Part Time Cowboy

“Yes. I am. I’m a hard worker and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“I thought you were a therapist.”

“Was.”

“Didn’t you listen to people for a living?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Listening is hard work, I’ll have you know. It’s why so few people do it. And anyway, I have the desire to finish all this work, and one thing you should know about me is that when I set out to do something, I get it done, okay?”

“Well, I’ll look forward to seeing you get this done.”

“Yeah, well, I look forward to you putting a shirt on,” she said.

The words hung between them and she tried not to pull a face and reveal just how embarrassing they were to her. Because, damn it all, she was trying to pretend that she hadn’t noticed. And she was pretty sure she’d been managing to hide the whole I’m-helplessly-checking-you-out thing from him, too. Except now she’d gone and shown she was disturbed by it.

Bah.

He cocked his head to the side. “This bothers you?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say...?”

“Because. Because this is a place of business.”

“I thought you weren’t open.”

“I’m not, but...still.”

He leaned in and she caught his scent—sweat and skin. Man. And the want, the need, grabbed her around the throat and shook hard, unwilling to let her go. She should move. She should stop breathing him in.

But she couldn’t think about what might come next. Because her brain was totally blank.

All she could do was stare. At his lips. At the square cut of his jaw. It was dusted with stubble now, not clean like it had been yesterday. Yes, today he looked more out of order in every way, and she had to admit, it was interesting. Fascinating. Dangerous.

Something crackled between them, and he seemed to feel it, too. Because his expression wasn’t granite like usual. There was heat there. Even fire. It flickered, quick and hot, in his dark eyes, and then it was gone.

“I think I’ve imposed on you a little too long,” he said. “I have my own work to do.”

“Right,” she said. “Go on, then.”

“If you need anything...”

“I’ll call Kate.”

“Call Kate.” His words came at the same time hers did.

“Right,” she said. “I’ll do that. I’m picking her up...soon, actually. So. Okay, then.”

He ran his hand over his hair, and she felt a little zip of attraction hit her low as the motion highlighted his biceps. Yet again. There was something wrong with her. It must be all this fresh air.

“I think we’ll be okay, Sadie,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment ago.

“You...do?”

“Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. And try not to change too many things.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c0ddbdf2-13c2-58e3-a09d-c09653f15af1)

SADIE MILLER, IT TURNED OUT, was incapable of following orders. She’d done nothing but change things in the two days since she’d breezed onto the Garrett family ranch, and she showed no sign at all of stopping.

First of all, she’d had a crew there reconditioning the wood, stripping paint. Then she’d followed behind, repainting trim. She was like a little blonde windup toy, and every time Eli drove on the road to Connor’s house or the main part of the ranch, he caught glimpses of her working outside the house. He could always resolve to hole up on his end of the property. The road to his own house ran the opposite direction, but that would mean no visiting with his family, and no ranch work. And he wasn’t that desperate to avoid her.

Still, he didn’t want to catch glimpses of her. He didn’t want her there. And dammit, even he knew that verged on curmudgeonly. But he couldn’t be bothered to care. He had things happening in his life. Important things. And he didn’t need her wandering around the place like a breeze-blown hippie.

Shit, he was uptight. But even so, he hated the feeling of an interloper on Garrett land, and yeah, dammit, he was totally a curmudgeon. There was no denying it. But it just felt...invasive.

He didn’t like change. He didn’t like people crowding. It was a habit from childhood. They didn’t have friends over, well, friends other than Jack Monaghan, and they didn’t invite company in past the front porch. They didn’t let them see what was inside. They didn’t let anyone know the extent to which things had fallen apart.

It was a habit that died hard. Or not at all.

Eli pulled his car past the Catalog House, determined not to look again. Determined not to care. He’d promised Connor and Jack an evening of poker and beer and he planned to deliver. Connor would probably be happy as hell if they canceled, which was one reason he was determined not to.

He parked in front of the porch and looked up at the house. When Jessie had lived there, it had looked nicer than it ever had in Eli’s memory. And everything had slipped since losing her.

Connor’s muddy boots and other random castaways from a day’s work were spread out on the wooden deck, which was in bad need of staining. The windows, vast and prominent, were spotted with water drops and splattered with dirt. Even the door had dirty handprints. Like a very large child lived here. A man child who’d crawled down into a bottle of whiskey the day his wife had been put in the ground.

A man who echoed their father a little too much. Not that Eli had a right to judge, considering that he’d never loved anyone. Not the way Connor had loved Jessie.

He’d never lost like that as a result, either, and he planned to keep it that way.

He got out of the car and noticed Jack’s F-150 was already parked in the muddy driveway—which badly needed to be graveled, Eli would handle that—and he walked up the steps, knocking his boots against the top stair to get some of the mud off before pushing the front door open.

He could hear Jack’s voice already—animated, loud, the same as he’d been since they were a bunch of skinny preteen boys. Jack was a year younger than Eli, but had always been close to both Connor and himself. If Eli had gotten in trouble as a kid, Jack was the reason. As much as Eli liked order, Jack liked disrupting it. Eli couldn’t help but foster a strange admiration for Jack’s total disregard for rules.

He couldn’t partake, but he could admire. From a distance.

“The police are here,” Eli said drily, walking through the entryway and into the dining room, where Connor and Jack were already seated, a stack of cards and poker chips in the middle of the table.

“Sadly,” Jack said, “we haven’t had the chance to do anything illegal yet.”

Connor just sat there looking long-suffering. It was painfully obvious they were trying to pull him out of the pit he was in, and as always, he was so damned aware of it that he’d dug his heels in and was clinging to rock bottom for all he was worth. Stubborn ass.

“And now you won’t get a chance. Are we ready to play? And drink? Thankfully, I’m within walking distance so sobriety is not a necessity.”

“Public drunkenness?” Jack asked.

“Private property.”