Red-Hot Ranchman

by Victoria Pade

  “Those aren’t your work clothes.”

  “They are today.”

  “How come?”

  “No reason.” She set his toast and cereal in front of him and casually added, “John offered to help.”

  At that news, Robbie’s enthusiasm seemed to take a leap, too. “So that’s why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why you’re dressed up.”

  “I’m not dressed up.” At least not so much that she’d thought a six-year-old boy would notice.

  “It’s okay,” Robbie reassured her. “He likes you, too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “John. He likes you. He told me. He thinks you’re nice. We talked about it yesterday when I brung him the pitcher.”

  “Brought him the picture,” Paige corrected. Then she nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from quizzing her son about exactly what he and John had talked about and what John might have said about her. But Lord, how she wanted to know!

  Unfortunately, Robbie’s being six years old kicked in right then and he picked up his bowl and headed for the living room so he could watch cartoons while he ate, the way he did most mornings.

  “I want to get an early start, so don’t be slow about eating,” she called after him.

  He stopped and turned, gave her a mischievous smile and said, “John thinks you’re pretty, too.”

  “Just eat your breakfast,” Paige answered with a roll of her eyes as if it didn’t matter one way or another to her.

  But it did.

  In fact, it thrilled her to pieces.

  AFTER FEEDING THE ANIMALS, milking the cow and finishing the usual morning chores, Paige sent Robbie for the hammer and nails while she carried some lumber she’d bought the day before around to the back of the barn.

  Seeing the gaping hole, the charred wood and singed grass that the fire had left behind gave her pause all over again once she’d set the planks down and begun assessing the damage.

  It could have been much worse. But still, the real impact of the arson—along with that of the poisoned water—struck her. What was going on around here?

  It seemed too coincidental that the burglaries and the things that were happening to her weren’t connected somehow, the way the sheriff thought they were. But why had she suddenly become a target for vandalism that wasn’t occurring anywhere else? Whoever was doing the break-ins profited from stolen goods, but what was the point of this senseless damage?

  It almost seemed as if she’d made someone angry, although to her knowledge she hadn’t done anything that would have aggravated anyone. And why weren’t they vengeful enough to burglarize her if they wanted to get even? What could be the motive?

  The whole thing just didn’t make sense. And it left her uneasy.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  The sound of John’s deep baritone voice startled Paige. It shouldn’t have. She should have seen him because he’d come around the side of the barn and was in plain sight, leaning one shoulder against the corner, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of tight, work-worn blue jeans. But she’d been too lost in thought to notice him until he spoke.

  He also had on a faded chambray shirt with the sleeves cut out of it, the remaining edges frayed where they exposed his tan, bulging biceps. He was watching her from beneath the stained Stetson cowboy hat she’d seen him wearing when he worked around his own place.

  Despite the fact that the hat hid his brow, she could tell he had a concerned frown on that handsome face of his.

  “I’m okay,” she answered somewhat belatedly when she’d gathered her wits. She was less successful in getting her heart to stop skipping at the simple nearness of him. “I was just wondering who was angry at me enough to be doing stuff like this,” she finished with a nod at the burned-out tunnel into her barn.

  “Can’t call this a prank, that’s for sure,” he agreed.

  “You aren’t that ticked off at me about the water, are you?” she heard herself ask before she even realized she was going to, and there was no teasing at all in her tone the way there had been the last time they’d bantered this subject back and forth.

  “I’m not ticked off at you about anything,” he assured her, every bit as serious as she was. “And in case you’re wondering, I’ve already talked to the Powells on the other side of me about buying their place. If I do, I can pull in water from a spring-fed lake they have. It’ll cost a little more at first to pipe the water where I need it, but it’ll do the trick. So no, there’s no reason for me to be mad at you.”

  Paige knew the sheriff would stress that if in “if John bought the Powell place.” But once more, she felt reassured that he was not the culprit responsible for any of the crimes happening around Pine Ridge or to her. Not that she’d believed it before, either. But even so, his tone and demeanor seemed genuine, sincere, very convincing. He wasn’t even perturbed by the tinge of accusation in her question, or threatened by it the way she thought he would be if he were guilty of something.

  He pushed away from the barn then, crossed to her on long, confident, cowboy-booted strides to look over the damage again himself. “I am worried about you, though,” he said softly.

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t like what’s going on around here. There’s something a lot more personal in the vandalism than there is in the burglaries.”

  “I know. It’s weird that I’m the only one this is happening to.”

  “It’s not just that. From what I hear, the burglaries all happen when folks are away from home, so they’re never in any danger. I don’t know about the lye in the water trough, but that fire set so close to your house at a time when you and Robbie were both inside is a different story.”

  “On the other hand,” she said, thinking out loud as something else occurred to her, “lye in a trough that waters only one cow and under my nose where I might be likely to discover it right away couldn’t do the kind of damage that would have been done if a whole pond was fouled or even if the trough in the paddock for the horses was poisoned. And the fire could have been purposely set where it was because I was home to catch it before it got out of control. Maybe these acts are some kind of warnings or something.”

  John frowned again. “Warnings for what?”

  Paige shrugged her shoulders elaborately. “I don’t have any idea.”

  “You been mindin’ somebody else’s business?”

  “Everybody in Pine Ridge minds everybody else’s business,” she said with a laugh. “Why do you think they were all so interested in you last night? Fresh meat.”

  “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?”

  “My cow poisoned and my barn set on fire. Nothing other than that.”

  The whole thing just seemed so odd. She’d grown up in this town. She knew these people; they knew her. Nothing she was aware of had changed and there was no reason she could fathom why anyone would have suddenly decided to do her harm.

  “Maybe whoever is doing this is really after you and they’re just missing the mark,” she joked for lack of another answer.

  But John didn’t laugh. And his silence lent some credence to her suggestion.

  “That isn’t possible, is it?” she asked.

  Still, he didn’t answer right away.

  “I don’t think that’s likely,” he finally said. “As far as I know, I haven’t made any enemies around these parts. Unless not being particularly friendly set somebody off. But even if it did, anyone from here with a grudge against me would know which place was mine and which was yours.”

  “What about somebody not from around here? Burt’s been thinking all along that the burglaries were being done by somebody coming over from Tinsdale, then hightailing it back again.”

  “Don’t know a soul in Tinsdale. I’ve only passed through it on my way here.”

  “What about someone else? Someone who might have followed you that far? Someone who sneaks over here to do damage, then sneaks back there to hide?”<
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  Once more he seemed to think about her conjecture before he said, “As far as I know, my brother is the only person who’s sure of my whereabouts.”

  But all the consideration he’d given to everything she’d suggested made it seem increasingly possible to Paige. And certainly it made more sense that someone out of John’s past was coming to wreak havoc and was confused about just which side of the property was his.

  Besides, if someone had followed John to Pine Ridge and started making mischief, it would also account for the time frame that had Burt thinking John might be the culprit.

  “Could somebody have a grudge against you? Is that why only your brother knows where you are?”

  John inclined his head slightly. “Anything’s possible, isn’t it? It could even be Robbie who’s drawing the rancor for all we know.”

  “What about me?” the little boy said, sliding the hammer and bucket of nails through the hole in the barn from the inside out and then crawling through himself.

  “Anybody seem mad at you for some reason lately?” John asked.

  Robbie grimaced as if he’d been caught red-handed and glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, okay. He’ll tell you anyway. Last week when we were in town, I kicked at that pole outside a Mr. Granberry’s grain store an’ missed an’ I kicked a hole in a big bag of pig chow instead. Then I ran away but I know he saw it was me who did it.”

  That confession broke the tension that had seemed to wrap around Paige and John and left them both smiling.

  “I don’t think that’s what we had in mind,” Paige said.

  “Have you seen anything strange?” John asked.

  “Like you mean the dentist kissin’ Mr. Granberry’s wife last night at the party?”

  That was a juicy piece of gossip Paige hadn’t heard before.

  She looked at John. “Poor Mr. Granberry is having a time of it whether he knows it or not, isn’t he?”

  John chuckled again. “Seems like it.”

  “What do you guys wanna know this stuff for anyway?” Robbie demanded suspiciously.

  “Nothing important,” Paige answered because she didn’t want to scare her son.

  “Nothing we’re solving by standing here talking about it anyway,” John added. “So maybe it’s time we got to work.”

  Paige nodded her agreement. She was only too willing to get the evidence of this latest attack cleaned up and out of sight.

  John took charge then. “Robbie, why don’t you run over and get my tool belt. You know where it is and I forgot to bring it with me.”

  “I’ll bring the one you made me, too,” Robbie said, clearly looking forward to using it.

  The two adults watched the little boy head in the direction of John’s house, not saying anything else until Robbie was out of earshot.

  Then John said, “It’s anybody’s guess what’s goin’ on around here. But whatever it is, you just make sure you don’t think twice about hollerin’ for me if anything looks suspicious, you hear?”

  “Loud and clear,” she assured him.

  And not only had she heard him, she knew if the occasion arose, she’d do it, too.

  IT TOOK THE REST of the day to pry off all the burned boards, fit new ones in their place, put a coat of fresh red paint on them and then clean up the mess. But for Paige the time passed in a flash because working side by side with John was a treat all its own.

  He was easy to be around, calm, good-natured, funny. He told jokes that kept Paige and Robbie laughing. He whistled a little. He even offered a few tales about a raccoon he’d had for a pet as a boy.

  He also listened to Robbie’s stories, taught the boy as he went along, teased Paige and made sure he did any of the heavy or hard work, all without complaint and certainly without any indication that Burt was on the right track in what he might suspect of the man.

  In fact, Paige thought that had Burt been with them, even he would have realized that John was a good, decent, hardworking, down-to-earth man who was surprisingly gentle for all his might and muscle. He was undeniably a positive role model for Robbie both in his lessons on doing things the right way and in anecdotes he told that accentuated the merits of being honest and ethical. And no one could have found fault with his patience, his kindness or his chivalry.

  No, Paige didn’t see a single sign that John was anything but the kind of man she wanted her son to grow into.

  And in the process, he somehow managed—without even trying—to be so unsettlingly sexy that she spent more time secretly admiring the sight of him than she did accomplishing much herself.

  In the past two months since he’d moved in next door, she’d seen her fair share of John working his own place. And as appealing a vision as that had presented, it was nothing compared to working within inches of him. This close up she could see the rippling of every hard muscle, the sure grip of his big hand around the hammer’s handle, the masculine grace in his every movement.

  The man had a great body, and Paige wasn’t strong enough to resist stealing peeks at his tight, perfect derriere whenever he bent over to pick up a piece of lumber; or admiring the play of the muscles and tendons in his shoulders, encased in taut, tan flesh that glistened with sweat as he worked the wood into place; or staring at the tensing of his powerful-looking, hair-speckled forearm as he pounded the nails home.

  And every so often he would pause and take off his hat to hold in one hand while he used the same arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. Then he’d replace the hat by setting it on the back of his head and pulling it forward, raising his cleft chin into the air as he fitted the Stetson just so. As Paige watched, she lost track of what she was doing and ended up devouring the sight like an awestruck teenager.

  IT WAS AFTER FIVE O’CLOCK when they finally finished, and Paige might have been regretting the loss of John’s company except that she’d invited him to dinner as payment for his services. So instead of the end of the work also being the end of her time with him, they were only taking a brief intermission before they were to meet back in her kitchen.

  She’d put a roast of beef in the oven earlier in the afternoon, along with some potatoes. The carrots, broccoli and cauliflower wouldn’t take long to put on the stove. That left last-minute preparations to a minimum, freeing her to take another shower, wash her hair again and reapply fresh blush and eye makeup before John was scheduled to come back.

  After the long, hot day’s work, she opted for the coolest clothes she owned—a pair of white slacks and a red tank top. Her deference to the heat stopped at her hairstyle, though. That she left loose out of sheer vanity because while the heavy waves trapped the heat, she knew they looked the most attractive that way.

  She had Robbie take his bath, too, but he was finished and downstairs long before she was. Long enough to have torn up the living room—cushions off the couch and chairs, the rocker out of place, the doors of an antique ice chest she’d refinished open and spilling their contents, even the books on the shelves in disarray.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he flung clothes and sewing things out of a small basket full of mending she had beside her favorite chair.

  “I can’t find Buddy nowhere,” he said without pausing in his search.

  Buddy was a rag doll dressed in a baseball uniform that Robbie had had since he was a baby. He would never let his friends know it, but he still took Buddy to bed with him most nights, and even if he didn’t, he wanted the toy at least where he could see it.

  “Well, he’s not down here or you would have found him when you wrecked the room. Now help me put things back together before John gets here.”

  Robbie was reluctant, but after a threat to serve him dinner in his bedroom rather than at the table with John, the little boy conceded, albeit grumbling the whole time.

  They’d just barely managed to bring some semblance of order to the room when their neighbor arrived at the back door.

  Paige could tell John had showered, too, because his ha
ir was still slightly damp and there was no trace of the hat ring around it that had been there earlier. He’d shaved, as well, and groomed his mustache, though it always looked neat and clean despite its bushy fullness.

  He had on newer jeans; a white dress shirt that made his skin seem all the more tan against it, the sleeves rolled above his elbows; and a pair of cowboy boots that were different from the ones he’d worked in all day.

  He also smelled wonderful. A clean, fresh, citrusy scent that went right to Paige’s head when she held open the screen door for him and he passed in front of her to come in.

  They didn’t exchange more than a few words before Robbie dragged John off to see his room and help him look for Buddy. It gave Paige a chance to put dinner on the table. But when she called them back down to eat, Buddy was still missing and Robbie spent the meal trying to figure out—aloud—where he might have left the doll.

  Nothing Paige did could get him to change the subject or even be quiet so anyone else could get a word in.

  By the time they’d finished dessert, Robbie had moved on to wild imaginings of a burglary that had only cost them Buddy and worry that Buddy had been burned in the barn fire.

  “I know I saw him after the fire yesterday morning, so he wasn’t burned,” Paige reassured her son.

  “Then where is he?”

  “He’ll turn up,” she said for probably the tenth time.

  John, who’d been very patient through the whole thing, finally said to Paige, “Maybe now would be a good time for a distraction.”

  “It would be a great time for one,” she said with a roll of her eyes even though she had no idea what he had in mind until he instructed Robbie to go to his place next door and pick out any puppy he wanted.

  “For me? To keep? Do you mean it for real?”

  “For you to keep, for real,” John answered.

  To Paige, Robbie said, “Is it okay?”

  “It’s okay. But it will be your dog to take care of and clean up after.”

  Of course, that responsibility seemed like nothing to the little boy, who jumped up from the table in such a hurry he would have knocked over his chair if John hadn’t caught it in the nick of time.