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“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.”
