No Getting Over A Cowboy

“I am ready to do that,” he snarled. Then, he huffed and silently cursed. Being a badass was his brother’s specialty. He was actually a nice guy. Most days anyway, but this didn’t feel like most days.

“Look, Loretta, there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said. “One that I’m certain we can all work out. But trust me when I say that you can’t stay here. The work crew will have some big equipment, including a bulldozer. It’s not safe,” he repeated.

“You’re sure?” Loretta called out to him as he started for the stairs.

“Positive,” he assured her and kept on walking. Then, paused. “Is this Mrs. Marlow well enough to talk? I mean, she’s not bedridden, is she?”

“Lordy, no. Why would she be bedridden?” Loretta patted her chest again. “You think she’s sick?”

Yeah, he had thought that. After all, Loretta had mentioned cancer, but perhaps she’d been talking about Mrs. Marlow’s astrological sign.

The second floor was right out of a class project for a horror movie. A long, dark hall with a creaky floor, complete with burned-out wall lights and old paintings that were tilted and bowed enough to send OCD folks into a panic attack. He followed the hall to the room where he’d seen the woman in the window earlier.

Not there.

“Mrs. Marlow?” he called out.

Nothing. Well, not a voice anyway, but his phone rang, and he saw his sister’s name on the screen.

“Sorry, I was out riding, and I just now got your voice mail,” Sophie said the moment Garrett answered. “Are there really squatters at Z.T.’s house?”

“I’m not sure who they are, but one of them said Mom gave her permission to be here. You know anything about that?”

“No. Why would she do that? And why would anyone want to stay at that place anyway?”

“I asked first. Where’s Mom?”

“In the family room.” It wasn’t the best of connections, and there was plenty of static on the line. “I’m pretty sure she’s eating lunch and watching her soap.”

Which meant she had turned off her phone or else had the TV volume cranked so high that she hadn’t heard it ring. Of course, the third possibility was that she was avoiding him because she knew he’d be pissed about this.

“Can you go to her right now and ask her what the hell is going on?” He added some profanity to that.

“I will, but I’ll leave out all the language that’ll make her lecture you at her earliest convenience. Hold on. I’m heading to the family room now.” At least he thought that’s what Sophie had said through the static.

“Do you remember Mom ever mentioning a woman named Loretta Cunningham or a Mrs. Marlow?” Garrett asked, and he got moving, too, past the rows of bedrooms on each side of the hall.

“Not that I can recall. Wait... I do remember Mom mentioning a Loretta. She used to babysit us, I think.”

And apparently diaper them.

“Well, she’s here,” Garrett added. “She’s the one who claims Mom said she could stay.”

“Maybe Mom meant they could stay for the day or something. You know, for, like, a picnic.” More static, more noise, too, and he thought some of that noise was coming from a TV. Since the static was hurting his ears, Garrett put the call on speaker and kept searching for the elusive Mrs. Marlow.

“Garrett?” he finally heard his mother say. “You’ve had three calls on your office phone. All from women. I don’t think they’re calling about business, either. Now that you’re divorced, I think they want to get in your pants.”

Garrett groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to talk to his mother about.

“It’s not right,” his mother went on. “Those women just want to use you.”

Yes, and if his mind ever got back to a good place, he just might let those women get in his pants until he could work his way through a jumbo box of condoms.

“And speaking of the divorce, Meredith called, too, when she couldn’t reach you on your cell phone,” his mother continued before he could speak. “She said she needed to see you about something. Wouldn’t say what exactly. Needless to say, I don’t approve. I don’t think it’s right for your ex-wife to want to get into your pants.”

He’d been wrong. This was the last thing he wanted to talk to his mother about.

Garrett finally managed to get a word in edgewise. “Mom, I’m calling about Loretta Cunningham. I’m out at Z.T.’s house now, and she’s here.”

“Loretta’s there?” She sounded overjoyed about that. And static-y. Since the static was only getting worse, he stopped walking, hoping that would help with the signal. “She used to watch you kids for me when I needed a break. She’s the one who gave me that homemade ointment that cleared up the rash on your tushy.”

He would have groaned again if it’d do any good. “Please focus, Mom. Did you tell Loretta she could stay at Z.T.’s place?”

“No, of course not.”

Instant relief. He could be the asshole after all and demand that the women leave. He could even pay them for the cleaning they’d done. Then, he could get that work crew in to deal with the pond and fence.

“Any idea why Loretta thought you’d told her she could stay here?” Garrett pressed.

But the line went dead. While it would have been nice to hear what his mother had to say about that, it wasn’t necessary.

“Garrett Granger?” someone said. It was a woman, and she stepped out from the last bedroom at the end of the hall.

Because of the shot lights, Garrett couldn’t see her that well, but she started walking toward him. “Yeah. And you are?”

“Nicky Marlow.”

Ah, finally. “There’s been a misunderstanding.” On your part, Garrett wanted to add. “My mother didn’t give Loretta permission to stay here.”

“No,” she calmly agreed, and she took something from the canvas bag she had in her hand. It was still hard to see, but it looked like some papers. “But she gave me permission. Actually, she gave me a one-year lease.”

Shit. His stomach landed near his kneecaps. No. This couldn’t be true.

She came closer, thrusting that paper at him. The lease, no doubt. The one that his mother better not have signed. Garrett snatched it from her and had a look for himself.

His stomach flopped down to the dusty floor. Because that was indeed a lease, indeed his mother’s signature.

He looked up to tell the woman that one way or another, the lease had to be broken. But the argument died on his lips when he looked at her face. That’s because this wasn’t Mrs. Marlow. This was Nicky Henderson.

The cute blonde flute player Garrett had deflowered seventeen years ago. And then dumped.

Not exactly good memories.

Apparently not for her, either. Judging from the way Nicky’s mouth tightened, this was one woman in Wrangler’s Creek who had absolutely no desire to get in his pants.

CHAPTER TWO (#uae2c159f-6e9b-5cff-a007-ef738a91a632)

IT WASN’T EASY for her to stare down the man with whom she’d made her awkward sexual debut, but Nicky managed it. It helped that Garrett wasn’t exactly giving her the smoldering looks he had the night of said debut. In fact, once he got past the initial shock of seeing her, he started glaring.