A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing. Ruth Herne Logan

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      “Well. They’re babies. And I know nothing about babies, so let’s say it went all right, considering the circumstances.”

      The twins hadn’t loved their new sleeping arrangements. They’d let that be known in full voice several times during the night. Corrie had jumped in to help him, which was a good thing because Jace would have crashed and burned by hour four. This way they both got some sleep. Just not much. The twins woke up babbling and smiling as if they’d gotten a full night’s slumber. But then, they got to take naps. Naps didn’t happen for grown-ups.

      “Were you guys able to get the hay all in?”

      “Harve Junior and Wick stayed out late to beat the rain. It’s done.”

      The rain had held off until just after midnight, but it was coming down now. Not a massive storm. A steady gray drizzle, the kind of rain that benefited crops but thwarted farmers needing to access fields.

      But the hay was safe. The girls were with Rosie and Corrie. Now, if he could get through this afternoon’s interview...

      “And you spoke with your sister?”

      Justine. He’d told her as gently as he could, but when she burst into tears, he half wanted to cry with her. He didn’t, because big brothers hang strong. Always. “She was shocked. Understandably.”

      “I expect she was. Whoa.” Melonie stretched up in her seat as they took the weed-edged asphalt drive leading up to Hardaway Ranch. Tucked behind trees leading to the national forest, he’d never had a clear look at this house. He’d heard of it, of course. Small towns loved to talk about their eccentrics, and Gilda fit the bill.

      But as they emerged from the final curve and the once-grandiose home rose up before them, he took a deep breath.

      “Did you just get a horror-film vibe?” Melonie whispered. “Because I sure did.”

      He couldn’t fault her comment because the large, moldy two-and-a-half-story structure would have done Stephen King proud. Surrounded by a yard in desperate need of a brush hog, the place sat like a haunted house on a hill, shrouded by three decades of shrub and tree growth. It was an absolute mess from top to bottom. So bad that he was almost tempted to take the job for the challenge it offered, but not stupid enough to do it. “Here we are.” He pulled up to vine-choked steps and stopped the truck. He studied the building, then Melonie. “We don’t have to get out. We can head right back to the road and go home.”

      Genuine surprise made her look quizzical. “Not go in? Are you crazy? I just had to turn down a cable TV contract to come here, and that was tough. That makes this an amazing opportunity. I absolutely cannot wait to get inside. Come on.” She opened her door. “Let’s go.”

      She wanted the job.

      The anticipation in her voice was reflected in her eyes as she climbed out of the truck. That meant he had to climb out of the truck, too.

      He did. Then he studied the house, the choked yard and the sprawling acres beyond it.

      Somewhere within him he could almost imagine the beauty it had been thirty years ago. Before he was born, he realized.

      He fought a sigh. He was all for getting back into the truck when Gilda’s voice called down to them. “I’m here. And I’m waiting. And there’s a few things folks my age don’t do well. Waiting’s one of them. Come on, come on, I’m not getting any younger.”

      The old saying drew his attention. It struck a nerve or a memory or something... He kept quiet and followed Melonie up the stairs.

       Full sensory overload.

      Melonie cloaked her excitement as she walked into the big house. She paused inside the door to take in the ruination of what should have been a gracious old home. The classic, wide farmhouse stood as a shell of its former self. Moldings had been damaged by water leaks. Some were rotted straight through. Others had simply disintegrated. Plaster showed water damage in multiple rooms on the first floor, which meant the second floor wasn’t going to be too pretty because that water came from somewhere. The thought of reclaiming this wreck of a home and showing off her talents was a power boost for Melonie. Getting this job would keep her in Idaho, as required, but she’d be working away from the smell of the horses. Sheep she could deal with. She had no violent history with sheep.

      Horses were another story altogether.

      “You’re quiet. Both of you.” Gilda pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t like it when folks get quiet because that usually means they’re scared to say what they think.”

      Melonie had been jotting a note in her tablet. She raised her eyes without raising her head. “This doesn’t scare me, Gilda.”

      The old woman looked skeptical.

      Melonie jotted something else before she continued. “It invigorates me. It’s rare that a designer gets the chance to walk in and lay out a fresh canvas.”

      “What does that mean?”

      Jace shifted his attention to her, too. She’d seen his initial reaction as he walked into the house. Horror...and interest. And something else. Regret, maybe. As if the decay made him sad.

      She stopped making notes and faced them. “It means I’m mentally planning massive demolition and starting new. I think the bones of the house are great.”

      “Bones?”

      “The structure,” she explained. “The water leaks have done significant damage. The first order of business will be new roofs. Once that’s done we can begin the demo inside. No sense starting anything until we’ve got a solid roof in place.”

      Jace stayed quiet. He’d brought a few simple tools with him. He poked walls for plaster rot and found plenty. The ceilings on the first floor were ruined, except in the front parlor. He noted that into his phone, then laser-measured the house dimensions. As they moved from room to room, the magnitude of what the elderly woman was asking became obvious.

      “Mrs. Hardaway.” He slipped his phone into the leather pouch on his belt and rubbed a hand to his neck. “I’m going to be honest with you.”

      “I am not paying for opinions,” she told him in a craggy voice. She’d been following them with a bright pink cane. She tapped that cane sharply against the water-stained floor.

      “I beg to differ.” He kept his tone even. “That’s exactly what you asked, and I’m telling you that the cost of refurbishing this place is astronomical. Perhaps—”

      “I’ve got a five-hundred-thousand-dollar budget earmarked for this. How much help can I get for five hundred thousand dollars?”

      Jace stopped dead.

      So did Melonie because that was some serious money.

      Jace stared at Gilda, then scanned the house, then looked at his grandmother again. “All I’m saying is that we could start over. Something more practical. We tear this down and build a well-constructed ranch house on the site. Everything would be bright and new and accessible.” He noted the cane with a glance. “That’s СКАЧАТЬ