* * *
MAGGIE WIPED THE sweat from her forehead and surveyed her efforts. The screens were in place and she’d managed to give the kitchen, living area and one bedroom a decent scrubbing. She’d ordered a new mattress but until it arrived, she’d make do on one in a bedroom that had been closed off. She found sheets in a linen closet and ran them through the washing machine that, praise Jesus, still worked. Currently they flapped in the hot Texas breeze, pinned to the old-fashioned wash line she’d found and strung up on the two old poles behind the house.
She glanced out at the barn, relieved to see the painters had accomplished a good bit in one day. Thankfully, they’d primed over the rude graffiti so she didn’t have to stare at the rendering of the giant penis.
Waving at the men who loaded into a van, she went back into the oven, aka the house, to fix something for dinner. A knock on the door stopped her.
Charlie stood on the porch, wiping his face with a faded bandana. “I’m leaving now.”
“Okay,” she said.
“How many days I gotta put in to satisfy you?” He looked grumpy as an old bullfrog.
“As many as it takes to get this place back to where it was when Bud entrusted it to you.”
Charlie wiped a hand over his face. “Goddamn it. That could be next year. I ain’t got time for this. I got my own shit to do.”
“Like supporting the local bars? Don’t you feel remorse for letting this place fall apart?” She crossed her arms and gave him her best boardroom stare. Yeah, there were times she had to be Bud’s junkyard dog...in heels, of course.
“I did what I was hired to do. You can’t blame me.”
“Then whom shall I blame?”
“I don’t give a damn. Blame Bud. I told him I needed more money.”
“There was plenty of money in the ranch accounts.”
Charlie frowned. “You don’t understand the cost of running a ranch, but you’ll see. Everything’s expensive. Wait till you get the first vet bill. Bud only gave me so much and I took care of the animals first. Then I maintained the fence lines. I left the house for last. Wasn’t nobody here no how. Every time I replaced the glass in the windows, those damn kids broke them again. I painted over the graffiti twice. Started seeming like a waste if you asked me.”
The older man had a point. “Why not get to the root of the problem? Call the sheriff and put up cameras.”
Charlie’s mouth tipped into a smirk and she could see he’d once been a handsome man. “Think I didn’t? Sheriff can only do so much. This is Texas and there’s a lot of land to cover for his deputies. They came by and ran off some kids every now and again. And so you know, I set out game cameras. The one video feed I got was so grainy I couldn’t tell if it was kids smoking pot or aliens.”
“So you gave up?” Maggie asked.
Charlie shrugged. “Them kids beat me. But I’ll help you out even if I have to put up with Cal bustin’ my balls. Guess I owe Bud that much.” Charlie shuffled back off the porch.
At that moment, Cal’s truck bumped down to the barn. Charlie didn’t say anything else. Just hustled toward his American flag truck, passing Cal without a word. Made her wonder why the older man didn’t like Cal. Cal didn’t bother acknowledging Charlie, either.
As he climbed the porch steps, Cal doffed his hat. She pushed outside onto the porch and sat down on the steps she’d swept off earlier to mostly get rid of spiders. Cal eased himself down so he sat on the same step. He smelled like the heat that surrounded them and faintly like menthol. “Painters gone?”
“A few minutes ago,” she said, easing away from him, telling herself it was because he needed more shoulder room but knowing it was because she didn’t want to be any more tempted than she already was. She had a hang-up for a cowboy. Never in a million years would she have guessed boots and a cowboy hat were such crack.
“Looks like they got a good bit done. On the way to McKinney I called about the septic system, AC and the wells. We need to get those checked and repaired,” he said, setting his hat back on his head. Guess he took it off when greeting a lady. They sure were strange in Texas. But she was glad for it because she liked his hair. The locks were thick and shaggy. Perfect for running a woman’s hands through.
What was he talking about? Oh, yeah, wells and septic systems.
Everything was so overwhelming, and she had much to learn about a ranch and Texas and...snakes. She’d seen one of the native reptiles coiled in the middle of the road today. She needed a book to help her out. Like How to Run a Ranch for Dummies. Or maybe there was a YouTube video. Seemed to be one for everything. She’d learned how to fold sheets and fix a vacuum cleaner on there.
Her face must have portrayed her frustration because Cal patted her thigh. “Just one forkful at a time.”
His hand on her bared skin made heat slither into her belly. Correction. It made more heat slither into her belly. She was already hot as hell from her day of cleaning. And none too attractive she had to add. Maggie hadn’t sweated this much since she’d tried hot yoga. “What?”
“That’s how they say you eat an elephant, right? One forkful at a time.”
“Who eats an elephant, anyway?”
“Dunno.”
“Why are you going to therapy?” she asked.
He rubbed his hands against the worn denim of his jeans and stared out at the sun hovering over the horizon. “Shattered some bones in my left shoulder. Had surgery mid-May to fix it.”
“That sounds painful,” she said, wanting to peer around him to look at his shoulder as if she could see through the cotton fabric. “Was it a wreck?”
“Actually it was.” He smiled. “But it wasn’t in a car.”
“Motorcycle?” He’d look fine straddling a hog. She could see him riding with mirrored sunglasses and a badass smile. No clue how he’d manage to keep the cowboy hat on, though.
“Nah. Bull.”
“Bull? You ran into a bull?”
“More like it knocked me out cold and then stepped on me,” he said.
“Were you working with it? Like on a ranch?” Maybe he’d been a ranch hand. Or a real cowboy who drove cattle. But where did they drive cattle these days? From field to field? She hadn’t a clue. Another thing she needed to learn.
“Actually I was riding it,” Cal said, clasping his hands together between his spread knees.
“As in a rodeo?” Maggie asked, turning toward him. “That’s, like, superdangerous.” And it explained why he lived in a trailer on his mother’s land. She didn’t know much about rodeo, but she knew the cowboys who went town to town in search of rides didn’t have much money. She’d listened to Garth Brooks’s songs when she was a kid. Rodeo was a hard life.
“Yeah, it’s dangerous. I’ve been gored, tossed, stepped on, and I’ve had stitches. Look—” he pulled off his cowboy hat and showed her a white puckered scar near his hairline “—that came from Nitro II. Threw that big head back and nailed me good.”
“So you ride the bulls?”
“I ride the bulls. Well, some of the time.”
“Huh,” she said, lifting herself from the step. “I guess I shouldn’t ask if you’re any good after looking at those injuries. You want to join me for supper?”
He looked up, blue eyes amused. She hadn’t a clue why. He was the one who admitted to doing a completely