Gambling On A Secret. Sara Walter Ellwood

Чтение книги онлайн.

      “You’re twenty minutes late, Mr. Quinn. It wouldn’t hurt to show a little punctuality if you wanted a job.” Charli Monroe stopped at the gate in the broken picket fence of her newly purchased, broken-down ranch.

      The man behind the wheel of the beat up pickup truck peered out the open window. A brown cowboy hat shadowed a face hard enough to be chiseled out of stone. “This old place needs a lot of work. It’s been empty for five years.”

      He spoke with a deep velvet timbre that settled somewhere in her chest and reverberated.

      She swallowed and fought the urge to hug herself. He didn’t seem too concerned about being late. Was he going to get out of the truck? When he made no move to do so, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He obviously didn’t want the job that badly. “Do you know why the place was in probate for so long?”

      Dylan Quinn slid the cowboy hat back over his dark hair. A corner of his lips twitched upward. It couldn’t be called a smile, but it momentarily softened his mouth. The warmth of the phantom grin never reached his cloudy-day eyes. “Jock Blackwell died without a will, and his sons hate each other and despised their father and this ranch.”

      That was pretty much what the landlady of the student boarding house where she currently lived had told her. Jock Blackwell had gotten three of his girlfriends pregnant and refused to marry them in a time such behavior was socially unacceptable. Each of his three sons blamed his misfortunes in life on their label of illegitimacy. She knew all about being a bastard. Her dear old dad hadn’t stuck around either.

      “It was a shame to watch this place go to hell.” He looked beyond her at the ramshackle Victorian house. “There was a time when it was one of the best cattle ranches in all of Central Texas.”

      “You’re from around here?” He didn’t exactly sound like a born and bred Texan. His accent suggested he was from the Mid-Atlantic area.

      He nodded and rubbed over the dark stubble along his angular jaw. “You could say that. My mother grew up on Oak Springs Ranch–your neighbor to the east. I lived there as a teenager. So, are you still looking for a manager, or not?”

      Not. But the way he looked at her made the lie stick in her throat. She took a few steps toward the side of the truck.

      As she wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver tickled down her spine. She had to be cold, despite the warm early-March sun beating down on her. What else could it be? She wasn’t afraid, but something about him put her senses on edge. Was it his rugged handsomeness or the slate gray of his tortured eyes?

      “Yes, I am. I’m Charlotte Monroe. I go by Charli. I have to get the place ready for the cattle coming in a few weeks. I’m also buying four horses from Sheriff Zack Cartwright.”

      Another half-smile tugged on his lips. “You’ve been busy. Can’t get better horses from anywhere else. How many cattle?”

      “A hundred Salers calves.”

      “The French breed?”

      Most people had no clue what they were. If her grandfather hadn’t been something of a cattle collector, she wouldn’t have known them either. “Yes. Do you know about them?”

      “I’ve heard they’re good for beef and easy calving.” Dylan looked across the gravel driveway. “The barn needs a new roof and the right side looks like it’s about ready to collapse. Are all the other buildings in as bad shape?”

      Why didn’t he want to look for himself? “Unfortunately, yes. The barbed wire fencing also needs fixing. The bunkhouse is worse than the barn.” She pointed behind her at the native limestone and clapboard house. “The house needs work, as you can see. At least, the extra stables and storage barn next to it aren’t quite as broken down.”

      “Probably because they’re not as old.” He looked around again as if confirming her appraisal. “Sounds like you need a carpenter, not a ranch manager.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ