Never Trust a Cowboy

“In the new house.” He smiled, grabbing the chance to start over. “You get the home place.”

“And you’ll get the bunkhouse out back if Brad remembers hiring you.” Suddenly retreating, she cast a backward glance. “Like I said, check the pickup.”

Before the screen door slapped shut, Del caught the edge of a smile, the flash of blue eyes. Slim chance, he thought, but the door to making a second first impression had been left ajar.

Driveway gravel rattled under Del’s boot heels as he approached the red short box pickup. Benson’s chin rode his collarbone as his head lolled from one side to the other.

“Good morning.”

Benson opened his eyes halfway, squeezed the right one shut again and squinted the left one against the sunlight until Del’s shadow fell across his face.

“Remember me?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Brad waved a fly away from his face as he slid his spine up the back of the pickup seat. “You said you had all the experience I might be looking for. You haven’t seen Thompson around, have you? The guy you’re replacing?”

“Not since last night. Your sister’s the only person I’ve run into since I got here.”

“Stepsister. She sure can be a bitch, that one.” Brad draped one hand over the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes with the other, muttering, “The kind you wanna bring to heel.”

“She said I could have the bunkhouse out back.”

Brad dragged his hand down over his face. “She did, huh?”

“She did, but it’s up to you. Like you said, you’re the boss.”

“You just said the magic words. What’s the name again?”

“Del Fox. Do I need a key?” No answer. “You got anything you want me to do before I stow my gear?”

“What time is it? You probably missed breakfast.”

“I had breakfast.”

“That’s right. You got yourself hired and called it a night. Showed up on time, too. Maybe we’ll keep you around.” He fired up the pickup. “Make yourself at home. Fox? It’s Fox, right? Sorry, I’ll be more hospitable after I’ve had some coffee.” He pointed to the cabin fifty yards or so behind the house, not far from an old red barn with a lofty arch roof. “That’ll be your home sweet home. We’ve got another barn down at the new house, but that’s the only bunkhouse. Who needs two bunkhouses these days, right? Or two hired hands.”

“One of each is more than most places have.” And having a cozy log cabin to himself was a vast improvement over his usual accommodations.

“Everybody around here is downsizing. Either that or diversifying.”

Del glanced to one side and noticed a fenced area close behind the house with a swing set, a little playhouse, a sandbox and more kid stuff. For some reason he was surprised, and he turned quickly back to Brad. “Which is it for you?”

“You’ll have to ask Frank. My stepdad. Can’t seem to make up his mind.” Brad shifted into gear. “Take your time. I’ll be getting a slow start today. If Thompson shows up, tell him to come find me.”

* * *

Del dropped his duffel bag just inside the bunkhouse door and drew a deep breath. Pine pitch and dust. Pine was fine, but dust— He grinned—busting dust was a must. He opened the window between the two single beds and heard someone whistling—warbling, more like—and then calling out for Bingo. From the window he had a view of distant tabletop buttes and black whiteface cows grazing on buffalo grass. A meadowlark sang out, and a chorus of grasshoppers responded. He liked the sights and sounds, most of the smells, and he decided he wouldn’t be living out of a suitcase for a while. He liked the idea of hanging up his shirts and putting his toothbrush on a shelf.

He was wrestling with the drawers in a broken-down dresser when the warbler tapped on the door.

“It’s open.”

The woman with the big blue eyes, Lila, peered inside. “It’s always open, but you can have a lock on it if you want.”

“I don’t use locks. You knock, I’ll answer.” Gladly. No man in his right mind would lock her out. She was a pretty woman trying to pass for plain, and it wasn’t happening. The world owed women like her a clue. She’d get noticed no matter what. “You need any help?”

She pushed open the door with the edge of a straw laundry basket. “I brought you some bedding. I have a feeling you won’t see Brad before suppertime, and I don’t know what’s here.”

“Somebody’s clothes. If anyone comes looking, they’re in that box on the bench outside the door.” He nodded toward the floor in front of the dresser, where he’d tossed the sheets he’d stripped off the beds. “I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do with those.”

“I’ll take care of them.” She peeked into the bathroom. Her hair was clipped up on the back of her head in a jaunty ponytail. “I guess I could spare you some towels. Doesn’t look like the last guy...” She turned and handed him the neatly folded bedding. It smelled like early morning. “I still can’t find my dog,” she said quietly as he set the laundry on the bed.

“I didn’t see anything on the highway.”

“You weren’t really looking.”

“You want me to? I’ve got nothing else to do. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been on the payroll for about an hour now.”

“He’s pretty old. Doesn’t usually go far from the house.”

“You probably don’t want your kids to find him first. How old are they?”

“My kids?” She gave him a funny look, as if maybe he’d been reading her mail. And then the light went on. “Oh, the play yard. I do some day care. Other people’s kids.”

“Maybe other people’s kids took your dog.”

“The kids aren’t here on the weekend. Bingo. Little black terrier. If you see him...” She wagged her finger and chirped, “Bingo is his name-o.”

“Ain’t much of a singer, but I’m a hell of a whistler.” He reproduced her warble perfectly. “Like that?”

“He won’t be able to tell us apart.” She smiled. “I’m not a hell of a whistler.”

He smiled back. “You’re a singer. You can have my whistle for a song. I’ll drive out to the highway and walk the ditches. How’s that?”

“As you said, you’re on the payroll, but you don’t work for me.” She started for the open door, did an about-face on the threshold and came back. “But it’s a generous offer, and I’ll take you up on it. In return I’ll—” she grabbed the laundry basket by one handle and lifted her shoulder “—owe you one.”

“Two.” He presented as many fingers. “If one good turn deserves another, I’ll take two towels. If you’re sure you can spare them.”

“I’ll even throw in a washcloth.”

* * *

He came back empty-handed and genuinely relieved. He liked dogs and didn’t want to see her lose hers. He was good at turning on the charm for people no matter what he was feeling, but there was no pretense when it came to dogs. He’d lived with them, worked with them, learned to respect them without exception. Lila Flynn was a dog person. He could be himself with her on that score.

Plus, she’d brought him clean sheets without him even asking.

He parked his pickup near the bunkhouse, taking care not to block the view from the door or either of the windows. He had to smile when he noticed the broom and mop leaning against the bench on the little plank porch, along with a bottle of Pine-Sol. His favorite.

His return didn’t distract her from pinning laundry to the clothesline in her backyard. He watched her from his new front yard, a little below the level of hers. Another nice view. The summer breeze batted blue denim and white cotton around and toyed with Lila’s hair. He enjoyed watching. But if she was still feeling friendly toward him, he would enjoy shooting the breeze with her even more.