“Probably in the back field. Shade trees there and it’ll be plenty hot today,” Cal said, wiping a hand over his brow. The back of his T-shirt already showed dampness.
Maggie didn’t want to show her disappointment in front of the cowboy...if he even was a cowboy. Just because a man wore boots, a hat and Wranglers didn’t mean he was a cowboy. In her limited experience thus far, lots of Texans wore cowboy stuff no matter what their profession. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Sell it. It needs work, but you can get something out of it. I don’t know much about the real estate market, but it’s good acreage.”
Of course, selling the ranch was the smartest option. Wasn’t like she was actually interested in owning a ranch, but the terms of the will made it complicated. If she kept the ranch for five years, the title would be hers. If she sold it, the profit would be split with the Edelman children, with her only getting a fourth of the sale. Maggie’s first thought was to hold on to the property for the required years, but she didn’t have the money needed to both maintain a ranch and support herself in Philadelphia. If it hadn’t been so dilapidated, the money netted from the sale would be plenty to help her start a new life, but as is...
She sucked in a deep breath. “How do I find Mr. Lowery?”
“Try the bars.”
“Which one?”
“All of ’em.”
Great. Bud had been paying a drunk to take care of the place. The old man’s pride and joy, the surprise bequest he’d left her, had been abandoned for a bottle of whiskey.
Piece of heaven her ass.
Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can sell, but I’ll have to fix it first. No one’s going to make an offer on something needing this much work.”
“Sure they will. Sell it ‘as is.’”
She leveled a look at Cal. “Would you buy this place?”
“Shit, no.”
“Exactly. That will be everyone’s response. And since I need the money this place will bring, I want top dollar. How much do you think this place would be worth with over three hundred and fifty acres and a decent—” she tossed a glance at the pathetic house “—house?”
Cal looked at the house, squinting his eyes. “Well, it’s a big house. If you repaired it, painted it, upgraded some things inside, you’d probably get a couple of million easy. Land’s prized around here, but a working ranch, spiffed up...”
“So you don’t know?”
“Not really. Like I said, real estate’s not my thing.”
Which made her wonder—what was his thing?
But what did Cal matter at that moment? She had bigger fish to fry. Her original plan when she’d left Philly had been to stay a day or two, scatter Bud’s ashes and make the decision on what to do with the Triple J. Of course, she knew the right decision would be to sell the place. But Bud had talked about the Triple J with such wistfulness, describing nights in front of the fireplace, rocking chairs on the porch and lovely vistas. In the back of her mind, Maggie had wondered if the ranch could be a place to belong even if she didn’t know a gelding from a stallion. She could finally have something that was all hers, silly as it sounded.
The Triple J would be sold. Maggie would take her part and head back to the East Coast. She could stay with her aunt until she found her own place. And though she’d sent her résumé to several companies and already netted interview requests, she’d been kicking around the idea of starting her own consulting firm. She was particularly skilled in creating and facilitating successful board meetings. If she could parlay that skill into a company that mediated contentious corporate situations, she could be her own boss. But to do that, she needed seed money.
“I need to think. Renovating this place will be a huge job,” she said, trying to regain some of the cool she’d lost in the past few minutes. The situation called for being rational, strategic and—
“I could help you out,” Cal said, interrupting her internal plea for calmness.
“What?”
“Right now I’m living in a trailer on my mom’s land...at least for the next month, but I could always move out here and oversee repairs.”
“Are you a...uh, carpenter? Or contractor?”
His smile was like sun after a storm. “Hell, no.”
“I’m not sure why I would hire someone who doesn’t have any skills to oversee something that... Well, I’m not even sure of the extent of what’s needed.” So he was unemployed, lived in a trailer on his mother’s land and looking for a job? Sounded like a man to stay away from.
“I have skills,” he said, an edge in his words implying he was talking about more than using a hammer.
Maggie clamped her mouth closed and studied him. In the midmorning light, he looked right as rain framed against the faded barn. He had the whole fantasy thing going—sexy cowboy with a side of trouble.
Or a side of fun.
Okay, yeah, she was attracted to him. Very attracted to him. He made little butterflies flit around her tummy and warmth curl up her spine. But that wasn’t a good enough reason to employ someone she’d not even vetted to help her out of a tight spot with the Triple J.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to turn down his offer, generous or not, a pickup truck bumped over the rise. The paint job was interesting—two doors covered in white primer and a hood painted bright blue. The rest of the vehicle was a rusty red. It looked like a worn-out American flag as it came to a halt beside Cal’s truck. The engine died and an older man climbed out.
Cal rubbed a hand over his face. “Ah, shit.”
“You the gal I’m supposed to meet?” the older man called in a gravelly voice, walking toward them. He wore a straw cowboy hat, brand-new indigo jeans and a T-shirt with Rattled Rooster Saloon stamped across the front. He spit in the dust and eyed Cal.
The tension between the men was thick. Like there could be a shoot-out at the not-so-OK Corral.
“The gal?” Maggie repeated, not bothering to extend her hand.
The older man lifted his hat. “Sorry about being late. Set my damn alarm clock for p.m. and not a.m. I’m usually up when the cock crows, but I must have been tuckered out.”
Cal snorted.
Charlie’s mouth tightened at the sound.
“I’m assuming you’re Mr. Lowery?”
The man nodded.
“I accept your apology. But what I do not accept is the condition of this ranch. You’ve been paid a considerable sum of money each month to take care of the Triple J and you’ve failed miserably.”
Charlie drew back. “Now see here, Ms....what’s your name again?”
“Stanton.”
“What you don’t understand is how much money it takes to run a ranch. It’s more than feed and vet bills. I asked Bud for extra money to fix the barn and repaint it last year. Those damn kids are always out here drinking and fu—uh, messing around. Only so much I can do. I told him about the roof leaking. He said he’d send somebody. So I tried.”
“Tried?” Maggie reined in the anger brewing inside her. “I’ll need to see your accounting, Mr. Lowery.”
“Like receipts and stuff? Might be a few on the floorboard, but Bud never told me I had to keep a book or nothing.”
“You realize you’re going to make restitution, don’t you? This place is in shambles.”
Charlie looked over at