Falling For The Rancher

Darcy had given Logan a list of projects and the directions to her house before leaving work at the end of the day. She’d blushed a little, saying she knew there were far more than twenty hours of labor on the list, but she’d thought he might want to choose what he wanted to do.

A tactful expectation that he’d need to select the easier tasks, he supposed.

From that long, long list he’d figured she was living in shabby house worthy of a wrecking ball in a seedy part of town. Probably around the taverns, trailer park and mechanic’s shop on the south end.

But he’d followed her directions down several winding, tree-shaded streets into an area of well-kept homes from the early 1900s. Now he stood on the sidewalk in front of 56 Cranberry Lane and just stared.

The surrounding houses were two-story brick, with sweeping covered porches on the front, leaded glass and manicured lawns. Darcy’s place was brick as well, but just a single story, with a brick-paved driveway leading past the side of the house to a matching one-stall garage.

It reminded him of a dollhouse in comparison. A neglected one, at that. If Darcy was blowing her money, it hadn’t been spent on the place she lived.

Lace curtains in the front window fluttered. Then the door opened and Darcy came across the porch and down the steps and let him through the gate at edge of the sidewalk.

“I’m sure you can already see some of the projects here,” she said with a self-conscious laugh, gesturing at the ornate white picket fence surrounding the front yard. “The backyard is fenced as well, and there must be dozens of pickets that have broken or rotted away.”

He eyed the intricately cut upright pieces. “These were custom-made.”

“My sweet old aunt loved detail. There are lots and lots of gingerbread trim pieces on the cottage, and she echoed that theme in the fence.” Darcy smiled fondly. “I loved visiting her, because the place was rather like a little fairyland theme park. Lots of animal and elf statues tucked away in unexpected places, some little goldfish ponds. But now I can’t just go to a lumberyard and pick up replacements. She wanted everything to be unique.”

He glanced up at the house. “Your aunt...”

“She passed away almost two years ago and left everything to my brother and me. He essentially got her liquid assets, and I got the cottage. So when I was able to find a job in town, I was thrilled.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“North of Minneapolis, actually. But after...” Her voice trailed off. “Well. Let’s take a quick look around, okay? I put Emma to bed a few minutes ago, and I need to get back inside.”

She took him around the house, pointing out broken gingerbread trim along the eaves and a sagging rear porch, then took him through the back door into the kitchen.

The cupboards and countertops were dated and worn, with a circular burn mark on the counter next to the stove. The vinyl flooring was yellowed and scarred with age. The room was small.

But a row of four sash windows looked out on the backyard, giving it an airy, quaint feel, and the burnished oak woodwork glowed in the light of a stained-glass chandelier that hung over the oak claw-foot table.

“As you can see, there is no end to the projects around here. I can’t afford to remodel the kitchen fully, but the sink and faucet need replacing, and the lighting in here is impossible. It’s like working in a cave.” She led him through an archway leading into a small living room and gestured to the left. “That door leads to two bedrooms and a bathroom. The first priority inside is the carpet, because of Emma’s asthma. Fortunately there’s beautiful old oak flooring throughout the house, but it needs to be refinished, and there’s quite a bit of work in the bathroom, too.”

“Your other priorities?”

“Everything,” she said simply. “I’d love to remodel the entire place if I could, but anything you want to tackle and have time to finish would be wonderful. I don’t expect even a minute extra. I’m just grateful, given all that you have on your own plate.”

He turned slowly, taking in the faded floral wallpaper, the lacy curtains and the worn leather furniture that made him think of soft marshmallows. A small television sat in one corner with a DVD player and stack of children’s DVDs on top. No high-end electronics here.

“So if you’d won the bid on your friend, you might have gotten everything done?”

“Edgar isn’t a friend, but I did hope to convince him to stay on longer for his usual rate. Whether he would’ve agreed or not, I’ve no idea.”

“Well, I’ll do everything I can. You can decide where to start.”

“Really—you can do this?”

At the renewed doubt in her voice, he stifled a chuckle. “I’m sure I can’t compare to Edgar, but I grew up on an isolated ranch where we dealt with most everything on our own. And then I put myself through college working summers for a contractor.”

“Really?” The worried look in her eyes faded. “Perfect. I’d like to start with the picket fence, because it would really improve the curb appeal. Maybe that isn’t possible, though. Those swirly edges and the heart cutouts at the top of the pickets must be tricky.”

“No problem. I’ve got a band saw and a jigsaw, and I can use an old picket as a template.”

“I realize the fence might take a good part of your hours, but with whatever time is left, can you start work on the kitchen?”

“No problem.”

From one of the bedrooms came the faint sound of Emma whimpering.

“Sounds like you’re needed, and I’d better get home to do my horse chores.” Logan pulled his truck keys from his back jeans pocket as he headed for the door. “Just figure out where you want to start, and I’ll come back after work tomorrow to do some measuring. I’ll write up a list of materials, and once you have them, I can get to work.”

The enormity of the work to be done here and her concern about it were more than clear. He felt a twinge of guilt as he walked out to his pickup.

He’d been in seminars at vet conferences where business consultants recommended making a clean sweep of things, bringing in new staff unencumbered with prior loyalties and stubborn adherence to old routines.

So when he made an offer on the clinic, he hadn’t thought too deeply about what his plans would mean to the current staff. His focus had been on new beginnings—financing and building a successful new practice.

If he’d been empathetic enough to consider the collateral effect on the people involved, would he have turned down this chance to start his life over?

And would he now change his plans for the focused vet practice he’d always wanted—what he had specialized in through an extended equine medicine residency and then pursued in the Montana group practice for the past eight years?

That was another question.

“Thanks, Logan—have a good night,” Darcy called softly from the door as she closed it.

He stared at the door after she turned off the front light, sorting out his thoughts. She was certainly an enigma.

She was a single mom, which had to be tough. Yet she did have a good career, she’d inherited this house and he’d seen no evidence of profligate spending. If she was as strapped for cash as Hannah had implied on Saturday, where was her money going? Was she a risk as an employee?

He hadn’t known her for very long, but while his heart told him no, the logical, analytical side of his brain said yes.

She was the spitting image of the associate vet who had so easily ruined his life in Montana, the one who had so quickly captured his heart. Was that why he felt an inexplicable tug of emotion whenever he ran into her? A physical awareness tinged with a persistent niggle of doubt?

Whatever he felt about her, it had no place in his life. Not now, not ever.

The humiliating interrogations, legal fees and defamation of his character back in Montana were too fresh in his mind to take any chances.

* * *

Darcy finished her exam of the Chihuahua and smiled. “Scooter is doing really well. The X-rays show excellent healing.”

Mrs. Johnson picked her dog up and cuddled him against her chest. “I was so worried—I don’t know what I’d do without my little boy for company.”

“You made the right choice when you let me go ahead with the plating and bone graft. Splinting of radius-ulna fractures in these small dogs doesn’t always succeed.”

“Worth every penny to do things right, I always say.” She gave the little dog a kiss on its head.