Читать книгу This Hero for Hire - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

BOONE TURNED HIS windshield wipers up another notch and glanced at the passenger in his truck cab. “So, exactly what weather forecaster predicted this beautiful day you were talking about?”

Using her palm, Susannah swiped at the condensation on the window and peered out at the continuing rain. “I can’t remember now. Obviously not a very good one.”

“You could have canceled, you know. I would have understood.”

“A little rain wouldn’t stop me. I wanted to drive out here.”

“With me?”

“Of course with you.” She gave him a brief smile. “What good would it do me now to try and avoid you anyway?”

Boone reminded himself not to be flattered. The Rhodes family seemed to operate with ulterior motives, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Susannah had one beyond her professed desire to “get to know him better” by driving to his grandfather’s farm. Something was up. A woman didn’t just return to her roots and announce that a certain patch of land had stayed in her memory for years. If she did have something up her sleeve, he was going to discover what it was.

She turned slightly in her seat and seemed to be studying his profile. “I like your cowboy hat,” she said.

Automatically he removed the hat and set it on the seat beside him. Running his fingers through his hair he remembered he needed a haircut. “Don’t really need it today,” he said. “No sun.”

“You don’t look anything like a cop today.”

Of course he didn’t. He was about to feed chickens and muck horse stalls. His oldest worn jeans and rattiest police academy T-shirt was his uniform for barn chores. He smiled. “I’m only a cop forty hours a week. The rest of the time I’m strictly into maintenance.”

They only had about five miles to go to reach his grandfather’s land. Boone would do what he usually did—feed, water and turn out the two horses if the blasted rain stopped. Then he’d gather the eggs the layers had left him, shovel horse poop and put down fresh straw. When those chores were accomplished, he’d check the farmhouse, make sure everything was as it should be. This was a lonely job these days, now that no one was living in the place.

He supposed he’d have to decide something about the house and the contents fairly soon. Every stick of furniture his grandparents had purchased for the house remained inside. The china cupboard still held his grandmother’s fancy dishes.

His brother, Jared, had been sending hints that they should be considering their options with regard to their inheritance. But not yet. Boone still liked sitting on the front porch some evenings and watching the sun set over the Blue Ridge foothills. When his grandfather had built the house fifty years ago, he’d positioned the structure to catch the finest views.

But hanging onto the house for its views wasn’t the primary reason Boone wanted to wait on a decision. He loved the house. When he was ready to give up his place in town and commit to caring for property full time, he might move out here. Jared wouldn’t be interested in moving in. He liked his modern, fully equipped new place in Atlanta. Jared liked everything he had. A good job that had required a college education, a beautiful wife and two gorgeous girls Boone adored. The man who had everything could wait while Boone at least had his sunsets.

“How long will we be here?” Susannah asked.

“About an hour, hour and a half. I’ve hired a local kid to come in the afternoons to repeat the chores I do this morning.”

“Seems like a lot of responsibility,” she said. “Are you thinking of selling Cyrus’s horses and maybe cutting down on the work?”

“I’d never do that. First of all, they aren’t my grandfather’s horses. The bay is mine. The palomino is my brother Jared’s.” He thought about adding that the horses were like his family now that Jared was living in Atlanta and his parents were off in their motor home, but he refrained. How could this woman understand that kind of an attachment to a four-legged beast? In fact, despite her campaign for ethical treatment of animals, he wondered if she’d ever had a pet.

Even though Boone’s family was spread around the country right now, he did have friends, and he was grateful for them. Guys on the force, Bobby and Mike, the two coaches at the high school. Even Menendez if she would only be satisfied with friendship.

After another few minutes, he pointed ahead. “There’s the old place now.” He rolled down his window and stuck his arm outside. “I think the rain has nearly stopped, too. Maybe I can make quick work of this before it starts up again.”

He slowed and turned into the gravel drive, bypassing the house and heading directly for the barn. He parked where two well-worn ruts perfectly fit his truck tires. “You want to wait here in case the sky opens up again?”

“Heavens no.” She jumped down from the cab. “I want to look around. And I’m happy to help you.”

Gee, what job should he give her? Let her handle two sixteen-hand horses, lift heavy shovelfuls of hay or muck out smelly stalls? Which one would she like? He was pretty sure she’d never done any of those things, but he could appease her if she really wanted to lend a hand.

“Sure,” he said, joining her at the front of the truck. “How about gathering the eggs from the coop? A basket is hanging just inside the barn door. If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll make sure the layers are outside having their breakfast before you go in.”

“Why should that matter? I think I proved yesterday that I’m not afraid of chickens.”

Without thinking, he raised one of her hands. “Have you ever tried to take eggs from under a chicken before?”

“Never had the pleasure.”

“Well, they don’t like it. If you don’t ease in from the side without the chick seeing you, she’s likely to leave a trail of peck marks on this delicate hand.” He grinned. “And a few feathers on this clean jacket.”

“My hands aren’t so delicate,” she said, and he had to agree. She had long, slim fingers and blunt-cut nails. But the knuckles were wide, and her skin was just the slightest bit calloused.

She took her hand from his. “But I don’t think I’d like to test the ladies’ patience. I’ll wait until you get them outside. And I can do more than gather eggs,” she said, removing her rain jacket and tossing it into the truck.

“That should be fine for today,” he said, noticing the bright yellow T-shirt she wore tucked into her jeans. She was a ray of sunshine on this cloudy day. He shook his head. He had no business thinking of her in terms of stupid metaphors. She was his job and, on this day, his mysterious companion...one with a soft, semi-delicate hand that had felt surprisingly good nestled in his own.

“While you get the chicks outside, I think I’d like to walk out to that level field over there,” she said, pointing to an enviable stretch of flat land that his grandfather had farmed for years. Unfortunately, age had caught up with Gramps, and the land had lain fallow for almost a decade.

“Sure. Go ahead.” Boone started to go to the barn but stopped and turned back when his curiosity got the best of him. Now was as good a time as any to get to the bottom of this concern for Braddock land.

“Susannah, what’s your interest in this place, that field particularly?” he asked. “You didn’t ride this far merely to get to know me. There’s plenty of time for that. We’re going to be sharing the same house.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, yeah. But it’s like you just said. We’re going to be living together. I don’t think it’s too soon to get to know someone who’s going to be my roomie.”

“Okay, but that’s not the full story. And before we leave here this morning, I’m going to find out what it is.”

She frowned at him. “Now you sound like a cop. I didn’t think you were on duty, Boone.”

He brushed his hair off his forehead and settled his hat low on his brow. “I’m starting to think I’m never going to be off duty again as far as you’re concerned.”

“Fine. Obviously you think I have some secret plan, so when the chores are done, we’ll talk.”

He smiled. “So I’m right? There is a secret plan?”

“Something like that. And you’ve got to know some time. But go on and do what you have to do.”

The mystery deepened. Boone walked into the barn and relaxed when he heard the familiar and comforting sounds of his horses. Pawing sounds, recognition sounds, whinnies of hunger. He picked up a pitchfork and got to work. This was natural. This he understood. Even if he didn’t understand Susannah Rhodes. Yet.

* * *

WITH THE EGG basket draped over her arm, Susannah stood at the entrance to the barn and peered inside. The rain had stopped for good, and the sun was now hot and bright slanting through the cracks in the old wood siding. “Boone, are you in here?”

“Out here,” he answered. “Come on through the barn and out to the paddock.”

She walked down the wide aisle, her footsteps kicking up bits of dust and straw. The barn was old but tidy. She expected to wrinkle her nose at smells every bit as offensive as the odors that had clung to her yesterday. But no. She only sniffed leather tack, fresh straw and the fertile scent of grains. Boone had obviously finished cleaning the stalls and replaced the soiled hay with new.

Coming into the open again, she saw Boone leaning against a weathered, wooden fence. One booted foot was on the bottom rail. His arms were crossed on the top. The felt cowboy hat remained low on his forehead. He turned when he heard her approach. “How’d you do with those eggs?” he asked.