. Oh, yeah, she’d been right. There was a killer smile hiding in there somewhere.

“You’re a very stubborn woman,” he said.

“I am. I like to think that’s a good thing.”

As though resigned, he shook his head slightly, then turned to pull a rolled tube of paper from his credenza. He swung back and opened it across his desk. It was a blueprint of Echo Springs, both the house and the surrounding land.

“This is a layout of the property,” he said. “Pretty straightforward, really.”

Riley scooted forward in her chair. She tried to focus on the task at hand. Inside, though, her heart was doing somersaults. He seemed ready to take her seriously.

“You’ve seen the pasture closest to the house,” her new boss continued. “With the stock I brought in this morning, it’ll be maxed out for grazing soon.” He circled his finger around the area behind the barn. “Two small corrals here, plus a sacrifice paddock in between.” He glanced up at her. “You know what a sacrifice paddock is, right?”

She resisted the temptation to scowl at him. “Back in Oklahoma, we called them all-weather paddocks. We used to joke that Texans like to make everything sound more dramatic.”

He barely nodded. “It needs to be torn down, as well. Too much rotted wood.” His finger slid across the drawing to the upper right corner. “This piece will eventually carry most of the herd. It needs work. Right now, those are my priorities.”

“Is the pasture already under fence?”

“Barbed wire.”

She grimaced. Horses were farsighted and needed to have very visible fencing so they didn’t go crashing into it when they chased each other around. “Great for cattle, but not a good idea for the kind of horses you’re buying.”

“Exactly. I’ve seen the damage a horse can do to itself when it’s tangled up in barbed wire. All of it needs to go. A truckload of lumber is being delivered tomorrow. The Ramseys should be able to handle the tear downs.”

Quintin stared at her thoughtfully, for a long enough time that she began to feel uncomfortable. He had the darkest, most intense way of looking at a person. Sort of unnerving.

After an agonizing wait, he seemed to come to some decision. He pointed toward a meandering circle notated at one end of the pasture. “Have you ever put in irrigation?”

With that, things got easier. He walked her through every nook and cranny on the drawing, until she thought she could have traveled the property blindfolded. In an easy, confident voice, he told her what he hoped to accomplish and how he planned to do it. He remained somewhat aloof, but at least he stopped patronizing her, and actually seemed interested in her responses.

From their earlier emails back and forth, Riley knew basically what he wanted to create here. But when he spoke again of his eagerness to provide the best horseflesh to police departments around the nation, perhaps internationally, as well, she saw the real passion in him and couldn’t help finding it infectious. She tried to keep her features professional, interested, but inside she realized that her heart had slipped into a faster rhythm. The guy sure knew how to sell an idea.

One thing took her by surprise even more. As they sat hunched over the property layout, heads nearly touching, she became intensely aware of him as a man. She inhaled his scent, something citrus and musky and completely male. Again and again her eyes were drawn to the short hairs that feathered around his temples like black silk, with just a few threads of gray woven in. To the dark shadow that lay along his jawline, and the strong flex of his arm muscles when his hand reached out to stab a spot on the map.

And those hands. Long fingered. Tapered at the end. Roughened slightly, but still managing to look gentle and kind. Riley had always been a sucker for a man with great hands.

Not that she was looking to be a sucker for any man these days.

She yanked her mind back, forcing it to concentrate on what her new boss said, not on how he looked. The conversation was winding down. With all the bases covered and her pad full of instructions and notations, they were nearly done. Avenaco was rolling up the map, clearly ready to see the last of her, no doubt.

Straightening, Riley gave him a positive, reassuring smile. Forget those hands and all the rest, she told herself. You’ve got a job to do. “So you want to make all this happen by October.”

“Yes.”

“Beginning or end?”

“October 3.”

“Then there’s no time to waste, is there? I’ll get started right away.”

He shook his head. “You can start tomorrow. Today’s Sunday. I assume you’d like to finish getting settled in, and spend some time with your kids.”

The offer surprised her, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you. I will.” She produced another self-confident smile and offered her hand. “I’m not going to disappoint you, Mr. Avenaco.”

He shook her hand, but didn’t indicate one way or the other whether he honestly believed that or not. There wasn’t anything else for her to do but leave. She swung around and headed for the door.

“Riley…”

She turned back. He just looked at her, another one of those unnerving stares that made her feel as though he was sizing her up. Maybe he was.

Finally he said, “I think you’re right. We should be on a first name basis. Call me Quintin.”

She was smiling by the time she hit the front door. Three weeks, she thought. A lot could happen in three weeks.




CHAPTER FIVE


BY EIGHT O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING he had finished going over the plans with the renovation crew foreman. Quintin stood in his study, trying to prepare himself for the workers who were about to take over the house like an invading army.

He’d lived alone too long to like the idea of being closely surrounded by other people, but if Echo Springs was going to be presentable by October, it was necessary. First the downstairs area, then the upstairs. And in between all that, the exterior would be spruced up so it no longer looked like the set of a horror movie.

After draining his coffee from his cup, he picked up the photograph he’d set on the sideboard. His son grinned out at him, and beside him, Teresa, the smile on her lips so gentle it made Quintin’s heart stutter even after all these years.

She would have loved this renovation. When they’d bought their run-down ranch in Colorado Springs, newly married and hoping to turn it into something grander, they hadn’t had the money to hire outside help. Not that it mattered. Working on the place together had only brought them closer.

He carried the photo to his desk. At times, when the past lay heavy on him and guilt was like a yoke, he felt depressed just looking at their faces. This shot had always been one of his favorites—that last golden summer afternoon spent at the Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo. They’d had so much fun, and he’d won enough money in the events that they’d been able to repair the ranch-house roof.

Even in the still photo, it wasn’t difficult to see the delight his family had found in one another. Quintin stared at his own face—younger, flush with excitement and love. Not a worry in the world. So…oblivious.

How could he have been so carefree? It felt wrong somehow. Shouldn’t his features have revealed something, some hint of the grief that would come only a few months later? Stillborn dreams for his marriage. A future for Tommy that would never happen.

He yanked open a desk drawer and placed the photograph inside, forcing himself to concentrate on the present. He had charted a different course now, set ambitious goals and found new purpose. Alone. And as hard as that was to think about, he would not turn back. The sensation of feeling something, after years of numbness, was a novelty, and he wouldn’t give it up.

Somewhere in the house he heard a skill saw start up. Men called to one another. He could tell they were already ripping out the outdated paneling in the dining room next door.

The new hands would be here soon, needing instructions. He punched the toggle switch on his computer. Time to search the employment sites, post ads and go through the steps necessary to find a replacement for Riley Palmer. Things he should have done in the first place.





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