Читать книгу Temporary Rancher - Ann Evans - Страница 10

WHATEVER QUINTIN HAD thought he would run up against when he’d heard that scream, it hadn’t been three pajama-clad females in a face-off with a stuffed buffalo head.

Returning from the trip to Dallas with five Dutch Warmbloods in his thirteen-horse trailer, he’d seen the muddy blue SUV parked close to the horse barn. He’d assumed it belonged to Riley Palmer.

But now, having let himself into the manager’s apartment with his spare key, he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

He’d found a woman, standing with her back to him, tussling with the buffalo head mounted above the bed. Two children—little girls—were cheering her on, and all three females were so intent on their mission that they were unaware of his presence. He blinked in surprise. It wasn’t every day you ran into a woman trying to go three rounds with a buffalo head, accompanied by her own small cheering section.

But he’d expected a man. One man only. Riley Palmer. This was definitely not that man.

He watched, filled with curiosity, as the blonde continued to rail against the buffalo. He couldn’t help staring—those thin, shorty pajamas defined her rear end nicely and complemented a pair of strong, slender legs that went on forever.

She seemed to be trying to amuse the children, or maybe lessen some unknown fear. That scream had been real enough. But now, with every one of her tugs, the kids urged her on, laughing in that little girl way that would make anyone want to be part of the fun.

The woman paused for a moment, and one of the kids gasped out her suspicion that the buffalo might eat them. Quintin had decided it was time to reveal himself, but answering the child’s question only seemed to scare the crap out of them.

Almost as though it was planned, they yelped and squealed in unison. The woman reached to gather the children close, a sweet, protective gesture. He’d bet money these were her kids.

The problem was, they were probably Riley Palmer’s, as well, and wherever the guy was right now, he and Quintin were going to have to talk. No mention had been made about bringing a family. Or even having one, for that matter. Lots of ranchers hired married couples to run both the house and the ranch, but that hadn’t been Quintin’s plan. He hadn’t wanted to bring an entire family on board.

Kids at Echo Springs, for God’s sake. Underfoot and in need of constant attention.

He felt a weary kind of irritation. Palmer should have told him. Now Quintin would have to send them packing. Valuable time lost, as well as an upheaval for this mom and her children.

They stared at him, mouths open, eyes full of uncertainty. Twins, he realized, with a lot of their mom in them. Same silky blond hair. Same eyes, the color of a tropical sea.

Their mother, obviously realizing how scantily clad she was, snatched up a portion of the sheet and pressed it against her breasts. In spite of his annoyance, Quintin almost laughed at that.

Relax, honey, he wanted to tell her. Believe me, I’ve pretty much seen everything you’ve got.

She might be another man’s wife, but Quintin could still appreciate a good-looking female, and this one had prettiness to spare. He’d been out of circulation for a while, but he couldn’t deny the effect a pair of big blue eyes and honey-blond hair could have on his system.

When she lifted that strong chin as if to brazen out the awkwardness of the situation, Quintin felt his lips twist. Palmer had chosen well. This woman was no shrinking violet.

“I’m sorry to have frightened you ladies,” he said. “I knocked, but I think you were too busy fighting with the buffalo to hear me.”

The woman came off the bed quickly, but with surprising grace in spite of the fact that she pulled the sheet with her. She marched over to him, straight as a drum major. In her bare feet, she was much shorter than he was in boots, even with those long legs.

She held out her hand. “You must be Quintin Avenaco. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He took her slim fingers in his. Her handshake was firm, and he felt an odd twinge of regret that very soon he’d have to send this family on their way. And where was Riley Palmer while his wife and kids were taking on stuffed monsters?

“I’m Quintin,” he confirmed. “And I assume you’re Riley Palmer’s wife?”

He saw her swallow hard before answering. Whatever she intended to say, she didn’t like it. “Actually… I’m Riley Palmer.”

Quintin felt a kind of lurch inside him, then a wild rush of anger as he realized what those four simple words meant. What they meant to his plans for the future. He had thought having this family show up was unacceptable. But this… The reality that he’d been deceived pretty much sent him over the edge.

Behind Palmer, her children were watching, listening to every word. For their sake he fought to keep his face neutral. “You’re not what I was expecting.”

“I know, and I can explain that,” she said quickly. “Just give me a minute to put on some clothes and get the girls in front of the television.”

He still had her hand in his, and he used it to pull her forward so that he could reach her ear. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said in a low, crisp voice. “You have an hour to pack your things and go. Take the buffalo head with you as a souvenir if you like.”

She inhaled sharply, but Quintin had already turned and left the room. “Wait a minute—” He heard her call after him, but he kept going, out of the apartment, out of her sight.

He took long strides back to the horse trailer. Halfway there, Riley Palmer pulled him up short by catching his arm. He noticed that she’d thrown on a robe, and her feet were tucked into a pair of unlaced sneakers.

“Mr. Avenaco…” She spoke his name with a raw undertone of clear desperation. “If you’ll just listen for a moment. Let me explain—”

“There’s no need,” Quintin replied. “We agreed to hold off making this job offer final until we had a chance to meet. We’ve met. You’re not what I’m looking for.”

“You mean because I’m a woman asking to be considered for a man’s job?” Her voice was flat, reproachful.

In his entire life, no one had ever accused Quintin of discrimination. Of any kind. Part Native American, he’d grown up with too much of it in Wyoming to ever indulge in the same himself. Her claim nearly tore the breath out of him.

Deliberately, his eyes riveted to hers, with an intensity he hoped would send her back to the apartment to pack. “No, not because you’re a woman,” he said plainly. “Because you’re a liar.”

She had the grace to flush. That flawless, creamy-white complexion went beet-red, even if the look in her eyes remained determined and defiant. “I never lied to you, really. I can’t help it if you assumed I was a man.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Lady, I don’t like being played for a fool. You made every effort to keep your sex a secret. Now I understand why you weren’t answering my phone calls. Whose voice was that on your voice mail?”

“My sister’s boyfriend. But I didn’t have him record the greeting to fool you. He did it months ago, because I was getting some crank calls.”

“Convenient. I don’t know how you thought you were going to pull this off once you arrived, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no job for you here.”

“I didn’t intend… I hoped we could talk this out, that you’d be fair—”

“Fair seems like an odd word coming from you. But I think you’ve wasted enough of my time. Have a safe trip back.”

He shook her hand off his arm and unlatched the back door of the trailer. He didn’t trust himself to speak, and hoped that being on the receiving end of the cold shoulder would do the trick and send her off. But while he ignored her and went through the process of removing safety gates and dividers that would allow him to back the first horse out of the trailer, he was aware of Riley Palmer standing there.

She was in an old-fashioned fury, he could tell, but she could hardly act on it. Not if she thought she could still sway him. Which she couldn’t. She could stand there until hell froze over if she wanted to.

“So you won’t even consider me for the job?” she asked, unable to keep a touch of belligerence out of her voice.

“Afraid not,” he replied mildly, in spite of the anger churning inside him.

He guided the first gelding backward, forcing the woman to move aside. Some horses didn’t trailer well, and he was pleased to see this one step down to the ground without the slightest sign of nervousness. Alert and curious, but definitely not afraid.

He began to lead the animal to the pasture gate, but Riley Palmer blocked his way. It seemed ridiculous that she was still here, standing with a stranglehold on the neck of her robe, trying to persuade him to change his mind. She looked like a woman controlling herself at some cost. He recognized it because that was pretty much the same way he felt.

He suddenly didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by such determination.

“You read my résumé,” she said. “My experience—”

“Was any of that résumé even true?”

Oddly, the color didn’t come up in her cheeks again. They went a little pinker maybe, but mostly she seemed…hurt. In the bright sunshine, her features suddenly looked very young. He almost felt sorry for her.

Don’t, he cautioned himself.

She said in a voice that was slightly less antagonistic, “In spite of what I did, what you might think, I’m qualified for this position. I ran a three-hundred-acre spread for nine years while I was married.”

“If you ran the place, where was your husband?”

“Managing the Bar Seven, outside of Cooper.” She lifted her hand to stroke the gelding’s neck. “We raised cattle mostly, but I know horses, too.”

“These aren’t hack ponies I plan to rent out to Sunday riders. They’re going to need specialized attention and a nutritional regimen as stringent as any racehorse in Kentucky.”

“I understand that. I’m not afraid of hard work. And what I don’t know, I can learn. Very quickly, too.”

He took her hand from the gelding’s neck, clearly surprising her. Turning it upward, he inspected the fingers, the soft palm, then lifted his eyes to hers. “This isn’t the hand of a woman familiar with manual labor.”

“I said I did it for nine years. Before that I was a bookkeeper. Since my divorce, I’ve been looking for work in that field, but the job market’s flooded.”

“So you decided to be a little more creative in your search.”

Her nostrils flared as though she’d caught an unpleasant scent. He noticed that she had a small nose, snubbed at the end, as though it had been drawn by an illustrator of children’s books. “You spoke to Charlie Bigelow. Would he have referred me to you if he didn’t think I could handle this work?”

Quintin realized he was still holding her hand, and dropped it immediately. “I’m not sure what Charlie was thinking,” he growled. “Someday I’ll ask him.”

The woman held his gaze and wouldn’t turn loose. “I can do any job you give me. I swear it.”

“Mrs. Palmer—”

“Just listen for a moment,” she said, cutting him off. “What do you hear?”

He didn’t understand what she meant, but he fell silent. The air between them felt charged with tension, the stillness electric. At last he said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s right. Nothing but peace and quiet. Want to know why?”

He thought about it for a moment. Then, in mild surprise, he swung his head in the direction of the water tank. “The windmill.”

“Exactly. I fixed it yesterday. No big deal. I just thought a good night’s sleep might be nice for everyone.”

He turned back to her. She looked pleased. His eyes narrowed. “You climbed up there and fixed it.”

“I did. It was a rusted pump rod, and it cleaned up fine. That’s only one of dozens of things I have on the list I’ve started. I can get this place in shape. All I need is the chance.”

He had to admit he was impressed and intrigued. He didn’t like that. Admiration. Sympathy. Any of those feelings for this woman could be fatal for what he wanted to accomplish here. With a rush of discipline as sharp as a steel trap, he drew back from any willingness to see her side.

“Thank you for fixing it,” he told her. “I appreciate your efforts. Send me a bill when you get home.” It occurred to him that she might not have enough money to get home. “Or tell me what I owe you right now,” he added.

Quintin tugged on the lead rope and the gelding followed. He opened the paddock gate, unhooked the halter and sent the animal off with a light slap. Resting his arms on the top of the gate, he stood there, pretending to admire the wild gallop of a creature delighting in its freedom.

“Courageous. Friendly. Intelligent. Dependable. Eager to work.”

The Palmer woman stood looking at him, and though her eyes were full of challenge, he thought he saw little tremors in the muscles around her mouth.

He frowned at her. “What?”

She came closer, facing him, jaw set. “Those are the five attributes you need in a mounted police horse. The ones you’re probably looking for in a Dutch Warmblood.”

“How do you know that?”

“As I said, I learn quickly. You told me in one of your emails what you wanted to do with this place. I made it my business to find out the kind of horse you would look for, and what kind of care they’d need. I assumed it would all be part of the ranch manager’s job.”

Scowling, he stared at her, and this time he studied her from head to toe. She didn’t flinch or look away. She didn’t say a word. Maybe she’d run out of them. Or out of arguments, at least.

He told himself that anyone could parrot back a few lines from the internet or a book. And even if she’d burned the midnight oil learning everything she could, that didn’t take the place of real experience. So she was a woman who’d been forced to run the ranch while her husband did his thing on a bigger spread. Did that mean she knew anything, really? Did that mean she’d be an asset to him?

In order for Echo Springs to make the October deadline, the ranch manager would need to work his ass off. Hard, demanding, hands-on work, not simply overseeing a bunch of hired help. The toughest guy in the business would have found it a challenge. But this woman? With two kids in tow?

“Look…” he began with what he considered an air of great reasonableness.

“I know how to properly fertilize, test pH levels, correct for mineral deficiencies and maintain disease control.” She rattled off the list. “I managed for herbicides and parasites. I’ve treated horses for colic and thrush, and I’ve even floated teeth. If yours need something special, I can learn to do it. I’ll do anything I can to help you succeed.” She stopped, and he watched as her lips turned inward, making her mouth disappear as she bit on them. “Isn’t that what’s important here?” Her voice sank lower, as if it had begun to tire.

He remained silent for a long time, unsure he could speak. He’d never met any woman more willing to fight for what she wanted. Sure, she was probably desperate, but there was something else, too. There was some quicksilver quality about Riley Palmer, something nimble in her spirit. He had the random, unexpected thought that she’d probably make one heck of a partner in bed. Full of passion and life. He could imagine what being married to her must have been like. Her husband probably thought he’d hooked up with dynamite.

Quintin knew it would be a major miscalculation in judgment if he let her stay, but he had to admit he was curious about her.

His silence must have smacked of rejection. Her shoulders moved impatiently, and she said with more anger than she’d likely intended, “I guess hiring me is a chance you’re not willing to take. Too bad, really. You’d have gotten more than your money’s worth.” She raked a hand through her already mussed hair. “We’ll be off your property in fifteen minutes.”

She marched away, looking as dignified as a person could in a bathrobe and unlaced sneakers.

“What about the kids?” he called after her.

She swung around. “What about them?”

“This isn’t the place for them.”

She walked back. Those blue eyes were watchful, but tinted with hope. “Why not? They’ve been raised on a ranch. That’s all they know. If you’re worried that they’ll get in the way, they won’t.” A little more quickly, she added, “I’ve already lined up a summer day camp that starts tomorrow. When they’re on the ranch, I won’t allow them near anything, and I’ll have a baby monitor with me to keep tabs on them. You’ll hardly know they’re here.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re their mother. Is that what you want to do? Work like a dog and hardly see them?”

“I’m a divorced mother,” she replied, her neck arching back. “I’ve learned that there are things a single parent has to accept. I need the money. Besides, your email said half days off on Saturday, and all of Sunday. I’ll have nights and weekends with them.”

She radiated confidence, and as far as bluffs went, she was damn good. Given the challenges ahead, Quintin thought he could use someone that positive. But again, was she the right someone? He couldn’t afford to make too many mistakes between now and October.

“No, I’m sorry….” He shook his head and watched her blink in disappointment. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he continued. “You and your children can stay here for a while—”

“I’m not asking for charity—”

He lifted his hand to stop her. “Hold on. I’m not offering any.” When she pressed her lips tightly together, and he seemed to have her full attention once more, he said. “Stay and work for me until the end of the month.”

“That’s barely three weeks away!”

“That will give me time to do what I should have done in the first place—run an ad, interview, do a background check. Once I get someone hired, you’re done here. But you’ll have enough time to regroup.”

“And you’ll have enough time to see what I can do.”

He shook his head again. “That’s not the way this is going to play out.”

She pinned him with a shrewd glance. “If I prove to you that I can do this job better than anyone else, would you be honest enough to admit it and hire me?”

His brow lifted as he feigned surprise. “Do you really think it’s my honesty we have to worry about here?”

Her mouth quirked. “Touché.”

“So three weeks,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” she replied quickly.

He felt suddenly weary and yet oddly invigorated at the same time. He wouldn’t allow himself to wonder if, by this time in his life, he shouldn’t have had a little more sense than to make such a foolish offer. But it was too late for rational acts and plain logic.

They shook hands, and she began walking toward the apartment. Her stride was confident, her back straight.

“It’s not your day off yet, Mrs. Palmer,” he called out to her. “Meet me at the house in thirty minutes, and we’ll get started. Bring your list.”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said without looking back.