by Karen Ball
She arched her brows, and he clamped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, then clenched his jaw.
She smiled as sweetly as she could. “May I … help you?”
“Mrs. Sorensen?” Ah, so the man could speak! And quite well. His voice was deep and resonant, and she had the oddest feeling that it was reaching out to wrap around her.
She found herself studying his features. Up close, she saw he was more rugged than classically handsome. A straight Roman nose gave way to a mobile mouth and a square jaw. The set of his cleft chin suggested a definite stubborn streak.
All in all, he gave the impression of confidence, power, and strength. Taylor could easily picture him barking out orders and expecting—no, demanding—immediate obedience. Not that she’d be inclined to do otherwise.…
For Pete’s sake, Taylor, get a grip!
Now she was the one to clear her throat. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Sorensen.”
“Ma’am, I’m Connor Alexander. I’m here about your ad.”
She blinked. “My … ad?”
His brows arched a fraction higher. “For a handyman.” He spoke with careful diction as though she were either hearing or understanding impaired.
“Oh! Yes. Of course,” Taylor tried to sound businesslike. This man was a handyman? “Won’t you come in, please?”
He stepped inside. “I realize I should have called you first, but if the job is still available, I wanted to get things moving as quickly as possible—” His eyes were focused on Sasha, who was sitting near Taylor, watching him.
Taylor looked from him to the husky. What on earth …? “Is something wrong?”
He looked at her, seemed about to say something, then snapped his mouth shut. “No, nothing.”
“Well, why don’t you come in.” She moved aside, motioning toward the living room. “As it happens, the job is still open.”
He moved into the room, keeping a wary eye on Sasha, then stopped with a slight start when her mother came into the room. Taylor saw his eyes widen slightly with admiration. She wasn’t surprised. Her mother seldom went unnoticed.
“Mr. Alexander, I’m Donelle Camus, Taylor’s mother.” She extended a slim, graceful hand. “I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re here for the job. I assume you brought references?”
“Of course.” Taylor gave the man two points for not being the least bit flustered at her mother’s blunt question.
“Well, that’s fine then. Please, have a seat.” Her mother turned a gracious smile her way, and Taylor noted with alarm the mischievous twinkle that suddenly sparkled in her mother’s eyes. “I’m certain my daughter has several questions she’d like to ask you.”
At the teasing tone of her mother’s voice, Taylor gave her a warning glare.
“About your qualifications.” It didn’t work. Her mother went on, “experience … marital status—”
Taylor grasped her mother firmly by the elbow and propelled her toward the front door, which still stood open.
“Actually—” Taylor tossed over her shoulder—“Mother was just leaving.”
“Was I really? Well, I hadn’t noticed.” There was definite laughter in her mother’s voice. When they reached the door, she stopped, and Taylor barely avoided running over her.
Taylor stepped back, her arms crossed, and received one of her mother’s haughtiest looks. “For heaven’s sake, dear, if you want me to leave, all you need to do is ask.”
Taylor felt her cheeks flush as her mother looked at the man, who was now watching them with clear amusement.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alexander. I hope we’ll see more of you.” With that, her mother turned and made a regal exit.
Shaking her head, Taylor came back into the living room, Sasha padding along beside her. She glanced at her visitor, noting the watchful way his eyes trailed the husky as they approached. Taylor hesitated. “Are you uncomfortable with dogs, Mr. Alexander?”
“Not as a rule.”
Taylor dropped into one of the large, overstuffed chairs. The man sat at one end of the couch, his gaze still glued to Sasha as she circled the floor next to Taylor’s feet, then plopped down with a contented sigh.
Taylor stifled a twinge of irritation. This is getting ridiculous!
“Mr. Alexander, I assure you there’s no need to be uneasy around Sasha.”
He lifted his eyes, and her irritation increased when she saw the doubt reflected in that blue gaze.
“Now, look—”
Sasha started at the sharp tone of Taylor’s voice, coming to her feet and moving between Taylor and Mr. Alexander, a low growl sounding deep in her chest.
In a flash Mr. Alexander was on his feet, tensed and ready for action. Taylor stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Sit!” Sasha obeyed her command; the man did not.
“Okay, I know you don’t like to talk about this—” he kept his eyes fixed on Sasha—“but if you can’t control your animal, I hardly think you should let it roam loose when there are strangers visiting. You seem to know dogs, so you should be aware how intimidating some of the larger breeds can be.”
“If I can’t control—” Then she was on her feet as well. “Look, you! My dog is as well behaved as they come—”
“You call attacking people well behaved?”
Taylor felt her mouth drop open. Had she let a nut case into her house? “She hardly attacked you!”
“No, but—”
“For that matter, she’s never attacked anyone! She simply wouldn’t—not unless I was in danger!”
Clearly that surprised him, and he turned a quick, assessing gaze on the husky. His eyes narrowed suddenly, as though he’d just figured out some perplexing riddle.
“Mrs. Sorensen—” But Taylor had heard enough.
“I don’t know where you get off implying Sasha isn’t safe—”
“Mrs. Sorensen, I—”
“—when you’ve never even met her before—”
“Please, there’s been a mistake—”
“But if she were to attack someone, Mr. Alexander, I could certainly understand why she would attack you!”
Taylor felt a nudge against her leg and looked down to find Sasha sitting there, staring at her with a worried expression. She laid her hand on the dog’s head, trying to calm down—and almost jumped out of her skin when a large, tanned hand covered hers where it rested between Sasha’s soft ears. She turned and found herself almost nose-to-nose with her irritating visitor.
“Mrs. Sorensen, I’d like to apologize.”
The quietly spoken words struck her as utterly sincere, but before she could formulate a response, the man knelt in front of Sasha and scratched her velvety chin. “And I apologize to you, too, girl. I judged you unfairly.”
Sasha leaned forward to bestow a quick lick on Connor Alexander’s nose. Her tail thumped approvingly, and she gazed into his eyes with adoration. Taylor sat down, thoroughly disgusted.
What in the world had just happened?
The man’s eyes met hers, and he eased into a smile. “I realize I’ve hardly made a great first impression, Mrs. Sorensen, but I promise you I had a reason for my … odd behavior.”
Taylor pressed her lips together. This ought to be good.
But instead of explaining, he rose and moved back to the couch, picked up an envelope he had laid on the cushion, and handed it to her. “My references,” he said in response to her questioning look.
“Ah.” She lifted the flap and drew out several neatly typed sheets of paper. Scanning them, she found that, according to several previous employers and professional contacts, Connor Alexander was a veritable paragon of virtues.
“So I take it you didn’t insult any of their dogs?”
Quick humor sparkled in his eyes. “No, I was more well behaved with them.”
“Hmmm.” She started to relax a bit. “I see you’ve had experience on a ranch.”
“Raised on one.”
“And you worked as a handyman when you were in college.”
>
“Obviously a few years ago.” His voice was laced with repressed laughter. “But I remember what I learned.”
“Well, it seems you’re qualified, but …”
“But?”
She looked at him in silence, then decided to be blunt. “Why do you want the job, Mr. Alexander?”
“Why does a man want any job?”
“Yes, but this is something more suited to a high school or college student. It hardly seems the kind of job that would attract someone of your—”
“Advanced years?” He was smiling again, and she felt her face warm in reaction to that smile. Blast the man! Why did he have to be so ridiculously attractive?
“Experience.”
She would not let him distract her—no matter how charmingly he smiled at her. “I confess I’m a bit confused. And I would appreciate some clarification.”
That said, she fixed him with a steady look and waited.
Connor held Taylor’s gaze, keeping his features as impassive as possible. He settled back in the cushions of the couch and regarded her.
When she’d first opened the door and stood there, he’d almost dropped his teeth. It was the first time in his entire life he could remember being speechless. He thought for a moment that he’d gone crazy, that the image of the woman he’d seen in town had so permeated his mind that he was seeing her everywhere.
Then he’d realized it was really her. Standing there. Right in front of him. And she looked at him then much the way she was looking at him now, as though she wanted an explanation.
What do I say, Lord? He was loathe to lie. So he gave her as much of the truth as he could.
“You’re right on one point. This job does seem well suited to a student. But it also happens to be perfectly suited to my needs at the moment.”
Her delicate eyebrows arched, but she remained silent.
You’re a tough one, aren’t you? He noted the glint of steel in her eyes. They weren’t emerald now; they were more of a deep, rich, moss green.
“I’m a freelance photographer. Or I’m trying to be. I’ve had some success doing shoots in wilderness areas, but I’m still new to the profession. So I decided to take a few months and travel around, checking out different regions, looking for places that are unique and ruggedly beautiful, but for the most part undiscovered. Wyoming seemed an ideal place to start.”
It was all true. The fact that it wasn’t the entire truth hardly bothered him at all. What small pangs of discomfort plagued him, he pushed aside. There was too much at stake to be squeamish.
“But if you’re a photographer, why do you want a job as a handyman?”
Connor looked at the woman sitting in front of him. She was sharp. He could almost see the wheels turning as her mind worked to bring the facts in line with reason.
“Because I don’t make money until I sell my photos”—that much was true—“and I prefer eating to starving. This job was particularly attractive because you provide housing as well. Another expense I don’t have to deal with.”
Still all true. The lower he kept his expenses, the better.
“If I hire you, I expect to keep you busy. When do you plan to take your photos?”
“Whenever I can. My equipment is fairly easy to transport. And I assume I’ll get a break or two during the day.”
“Of course.”
“And time for meals.”
“Well, yes—”
“So there will be opportunities. Believe me, Mrs. Sorensen, if you hire me, I’ll give you a decent day’s work. And I’ll do my best to stay out of your way when I’m not working. You won’t even know I’m around.”
“Hmmm.” She sounded less than convinced, and she studied him. Despite her closed expression, he sensed something … a certain caution, a vulnerability. It was almost as though she were afraid of him. Or of herself.
She turned her face from him, reaching out to scratch the husky’s neck. He took the opportunity to study her profile, taking in the oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, and well-defined brows. Her long, auburn hair was as thick as he’d thought, and it glimmered with red-gold highlights. She wore it parted in the middle, and it flowed in a graceful wave to well below her shoulders.
Dressed in a Henley shirt, jeans, and brown leather boots, she was the picture of simple beauty. He knew how he would photograph her: standing in the woods, trees decked in autumn colors all around her, the wind lifting her hair, those amazing green eyes shining with pleasure and excitement.…
She turned to look at him again, and, as had happened in town, their eyes collided. A startling awareness shot through him, and his heart thudded once, then settled back to its natural rhythm. He let out a slow breath.
How could just watching a woman be such a disturbing experience?
“Okay.”
He blinked at the short comment. “Okay?” Thank goodness his voice was steady, calm. Not a bit like his erratic pulse.
“Okay. You’re hired.” Before he could respond, she stood and motioned toward the door. “I assume you have your things with you?”
He stood as well. “Out in the car.”
“Good. I’ll show you to your cabin.” She glanced at her watch, then smiled at him. “While you’re settling in, I should have plenty of time to check your references.”
“Of course.” He wouldn’t have expected any less.
“Assuming everything’s on the up-and-up, I’ll give you a tour of the ranch, and we’ll go over meal times and other information. Then we can get started on the work tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” A delightful pair of dimples appeared in her cheeks. “There’s a fence on the back forty that’s been waiting for you for quite some time now.”
“And if my references don’t check out?” He followed her to the front door and out onto the porch.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, an impish gleam in her eyes. “Then I’ll just send Sasha out to get rid of you. Which could mean anything from chasing you off to eating you. After all—” she sounded gleeful as she headed for his Wrangler—“you know how intimidating large dogs can be.”
ELEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, CONNOR WAS STARTLED FROM HIS dreams by a loud clanging.
Sitting bolt upright in bed, he looked around wildly, wondering where the train was. He blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings, his mind struggling to make sense of the rude assault.
With an in-drawn breath, memory returned; he fell back against the mattress. He was at Galloway Glen, settled into a cozy cabin—one bedroom and a bathroom. He closed his eyes, reviewing what Taylor had told him yesterday. He was to mend fences and help renovate and update the small retreat cabins while Taylor’s brother and father were gone on some rafting trip. In addition to this work, they would be scouting out new, longer riding trails for retreat day trips. And Taylor’s mother would be around on a regular basis—she served as chief cook and bottle washer during the retreat season and had often stayed with Taylor when her husband was away.
The playful interaction between mother and daughter yesterday had filled him with the desire to talk with his own parents. Connor peered into the darkness, and images flooded his mind … his mother laughing, his father running alongside him as he learned how to ride a bike, both of their faces gleaming with pride when he graduated college, their family devotions and prayer times. They loved each other. And the Lord.
He stretched, filling the queen-sized bed with his tall frame, one hand barely missed knocking over the lamp on the bedside table. He stared at the digital clock next to the lamp, and his eyes widened. He threw back the comforter and padded to the dresser, flicking on the small lamp on the top of the dresser. Grabbing up his watch he peered at the dial, then closed his eyes.
The clock was right. It was four-thirty in the morning. He went to the window at the front of the cabin, pushed aside the curtains, and peered out into the darkness. Pitch black. The clanging continued, and Connor’s eyes finally located the source. Mrs. Camus, decked out in
an apron, stood on the lighted porch of the ranch house, clanging a metal spoon on a large, heavy triangle that hung above her.
With a disgusted snort he let the curtains fall back in place, grabbed a towel from the back of the overstuffed easy chair, navigated past a small table with its accompanying chairs, and stalked into the bathroom to shower.
“Your new worker isn’t exactly a morning person.”
Taylor turned at this pronouncement and went to stand beside her mother, peering out the kitchen window with her. Sure enough, Connor Alexander was heading toward the house, his hair still wet and slightly awry, his stride indicating he was less than pleased to be up and about.
Smothering a grin, Taylor went to finish setting the table.
“I take it you didn’t tell him when we start working around here, eh?” her mother inquired mildly.
“I told him we get up early,” Taylor replied.
“Hmmm, apparently he didn’t believe you. Perhaps this will help.” She handed Taylor a steaming cup of strong, black coffee.
Taylor planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. You’re a jewel.”
“Of course.” Her mother picked up a tray of bacon and set it on the table.
The door opened and Connor walked in. “Mornin’,” he mumbled as he glanced around the kitchen. Taylor, who had moved to stand next to the door, stuck the steaming mug under his nose.
“Looking for this?” She barely restrained a giggle.
He took one whiff, and an expression of delight broke out over his face. He lifted his hands, cupped the mug as though it were filled with gold, and took several quick sips. His eyes closed in what Taylor could only describe as ecstasy, and he set down the mug on the table. She cocked an eyebrow at him but didn’t comment, then grabbed the carafe and topped off his cup.
He drank more slowly this time, then turned a look of appreciation on her. “Thanks.” His voice was less rough than when he’d first come in. “I’m starting to feel human again.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s good. Now have a seat. I’ve got a whole list of things we need to do after breakfast.”
He pulled out a chair and surveyed the breakfast spread before him, licking his lips. Plates of hot griddle-cakes, toast, and fresh biscuits were flanked by platters of eggs, bacon, and sausage. Next to these were bowls of grits, sausage gravy, and hash browns. Pitchers of orange juice and grapefruit juice stood watch over a bowl of large, ripe strawberries.