Cowboy for Hire

She didn’t.

Instead, she shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think so.”

Finn regarded her thoughtfully. “In my experience, a person’s either lost or they’re not. There is no gray area.”

The woman smiled at him. “Didn’t think I’d find a philosopher all the way out here.”

“It’s not philosophy, it’s just plain common sense,” Finn told her.

To him, so-called philosophers referred to the gaggle of retired old men who got together every morning and sat on the sun-bleached bench in front of the general store, watching the rest of the town go through its paces and commenting on life when the spirit moved them. He was far too busy to indulge in that sort of thing.

“Well, if you don’t need directions, then I’ll get back to my work,” he told her. The woman was clearly out of her element, but if she didn’t want to talk about what she was doing out here, he wasn’t about to prod her. Lost or not, it was strictly her business.

“I don’t need directions, but I do have a question.” She raised her voice as if to get his attention before he began hammering again.

Finn turned back to face her. She looked rather fair. He could see a sunburn in her near future if she didn’t at least put the top up on her car. Skin that fair was ripe for burning.

“Which is?” he asked casually.

“Did you build this yourself?” The woman got out of her car and crossed to the freshly rebuilt front steps of the house.

Thanks to Brett, honesty had always been at the core of his behavior. His older brother expected and accepted nothing less than that. Anyone can lie, Brett maintained, but it took a real man to tell the truth each and every time, even when it wasn’t easy.

“No,” Finn replied. “The ranch house was already here. I just changed things around a little, replaced what needed replacing, added a little here, a little there—that kind of thing,” he told her simply.

He made it sound as if he’d hammered down a few loose boards, but one look at the exterior told her that the man with the impossibly appealing physique had done a great deal more than just that. The structure looked brand-new. She knew for a fact that this part of the state was hard on its buildings and its terrain. Summers could be brutal, and they left their mark on practically everything, especially structures. The ranch house she was looking at had been resurfaced, replaced and renovated—and recently.

Connie couldn’t help wondering if that craftsmanship extended to the inside of the building, as well.

There was only one way to find out.

“Could you take me on a tour of the inside of the house?” she asked brightly.

“I could,” the cowboy answered but made no effort to follow through on her request.

“But?” she asked.

She made him think of a stick of dynamite about to go off. He was about ten inches taller than she was, but a stick of dynamite didn’t have to be very big to make a sizable impression.

Just who was this woman, and what was she doing here? “But I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m not dangerous, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him.

Like he believed that.

Finn’s mouth curved ever so slightly, the left side more than the right. He wondered just how many men this woman had brought to their knees with that killer smile of hers.

“There’s dangerous, and then there’s dangerous,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

She raised her chin just a little, doing her best to generate an air of innocence as she assured him, “I’m neither.”

The cowboy continued looking at her. The image of a human lie detector flashed through her mind for an instant. She discovered that breathing took a bit of concentration on her part.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. But the next moment, he seemed to shrug away his assessment of her and said, “Okay, why not? Don’t lean against anything,” he warned before going up the porch steps. “The paint’s still fresh in places.”

She had no intentions of taking away any part of this house on her person. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him.

Connie waited for her tour guide to open the front door. If the inside looked nearly as good as the outside, she was ready to be blown away.

“After you,” the cowboy told her once he’d opened the front door.

Connie crossed the threshold, taking it all in at once.

She hadn’t missed her guess. The inside of the house was simplistic and all the more captivating for that. It was a house that emphasized all things Western, with just the right touch of modern thrown in to keep the decor from being completely entrenched in the past.

There were only a few pieces of furniture. For the most part, the house was empty, but then, she hadn’t asked to come in just to see the furniture. She was looking to take stock of the workmanship firsthand.

She hadn’t been wrong.

This cowboy did have a gift for bringing things together—and apparently, a knack for knowing just when to back off.

“How long have you been working on this?” she asked, wanting as much input from the man and about the man as she could get.

“Awhile,” Finn replied vaguely, as if wondering just what her end game was.

* * *

WHILE THIS WOMAN had apparently been taking stock of the house as he went about showing her around the two floors, Finn did the same with her. So far, he hadn’t come to any useful conclusion. She hadn’t really volunteered anything except a few flattering comments about his work. He still had no idea what had brought her to Forever, or even if she meant to come to Forever, or was just passing by on her way to somewhere else.

“Awhile,” the woman repeated, going back to what he’d said about his timetable. “Does that mean six months or six years or what?”

“Awhile means awhile,” he replied in a calm voice, then added, “I’m not exactly keeping a diary on this.”

“Then you’re just doing this for fun?”

“Not exactly.” Because he could see that she intended to stand there, waiting, until he gave her some sort of a more satisfying answer, he told her. He saw no reason not to. “It’s a wedding present.”

“For your bride?” she guessed.

Finn nearly choked. He didn’t intend to get married for a very long time. Possibly never.

“No,” he denied with feeling. “For my brother. It’s his wedding.”

“And this is his house?” she asked, turning slowly around, this time taking in a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. No doubt about it, she thought. The work done on the ranch house was magnificent.

“He says it belongs to all three of us, but Earl Robertson’s will left it to him.” And as far as he and Liam were concerned, this was Brett’s house.

“Honor among brothers. That’s refreshing.”