Читать книгу A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing - Ruth Herne Logan - Страница 15

“We need to have a meeting.” Melonie scribbled notes into her tablet at a furious pace as Jace drove them back to Pine Ridge Ranch.

“You’re here. I’m here. Let’s have a meeting.”

She angled a wry look his way.

His jaw quirked, just a little. So he might have a sense of humor hidden under layers of angst after all. Good. “Are you doing the roofs?”

“No. Contracting them out. There’s a couple of great roofing companies between McCall and Council. I’ll get some estimates for the job. People around here are hungry for work, so we should be able to line up someone fairly quickly. How much of your designs are you running by Mrs. Hardaway?”

“I want to put together a package and present it to her. My goal is to keep it true to the structure and history, but make it more modern. Less fuss, more open space, but still classic design.”

“It must have been something in its time.”

“Did people realize how bad it was getting?” she wondered. “Did they just ignore it?”

“Well, it’s Gilda Hardaway, and you’ve met her. She’s always been rich and beyond eccentric since I’ve been old enough to know she existed. But you can’t see the house from the road, the weeds and brush are a turnoff and, other than a few old-timers, I don’t think she entertains visitors.”

“So this is a huge step forward for her.”

He didn’t answer.

He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight and his hands firmly clenched on the steering wheel. She changed the subject. “I’ll come up with an exterior palette so we can pick roofing materials by the time we head up there tomorrow morning. And I’ll work on the design this evening. It won’t be quick.” The fact that she couldn’t redo a two-and-a-half-story house in a matter of hours made her feel like she should apologize. “I’ll need some time.”

“We’ve got as much time as the roofing takes.”

“That might not be enough, even if I don’t sleep. How about this, instead?” He glanced her way as they turned into the Pine Ridge Ranch driveway, and she had to remind herself that those big brown eyes were off-limits. This guy had “Welcome to Idaho” written all over him. She was headed south once her year was complete. He was staying. “I come up with a quick design for you to fix up your place, you focus on that, roofs get done, my design for Gilda gets done and we move forward in a couple of weeks.”

He didn’t say anything right away, then he flexed his jaw. “It will have to work.”

Have to work?

She climbed out of her side of the truck and shut the door. “‘Thanks, Mel, that’s a great idea.’ ‘Glad to help, Jace. Great working with you.’”

She started toward the stables, and it would have been a perfect stomp-off, but then she realized she needed to see his house. Like quickly.

She turned.

He was standing there, stock-still, arms folded, watching her. And a hinted smile softened his jaw and put a sparkle in his eyes. “Forgetting something?”

“You are a particularly annoying person.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” He indicated the house with a tip of his head. “Let’s grab sandwiches, head to my place and then you can march off indignantly. Okay?”

“It’s not okay at all,” she grumbled as they climbed the steps. “It totally loses punch in the delay, so what sane woman wastes a great walk-off when it’s already been defeated. No.” She turned to face him at the door, and she wasn’t afraid to add a slight splash of Southern geniality to her tone. “I will save my stomping for moments of necessity. Right now, we have work to do. You. Me. And my design program.”

“So I can expect the cold shoulder at a future time?”

“Only as needed, Jace.”

Sassy. Saucy. And strong, despite her diminutive size. Did she know her stuff?

The magazine pictures said yes, but while the pictures looked great, he worried. Did someone have to rein her in and explain bearing walls and structural integrity?

“I smell something amazing.”

“Cookie’s beef-and-onion soup.”

“Be still my heart.” She set her bags onto the couch and inhaled deeply. “Who’d have thought soup would smell so amazing on a summer’s day?”

“Cookie makes soup all year round, don’t you?” Jace asked as they entered the kitchen. “Are we too early?”

“Give me fifteen,” answered the cook. “Bread’s in the oven. Nothing like hot beef-and-onion soup with fresh-baked bread. There’s sandwich makings in the fridge.”

“I’m waiting on soup,” Melonie declared.

“I’ll call the roofers, see who’s available to get on the job quickly.”

“Because of the farm timing, right?”

He turned slightly. “Because I’m scheduled to leave town by Labor Day and that’s already going to have to be delayed with this project.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Jobs have pretty much dried up around here. I have little choice.”

Doubt clouded her features. “But you stand to make a year’s worth of money on this project. Correct?”

“That will all depend on costs and labor, but we should both do all right.”

“Then why leave now? Why not take the year God’s given you and see what happens?”

Just what he needed, a stranger pointing out the flaws in his logic—logic that had worked until yesterday, when he discovered his whole life was a lie.

“I don’t mean to interfere.”

He was pretty sure that’s exactly what she meant.

“But to become an instant father, tackle a huge project and have your moving time delayed until winter, why not put it on hold? Unless you’re precontracted there?”

“I’m not.”

She faced him, waiting, then she turned.

He hated that she was right, but it did make sense. He’d have plenty to live on with Gilda’s project, and using that as a showcase in his portfolio would make sense during the next building season. “I’ll add the Realtor to my list of calls.”

She grabbed a cookie from the old-fashioned cookie jar that had a place of honor on the counter. Then she paused, grabbed two more and handed them to him as she went back to the living room for her tablet. “Best appetizers ever.”

He made the first calls and wasn’t sure what soothed him more, getting the roofers to meet him at Gilda’s place tomorrow, canceling the sale of his house, or the two macadamia-nut, white-chocolate-chip cookies.

It almost didn’t even matter that she was right. He could relist the house if he regretted the decision, but renovating his house while prospective buyers were coming through would be a lost cause. He only wished he’d thought of it first.

He called Rosie quickly. “How are the girls doing?”

“Fine, as always, so adorable these two and getting busy! Ava is determined to walk, but, of course, that means falling.”

“You let them fall?” Babies weren’t supposed to fall. Were they?

“I blame this on gravity, Jace. Not ineptitude.”

“No, of course, I didn’t mean...”

She laughed. “I must go—Annie is crawling faster than her sister is walking along the sofa’s edge and she seems determined to trip her.”

Sibling rivalry already?

He put off the next roofing call to hop online and order three how-to-raise-your-child books. Then he called two more roofers for scheduled meetings at Hardaway Ranch. He might be in over his head when it came to raising babies, but he knew building and he knew ranching. And with three books slated to be here in two days’ time, he’d have a firm handle on raising children, too.

“Soup’s on!” Cookie jangled the porch bell. Midday meals were casual. Cookie knew folks couldn’t just drop what they were doing and run to the house in the middle of the workday.

Suppertime wasn’t formal, but it was more structured. At least it had been. With the arrival of the Fitzgerald sisters, new foals dropping, Annie and Ava staying in the big house temporarily and Rosie’s infant daughter, Jo Jo, the plethora of small people meant change. Flexibility. And a mountain of diapers, he’d realized yesterday.

He went inside. And saw Melonie busily making notes into her device. She looked up when the door smacked shut behind him.

She smiled.

Those eyes...like mercury.

Mercury’s poisonous, in case you’ve forgotten.

He knew that, but there wasn’t one hint of poison in those pretty gray eyes. “Any luck on roofing estimates?” she asked.

“Two can meet me tomorrow.”

“Us?”

“Sure, if you want to be there. But it’s roofing,” he continued. “Pretty cut-and-dried if you’re keeping the original lines.”

“I’ll come anyway. I like being involved in every step of the process—it gives me the feel for the end product.”

“Nine thirty and ten thirty. Then a third one in two days, if needed.”

“Got it.” She jotted it into her online calendar and stood. “Food. Then your place.”

Did she think bossy was cute? It wasn’t. But when he let her walk in front of him toward the kitchen, he realized she wasn’t just cute...she was beautiful. And curvy. And smelled great.

Doomed.

Except he couldn’t allow that to happen, so he focused on the delicious food as Melonie put a bit of the melted provolone onto the bread. “This is to die for, isn’t it?”

It was but when she had a second helping, he was perplexed. “How can you eat all that?”

She gazed down at the soup, then up at him. “I honestly don’t know. Trucker’s appetite. And I don’t sit around worrying about being a size zero because I like food. And exercise. And last I knew, women were supposed to have curves.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “My sister was on a too-skinny kick for a while. It got better, then we lost Mom after Dad died and she slipped downhill again. I hate that she’s over in Seattle, where I can’t boss her around. Make her eat doughnuts.”

“Weight and eating disorders are tough.” She sipped water, and frowned. “We humans are hard to figure out at times, aren’t we?”

After what he’d found out yesterday? “Can’t argue that.”

“How hard do you think that was for her?” She stood up to clear her dishes, and he appreciated the effort. Some folks thought Cookie was part maid and housekeeper. He wasn’t, but it was nice that she didn’t have to be schooled on ranch manners. “Your grandmother, I mean. To come here like that and tell you everything?”

“Not as hard as it was on me hearing it.” He didn’t soften the bitter edge of his voice. He stood, too, then raised his hands. “Sorry. This isn’t your fight, and twenty-four hours isn’t enough time for me to be waving the peace flag.”

“I wonder when it will be time?” she said softly, and when she walked toward the kitchen, he realized she might not be talking about him. “Cookie, that was the best. Thank you so much for making it. I wouldn’t have thought hot soup would taste so good on a beautiful summer’s day.”

“You’re welcome. Jace said you two are heading to his place to figure things out. You might want to grab a few of those.” He indicated the cookies with a glance. “His cupboards are pretty bare. He makes sure the horses have food. He doesn’t worry so much about himself.”

“The few times I eat at home don’t require a lot of groceries.” Jace grabbed his cowboy hat from the wall of hooks just inside the back door. “Although if I’m up at Hardaway’s place and raising two little girls, I’ll have to change that up pretty quick.”

“Truth.” Cookie liked to wear an old-style fishing cap in the house. He said it was to keep hair out of the food, but Jace figured the older man just liked wearing a hat. The cook raised one finger to the hat as they were leaving. “See you at supper.”

Melonie grabbed her two bags. He held the screen door open for her and tried to ignore the sweet scent that came back to him as she went by.

“You have horses?” she asked once they were settled in the truck.

“Two,” he answered. “Sometimes I keep them at Pine Ridge. We used to take the sheep into the hills for browsing but we had to stop doing that.”

She arched one really well-groomed eyebrow in silent question.

“Government changed up the rules and took away grazing rights.”

“Lizzie said something about that but we didn’t have time to go into detail. So now the sheep are pretty much being raised in the valley?”

“With more hay, less exercise so less muscle mass.”

“Oh, of course. That makes sense.”

Now he was the questioner. “You get that?”

“We had fresh-raised turkeys in Kentucky. It was a Fitzgerald thing. We only raised enough for family and friends or esteemed business acquaintances of my grandfather. It was a mark of acceptance to be given a Fitzgerald turkey in November.”

“And this relates to sheep...how?”

She laughed. “Good point. When you eat a store-bought turkey, the consistency is different. It’s been tenderized. The home-raised turkeys had a much firmer feel.”

“That’s it exactly.” He sent her an approving look. “The sheep will be the same weight and look the same, but the ratio of fat to lean will be slightly different and the texture will vary. Here we are,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. “That’s Bonnie Lass over there.” He pointed to a dark sorrel mare on the far side of the split-rail paddock. “And the black-and-white is Bubba. My dad’s horse. Would you like to go see them?”

“No.”

He’d started that way. He stopped, surprised.

She took a step back and shook her head. “I can admire them from afar, thanks. Lizzie and Char are the horsewomen in the family. I’m better inside a house than inside a barn.”

How did someone with an aversion to animals just become quarter owner of a multimillion-dollar ranching operation? “Good to know.” He moved back and led the way to the front of the house. He unlocked the door and waited for her to follow.

She didn’t.

She stepped back and snapped several pictures of the exterior.

“The outside doesn’t need fixing.”

She jotted something into the tablet and shrugged. “I want to envision the whole package, if that’s okay? Just like with Gilda’s place.”

She followed him inside.

He expected criticism because the real estate agent had given him a hefty list of changes—a list he tore up as soon as she was gone.

Melonie surprised him instantly when she grabbed hold of his arm. “Jace, this is charming.”

“Is it?” He ran a hand over the stubble along his jaw.

“Well, it needs a little spruce-up, some painting and some crown molding, but look at these built-ins.” She motioned to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanking the fireplace. “You put a wood-burning insert in here.”

“The Realtor told me I should pull it out and redo the fireplace. She said it adds eye appeal to the buyer.”

“And then they freeze all winter?” When she rounded her eyes in disbelief, a wave of relief washed over him. “Cold winds, slashing rains, heavy snow? Who wouldn’t want a cozy wood-burning stove to come home to?”

“Exactly. It takes the pressure off the heating bill and gave me some extra money to help Justine get through college.”

“Jace, what a good brother you are.” She’d been jotting quick notes as she moved through the downstairs rooms. Now she turned. Met his gaze. And then she didn’t stop meeting his gaze. She brought one hand up, her free one, and touched her throat.

Oh, man.

He wanted to step forward. Smile at her. Maybe flirt, just a little.

He stepped back instead. “There are two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.”

“Let’s check them out.” He followed her up the stairs. She paused at the top and snapped a couple of pictures. She didn’t say anything.

That kind of unnerved him. A quiet woman was a rare bird in his experience, and as she tapped things into her tablet, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Then pulled them out again. He motioned downstairs. “I can make coffee. I’ve got a one-cup system so it’s always ready.”

“Coffee sounds great,” she told him. But she didn’t look up. She was perched against the short stair rail at the top of the stairs while her fingers flew.

“Okay.” He went downstairs. Made the coffee. When she didn’t come down, he called up to her. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Perfect.”

She hurried down the stairs, and came really close to sliding across the hardwoods like he’d done as a kid. “Is it in the kitchen?”

“On the counter. There’s milk, too. And sugar. Nothing fancy, though. Sorry.”

“Black’s fine. If it’s great coffee, why ruin it with all that other stuff?” She grabbed the coffee, took a seat at the table and sipped. Then she savored the moment, eyes round, before she lifted the mug like a salute. “Perfect blend.”

“Cowboy blend,” he told her.

“You made this?” That got her full attention. “Like the actual coffee beans and stuff?”

“No.” He didn’t sit. Not in the middle of the workday. There was too much stuff to do. “I order it from a place in Boise—White Cloud Coffee. This is one of their signature blends. Cowboy.”

She smiled at him, then took another sip of pure appreciation. “It’s ideal. Not bitter. Not weak. Great aroma.”

“You love coffee.” He did, too. Maybe too much.

“I love good coffee,” she corrected him. “I will admit to being a coffee snob. It’s a fault, I know.”

“Then it’s one I share because bad coffee shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Exactly.” She smiled up at him again. Did she know how inviting that was? Was she using that pretty smile to break him down before she gave him bad news about the house?

“I’m going to go take care of the horses while you nose around, all right?”

She lifted the ironstone mug. “I’ve got coffee in a great mug and the info I need. I’m good.”

“And cookies,” he reminded her. He set the little pack of Pine Ridge cookies on the table. “It’s like afternoon tea, ranch-style.”

“Way better,” she told him.

He went outside, conflicted.

She dressed upscale and talked hometown-friendly. Until she turned the drawl on to put him in his place.

He smiled, thinking of that, then stopped smiling because he was thinking of it. Thinking of her. That’s all he needed, to fall for another woman with big dreams of TV or stardom or anything that wasn’t down-home Idaho.

His phone buzzed a text from Justine. Can we talk? Soon? Because I can’t get my head around all this, Jace.