Читать книгу A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing - Ruth Logan Herne - Страница 13

The last thing Jace Middleton wanted was to leave the place he loved so well. The place he knew, the town he’d called home for nearly thirty years and the land that beckoned him like a cow calls a calf. But the town had fallen on hard times, and the choices he wanted no longer existed in Shepherd’s Crossing.

He ran one hand across the nape of his neck as he studied the family farmhouse that had been passed down for three generations. Three generations that ended with him.

He shoved emotions aside and studied the old house from a builder’s perspective. The faded gray house lacked...everything.

Not the essentials. The modest one-and-a-half-story home was solidly built, and the mid-twentieth-century addition nearly doubled the first-floor living space, but there was nothing about this house that tempted folks to make an offer anywhere near his asking price. The way Jace saw things playing out, he would be left with two choices.

Walk away, begin life anew in Sun Valley and let the Realtor handle it. Or fix the place up, except...

He sighed.

He couldn’t do it. He was good at tearing apart other folks’ things and putting them back together. The thought made him flex his arms. There was nothing Jace liked better than reconfiguring something old into something new, but every time he went to change something in his parents’ home, he ground to a stop. These were family walls. Family memories. They belonged to him and his younger sister, Justine.

These walls held all he had left of his parents, Jason and Ivy Middleton. He’d lost one to cancer and the other one to heartbreak, and he couldn’t bring himself to demolish one stinking part of this house, even to increase the resale value. It felt wrong. Plain wrong. But he was slated to begin a new job in Sun Valley by Labor Day, which meant he had a couple of months to get things in order, sell the unsellable house, pay off his sister’s college loans and start fresh. With dwindling jobs, cash and population, there was little left in Shepherd’s Crossing, and things had grown worse over time.

He needed a fresh start.

He pretended he didn’t downright hate that thought as a stylish SUV pulled into the nearby intersection. The car started to turn left, then paused.

It pulled back, onto the main road. Then the driver cranked the wheel in the opposite direction.

She paused again, looking left, then right, then frowned down at something... A map? A GPS?

Jace had no idea but every now and again a stormy day messed up satellite signals so he started her way about the same time she banked a sharp left turn and spotted him. She pulled up in front of the house, climbed out and came his way, leaving her car running in the middle of the road. Not pulled off to the edge like normal folks do, but smack-dab in the middle of the road, hogging the northbound lane. Who did things like that?

Tall, beautiful, well-dressed women who think they own the world, he decided as she crossed the driveway looking way too fine for their humble little town. He’d done a stint with a worldly woman a few years back, and one high-heeled heart-stomping had been more than enough.

“Your car.” He pointed behind her as she approached. “You might want to move it off the road.”

“I won’t be long.” Strong. Self-assured. And cucumber-cool. So already annoying. “You’re selling this place?”

Was she a would-be buyer? If that was the case, she could leave her car wherever she wanted and he’d be crazy polite. “Yes.”

“What’s the asking price?”

He told her and she lifted an eyebrow. “How long has it been on the market?”

Longer than it should have taken, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. “A few weeks.”

She waited, watching him, as if she knew he was downscaling the time frame.

“Six weeks, actually.”

Her look went from him to the house and back as two cars came down the road. She paid no attention to the cars, or the fact that they needed to get around her car to make it into the intersection. She moved forward, toward the house, then paused. “This is your place?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want advice?”

“Not if it requires me changing anything.” It was a stupid answer, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to pretend.

“I see.” She gave him a smile that was half-polite and half something that wasn’t one bit polite. “Well, best of luck to you.”

She crossed back to her car, waited at the road while another car buzzed by, then took her place behind the wheel. He thought she was going to put it in gear and go, but she paused. Looked back at him. “I’m going to Pine Ridge Ranch. Do you know where that is?”

He shoved his cowboy hat back on his head and choked down a sigh.

He knew all right. He’d spent the last dozen years working there with his friend Heath Caufield. This must be the middle Fitzgerald sister, come to stake a claim on the ranch. He knew that because her sister Lizzie told him she’d be along soon.

This sister was different, though. Smoky gray eyes, dark curly hair and skin the color of biscuit-toned porcelain, a current popular choice in kitchens and baths. Lizzie failed to mention that her sister thought herself a cut above, so his work time on the ranch just got a little more tedious than it needed to be. “I’m heading there right now. I’ll take lead. You follow.”

“Or just tell me how to get there,” she replied in a voice that suggested she wasn’t about to follow anyone anywhere.

So be it. He did a slow count to five before he let her have it her way. “Two miles up the road, give or take, a left turn into a winding drive that heads deeper into the valley. There’s a mailbox that marks the spot.”

“Great. Thanks.” She put the car into gear and drove off.

He got into his worn pickup truck, turned it around and followed her, and when he parked the truck at the ranch about five minutes later, her stylish SUV was nowhere to be seen.

“Jace, you want to run the baler now that the dew’s burned off? That first cutting of hay looks mighty nice this year.” Heath Caufield came his way and Jace nodded as he shut the truck door.

“Glad to. Hey, buddy. What’s up?” Jace high-fived Heath’s son when the five-year-old raced over to him—the child seemed unhampered by the neon-green cast on his right forearm.

“We’re having another baby horse, and a wedding!” shrieked Zeke. He barreled into Jace’s arms and gave him a big hug. “And you’re goin’ to be with Daddy when he gets married and then my Lizzie gets to be my mom like every...single...day.” He paused between words to magnify their importance, and Jace understood real well how nice it was to have a mom. And how much you missed them once they were gone.

“Zeke.” Heath made a face at the boy. “I’m supposed to ask Jace to stand up with me at the wedding. Not boss him around.”

Zeke put his little hands over his face and giggled. “Oops. Sorry! Hey, somebody’s coming, Dad!” He pointed up the hill as the white SUV made its way into the valley. Dust rose from the graveled drive, blanketing the car, and when it finally made its way into the barnyard, the sleek white paint wore a film of fine Idaho dirt.

The door opened. The woman got out, and waited for the dust to clear. When it did, she spotted Jace right off. “You beat me here.”

He may have smirked slightly. “The turnoff could be better marked, I suppose.”

Her eyes narrowed, but then she spotted Heath.

She smiled then, and Jace was pretty sure it was about the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. Fitzgerald eyes, about the only thing she had in common with her uncle Sean and her sister Lizzie.

“Melonie?” Heath started forward. “Gosh, it’s great to see you. Lizzie will be over the moon that you’re here. And this big guy—” Heath set his hand on the five-year-old’s head “—is my son, Zeke.”

“We’ve met over the computer.” Lizzie’s sister bent to the boy’s level and offered him a sweet smile. “But you’re even more handsome in real life, Zeke Caufield.”

Zeke grinned, clearly charmed in less time than a foolish man takes to ride a rodeo bull. Heath clapped the boy on the back and laughed. “Lizzie’s at the horse stables, but she’ll be right along. How are you?” he asked as the woman stepped forward and gave him a hug.

“Ask me in twelve months when I can take my career off hold,” she told him. She lifted her eyebrows toward the beautiful horse stables just west of the graveled parking area. “If I live that long. You know me and horses—we learned the hard way to stay clear of one another and that’s not about to change. Sakes alive, Heath.” She gazed around and her eyes softened with appreciation. Her voice drawled now, a nod to the woman’s Southern roots. Funny there was no trace of that drawl when she’d stopped at Jace’s place. “This has got to be the back door to nowhere, isn’t it? And yet... It’s real pretty in its own Western way.”

Back door to nowhere?

Jace hung back, purposely.

He knew her kind, all right. The sort that kept themselves separate, disparaging the dawn-to-dusk hard work on a spread like this. The kind of woman that found down-home ranching beneath them. His family had helped settle this town. They’d built homes, dug wells and arranged for schooling and libraries, and they’d done it all expecting nothing in return except a chance to grow a town worth living in, so he not only respected the work that went into this town. He admired it.

“Jace.” Heath motioned him over and it would be rude to stand still. Rude...but tempting, nonetheless. He rebuffed the temptation and crossed between the vehicles. “Jace, this is Lizzie’s sister, Melonie. Mel, this is my friend and right-hand man, Jace Middleton.”

“Mr. Middleton.” She drawled his name out with all the pomp of a modern day Scarlett O’Hara and if that didn’t spell trouble with a capital T, then nothing did. “It is a pleasure to make your official acquaintance.”

“Mine, too, ma’am.” He extended his hand. She met his gaze, straight on, then took his hand. The strength of her grip surprised him but he refused to show it. “Glad you found your way. Eventually.”

“As am I.” He was pretty sure the Southern drawl was all for his benefit because it disappeared when Lizzie came running across the grass from the stables.

“Melonie!”

“Lizzie!” They hugged and laughed and at that moment he couldn’t resent her because he knew what it was like to have family love.

You knew it, you mean.

He choked down a sigh. He started for the baler, wishing things were different. He wished the town’s economy hadn’t started to nose-dive two decades back when no one bothered looking. Wished he wasn’t the last Middleton in a town built by Middletons.

But he was, and there were no two ways about it. Jace was going to do the one thing he hated to do. He was going to leave Shepherd’s Crossing and all his family had built over the years. Built...and lost.

He yanked his cowboy hat onto his head and fired up the baler. He’d longed for a chance to set things right, to make a name for himself in his hometown, but that wasn’t about to happen now.

So be it.

He’d do whatever it took to help his kid sister, Justine, get the start she deserved, and to make his way in the world. Even if it meant changing up the old house. He pushed the thoughts aside as he maneuvered the big machine out of the equipment barn to gas it up.

Lizzie’s sister looked up. Not at him, but beyond him. Something marked her gaze. Something shadowed and maybe even sad as her eyes swept over the beautiful ranch with a long, slow look. A look that indicated she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She righted her features before she turned back toward Lizzie, but then she saw him looking her way.

Her gaze narrowed. Her mouth did, too. But the face she showed Lizzie two seconds later was warm and genuine.

Only it wasn’t, and right now Jace Middleton was pretty sure only he and Melonie Fitzgerald knew that.

Sparse population, drastically cold winters and a herd of horses probably waiting to trample her senseless.

What on earth was Melonie Fitzgerald doing in western Idaho, when she’d been on the verge of contracting her own home-design TV show?

She knew the answer. Her father. He was a major publishing owner/executive who’d brought down his company, his home and his three daughters when he diverted millions in cold, hard cash into overseas accounts...then followed it there.

She didn’t do ranches. She steered clear of horses for good reason. And when her long-term boyfriend realized she was not only broke, but also in a mountain of debt, he’d dumped her like a hot potato fresh out of the coals.

Yet here she was, fulfilling the terms of a bequest on her late uncle’s ranch when she should have been on camera, filming the pilot episode of Shoestring Southern Charm.

Girl, you make the best of every situation. If it gets dark, you light a candle. If it gets cold, start a fire, or warm a room with your smile. A smile goes a lot further than a frown.

Corrie’s words. Succinct and true, always dependable. She turned to ask Lizzie about their nanny/surrogate mother, but caught the cowboy’s gaze instead.

He was hot. Not big-city hot, either. Country hot, with his long-sleeved blue thermal shirt, dark blue jeans and a to-die-for real cowboy hat. The black hat showed off his bronze skin and made him look even more rugged, if such a thing was possible.

He’d duped her over the directions.

After you treated him like a back-road hick.

She winced because she’d iced him and she wasn’t usually like that. But four years of running part of the magazine’s corporate office had affected her. She faced her sister. “Where’s Corrie?”

“Up the drive visiting Rosie and the baby.”

Was Melonie supposed to have a clue what she meant? Because she didn’t.

Lizzie took her arm as the good-looking cowboy busied himself with a fairly monstrous piece of machinery. “You’ll get to know folks quick enough. There are a lot of nice people here, Mel.”

Mel locked eyes with her. “There are nice people everywhere. Doesn’t mean I intend to live there. You know me. This isn’t exactly my thing.”

“And on that note.” Heath slipped an arm around Lizzie, kissed her, then bumped his forehead to hers. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”

Lizzie gave him a smile that said more than words. “Love you, too. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you, Dad!” The brown-skinned little boy jumped into his father’s arms and gave Heath a big hug. “Maybe we’ll make some cookies for you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Heath shared a grin with the boy, then took off in a muscled-out pickup truck.

“They’re taking the winter lambs to market.”

Melonie scowled. “I know what that means.”

“Says the steak lover in the family.”

Melonie started to acknowledge that, but spotted Corrie coming their way. She dropped her purse and raced off to meet the woman who’d stood by the three sisters for as long as she could remember.

“Have mercy, I’ve missed you, girl!” Corrie pulled back, looked Mel over, then offered her a sweet, wide smile. “Look at you, all Louisville fancy in the heart of western Idaho.”

“Please do not tell me this is overdressed,” said Mel. She glanced at Lizzie’s blue jeans, barn boots and T-shirt and sighed. “Never mind.”

“I’ve got stuff you can use, Mel. But yeah, even casual silk has no place here. ” Lizzie exchanged a grin with Corrie. “And cotton’s a must.”

“Meaning I might as well leave my luggage in the car, right?”

Corrie laughed. “Let’s get your things inside and we’ll catch up. Did Cottonwood Productions offer you a contract? And are they willing to wait?”

“Yes and no.” Melonie pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes as she trundled a bag up the steps. “When they realized I had to be here, they quietly shredded the whole thing.”

“Oh, Mel.” Lizzie stopped on the top step. “That could have been a huge step forward for you. Wasn’t it worth foregoing Uncle Sean’s bequest to give it a shot?”

Melonie shook her head as she climbed the stairs. “Breaking into cable is high risk. Most pilots go nowhere. Only a few make it, but with nothing to live on, the choice became a no-brainer. Ezra is shopping it around, but I’ve got bills to pay.” Ezra had been a photographer for the magazine. Now he was working freelance photography and videography.

“I hear you,” said Lizzie. “Come on in, let’s get you settled. And I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m hungry. Let’s make some sandwiches and eat them on the porch with the cute kid. We can play with the puppies.”

Cute kid. Puppies. Sandwiches?

Was this her low-carb, former publishing-executive sister talking? The one whose job disappeared along with their swindling father? She reached out a hand to Lizzie’s forehead. “No fever, but possible delirium. Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

Lizzie laughed as Zeke popped in, grabbed a cookie, then headed right back out again. “I’m a rancher, Mel. Welcome to the Pine Ridge Ranch. It is—” she slipped an arm around Melonie’s shoulders and gave her a half hug as they moved to the stairs “—real nice to have you on board. I’m hoping you’ll be surprised by the reception you get when you meet the locals. I gave all kinds of people the last two copies of your magazine and they loved them. Who knows?” She lifted the suitcase to carry it up the stairs. “You might land some jobs here.”

Melonie had gotten an eyeful of what Shepherd’s Crossing had to offer when she shot past the farm drive on her first pass through. The small town just north of Pine Ridge featured worn-out buildings, paint-peeling facades and a pervading air of desperation. Not exactly a recipe for success.

She could make a difference. She knew that instantly, but she had no stake, no cash and no reserves to draw on. For a design person like her, Shepherd’s Crossing would be a fresh canvas. She’d love to engage her hands in a project like that, to help renovate a run-down community.

But she’d found out the hard way that nothing came from nothing, and without money... Well, there were no options without money.

“Ladies.”

That voice. Jace’s voice, ringing deep and strong and true. She came face-to-face with him as he crossed the broad front porch. She moved to the screen door and pointed. “They’re taking my things upstairs. Can I help?”

“Let Lizzie know we’ll be running hay all day. Have her text if she needs me between loads.”

“I will. And hey—I was short with you when I stopped by your place. I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.”

“There was,” she insisted, opening the screen door. For some reason she wanted him to understand. “Generally I’m a nice person. Except around horses and dirt and manure.”

He didn’t smile at the joke. He looked almost sorry for her, then put up his hands. “Apology accepted. Those of us who work around all three on a daily basis will be sure to steer clear.”

That wasn’t what she meant and only a thin-skinned, stubborn, boneheaded man would take it that way. A man with the greatest set of shoulders she’d ever seen.

He walked away, climbed onto the big machine and started it up. Then he rumbled it past the barns, down a long lane stretching to faraway fields. And he didn’t look back.