Porcupine Ranch

From an elderly man who lived in a condo, not a crew of half-civilized cowboys on a completely uncivilized ranch.

Determinedly ignoring the nagging voice of doom, Clayton went out to continue vaccinating the hundred plus head of cattle they’d rounded up that morning. The men would work even harder knowing they’d soon have decent meals.

Hannah went straight to Samuel’s apartment, ignoring her own door across the hallway. She banged on the door with one fist while she repeatedly jabbed the doorbell with the other.

The older man opened the door almost immediately. “Did you meet him?” he asked before she had a chance to say anything. Just seeing him standing there looking so hopeful took the heat from her self-righteous anger.

His physical resemblance to her own grandfather was superficial, but the kindness in his blue eyes, his uncritical acceptance of her, his caring attitude were hauntingly reminiscent of the man who had been her world. She wanted to return his caring, to do everything she could for him, all the things she hadn’t been able to do for her grandfather because he’d died too soon.

“Come in and tell me about my grandson,” he said. “How did he look? What did he say?”

“How could you do this to me?” She tried to force indignation into her tone. “You called somebody at the bank and lied to him, and now I’ve got the job as your grandson’s housekeeper!”

“But Hannah, you agreed to do it for me.”

Hannah spread her hands in frustration. “I agreed to apply for the job, but I never dreamed I’d get it! I told you I wasn’t going to lie about my qualifications.”

“And that’s very admirable of you, but not very practical. That’s why I had to lie for you. If you didn’t get the job, how could you get to know my grandson? How could you smooth the way for me to meet him in person and not just in this cold, flat picture my detective took of him?”

Samuel looked so sad, so lonely. In the six months since he’d moved in across the hall from her, he’d become a dear friend, and she knew how much this meant to him. She wanted to help him.

But she couldn’t.

She’d already crumpled under the impact of Clayton Sinclair’s disapproval. She’d had more than enough disapproval in her life. Working as Clayton’s housekeeper guaranteed she’d give him plenty of occasions for more.

“Samuel, you know how hard it is for me to talk to people I don’t know.”

“You didn’t know me when I moved in here.”

“But you were so friendly, and you reminded me so much of Granddad. It wasn’t like you were a real stranger.”

“You’ll get to know my grandson even faster since you’ll be living there.”

Hannah shook her head remembering the way Clayton looked in his blue jeans and western-cut shirt, the way he’d crossed one booted foot over his knee, the easy air of strength and masculinity. She’d love to get to know him…in another lifetime, of course, when she’d be a confident, sexy woman whom he could be interested in.

But she couldn’t tell Samuel that.

“You know I don’t even like to go to the grocery store. I’m only comfortable when I’m home with my computer, designing my games.”

“I know that. I also know the company in Dallas wants you to make personal appearances in an advertising campaign to demonstrate the latest game you’re working on and you told them no. That proves it’s time you get out into the world, get away from the computer and experience life. Going to Clayton’s ranch and doing this for me will be a great place to start.”

Hannah shook her head. She’d thought Samuel understood that she was experiencing the only life she wanted to experience.

Opting to change her approach, she turned, walked over to her own door and flung it open. “Look in here and be logical. How can you possibly expect me to clean house and cook for anybody?”

Samuel came to stand beside her and survey the controlled chaos that was her home—stacks of papers, drawings for graphics pinned to chair backs and thumbtacked to walls, books sprawled here and there with protruding bits of paper marking pertinent pages, articles of clothing sprinkled throughout and other odds and ends.

“Look,” she repeated, waving her hand through the air. “Not one empty chair. Clean houses have empty chairs. I haven’t seen my carpet in so long, I don’t remember what color it is. I live on peanut butter sandwiches, chips and dips, frozen dinners and colas because I don’t know how to cook.”

Samuel wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “There you go again, underestimating yourself. You can do anything you want to do. How many times have you told me that everything anybody needs to know can be found in books? I just happen to have a book on cleaning house as well as a cookbook.”

Good grief! He had this all planned out! Just like the call to the bank!

“Even if I could do it, I already have a job! I’m under contract for Unicorn in the Garden. They’re willing to live without me being a part of the advertising, but they do want the game finished in time to feature it in their fall catalog of computer games. I have a deadline!”

Samuel took her arm. “Please, Hannah. I’m counting on you. Let’s go over to my place where I’ve got empty chairs. I’ll fix you a nice cold cola, and we can talk about this.”

“No.” This no wasn’t quite as firm, she noticed with dismay. Surely she wasn’t going to let herself be talked into this insanity.

“It’ll only be for one day, maybe two.”

“Oh, right. Like he’s not going to notice by the end of the first day that I haven’t done any cooking or cleaning.” But she found herself allowing Samuel to lead her into his apartment. Saying no to him was so difficult, just as she’d never been able to say no to her own grandfather.

Beyond that, she realized with a sinking feeling, some perverse part of her actually wanted to go back to Clayton’s ranch and prove to him that she could do everything Mrs. Grogan had done. To see approval in those piercing eyes.

Jeez! She really had lost her mind.

* * *

Shortly after ten-thirty the next day, Hannah’s teeth rattled as she drove over the cattle guard onto Clayton’s ranch.

In the back seat she had two of the outrageously expensive suitcases her mother had given her for high school graduation, the large one full of clothes and the small one containing Samuel’s cookbook and housekeeping manual.

No doubt about it. She’d slipped a gear, gone mental—she was, in the vernacular, nuts.

Especially considering she was halfway—well, maybe a quarter way—excited about this venture, about seeing Clayton Sinclair in his faded denims and scuffed cowboy boots again, even if she could only grunt or gurgle at him.

A giant ERROR message flashed across her mind at that thought. She’d feel Clayton out about his grandfather, tell him how sick with grief Samuel had been, convince him Samuel would never have deserted Clayton’s mother if he’d known he had a grandson on the way, and then she’d get out of there quick. Before night.

She focused on the road stretching ahead, a dry, colorless ribbon leading to the house. A glance in the rearview mirror showed nothing but a giant cloud of dust roiling in her wake, following her. As omens went, it didn’t seem like a very good one.

Clayton swore under his breath as he tried to herd a group of ten normal cattle plus one rambunctious young bull who seemed to think this was all a game.

Usually he kind of agreed with the bull.

Cattle could be difficult creatures, and trying to raise them in the tough brush country only made it worse. Nevertheless, he loved everything about the life, every ornery cow, every dry bit of sand, every prickly cactus, every twisted mesquite tree.

His mother, born and raised in the hill country of Austin, had hated their home as passionately as he loved it. As a child, Clayton had resented her attitude, had almost taken it as a personal rejection. But he’d come to realize that the land was simply too harsh for her. She’d have escaped years ago if she hadn’t been left alone and pregnant, the despised ranch, belonging to her dead husband and missing father-in-law, her only home and means of support.

Gradually Clayton had taken over the management, but it was only when he reached the age of twenty-one that she’d turned over the books to him. He’d discovered then how badly she’d mismanaged the ranch, even taking out a mortgage on the place.

He’d never blamed her. She’d done the best she could. She’d just been unsuited for the ranch.

He took a great deal of pride in the fact that he was pulling it out of debt in spite of everything.

The long drought was taking a heavy toll. With most of his herd under optimum weight, he desperately needed rain. But even without it, he’d manage. This was tough country, a worthy opponent, and that was what he loved about it.

Normally, working the cattle, mending the fences—any of the necessary tasks—brought him contentment and took his mind off all the problems. But today had gotten off to a lousy start and hadn’t improved a bit so far.