The old man sniffed and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s about right. Got a house, pretty girl, time for a dog.” He backed out of the parking spot and turned out on the highway. “Home?”
Cole took a deep breath of the cool air coming in through the window. “You ever think about a part-time job, EW?”
That surprised him. EW raised both eyebrows. “Well, now, whatcha got in mind?”
Cole laughed. “Landscaping. You and me.”
EW pursed his lips. “Let’s try it and see. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Exactly. They’d already been through the worst.
They didn’t have to fear it anymore.
EW paused in front of the turn to the trailer park and looked at him. “Gonna get your girl or chicken out?”
Cole ran a hand down Freddie’s back. “I’m going to need to borrow your truck.”
* * *
REBECCA HAD BEEN listening for the putter of EW’s truck all day long, even if she didn’t realize it. She’d gone to work like the previous evening had never happened. Art’s grim pronouncement that the school board was still deliberating but he’d recommended starting a new program, one run by the administration, didn’t do a thing to darken her day.
She’d be fine no matter how things worked out.
The fact that he’d spun on one heel and stalked away without mentioning her job seemed to indicate she’d continue as Holly Heights High’s most dedicated guidance counselor anyway.
To celebrate, she was testing recipes for chocolate soufflé and rack of lamb and wondering how she could invite Cole over to be her taste tester. Her parents would be landing early in the morning, so the dinner party was looming.
Then she heard the truck. Before she’d decided whether to check her hair or whip off the apron, the doorbell rang. A quiet woof accompanied it.
Unless Cole had been studying Bark-ese, he had a sidekick.
Her lips were twitching as she pulled the door open. One quick glance down showed a happy beagle in a strained but recognizable sit.
“Everyone else in this town will just walk in, Cole,” Rebecca said as she bent to greet Freddie. “That’s what family does. You come on in.” She held her hand out, saw the oven mitt on her right hand and dropped it. “From now on, you come in.”
“So I’m family,” Cole murmured as he closed the door. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”
Rebecca pressed her dachshund-covered hand over her heart to try to contain the hard thump. She wasn’t going to remind him that he’d said “falling for.” Apparently, she didn’t have to.
“I owe you this grand, sweeping apology because what you said to me in Sarah’s office was dead on,” Rebecca said as she stacked all the cookbooks on the island. “I messed up. Thank you for not letting me back down. I needed that. You’ll have to do it again and again. You and I should acknowledge here that our relationship is going to be made up of me messing up and apologizing. You will have to learn to be more gracious than you’ve been in the past.” She pressed her oven mitt on his shoulder. “That’s the only way we work.”
“Why didn’t you come into the shelter this afternoon?” Cole asked as he studied the goofy oven mitt next to his face. “Regretting last night?”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t regret a single thing from last night.” Rebecca yanked off the oven mitt and steered him over to a stool next to the counter. He sat with a grunt when she pushed hard enough. “Except I should have kissed you.” She ran a finger along the edge of the counter. “I hesitated, missed my chance.”
Watching him evaluate everything she said was amusing. It would never get old, surprising him. His confused expression was sweet. Eventually, he’d learn to go with whatever she said. Probably.
Cole wrapped his arms slowly around her waist. “Yeah. I know what you mean about grabbing what you want with both arms.” He tugged her closer. “I’m going to start doing that, too.”
“Like Freddie?” Rebecca glanced down at the beagle, who was staring hard at the double ovens. He knew where the good stuff came from. “I hope he’s your dog now.”
“We’re a package deal,” Cole said with a sigh as he ran his hand over her back. “I hope you can live with that. He’s got some issues.”
Rebecca grinned. “He’s not the only one, is he?”
Cole’s rough laugh settled in her stomach and chased the butterflies away. “Nope, but the two of us, we can straighten out whatever issues we’ve got.”
“Yeah,” Rebecca said as she stared into his warm brown eyes. “How do you feel about rack of lamb for dinner? I’m testing recipes.”
Cole pretended to think. “Guess my peanut butter sandwich will keep. Never had rack of lamb. Seems fancy, but I’m broadening my horizons.”
Fancy. That was the word her mother had used to make Rebecca feel the guilt of starving children. The difference when Cole said it was that he didn’t question her right to have something nice. He knew enjoying special things was important from time to time.
“And tomorrow night, we’ll leave fancy behind and have chicken or my mother will never let me hear the end of it. If you tell her about this fancy food, I will make sure you regret it.” Rebecca nodded to make certain he understood her.
“Meet your parents? That’s too...much.” Cole ran a hand down his nape, his unease very clear. “Don’t ruin their visit home by thrusting your broke, ex-convict...guy on them.”
“My guy.” Rebecca closed her eyes. Two steps forward and half a step back. Like a slow dance. She could work with this. “I need you to be there. You’re already on their radar, Mr. Front-Page News. Just sit in the corner, keep your lips zipped about the fancy food and let me do the talking.” Rebecca leaned forward. “Then, at the first sign of trouble, you have my back. We’ll be a team. I need you to be my team.”
Cole raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a bar fight.”
“When my mother starts to lecture me about wasting money on this kitchen, there might be chairs thrown. I don’t know. That’s what I’m saying. You and me, against the world. Once they get a look at you, nobody will mess with me for long.” Rebecca grinned up at him. “I think I’m good at trouble.”
Cole sighed. “Too good.”
“And as far as ‘broke’ goes...” Rebecca reached over to grab a business card off her beloved stainless steel refrigerator. “That won’t last. This is Will’s card. He can help you build a business plan. Then you present it to these investors I know and you’re a business owner.”
“It bothers you, how little I have,” Cole said slowly, as if he’d suspected it all along.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “No, it bothers you. I won the lottery. Anyone could do that. Don’t give me any grief about charity or spending my own money. Will makes the decisions, but if you get this landscaping business going, I will have one or two or ten kids who’ll need summer jobs.” She shrugged.
Cole tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. “Fine. One question. If I’m going to do all this, meet the parents, build a landscaping conglomerate with crews of high school kids and watch your back with your mother, the cops, the town of Holly Heights...” He shook his head. “Do I at least get dessert? Something sweet, too? It’s the sweet things that make life worth living.” One corner of his mouth curled up.
“Can’t argue with that,” she said as she wagged her head. “Chocolate soufflé. If you don’t like it, I’ll try something else. Something with lemons.” She gig
gled as he bent forward and pressed his nose in the bend of her neck and took a deep breath.
“Something sweet and lemony, I could get used to that.” Cole slowly traced one finger over her lips. “You know when you were talking about the guilt of winning all that money and I thought you’d lost your mind? Yeah, I’m beginning to understand being so happy you feel like it’s too much.”
Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears. “Stick with me. For the rest of your life, you’ll earn every bit of happiness.”
Cole chuckled and took her hand in his. “You think there’s going to be a rest of our lives?”
“Just promise to kiss me every chance you get.” Rebecca pressed closer to him.
Cole bent his head down to hers and whispered, “I promise.”
* * * * *
Don’t miss the next book in Cheryl Harper’s LUCKY NUMBERS miniseries, coming soon!
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE RELUCTANT RANCHER by Leigh Riker.
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The Reluctant Rancher
by Leigh Riker
CHAPTER ONE
“THIS ONE HAD better be good,” he said.
Because being a cowboy—or a nursemaid—wasn’t in Logan Hunter’s plan.
His black Stetson cocked at an angle, he narrowed his eyes at the distant plume of dust rising off the dirt access lane to the ranch. The Circle H was cut off—literally, in bad weather—from the road by half a mile. One reason he didn’t want to be here, especially in spring when he knew the rains would come. Staring across the wide expanse of land, which looked as flat as an old mare’s shank, he studied the fast-approaching car.
Logan wished he were in a car and headed the other way. Three years after the nasty divorce that had turned him into a hard man, he was still dealing with the fallout when his grandfather got hurt. He was more than willing to come back here and help Sam—he’d raised Logan and his brother after all—but April was the busy season. He couldn’t run the ranch and care for Sam at the same time. He needed more help. Fast.
Certainly his brother hadn’t stepped up to the plate. Sawyer hadn’t even answered his calls. Everything was up to Logan, at least for now.
Still watching the lane, he scooped up the tortoiseshell kitten that had kept twining around his feet. Cradling the little cat, Logan propped a shoulder against the front porch post and listened to her purr. He was a sucker for animals, with one exception.
Bison.
Why couldn’t his granddad run cattle like everybody else?
The car barreled into focus, gathering speed the closer it came, as if someone was chasing the driver. The broken-down sedan crunched to a stop in the gravel by the front steps, and Logan envisioned another frustrating go-round with the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency’s latest candidate. The male caregiver he’d asked for was a rare commodity in the middle of Kansas, so he’d been told.
He didn’t want excuses. The driver’s door opened and disappointment swamped him. Logan didn’t want another woman in the house—in his life either. Then the dust cloud settled and he really saw her. As she climbed out of the car, the denim ball cap she wore snagged on the door frame. The hat flopped off into the dirt, and a riot of russet curls spilled free. That bright hair bobbed everywhere. Hidden behind huge sunglasses, her eyes could be any color, but her chin hitched upward in her heart-shaped face and his stomach clenched.
He might have been a fool at twenty-three, but at thirty-two he knew better.
The woman’s clothing was something else. Baggy top, baggy pants, both in dark colors, which shouldn’t have made her look attractive, but did.
She pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were brown, like the plain grass in winter, yet he saw something deep within them. Despair? Fear? He couldn’t tell.
But her voice held firm. “Mr. Hunter?”
“Yep.” From his casual stance against the post, he gave her his best strong, silent cowboy stare. “You’re looking at him.”
She took a breath. “I thought I’d never get here.”
“So did I.” Idly, he stroked the kitten. He’d waited most of the afternoon for this newest applicant.
She glanced behind her at the long drive. “Well. This is Kansas.” Suddenly, she grinned up at him from the bottom step. “I feel like I’m in The Wizard of Oz before the tornado whisked Dorothy away. Not much out here, is there?”
“Not much.” Logan had almost flinched. He didn’t need any reminders of the ranch’s isolation.
“I was sure I was lost. Even your driveway goes on forever.” She shot another look over her shoulder. Who was she expecting to see?
Logan exaggerated a drawl. “Well, that’s the thing about Kansas. Straight roads. You can just keep goin’. Even fall asleep if you want, then wake yourself up when you get here—or there.”
Her smile faded. Worrying her lower lip, she took a step backward toward her car. Logan couldn’t blame her. He wanted to run, too, and never come back. This was the place where he’d lost his parents, then his wife, his marriage. And, nearly, his child.
“So,” she said, “this must be the Circle H.”
“That’s what the sign says.”
She tilted her head to study him. “That sign at the end of your road is hanging by a thread. It wouldn’t take a minute to put it back up.”
“That part of your job description?”
“No,” she said, looking away. “I imagine it’s part of yours.”
“Look, we have ten thousand acres here. Miles and miles of fence line. Two men quit this morning, the cook three days ago.” Thanks to Sam’s grumpiness. “Things keep going this way, we won’t need a sign except one that says For Sale.” Her mouth fell open. “On top of that—”
“Logan, where are you?”
It was uncanny timing. His grandfather’s voice blasted from his upstairs bedroom down the steps and through the screen door onto the porch. It happened about ten times a day. He’d always been difficult, but since his accident...
Sam was making a real racket now. Banging on his tray, probably, with the spoon he’d thrown at Logan earlier because he didn’t like canned stew for lunch. S
troking the kitten he still held, he stood frozen. If Sam continued to be the worst patient in medical history, Logan might never be able to get any work done. Or leave. He had to hire help. Right now anyone would do.
“Coming!” he called and then studied the woman. “You still want this job?”
She returned his hard stare. “I’m not sure yet. But I do need it.”
Well, at least she’d made herself clear. He couldn’t keep from asking.
“That bad?”
She bent to pick up her ball cap. “Even worse.”
Logan took another look. None of his business. Whatever had caused that haunted expression deep in her warm brown eyes, he shouldn’t care. Still, he could recognize the same look he often saw in his own mirror. Trapped, it said. So maybe she could help out for a few days until he found a man to replace her.
“Come on. We’ll find out what Sam wants,” he said. “He’ll size you up then we’ll decide.” He added, “Call me Logan.”
She sent the little cat a smile, not him. “Blossom Kennedy.”
Logan peeled away from the porch post, set the kitten down with a gentle pat on her rump and watched her tumble down the steps then scamper away toward the barn. Feeling Blossom Kennedy’s gaze on him, he resettled his Stetson and headed inside.
Blossom followed.
“I’m told the senior Mr. Hunter is sweet,” she said, as if to convince herself that everyone on the Circle H didn’t have the disposition of a billy goat.
Logan couldn’t help a wolfish grin. “Let’s see how long you think that.”
* * *
BECAUSE SHE HAD no other choice, Blossom trailed Logan Hunter up the steps to the second floor of the sprawling house. Really, with that dark hair and those broad shoulders, he was something to look at. Too bad she wasn’t interested, even for the brief time it would take him to fire her. And oh, she’d seen that intent in his dark blue eyes.
Keeping Cole's Promise Page 23