Cowboy Crush

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 Cal who stood still as a puddle watching the confrontation. “What are you doing here?”

Before Cal could say anything, Maggie pointed a finger toward Charlie. “He’s the person who is going to oversee you and the cleanup of the Triple J. Consider Cal the foreman on this project. And you’re going to be intimately involved with rectifying the neglect or I’ll sue your pants off.”

She hadn’t meant to make Cal the foreman...which wasn’t actually a position for something like this. Or maybe it was. She’d never undertaken the salvaging of a ranch. Lawyering up was merely a threat. Though she was certain she could get the attorney Bud had used for forty years to draft a threatening letter. Regardless she had to get the place cleaned up and Charlie Lowery owed her. Lumping Cal in was sheer insanity. Maybe the horniness she had for the man had blocked out logic. Or perhaps it was the image of him lifting boards and painting fences, shirtless and glistening with sweat in the hot Texas sun.

Oh, God. She needed to have her head examined. Or get laid.

Or both.

Charlie’s face registered agitation. “You’re hiring Cal? He’s not a contractor. He’s a bu—”

“I’m perfectly capable of overseeing the repairs,” Cal interrupted. “If you remember, I spent many summers working ranches.”

Charlie didn’t say anything more in argument. He merely shifted his gaze from Cal to her and then back to Cal again. After a few tense seconds, he uttered, “This is bullshit.”

And then he stalked to his truck, lowered the tailgate and hefted a heavy bag to his shoulder. Without another word to either of them, he disappeared into the barn. Five or six cats followed him, their heads ducked cautiously.

Cal turned back to her. “You’re really going to hire me?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“But...”

She sucked in more hot Texas air. “Honestly, you’re the only person I know here. And you were true to your word—you got me inside the ranch. And I don’t have time to do a huge job search. Please tell me you have some actual experience with—” she threw her hands in the air and spun around surveying the Triple J “—working miracles?”