Wanted--Texas Daddy

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly wondering if maybe he’d banged his head and given himself a concussion. He did have a red mark on the edge of his forehead.

  He pointed at her little compact. “Is this your car?”

  “Yeah. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t seem fine. He seemed downright addled. As if trying to piece together what had happened, he looked at his truck for a moment before turning back toward her.

  “I know this will sound as if I’m off my rocker, but a bird made me do it.”

  For a long moment she just stared at him, wondering if the heat had cooked her brain so much that she was hearing things incorrectly. “A bird made you do it?”

  Several seconds passed before he seemed to realize the absurdity of what he was saying, but then he straightened and appeared more confident in the truth of it.

  “I had the windows down, and all of a sudden something hit me in the side of the head. I jerked the steering wheel without even thinking.” He rubbed at the reddened spot above his temple. “I think I swatted it. Right before the crash there were feathers in my face.”

  If her car wasn’t sitting there crunched, she’d have a difficult time deciding whether to laugh or call to have someone take him for a mental evaluation. But then a racket behind him drew her attention, and suddenly a pigeon flew out of the open window of his truck.

  “See, not crazy,” he said.

  She had to admit the pigeon looked almost as addled as Ben.

  “That leaves me with one pressing question,” she said.

  “How bad your car is damaged?”

  She glanced at her poor little car. “Well, yes, but more important, why in the name of all that’s holy you were driving with the windows down on a day like today.”

  “The air-conditioning went out halfway to town.”

  She couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of her. “Not your day, is it?”

  For a moment, he looked at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses, as if she’d been the one addled by a pigeon. But then he offered a hint of a smile. “Nope.”

  “Me neither.”

  * * *

  “A PIGEON? THAT’S THE story you’re going with?” Greg Bozeman asked Ben as he hitched up Mandy Richardson’s car to his tow truck. The little thing hadn’t stood a chance against Ben’s pickup. The truck had a nice dent in the grille, but at least it was still operational. Mandy’s car, not so much.

  “I can vouch for the pigeon story,” Mandy said. “Saw it fly out of the truck looking as if it’d had a few too many drinks at the Frothy Stein.”

  Greg laughed. “You’re not living this one down.”

  “If I didn’t have such a headache right now, I’d think of some snappy comeback,” Ben said.

  He caught a sudden look of concern on Mandy’s face.

  “Do you think you should have your head checked out?” she asked.

  Greg howled even more at that, and Ben gave him a dirty look.

  “No, the only thing that would make this worse is strolling into the ER and telling them I got beaned by a pigeon.”

  “You could have a concussion.”

  “I’ve had a concussion before. This ain’t one.”

  Greg walked toward the driver’s side of the tow truck. “Bring your truck by the shop and I’ll check out your AC for free just for making my day with this pigeon story.”

  Greg was saved from being the recipient of a rude gesture because Ben was enough of a gentleman not to be that crude in front of Mandy. He knew her, but not that well. He’d already crunched her car. He didn’t need to risk offending her sensibilities on top of it.

  As Greg drove off with Mandy’s car in tow, Ben wondered exactly how long it would be before everyone in the county—hell, the entirety of the Hill Country—knew about his bird encounter. If someone had snapped a photo, he’d no doubt be the top story in the next edition of the Blue Falls Gazette.

  He turned back to where Mandy stood holding up her ponytail and fanning her neck with her other hand. Her face was flushed with the heat, even though the sun was sinking in the western sky. Not that it cooled off that much after sunset this time of year.

  “Where were you headed before a crazy birdman ran into your car?” He’d noticed her cleaning up a couple of spilled to-go containers while he’d waited for Greg to arrive with the tow truck.

  “My mom’s place, but all I want to do now is go home and collapse. It’s been one of those days. I told Mom we’d get together a different day.”

  “Let me give you a ride.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure your truck is safe to drive.”

  He placed his palm atop the hood of the truck. “She has a new dent, but she’s drivable. Sorry, but you got the raw end of the deal today.”

  “At least I didn’t suffer a bird to the head.”

  He smiled. “True. I don’t recommend it.”

  They climbed into the truck, and that little skirt with the big bright flowers she was wearing rode up her thighs a bit. She didn’t seem to notice or care, but that few extra inches of skin caused it to grow even hotter inside the already roasting cab.

  “Sorry I can’t offer AC, but at least we’ll have some moving air in a minute.”

  “I might just have you drop me at the lake so I can jump in.”

  The last thing he needed was the image of her with that skirt and her light blue sleeveless top plastered to her body.

  Damn, maybe he did have a concussion. He’d never thought about Mandy that way before. Heck, he hadn’t thought about her much at all. She was just someone he knew casually. Or maybe it was seeing his older brother, Neil, having a hard time keeping his hands off Arden, his fiancée, that had him thinking it’d been a while since he’d gone out on a date. But wrecking a woman’s car seemed like a bad precursor to asking her out to dinner.

  Asking Mandy out? That was it, he was going home and sticking his head in his mom’s freezer, maybe pressing a bag of green peas against his aching temple.

  “So, where to?” he asked, focusing on the road in front of him.

  “Actually, out toward your place. The former Webster ranch.”

  He looked over at her. “You bought the Cedar Creek? Maybe I need to start working in a yarn shop.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you know loads about yarn and knitting needles.” She shook her head. “I only bought a couple of acres on the creek. They subdivided so they could sell off the land quicker.”

  “Huh. I’m surprised one of those bigwigs looking to invest in large tracts for hobby ranches didn’t snap it up. We had one sniffing around ours until my soon-to-be sister-in-law sent him packing with the threat of some not-so-nice press coverage.”

  “Well, I heard that was a secondary reason for subdividing. The Websters wanted their place to go to people who could afford a more reasonable price tag and appreciate it more. Got the feeling they didn’t like rich ‘bigwigs’ too much.”

  He laughed at that. “I always did like the Websters. Hated they had to sell, but they had a rough time this past year.”

  Ranching was always a touch-and-go way to make a living. That was why he and his brothers and sisters did their best to keep expenses low and to bring in other income to make sure the Rocking Heart stayed afloat for their parents—and for future generations of Hartleys. Of course, he wasn’t going to be providing any of those munchkins—even though his family didn’t know that. Luckily, his sister Angel already had a daughter, and he’d bet Neil and Arden popped out a few rug rats before long.

  “Do you need to stop anywhere before we leave town?” he asked Mandy. “Grab some dinner?”

  “Nah. I might just pour a glass of wine and sit in the creek.”

  “Make i
t a beer and that doesn’t sound half-bad.”

  “You’re welcome to the creek, but I don’t have any beer.”

  “I better stay away from the creek. The way my day’s going, I’d probably fall and drown in an inch of water.”

  “I’d save you. I might have to leave you there if you’re unconscious, but I’d at least roll you faceup.”

  He laughed. “How very kind of you. Have to say you’re being pretty nice to the guy who crashed into your car.”

  She shrugged. “Being mad wouldn’t make it any less crunched. Plus, at least I didn’t get whacked in the head by a bird.”

  Her smile transformed her face from merely pretty to stunning. Why had he never noticed how gorgeous she was before? Perspiration made damp wisps of her hair curl around the edges of her face, and he thought maybe there was a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He experienced the oddest urge to lean closer to find out. Of course that was a bad idea on a lot of levels, not the least of which was he’d probably end up driving his truck into some other stationary object. Or she’d whack him on the other side of his head.

  He jerked his attention back to the road. That damned pigeon had obviously knocked his brain loose, causing it to bounce around inside his skull.

  Mandy leaned her head over on her forearm where it rested along the open window, letting the wind whip the loose strands of her hair. She closed her eyes in a way that made him realize how tired she must be after a day of work then standing out in the heat while they dealt with first Deputy Conner Murphy, who’d also had a not-well-hidden chuckle at the bird attack story, then Greg. For a moment, he thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. But then she opened her eyes and pointed ahead.

  “Turn at the next road on the left.”

  He turned onto a smaller county road and then into a new gravel drive flanked by lines of cedar trees. Through them he spotted the trickle of the creek, one that ran wider, deeper and faster during spring rains like the creek on his family’s ranch. Up ahead, a little wooden shed sat with a miniature front porch pointed toward the creek. When he noticed that the gravel drive ended next to it, he glanced over at Mandy in confusion.

  “Where’s your house?”

  She pointed toward the shed. “That’s it.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny. The pigeon didn’t hit me that hard.”

  “No, seriously, that’s it.”

  “You live in a shed?”

  She turned partially toward him. “It’s not a shed. It’s a tiny house.”

  It was tiny, all right. How did she fit anything in there? He didn’t think it was any bigger than his bedroom.

  “Come on, I’ll give you the ten-cent tour,” she said as he stopped in a wider gravel area that appeared to be where she normally parked and turned her car around.

  “More like the ten-second tour,” he said as he put the truck in Park and cut the engine.

  Mandy smiled. “That, too.”

  His boots made a crunching sound on the gravel when he stepped out of the truck. The low slant of the sun made her little spot on the creek look appealing, even if she did live in a house that would probably give him claustrophobia despite the fact he’d never suffered from it before. He noticed the little porch held a bright blue metal chair, a pot of purple and white flowers and a small metal wind chime. Next to the front step sat one of those concrete yard ornaments, this one a green frog wearing a crown.

  He pointed at the frog. “Do I even want to ask?”

  “I kiss him every day in case he’s a prince in disguise.”

  He looked over at her. “Are you sure you aren’t the one who got a bird to the noggin?”

  “I’m not a believer in taking life too seriously,” she said.

  Obviously. But he had to admit there was something really appealing about her attitude.

  As she headed toward the front of the little house and he got a good look at her bare legs, he thought they were pretty darn appealing, too. Whether or not she really did kiss that stupid frog every day, she did now, then stood back and watched it as if it might really turn into a prince. If it did, he was changing his mind and driving himself straight to the emergency room.

  “Darn, still no luck.” She smiled at Ben and practically skipped up the step to the porch.

  “You ain’t right, Mandy Richardson.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  If she only knew a couple of the other compliments that had popped into his mind, she might hit the other side of his head with a frying pan.

  By the time she unlocked the front door, he’d stepped up onto the porch behind her. When she opened the door, a blast of cold air hit him. She stepped inside and took the three steps necessary to bring her to the small AC unit in one of the windows. She bent and kissed the thing.

  “You go around kissing inanimate objects often?”

  She glanced at him. “Only when they produce cold air or might turn into a prince.”

  He shook his head. “Not right at all.”

  When she laughed, it seemed as if it was as much at herself as his words.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked as she moved toward a small fridge. “I’m afraid your choices are wine, water or cranberry juice.”

  “I’ll take a water, thanks.” When he noticed a couple more inches of her bare legs revealed as she reached down into the fridge, he forced himself to avert his gaze. A quick glance allowed him to view the entirety of her home—the living area and kitchen making up the main room, a door that led to a bathroom he was pretty sure he couldn’t even fit in and a narrow staircase that led to a loft that served as her bedroom if the edge of the mattress he saw was any indication.

  “So what do you think?” she asked as she handed him the cold bottle of water.

  “It’s...cozy.”

  “I know, right?” She surveyed her home with a satisfied look on her face.

  “You really don’t mind living in such a small space?”

  “Nope. It’s all I need for now.”

  “For now?”

  “It’s okay for a single person, but even I don’t see fitting an entire family in here.”

  An entire family? Was she dating someone? And why on God’s green earth did that thought irritate him? The miniature room seemed to shrink even more, their proximity to each other suddenly feeling awkward, and he had to forcibly keep himself from beating a retreat.

  What the hell? That pigeon really had scrambled his brain.

  He screwed the top off the water bottle with one quick motion and downed about half the contents.

  Mandy laughed. “You must be as hot and thirsty as I am.”

  She had no idea how right she was. As if to make things even more uncomfortable, when she took her own drink he couldn’t take his eyes off the column of her neck or the trickle of water that escaped and ran down it.

  “Well, I better get going.” Thankfully it only took him two strides to get from her living room to the front porch of her little dollhouse.

  Mandy followed him out, closing the door behind her, no doubt to preserve the precious chilled air. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

  He descended the step and had started toward his truck but then he turned halfway back toward her. “Least I could do. I was the one who put your car out of commission.” Then it hit him he was basically stranding her here alone with no mode of transportation. “How are you going to get back into town to work?”

  “Maybe Devon can pick me up.” She gestured toward the side of her tiny house. “Or I have a bike I can ride.”

  The idea of her trying to safely ride into town on a road with a nonexistent shoulder sent a big bolt of “nope” straight to his brain.

  “You are not riding a bike on that road,” he said. “You’re liable to get t
aken out by a horse trailer or some fool driving too fast.”

  “You volunteering to be my chauffeur?” The little teasing smile on her face had him thinking he might do whatever she asked of him.

  “Yeah. As a matter of fact, I am.”

  Her smile fell away in obvious surprise. “I was kidding, Ben.”

  “I know, but it’s my fault you don’t have your car, so I’ll take you wherever you need to go until Greg can fix it.”

  “It’s actually the pigeon’s fault.”

  “Unless he’s got a driver’s license and a pigeonmobile, you’re stuck with me. When do you have to be at work next?”

  “Um, eight in the morning.”

  “Then I’ll see you at seven forty.” He tapped two fingers to the edge of his hat in farewell then made for his truck before he could think too hard about why he’d just committed himself to who knew how much time away from his work.

  As he started the truck and made the turn to leave, Mandy was still standing in the same spot looking every bit as surprised by the day’s turn of events as he was.

  Copyright © 2017 by Trish Milburn

  ISBN-13: 9781488010774

  Wanted: Texas Daddy

  Copyright © 2017 by Cathy Gillen Thacker

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.