“So what are you going to do? I mean, besides destroying this recliner?”
“I have to sell the place. My life’s in Atlanta now. Keeping property in Jackson Hole makes no sense, except...”
“Except?”
“I worry about selling it as is. If the media somehow finds out my dad lived like this... But hiring somebody to fix it up is risky, too. Word could still get out.”
“So hire me.”
“You? You have a job.”
“True, but it’s only sunup to sundown. My nights are my own. My dad was a general contractor and I worked with him every summer during high school and college. And I could use the money.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “You can’t work on repairs in the dark.”
“Inside stuff I can, and for outside stuff, I can set up spotlights. It’s completely doable.”
“Will the folks at the Last Chance object to having you moonlight, literally?”
He shrugged. “Not if I tell them that we’re old schoolmates and you’re helping me financially by hiring me during my off-hours. They all know I’m saving up for my own place, and this will make perfect sense to them.”
She considered his offer. Although she didn’t really know him, all her instincts told her he was trustworthy. Besides, he worked for the Chances, who were known for their integrity. That was a recommendation in itself, and he’d certainly be a better bet than taking potluck with some stranger.
“There’s a lot to be done here.” She looked around. “It’s been neglected for several years. Are you sure you can manage by yourself?”
He nodded. “One thing I’m good at is working hard and fast. That didn’t mean much to Lindsay and her parents, but it’s my strength.”
“I’d want you to start with the outbuildings to give me a chance to clear out any personal things from the house.”
“That’s fine. How long are you here for?”
“A week. That should be enough time for me to sort through the stuff in the house. And I’ll be available if you have questions as you get started.”
“So it’s a deal?”
“It’s a deal. I’ll pay you well for this, Nash.”
He smiled. “I’m counting on it. So let’s see. Are your dad’s tools still here?”
“Oh, I’m sure they are. I can’t guarantee the condition of anything, but you’ll need to pick up some building materials, so you can replace any broken tools then.” Discussing the restoration of this place gave her a boost of energy.
“Okay, good. I figure tonight I’ll come over and mostly assess the situation and come up with an estimate. Maybe I’ll start on whatever doesn’t require new lumber and nails. I’ll give you a list you can call in to the Shoshone Feed Store. They carry building supplies, too. I’ll pick everything up.”
“Or I could.” She pointed to the SUV. “That can haul stuff.”
“Nah, don’t get that shiny rental all dirty. A truck’s better, anyway.” He glanced at the chair. “And please leave this right here. I’ll deal with it tonight.”
“You’re sure?”
“Part of the job. But if you want to buy some pots of flowers for the porch, that might be a nice touch.”
She felt a tug of nostalgia. “My mother always had flower pots there.”
“Think curb appeal.”
“I will.” But instead she was thinking about her mother, and the good times they’d had planting bright annuals every spring—mostly pansies and petunias. She’d forgotten that. And after the flowers had started blooming, she and her mom would sit on the porch with glasses of lemonade and admire their efforts.
She swallowed a lump of sorrow and sniffed away her tears. She grieved her dad, though she’d emotionally distanced herself from him years ago. Her mom’s death still tugged at her heartstrings. But she’d rather not let that show and appear even more vulnerable. A girl had to preserve her pride.
“So if you’ll get the spotlights today, I’ll be here after dinner,” Nash said.
“It’s a deal.” For the first time since she’d received the news of her father’s death last week, she felt hopeful that she would be able to handle this painful inheritance.
“And don’t touch that recliner.”
Looking at it, she reached deep and found the humor buried in the situation. She grinned at Nash. “I promise not to touch it. I think I’ve created enough recliner chaos. But hey, it brought you over here.”
“And against all odds, that turns out to be a good thing.”
“Yes.” She met his gaze. “Yes, it does.” To her great surprise, she felt a sexual tug as she looked into his blue eyes. Whoops. Better not go there. Earlier she’d considered flirting with him to prove to herself that she’d outgrown her gawky phase, but that would have been ill-advised, too.
Coming back here and facing her dad’s death, and actually, her mom’s as well, had stirred up some deep feelings. What seemed like sexual desire might be simply a need to be held by a big, strong cowboy. She’d had that fantasy as a teenager but thought she’d outgrown it after leaving Jackson Hole.
Judging from her reaction to Nash, she still harbored that fantasy. If he was going to be around every night for the next week, she might want to dial back that flare of desire she was feeling. She didn’t need to complicate her life.
“See you tonight, Bethany.” He touched the brim of his hat in a typical cowboy gesture and walked back to his truck, carrying the fire extinguisher.
God help her, she watched him leave. He had the denim-encased buns and the loose-hipped stride that turned the simple act of walking into an art form. He’d been a good-looking kid in high school who’d grown into a gorgeous man.
Her reaction might also have to do with her recent period of unintended celibacy. When Living with Grace hit the number one spot on several charts, she’d been swept up in a whirlwind of publicity. The media attention, plus her deadline for the next book, had caused her to abandon everything not related to her blossoming career. She hadn’t been seriously involved with a man at the time, so her sex life had been easy to set aside, too.
She hadn’t missed it at all, or so she’d thought until she watched Nash Bledsoe return to his truck. Apparently all the man had to do to get her thinking about bedroom games was give her a view of his jeans-clad backside. Inappropriate scenarios flashed before her eyes in living color.
“Nash?” His name was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
He turned. “Yeah?”
“I, uh, bought some groceries before driving over here. If you’d like to have a quick dinner before you start working, I could provide that.”
“Sure.” His teeth were very white against his tanned skin. “That would be great. What time?”
“Around six?”
“I’ll be here.”
“See you then.” She forced herself to turn and start back to the house instead of standing there like an idiot while he drove away. As she walked over the uneven ground, she admitted to herself that inviting him to dinner sent the exact wrong message. Their arrangement was about business, not social interaction.
She might be longing for some combination of emotional comfort and sexual excitement, but finding those things in Nash Bledsoe’s arms would be a huge mistake. She didn’t believe in temporary affairs, and she had the career move of a lifetime waiting for her in Atlanta on Opal!, the most popular talk show on television, starring fan favorite Opal Knightly.
Bethany had been an occasional guest, and a friendship had formed. Now she was about to become a permanent feature on the program. Opal had mentored others by giving them a regular segment, and if ratings were good enough, Bethany might eventually launch her own show.
By the time she’d reminded herself of the stakes involved, she’d made it to the
porch and Nash’s truck could be heard slowly navigating the washboard road back to the highway. She decided to record her long-term goal—to have her own television show—in the day planner on her smartphone to remind herself of it daily. But first she needed a change of clothes at the least, and maybe a shower.
She chose her old bathroom instead of the master because hers was far cleaner. It obviously hadn’t been used since she’d been here for her mom’s funeral eighteen months ago. But when she saw her reflection in the medicine-cabinet mirror, she was appalled.
The woman in the mirror, who looked like she belonged in a low-budget horror flick, was none other than Bethany Grace, Ph.D. This was the face Nash Bledsoe had seen when he arrived. Wearing this face, with its mascara-ringed, bloodshot eyes, shiny nose and dirt-smudged cheeks, she’d considered flirting with him because now she was past her gawky stage. Not.
She’d looked like this, with her torn jacket and filthy blouse, when she’d struck a deal for his handyman services and then casually, or not so casually, invited him to dine with her. And the crazy man had said yes. He must really need the money.
As she imagined what he’d been thinking all through their exchange, she started to laugh. The more she thought about it, the harder she laughed, until she had to lean against the vanity for support. If her adoring public could only see her now. Fortunately, they couldn’t, and Nash wouldn’t tell on her.
In a way, it was a relief that he’d seen her at her worst. Probably a relief for him, too, after the image he’d grown to hate during the months when his ex had battered him with Bethany’s perky little message, Happiness Is a Choice.
Funny thing, though. Bethany believed that message. Her father had been an insecure man who didn’t know how to be happy and her mother had tried her best to keep a pleasant home while married to someone who lacked the confidence to live life to the fullest. Bethany had studied psychology until she’d finally understood all that and was able to create a different pattern.
The cornerstone of that new pattern was that circumstances couldn’t always be changed, but attitudes could. Her father had chosen to be unhappy. Her mother, for the most part, had chosen to be happy. Had she been a stronger person, she might have also chosen to leave. Part of Bethany’s grief over her mom’s death was regret that her mother hadn’t enjoyed a better marriage.
Bethany had written her books as much for herself as for others. They’d struck a chord with the public, and while she’d received a few slightly negative reviews, most of the feedback had been positive. Nash had handed her the most devastating critique yet.
He’d demonstrated how her words could be twisted and used against someone in crisis. At least that would make her a better writer, and now that she was about to launch her new venture, a better talk show personality.
Being linked with Opal meant Bethany had to be careful not to embarrass her fairy godmother. Opal knew all about the situation in Jackson Hole, and she’d cautioned Bethany to keep it under wraps. Bethany intended to do exactly that.
At some point she might tell Nash about her new opportunity so he could better understand the stakes involved. Ah, Nash. Inevitably her thoughts returned to the bodacious Mr. Bledsoe.
He’d had a Reputation with a capital R back in high school. Nash had hung around with Jack Chance back then, and another buddy, Langford “Hutch” Hutchinson. The three of them had cut quite a swath through the senior-class girls.
If Nash had been good at making love when he was eighteen, and he’d had years to practice his technique since then...it didn’t have anything to do with her, right?
With a sigh of longing that would go unsatisfied, she glanced at the small battery-operated clock on the counter. It was pink, like everything in this bathroom, a holdover from when she’d chosen the color scheme at fourteen. Amazingly, the batteries had lasted since she’d replaced them a year and a half ago. The clock told her that she had many hours before Nash would show up for dinner.
She had time to drive into Shoshone and get those spotlights he needed. But first she’d shower, change clothes, choose a menu for tonight and figure out how to make the dining room a more welcoming place. She might never erase his first impression of her as a chair-burning maniac with smeared makeup and ruined clothes, but she could mute that impression.
After all, she was the author of Living with Grace, and she knew how to create a lovely dining experience. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited Nash to dinner, but now that she had, she’d damned well do it right.
3
NASH WAS GLAD FOR AN excuse to leave the Last Chance when five-thirty rolled around. All eight boys in the Last Chance Youth Program had arrived. They ranged in age from twelve to fourteen, and they were all hyper. Emmett had assured Nash they’d settle down once they were put to work, but that wouldn’t happen until tomorrow. Tonight they were like Mexican jumping beans. Very loud Mexican jumping beans.
Pete, Sarah’s fiancé and the philanthropist who’d dreamed up the concept, had divided the boys into teams for a relay race in the yard before dinner. He’d roped Nash’s buddy Luke Griffin into helping. Luke had the kind of easygoing attitude that made him perfect for the job.
Nash didn’t know much about kids, so he left with a wave and a smile. He admired Pete’s humanitarianism and was thrilled that Sarah had found someone worthy of her. Jonathan Chance would have been a tough act to follow, but Pete seemed to be up to the challenge.
Nash took his own truck for the drive to the Triple G. He couldn’t justify wearing out the shocks on a Last Chance truck for a side job. Besides that, he intended to haul away what was left of the recliner when he left tonight, and if he used his pickup, he wouldn’t have to worry about the mess.
Deciding what to wear for this first night of work had been a chore. He expected to get dirty when he tackled the repairs, but she’d invited him to dinner, so he didn’t want to show up in ratty clothes for that. In reality, he wanted to look good no matter whether he was eating at her table or working on her outbuildings.
That was stupid of him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She remembered him as a high school stud, and he didn’t want to destroy that memory by dressing like a hobo. So he’d compromised on middle-of-the-road jeans, shirt, hat and boots. They were nicer than he’d wear to muck out stalls, but not new enough for a Saturday night trip to the Spirits and Spurs.
All of it would wash except the boots and hat. He could take the hat off because the sun would be going down, and the boots usually cleaned up pretty well with some saddle soap. He’d also showered and shaved before changing into those clothes, which he’d caught some guff from Luke about. He’d wanted to know why Nash was getting spit-shined before going off to do carpentry.
Nash had told Sarah and Jack that he would be working for the Graces’ daughter, but he hadn’t gone into detail about her. He had to be especially careful when mentioning the job to Luke, who might recognize Bethany Grace’s name. Everyone at the stable in Sacramento had heard about her books from Lindsay.
But Luke was more interested in the possibility that Nash might finally be coming out of retirement. His shower and shave had given Luke the idea that romance was brewing. No matter how many times Nash had denied it, Luke had continued to tease him about being her handyman.
The teasing had hit home, whether Luke knew it or not. Right before he’d left Bethany’s this morning, they’d had a moment. A silent exchange had taken place, one that any man or woman with a pulse understood.
He didn’t plan to act on it, and he doubted that she wanted him to. She was focused on the next stage in her career. Besides, she was paying him to do an honest night’s work, and adding mattress bingo into the deal skated a little too close to sex for hire.
Plus, if he needed more reasons to curb any lust he felt toward her, he’d remind himself that she lost her dad a week ago. And besides, she ha
d money and he did not. He knew how that sort of situation played out, and only a fool jumped into the same kettle of hot water twice. She needed him to help her make the Triple G attractive to buyers. End of story.
This time he didn’t miss the turnoff to her ranch, but a day of baking in the June sun hadn’t improved the road any. It was while he slowly maneuvered around the potholes and deep ruts that inspiration struck. Once the idea came to him, he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. The solution to her problem and his was obvious. He would buy the ranch from her.
Sure, it would take some creative financing and wipe out the savings he’d carefully accumulated so far. But there were programs for first-time buyers, something he’d researched not long ago. Lindsay’s parents had given them a house as a wedding present, and so that meant he was, in fact, a first timer.
What a brainstorm! The ranch abutted the Last Chance, so he could keep in close touch with his friends. It was small, but that made it more likely he could swing the deal. He might not even want more land than this. And the view of the Tetons was almost as spectacular as the Last Chance had.
If she went for this solution and still wanted him to do repairs, he’d consider it sweat equity instead of taking money for it. She wouldn’t be ready to turn the property over to him until she’d finished her sorting inside the house, but she could forget the hassle of listing the place and considering offers, so he’d actually save her time in the long run.
He also had a hunch she wasn’t selling the ranch for the money. Maybe selling to someone she knew, someone who loved this area and would make the ranch into a showplace, would compensate for his lack of a sizable chunk of cash. He was so eager to broach the plan that he sped up and hit a rut that nearly jolted the eyeballs out of his skull.
Forcing himself back to a crawl, he allowed himself to dream of actually owning this ranch. Because he wouldn’t have income from it right away, he’d keep his job at the Last Chance. He’d sink every penny into improvements, and eventually buy a couple of horses. And he’d get a dog.
I Cross My Heart Page 3