Loving A Lonesome Cowboy. Debbi Rawlins

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      Chapter Three

      It had been dark for nearly an hour before Sara took her first break. In spite of the open windows and the brisk December air whipping through the house, she felt damp and clammy from exertion. Long tangled strands of hair refused to stay within the piece of elastic she’d tied around her curly mop, and they clung to her damp, flushed cheeks and neck.

      And still she saw little progress as she surveyed the bedroom. Sighing, she sank onto the only chair in the room, a soft overstuffed club-style monstrosity, and prayed she could get up again.

      Originally, she’d thought the amount of money Ethan had offered her was generous. Not anymore. Not with the king-size headache she had from inhaling dust and the insistent ache plaguing her lower back. She was beginning to doubt she’d even be able to make the place presentable in two days. Actually, a day and a half was more accurate. The girls would be arriving early afternoon the day after tomorrow.

      A crocheted doily had fallen from the dresser and without leaving the chair, she scooped up the lacy snowflake-like piece for a closer inspection. It was finely made, by hand as far as she could tell, and although at first glimpse it appeared old, Sara guessed it was more recently made. At least in this decade, when women were usually too busy to spend the kind of time required for such fine craftsmanship.

      Another mystery. The house had tons of them. Like the newer add-on off the back bedroom. The house was already huge, but the owners had added yet another room. Off the master bedroom, she figured, not having seen the inside of it. Forbidden territory, according to Ethan.

      The add-on alone wasn’t strange. Many growing families found the need for additional space. But there was no sign that children had ever lived in the house. And then there was the owner’s abandonment. Very strange.

      She tossed the doily back onto the dresser. More dust filtered into the air. Sighing, she pushed to her feet. She had far too much work ahead of her to be sitting here, wondering about things that were none of her business.

      After taking a peek to make sure Misty was still napping, Sara decided to work in the kitchen for a while. She really did need to develop a plan. It was maddening the way she went from one room to the other for a mop or a rag, then randomly began a new task without completing the one she’d left.

      She checked her watch and decided to give herself one hour in the kitchen. That way they’d at least have a decent place to sit and eat dinner. Even if it was only peanut butter and crackers. She turned on the water in the sink and gazed out the window. In the distance, the tops of the San Juan Mountains were already covered with snow.

      Directly in front of her, a man walked slowly toward the house. Tall, slim, broad-shouldered, for a second she thought he was Ethan, and her pulse leaped.

      Her reaction surprised her. A flash of disappointment that it wasn’t him downright annoyed her.

      The man didn’t seem in any particular hurry, and she watched as he stopped to toe a square of weathered concrete sidewalk that led to the back door. Appearing satisfied with its condition, he continued toward the back stoop.

      She held her breath, waiting to see if he had a key or would knock.

      He knocked, and she exhaled.

      “Ms. Conroy?”

      That he knew her name alarmed her. Instinct told her that he was probably the foreman or one of the hands, especially judging by his worn boots and battered Stetson, but underestimating Cal in the past had cost her, and she wouldn’t be foolish again.

      Another knock…a pause…then, “Ms. Conroy? I’m Sam Singleton, the Double S foreman.”

      She quickly unlocked the door and opened it. “Sorry. I had the water running and didn’t hear you.”

      He removed his hat. He didn’t look anything like Ethan. His hair was lighter, his eyes blue and he was clean-shaven. Besides, this man smiled. “Ethan told me you’d be here cleaning the house up some. I just wanted to let you know you’re not alone on the property.”

      “I appreciate that, Mr. Singleton.”

      “It’s Sam.”

      She nodded and smiled back. “I’m Sara.”

      He was looking at her funny. “You just get into town?” he asked.

      “A little over a week ago.”

      A thoughtful frown pulled his brows together. “And Ethan found your name on a bulletin board?”

      She nodded, amused at the irony that he seemed to be wary of her. “He said references weren’t necessary.”

      Sam’s frown deepened. “What?” then he looked slightly embarrassed. “I wasn’t questioning you, it’s just that Ethan doesn’t show up around here much, and I was a little surprised he—” He gave a small shake of his head. “Never mind. You just holler if you need anything.”

      “Thank you.” She was about to say something when he set his hat back atop his head and turned to go. “Wait, Sam, I, uh, was kind of wondering something.”

      He stopped and eyed her cautiously.

      “About Ethan—”

      Caution gave way to alarm, and then his entire expression shut down. “Sorry, ma’am, that topic is off limits.”

      “I was just…” She lifted a hand in helplessness. “I figured since you were his boss…” A strange look crossed his face. “Never mind.”

      She wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. She’d received the same reactions in town. First there was the look of alarm, which turned guarded then blank. The only thing missing in Sam’s reaction was the trace of pity she’d seen in everyone else’s eyes. If anything, Sam looked protective.

      He started to leave again, stopped and said, “If you’re worried about his character, you won’t find a more honorable or loyal man. Anyone in town will confirm that.” He gave her a brief smile, touched the rim of his hat, then sauntered off without looking back.

      Sara leaned against the doorjamb, trying to temper her curiosity. She told herself it was valid to be inquisitive about her employer, especially since she was scheming to stretch two days into two weeks. But she knew better. There was more to her curiosity than making sure he wasn’t Jack the Ripper.

      Something about him drew her, stirred an instinct to reach out and help in some way she couldn’t fathom. It was a dangerous impulse. One that had already landed her in a hellish marriage. She shuddered at the thought, then ruthlessly pushed it aside, and plunged her hands in some warm soapy water.

      Tonight she’d give the kitchen a cursory cleaning, enough to at least make it sanitary. Tomorrow, after the bedrooms were in top shape she’d—A burst of melodic chimes gave her such a start she splashed water down the front of her shirt and on her sneakers. It took her a second to realize it was the doorbell. She shook the water from her hands then dried them on a rag on the way to the front door.