Читать книгу Temporary Rancher - Ann Evans - Страница 12

BY EIGHT O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING he had finished going over the plans with the renovation crew foreman. Quintin stood in his study, trying to prepare himself for the workers who were about to take over the house like an invading army.

He’d lived alone too long to like the idea of being closely surrounded by other people, but if Echo Springs was going to be presentable by October, it was necessary. First the downstairs area, then the upstairs. And in between all that, the exterior would be spruced up so it no longer looked like the set of a horror movie.

After draining his coffee from his cup, he picked up the photograph he’d set on the sideboard. His son grinned out at him, and beside him, Teresa, the smile on her lips so gentle it made Quintin’s heart stutter even after all these years.

She would have loved this renovation. When they’d bought their run-down ranch in Colorado Springs, newly married and hoping to turn it into something grander, they hadn’t had the money to hire outside help. Not that it mattered. Working on the place together had only brought them closer.

He carried the photo to his desk. At times, when the past lay heavy on him and guilt was like a yoke, he felt depressed just looking at their faces. This shot had always been one of his favorites—that last golden summer afternoon spent at the Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo. They’d had so much fun, and he’d won enough money in the events that they’d been able to repair the ranch-house roof.

Even in the still photo, it wasn’t difficult to see the delight his family had found in one another. Quintin stared at his own face—younger, flush with excitement and love. Not a worry in the world. So…oblivious.

How could he have been so carefree? It felt wrong somehow. Shouldn’t his features have revealed something, some hint of the grief that would come only a few months later? Stillborn dreams for his marriage. A future for Tommy that would never happen.

He yanked open a desk drawer and placed the photograph inside, forcing himself to concentrate on the present. He had charted a different course now, set ambitious goals and found new purpose. Alone. And as hard as that was to think about, he would not turn back. The sensation of feeling something, after years of numbness, was a novelty, and he wouldn’t give it up.

Somewhere in the house he heard a skill saw start up. Men called to one another. He could tell they were already ripping out the outdated paneling in the dining room next door.

The new hands would be here soon, needing instructions. He punched the toggle switch on his computer. Time to search the employment sites, post ads and go through the steps necessary to find a replacement for Riley Palmer. Things he should have done in the first place.