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She leveled a look at Cal. “Would you buy this place?”
“Shit, no.”
“Exactly. That will be everyone’s response. And since I need the money this place will bring, I want top dollar. How much do you think this place would be worth with over three hundred and fifty acres and a decent—” she tossed a glance at the pathetic house “—house?”
Cal looked at the house, squinting his eyes. “Well, it’s a big house. If you repaired it, painted it, upgraded some things inside, you’d probably get a couple of million easy. Land’s prized around here, but a working ranch, spiffed up...”
“So you don’t know?”
“Not really. Like I said, real estate’s not my thing.”
Which made her wonder—what was his thing?
But what did Cal matter at that moment? She had bigger fish to fry. Her original plan when she’d left Philly had been to stay a day or two, scatter Bud’s ashes and make the decision on what to do with the Triple J. Of course, she knew the right decision would be to sell the place. But Bud had talked about the Triple J with such wistfulness, describing nights in front of the fireplace, rocking chairs on the porch and lovely vistas. In the back of her mind, Maggie had wondered if the ranch could be a place to belong even if she didn’t know a gelding from a stallion. She could finally have something that was all hers, silly as it sounded.
The Triple J would be sold. Maggie would take her part and head back to the East Coast. She could stay with her aunt until she found her own place. And though she’d sent her résumé to several companies and already netted interview requests, she’d been kicking around the idea of starting her own consulting firm. She was particularly skilled in creating and facilitating successful board meetings. If she could parlay that skill into a company that mediated contentious corporate situations, she could be her own boss. But to do that, she needed seed money.
“I need to think. Renovating this place will be a huge job,” she said, trying to regain some of the cool she’d lost in the past few minutes. The situation called for being rational, strategic and—
“I could help you out,” Cal said, interrupting her internal plea for calmness.
“What?”
“Right now I’m living in a trailer on my mom’s land...at least for the next month, but I could always move out here and oversee repairs.”
“Are you a...uh, carpenter? Or contractor?”
His smile was like sun after a storm. “Hell, no.”
“I’m not sure why I would hire someone who doesn’t have any skills to oversee something that... Well, I’m not even sure of the extent of what’s needed.” So he was unemployed, lived in a trailer on his mother’s land and looking for a job? Sounded like a man to stay away from.
“I have skills,” he said, an edge in his words implying he was talking about more than using a hammer.
Maggie clamped her mouth closed and studied him. In the midmorning light, he looked right as rain framed against the faded barn. He had the whole fantasy thing going—sexy cowboy with a side of trouble.
Or a side of fun.
Okay, yeah, she was attracted to him. Very attracted to him. He made little butterflies flit around her tummy and warmth curl up her spine. But that wasn’t a good enough reason to employ someone she’d not even vetted to help her out of a tight spot with the Triple J.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to turn down his offer, generous or not, a pickup truck bumped over the rise. The paint job was interesting—two doors covered in white primer and a hood painted bright blue. The rest of the vehicle was a rusty red. It looked like a worn-out American flag as it came to a halt beside Cal’s truck. The engine died and an older man climbed out.
Cal rubbed a hand over his face. “Ah, shit.”
“You the gal I’m supposed to meet?” the older man called in a gravelly voice, walking toward them. He wore a straw cowboy hat, brand-new indigo jeans and a T-shirt with Rattled Rooster Saloon stamped across the front. He spit in the dust and eyed Cal.
The tension between the men was thick. Like there could be a shoot-out at the not-so-OK Corral.
“The gal?” Maggie repeated, not bothering to extend her hand.
The older man lifted his hat. “Sorry about being late. Set my damn alarm clock for p.m. and not a.m. I’m usually up when the cock crows, but I must have been tuckered out.”
Cal snorted.
Charlie’s mouth tightened at the sound.
“I’m assuming you’re Mr. Lowery?”
The man nodded.
“I accept your apology. But what I do not accept is the condition of this ranch. You’ve been paid a considerable sum of money each month to take care of the Triple J and you’ve failed miserably.”
Charlie drew back. “Now see here, Ms....what’s your name again?”
“Stanton.”
“What you don’t understand is how much money it takes to run a ranch. It’s more than feed and vet bills. I asked Bud for extra money to fix the barn and repaint it last year. Those damn kids are always out here drinking and fu—uh, messing around. Only so much I can do. I told him about the roof leaking. He said he’d send somebody. So I tried.”
“Tried?” Maggie reined in the anger brewing inside her. “I’ll need to see your accounting, Mr. Lowery.”
“Like receipts and stuff? Might be a few on the floorboard, but Bud never told me I had to keep a book or nothing.”
“You realize you’re going to make restitution, don’t you? This place is in shambles.”
Charlie looked over at Cal who stood still as a puddle watching the confrontation. “What are you doing here?”
Before Cal could say anything, Maggie pointed a finger toward Charlie. “He’s the person who is going to oversee you and the cleanup of the Triple J. Consider Cal the foreman on this project. And you’re going to be intimately involved with rectifying the neglect or I’ll sue your pants off.”
She hadn’t meant to make Cal the foreman...which wasn’t actually a position for something like this. Or maybe it was. She’d never undertaken the salvaging of a ranch. Lawyering up was merely a threat. Though she was certain she could get the attorney Bud had used for forty years to draft a threatening letter. Regardless she had to get the place cleaned up and Charlie Lowery owed her. Lumping Cal in was sheer insanity. Maybe the horniness she had for the man had blocked out logic. Or perhaps it was the image of him lifting boards and painting fences, shirtless and glistening with sweat in the hot Texas sun.
Oh, God. She needed to have her head examined. Or get laid.
Or both.
Charlie’s face registered agitation. “You’re hiring Cal? He’s not a contractor. He’s a bu—”
“I’m perfectly capable of overseeing the repairs,” Cal interrupted. “If you remember, I spent many summers working ranches.”
Charlie didn’t say anything more in argument. He merely shifted his gaze from Cal to her and then back to Cal again. After a few tense seconds, he uttered, “This is bullshit.”
And then he stalked to his truck, lowered the tailgate and hefted a heavy bag to his shoulder. Without another word to either of them, he disappeared into the barn. Five or six cats followed him, their heads ducked cautiously.
Cal turned back to her. “You’re really going to hire me?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“But...”
She sucked in more hot Texas air. “Honestly, you’re the only person I know here. And you were true to your word—you got me inside the ranch. And I don’t have time to do a huge job search. Please tell me you have some actual experience with—” she threw her hands in the air and spun around surveying the Triple J “—working miracles?”
“They call me the miracle worker,” he said.
She arched her brow.
“Okay, they don’t, but I spent every summer in high school working ranches and construction. If I can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.”
Maggie squeezed her eyes closed and tried to center herself. This was going to be a huge undertaking and would cost a pretty penny. She had forty thousand dollars in savings and maybe five thousand in her checking account. No way would she cash out any investments. But if she wanted to sell the Triple J for more than a marginal profit, she’d have to spend some cash. Starting with Cal. “How much?”
“For what?”
“To get this place ready to list? I’m assuming you’re unemployed otherwise you wouldn’t have offered your services.” Her tongue nearly tripped on those last words. They’d sounded suggestive, though she’d not intended them to be.
A strange expression crossed his face, but he caught himself. “Four thousand. Should take about five or six weeks if the rain stays away. It’s mid-July so I don’t see an issue there. Probably have to hire some pros for some stuff, but I know a few guys who are good and won’t charge an arm and a leg.”
“That seems fair. I’ll draw up a contract.”
“But I need to inspect the place first. Let’s meet at the Barbwire tomorrow morning,” Cal said before jerking his head toward the barn. “A word of warning—Charlie has a drinking problem and a habit of interfering where he’s not wanted.”
“He owes Bud recompense. The shape this place is in rests on his shoulders. Find something for him to do, or I’ll sue him for breach of contract.” Maggie wasn’t sure if the contract would hold up since most of the terms were unwritten. But she’d bluff her way through. Charlie was a free laborer and free sounded good at the moment.
Cal shrugged. “Your rodeo.”
Yeah. A big, fat, disastrous one where she stood in the center of the arena wearing a barrel as her underwear like those funny rodeo clowns she’d seen in cartoons. “I’m heading back to town. I have a lot to do in order to relocate to Coyote Creek.”
“Relocate? You’re not going back to Pennsylvania?” Cal asked.
“After ten years of paying someone to do a job that didn’t get done, you think I’m going to leave this place unattended? If I’m plopping down money, I’m part of the process.”
“Define ‘part of the process.’”
“I’m a hard worker. I’ll pitch in.”
Cal lowered his gaze, taking in the new wedge sandals she’d scored on a half-price rack last week and the secondhand Louis Vuitton bag her cousin had bought at a yard sale. She could see his thoughts in those pretty blue eyes. He thought she was useless. “You’re going to help clean and repair the Triple J?”
“I know how to hold a paintbrush,” she said, sliding her sunglasses back in place. “As soon as I contact animal control about these cats, I’ll get the house habitable.”
Cal might have smirked, but she didn’t wait around to see. Cowboy Cal and Grumpy Charlie may have preconceived notions about her, but they didn’t know her veneer of sophistication had been shellacked on to survive the snooty world of the Edelmans. Her mother had been the housekeeper and Maggie had scrubbed many a toilet and polished many a silver serving tray. Hard Work was her middle name.
“You’re going to stay in the house?” Cal called to her.
Maggie glanced over at the sad dwelling. Poor place looked as if it had cashed in on existing. But at one time, the Triple J ranch house had been a home. “Have you seen the Coyote Creek motel?”
Cal twisted lips that made her think of morning sex. “Good point.”
Maggie climbed into the car, watching the cowboy through her windshield. He surveyed the house and then walked around back, perhaps looking for a place to park his trailer.
So many questions about him rambled around her mind, but she supposed there would be time for answers. After all, they’d be working together for the next month or so. The faster she sold the Triple J, the faster she could get on with her life.
Maggie slid an apologetic glance to the box holding the ashes of her late boss.
“Sorry, Bud. I know you hoped I’d fall in love with the Triple J, but I don’t even own cowboy boots.”
Though she might want to grab a pair if she was going to be here for a while.
3 (#ulink_113802f6-56a6-562f-be08-eebe63ee98c5)
THREE DAYS LATER Cal watched Maggie dip the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and scrub down the front door of the Triple J ranch house. Ten years of lightning bug and moth waste dotted the wooden door with the broken glass insets. Would have been easier to buy a whole new damn door, but Miss Maggie Stanton was tighter than Dick’s hatband when it came to letting go of cash.
She looked damned fine in a pair of cutoff shorts that cupped her ass, a loose tank top and sandals that allowed toenails of bright red to peek out. Her brown ponytail bobbed as she uttered indiscriminant curse words under her breath. Stepping back she tossed the sponge into the bucket, splashing soapy water onto the sagging porch boards.
“Damn it.”
He climbed the steps, avoiding the one with the loose board. “Looks better.”
“No, it doesn’t, but at least it’s clean.” She brushed her hands on her shorts. The waistband dipped giving him a glimpse of apple-green panties. She turned to him. “Did you call the guy about the leak?”
“Yeah. The roofing company’s sending a guy for an estimate.”
“The roof has to be fixed before we can do any other work inside. And there’s a lot of work to be done.”
Cal looked at the door and then pulled a small notebook from his back pocket. He added “paint front door” to the list. “I’m heading to physical therapy, but I’ll be back by five o’clock. The painters will be out in the barn. If you have a problem, call me.”
“So I’m supervising now?” Her eyes dipped down to his chest. He knew he’d sweated buckets and his T-shirt clung to him. He’d been helping Ray and his team tear out rotten boards and replace them on the west side of the barn. Her noticing the clinging material made something naughty rear up inside him. One thing he knew was when a woman was interested. He’d caught Maggie’s gaze on him more than once. Firm indicator.
Two mornings ago, he and Maggie had come to an agreement regarding the renovation of the Triple J over pancakes at the Barbwire Grill. He had no clue why he’d agreed to help Maggie. Okay, he did. Some of it was wanting to get away from living with his mom and her husband. After the wreck on Rasputin, his mother had resurrected her petition that he give up bull riding. And some of it was feeling bad his old mentor had allowed the ranch to fall into disrepair. But most of it had to do with the insane attraction he held for Maggie. It had been months since he’d felt any interest in a woman. Maybe longer than that. Occasionally when he won big and drank enough, he took advantage of the willing women who frequented the bars. Yet he never felt anything more than a passing attraction.
Until Maggie had walked in.
Of course, he was bored and depressed by the lack of healing in his shoulder. He’d spent the past two weeks in bed watching Divorce Court and champing at the bit to get back to competing for the million-dollar prize. So doing a little work would make the hours go faster and being able to eye the sexy Maggie Stanton while doing it would be an added bonus.
So he made the list and hired the crews to repair the outer buildings for a ranch he cared nothing about. After inspecting the buildings, he’d decided the barn was too big of a job to attempt alone. He’d asked around and found a crew of painters who’d had a job fall through. They’d started work that morning, prepping for repainting right after the county animal control had picked up ten full traps of angry, snarling cats. Cal had started working on repairing stalls, carefully using his bad shoulder, hoping the natural movement might do some good since the prescribed therapy hadn’t done what he’d hoped. Still hurt like hell, but the therapist said moving it was good for him.
Charlie had shown up midmorning and with a grunt started helping. Cal didn’t have much left for the old man...or at least that’s what he told himself.
Charlie had taken him under his wing when Cal had been a restless green buck set on causing trouble rather than being useful. The former rodeo star had taught Cal how to be a cowboy, watching Cal ride his first bull, teaching him how to position his hands and when to use the spurs. Once upon a time, Cal had worshiped Charlie. Until the curmudgeonly cowboy had started drinking too much...and hitting on Cal’s mother.
When Cal was in high school, his lonely mom had shared a few meals with Charlie. She’d seen it as casual companionship, two people who cared about Cal spending time together. But when she met Gary Whitehorse, Charlie got jealous. It spilled over onto Cal’s rodeo life. The dam broke when Charlie tried to play daddy, demanding Cal quit bull riding after a particularly dangerous ride. Cal and Charlie had clashed like only two hardheaded fools could and the result was a sixteen-year silence. But Cal supposed they could hand each other nails and measure two-by-fours without talking much.
“I told you I’d have to go to physical therapy twice a week,” he reminded her.
Maggie silently regarded Cal. He knew her thoughts, namely the unstated question of why he went to a physical therapist. He hadn’t revealed he was a bull rider yet and he didn’t know why he withheld the information. All he’d accomplished was something to be proud of, but after years of buckle bunnies hopping after him and reporters haggling him, he was tired of the fascination. Being a regular dude felt good. Like pulling on an old pair of blue jeans.
“Right,” she said when she realized he wasn’t going to explain. “Oh, so you know, I checked out of the motel. I’m staying here tonight.”
“But the windows are still busted.”
“I found the screens in the attic. Cats are gone and I’m tired of motel life.”
“But it’s hotter than hell without AC.” His thoughts flickered to an image of her in a short nightie, sweat glistening between her breasts. Maybe no air-conditioning would be a good thing, especially since he’d pulled his trailer out this morning and had a nice view of the house. Of course, he wasn’t a pervert who’d sit around, peering out his blinds, trying to catch a peek. But if she did venture out to the saggy porch in her barely there nightie, he damned sure wasn’t looking away.
