Wild Cowboy Ways

by Carolyn Brown

  Allie picked up her van keys from the foyer table and headed out the door. “I’m on the way, Mama. She’s probably sitting on the porch like last time. I don’t think anyone has moved in yet.”

  “Lizzy said that Herman Hudson came in for a load of feed this morning and that at least one cowboy moved in on Saturday,” Katy said.

  “How’d you find out where she is?” Allie asked.

  “The crazy cowboy who bought the place called the feed store. The number was on the bottom of one of those calendars we used to give out at Christmas. Lizzy answered and then called me.”

  “I’ll call you when I’ve got her back in the house.” Allie jogged out to her work van and hopped inside. She shivered as she shoved the key into the ignition. They’d had a mild winter up until now, but January was going to make up for it for sure if this was a taste of what was to come. She didn’t give the engine time to warm up but shoved the truck into gear, hit the gas, and headed down the lane toward the road where she made a right-hand turn. The steering wheel was as cold as icicles, but in her hurry she’d left her gloves on the foyer table. Half a mile farther she made another right and whipped into the winding lane at the Lucky Penny.

  Had she gone by foot, Allie would have walked a few hundred yards, crawled over or under a broken-down barbed wire fence, and gone another hundred yards to the old house. That’s most likely the way that Granny had gone, and it took less than ten minutes to get there. Allie came to a screeching halt outside the house and with a carpenter’s eye saw how much more dilapidated it had gotten since she was last on the ranch.

  How long had it been? At least eight years because she’d been divorced more than seven, and the last time she’d been there was back when she and Riley, like all the other kids in that day and age, parked there to make out. Looking back, the smartest thing she did when she and Riley split ways was take her maiden name back.

  A big yellow dog met her halfway across the yard. His head was down and his tail wagging, which meant he wasn’t going to take a chunk out of her butt. But the sight of him did slow her down.

  She held out a hand. “Hey, feller, what’s your name?”

  The dog nosed her hand in a friendly gesture, so she rubbed his ears. “You got my granny in that house, or is she hiding in one of the barns this time?”

  The first big raindrop hit her on the cheek and rolled down her neck. It was as cold as ice water, and more quickly followed before she made it to the porch. Shivers chased down her spine as the water hit her bra and kept moving to the waistband of her underpants.

  She knocked on the door and waited.

  “Walter, don’t open that door,” her granny called out loud and clear.

  “Are you Walter?” she asked the dog, who’d followed her to the porch, just as the front door swung open.

  “No, he’s Shooter. Are you Katy?”

  Allie looked up into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen rimmed by dark lashes. Her gaze traveled to his wide shoulders, the Henley shirt stretched over bulging abs, and the big belt buckle with a bull rider on it. She had to force herself to look back up, only to find him smiling, his arms now crossed over his chest.

  Lord, have mercy! Crazy cowboys who bought a bad luck ranch were definitely not supposed to be that sexy.

  She wanted to crawl under her work van because there she stood wearing cargo pants, a faded thermal-knit shirt frayed out at the wrists, black rubber boots, and the old coat she wore on the job site. She smelled like pine oil and ammonia and didn’t have even a smidgen of makeup on her face.

  Granny shuffled across the floor. “Don’t be silly, Walter. This is Katy, my daughter. You’ve seen her lots of times at church for the past six months. Don’t you have enough sense to get in out of the rain, girl? Why haven’t you invited her inside, Walter? Where are your manners?”

  “Granny, I am not Katy. I’m Allie, your granddaughter. You know better than to sneak out of the house like this. You scared all of us,” Allie fussed.

  “Maybe we can sort this out inside where it’s warm and dry,” Blake offered. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Blake Dawson. C’mon in.” His eyes were so green that she would have sworn he was wearing colored contact lenses.

  She put her hand in his. “I’m Allie Logan, your neighbor. I’m so sorry about this.”

  Her hand tingled and the feeling lingered as she followed him into the house and through to the kitchen, tugging Granny after her. Maybe it was the weather, or the fact that he was one sexy piece of baggage. Most likely it was the fact that she hadn’t had sex in so long that she might have to get out the how-to booklet to even remember what body part went where.

  “I’m ready to go home now.” Irene’s head tilted to one side and she shoved her hands into the pockets of the chenille robe. “I came over here to welcome this young man to Dry Creek. You should have come with me.”

  “You live nearby?” Blake asked.

  “Yeah, the big house called Audrey’s Place. It’s just past your east field and over the fence.”

  “Audrey’s Place? Is this Audrey? She told me her name was Irene.” Blake shoved his thumbs into his hip pockets.

  Irene’s face went into that mode that reminded Allie of a dried apple doll; all wrinkles with deep-set eyes and a puckered-up mouth, hollowed cheeks and a sharp little chin. She poked Blake in the chest with a bony finger and raised her voice as high as it would go. “Hell, no! Audrey was a whore. I’m a fine, upstanding churchgoin’ woman. I’m not a hooker like my great-great grandma. I am Irene Miller, young man, and don’t you forget it.”

  She held her hand up to catch a drop of water when it fell from the ceiling. “Don’t know why we’re wasting our time with makin’ casseroles to welcome him. He won’t be here more’n a year. The good-lookin’ ones never stay. Couple of ugly ones made it two years, but the cold winter will put this one on the run.”

  “Granny!” Allie said as soon as she could get a word in edgewise.

  Irene shrugged. “Better get a pan and put it under that leak, young man, or you’re going to be mopping all day. Now take me home, Allie.”

  “Granny, you’re being rude.”

  Blake chuckled. “She does manage to keep things lively.”

  “You have no idea.” Allie glanced at the drip coming from the ceiling. “It’s been leaking a while from the size of that brown ring. You’re lucky someone put down linoleum flooring because it could ruin carpet or hardwood.”

  Blake nodded. “Damn. I hoped that the water marks on the ceiling were from a long time ago and the leak had been fixed. I’ll just have to add it to the list of the million other repairs.”

  “Allie’s great at repairs,” Irene piped in. “We have a construction business, and we’re damn good at what we do.”

  “Really?” Blake’s eyes lit up. “Could I hire you to put on a new roof?”

  Allie threw an arm around her grandmother, wishing she had a muzzle. “We’ll have to check our workload and get back to you.”

  “You was complainin’ last week that you needed a job and things were slower,” Irene fussed. “But I’m not doing one damn thing to help anyone on this ranch after the way Walter acted. You didn’t know him like I did, Allie. What in the hell are we doing here, anyway? Take me home right now.”

  “Let me get your things, Miz Miller,” Blake said.

  Allie’s eyes followed him as he walked away. He filled out those jeans really well and she could imagine what that tight butt would look like with nothing on it at all. Good lord, she had to get a grip.

  “Who’s Walter?” Allie asked.

  Irene’s lips tightened and she shook her head. “You just stay away from this ranch. It don’t bring nothing but heartache and pain to anyone who comes around it because no one ever stays. It should be called Hard Luck not Lucky Penny.”

  Allie folded Irene’s hand in hers. “Tell me more about Walter and his family. When did they live on this ranch?”

  Before Allie could get any more informat
ion, Blake came back with Irene’s flamingo boots and her cane, plus an empty trash can to put under the leak. “So, can you ask the carpenter in your family if he’d be interested in a job?”

  Irene waggled a finger at him. “No and that is final. We ain’t interested in your leaky roof and I’m not talking about Walter even if you put me in my room and give me nothing but bread and water for a month.” She pulled free from Allie’s hand and stormed out of the house into the rain.

  Allie watched as she marched straight to the van, stomping right through the mud puddles. The bottom of her robe was soaked by the time she slung the passenger’s door open and crawled inside.

  Blake chuckled. “And to think thirty minutes ago she was trying to talk me into running away to California with her to pick fruit. Someone named Walter must have lived on this ranch and she loved him at one time.”

  “Sorry that you had to be Walter, whoever he is, today,” Allie said.

  “I wasn’t going to argue with her. Besides I got to meet you. Like Mama says, dark clouds can have silver linings.” He shot her a wicked grin that zinged right through her. “You will check that calendar and have your carpenter give me a call. I’ll get you my number.” He hurried over to the sofa, wrote the number on the bottom edge of a magazine page, and handed it to her.

  His fingertips grazed hers and there was definitely a tingle. Sweet Jesus! She had to remind herself that this was the Lucky Penny. Folks came and went on it and no one ever lasted, especially not any sexier than hell cowboys. She straightened herself and put some steel in her spine.

  “I’ll call when I check the calendar. And I’ll keep a better eye on Granny. Thanks for calling the feed store.”

  “You could call about other things, too…if you wanted,” he drawled.

  The glint in his eyes promised some temptation beyond imagining, and the gravel in his voice had an underlying tone of making all her dreams come true. She came close to promising to build him a brand-new house for free from the ground up. Lord, have mercy! He was flirting. Flirting with Allie when she looked like shit in her work clothes with her hair up in a messy ponytail. He was a player for sure, one of those wicked, wild cowboys who got what they wanted with a slow drawl and a sexy strut. He flirted, not because he was interested in Allie, but because it was a way to get a roof on his house.

  “I should be going. She’s going to be a handful the rest of the day. Her mind is like a dozen jigsaw puzzles in one box. Who knows what pieces go with what time frame? It’s all a muddle. Thanks again for taking care of her.” Allie opened the screen door and took a step out onto the porch.

  Blake leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed—the perfect pose to show off those long legs and broad shoulders. Just the sight had her almost forgetting about her grandmother altogether.

  “Well, you’re both welcome here anytime. Pleased to meet you, Allie,” he said.

  “Good-bye, Blake.” She jogged through the rain to the van but she could feel the heat of his eyes on her back the whole way.

  Chapter Three

  Shooter gave Blake a wistful look with his big brown eyes and wagged his tail.

  “What?” Blake said. “She has pretty brown eyes, and I need a roof on the house.”

  Shooter yipped as if arguing with him.

  His mama said that good looks and hard work would get a cowboy far in life but charm would get him anything he wanted. So far she’d been one hundred percent right. Hopefully, the charm would work one more time and then he’d settle down to being a stable rancher.

  Shooter growled and gazed at the window.

  “What is it, boy? That poor old lady back to yell at me some more?” Blake rushed to the window to memorize the phone number on the side of the van. The first six numbers were the same as the one on the calendar, which meant Logan Construction was a local company. The last four were 2200. His birthday plus two zeroes. He went straight to the kitchen and wrote it on the bottom of the old calendar right below the feed store number. He wasn’t going to take any chances on not being able to reach Allie again.

  His phone rang and he grabbed it from the cabinet beside the sink, checked the ID, and said, “Hey, Toby.”

  “How are things going down there? Are you getting unpacked?” his brother asked.

  “It’s raining and there’s a leak in the living room ceiling, but I’ve got a trash can under it. Just found out there’s a carpenter next door, so if he’s not busy…” Blake went on to tell his brother what had happened that morning, conveniently leaving out any mention of the old lady’s offer to fool around.

  “What a welcoming committee!” Toby laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see that. You say she even put old Shooter out?”

  “I opened the door but he didn’t waste any time scootin’ his butt outside. At the time, I wished I could follow him. Even that cold wind and rain would’ve been better than having coffee with our neighbor.”

  “Good you’re getting to know the neighbors—even if they are crazy. Most small towns are alike. Friendly folks who make newcomers pretty welcome. I saw a church when we moved you down there. Did you go yesterday?”

  “No, I was too busy just trying to make the place habitable. It’s a mess, bro. And now we need a whole new roof on top of everything else.” Blake leaned his head back and stared at the rusty rings on the ceiling. “I’ve cleared land, plowed land, worked with cattle, even ridden a few bulls in the rodeo, but redoing a whole roof by myself is beyond me. I just hope that the neighbor has a slot on the calendar with enough time to fix it.”

  “Oh, come on, now,” Toby said seriously. “Surely you can sweet talk that woman into getting her family to work for you.”

  “It’s against my rules to play in a sandbox that close to home. It’ll get you in trouble every time. And I’m trying to leave that player reputation behind me and start a new life here,” Blake said.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Toby said. “I’ll drive up in a week or so for the weekend to see what I can do to help out—even if it’s sweet-talking the neighbor myself.”

  Blake tensed at the thought of his brother trying to charm Allie. He practically had to restrain the growl that rose in his throat. “I’ll take care of it,” he said curtly, rolling his neck to get the kinks out.

  Toby just laughed. “I’ll see you either this weekend or the next. Soon as I can get away.”

  “From what? Your ranch or the bars?” Blake asked.

  “Both. Got to get these new folks comfortable with the place before I leave them with it and I’ll get my time at the bars while I can, especially since the Lucky Penny is in a dry county.”

  “Yeah, you keep playing while I do all the dirty work,” Blake grumbled.

  “Just remember the end game,” Toby said. “I’ll be there in the spring and Jud before the end of the year. In five years we’ll have the Lucky Penny solidly established, maybe even with a decent barn built to have our own cattle sale if we work hard at it. Suck it up, brother. This is only the first week.”

  Blake inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Think you and Jud will be able to survive with no bars in the whole county?”

  “If you can, I can. I’m tougher than you and now I’ve got to go.” The call ended before Blake could reply.

  He went to the kitchen, poured another cup of coffee, and stared at all those boxes stacked everywhere. Saturday seemed like years ago. The excitement of finally moving onto the ranch had been replaced with doubts as big as Longhorn bulls’ horns.

  “My first challenge after getting this damn roof fixed is to work my way into the community.” He looked up again at the dripping ceiling. “Look on the bright side, Shooter. At least it’s dripping in the hallway and not right on top of my bed or on your lazy old hide. And I’ll be damned if I let Toby and Jud think I can’t manage my end of this bargain.”

  The dog answered with a couple of tail thumps but he didn’t open his eyes.

  Blake picked up a notepad from the end table
where he’d started a grocery list and carried it with him through the house. Roof first and then if there was money left in the repair budget for the house he’d see how far he could stretch it. He started in the living room, checking everything and writing down what needed to be fixed, putting a star beside the things that were most important in each room. Two hallways split off from the living room. The one to the north led to three bedrooms with a bathroom at the end. A huge country kitchen and a dining room opened up from the southern hall. The small table with four chairs around it looked even tinier in the huge kitchen, surrounded on three sides with cabinet space. An archway on the other end led into the dining room, which was every bit as big as the kitchen but empty except for boxes.

  Whoever built the house either had or intended to have a huge family. Lots of room in the huge living room for children to play, in the dining room for an enormous table to seat lots of people, and the kitchen for family to gather around at mealtimes. He shut his eyes and imagined a day in the future when there would be laughter as well as arguments in the old ramshackle house. It would look different then because it would be a home filled with love, not a house where one lonesome old wild cowboy lived with his dog.

  As he went from one room to the next, writing what it would take to restore the house to some kind of livable conditions, his mood sunk. The place hadn’t seemed nearly so dilapidated back when they came to Dry Creek and looked at the ranch. But then back in the summer, they’d been a whole lot more interested in the ranching part of the deal and not the house.

  “I will make this work,” he mumbled.

  Shooter’s tail thumped against the worn leather sofa.

  Blake gulped down the last of the coffee and set the cup on the coffee table. “Are you agreeing with me or telling me I’m an idiot?”

  Shooter’s eyes snapped shut and he snored.

  Since it was raining and he couldn’t do any outside work, Blake decided to tackle everything his mama had marked “kitchen” when she helped pack boxes. He ripped the tape from a box and started the job. Dishes in the upper cabinets. Food in the pantry right off the utility room. Pots and pans in the lower cabinets. During the whole process, he thought about Allie.