Temporarily Texan. Victoria Chancellor

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СКАЧАТЬ because there wasn’t another authentic homestead like it open to the public in her area. Schoolchildren would really benefit from seeing a working homestead from their ancestors’ era.

      As soon as the phone-answering system kicked on, Raven started to worry. She dialed the director’s extension, and listened to a slightly feeble voice on the recording.

      “This is Mrs. Margaret Philpot. I will be out of the office on Friday afternoon and all weekend visiting my grandchildren. I should be back in the office late Monday or Tuesday. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

      Oh, no! “Mrs. Philpot, this is RavenYork. You sent me a letter and instructions about coming to Brody’s Crossing, Texas, to the Rocking C ranch to document a historic homestead garden. I’m here, and the owner of the ranch knows nothing about a garden. As a matter of fact, he was expecting a cattle expert! Please, we’re trying to figure out how this mix-up happened. Call us back as soon as possible.”

      She gave Mrs. Philpot the number of the ranch, which was neatly typed on the round insert in the middle of the old black phone. “Please, let her call back soon,” Raven whispered, crossing her fingers.

      “No luck, either?” Troy Crawford asked from the doorway.

      “No, but I’m sure she’ll check in for messages.” At least, Raven hoped she did. Since Mrs. Philpot didn’t leave a cell phone or other number, the odds weren’t great.

      “This is bizarre,” he said.

      Raven silently agreed.

      AFTER WAITING FIFTEEN MINUTES and then placing another phone call to the Farmers’ and Ranchers’ Society, Troy felt his blood pressure rise a few notches. He put the phone down and turned to Raven. “Mr. Sam, as I’ve just learned they affectionately call the older gentleman who runs the place, will call me back as soon as they find out what happened to Cal’s request.”

      “As my New England ancestors used to say, patience is a virtue.”

      “Right. So are a few other traits that I don’t seem to be in possession of right now.”

      “Well then,” she said, straightening up, “I’ll just get a few things out of the car. I’m going to have a snack while we wait for the phone call.”

      “You’re welcome to raid my fridge if you’d like.”

      “No offense, Mr. Crawford, but I doubt it’s stocked with organic vegetarian food.”

      “Certainly nothing organic unless some mold has grown on the cheese.”

      She wrinkled her nose at his joke. Well, a halfhearted joke. The cheese probably was moldy.

      “I’ll just get my tofu and fresh fruit. I’m sure the ice I put in the cooler this morning is probably melting, and the tofu needs to be kept cold.”

      Tofu. He’d tried it once at a Japanese restaurant in Seattle. Bean curd had the consistency of slimy, firm pudding and tasted like…well, bean curd. “Help yourself to whatever you need.” There was no reason to be inhospitable just because they were worlds apart in values and backgrounds. She seemed nice enough when she wasn’t turning up her nose at cattle ranching.

      “Thank you. And you’re welcome to join me.”

      He tried to hide his own grimace. “Thanks, but I…er, gave up bean curd for Lent, years ago. I think I’ll wait for that call.”

      “Of course.” She turned in a swirl of skirts and scarves and long black hair. That woman sure was swirly. And when she got a little peeved, her cheeks flushed a nice shade of peach.

      Not that he had any reason to catalog her looks. As soon as they got the mix-up fixed, she’d be gone. Or maybe before, if she decided to leave on her own. She had no reason to stay on the Rocking C, especially since she found cattle ranching so objectionable.

      Troy rubbed his face for what seemed like the hundredth time today. He didn’t need this. He needed help—whether arranged by Cal or himself—not criticism from a kind-of-cute vegetarian garden expert.

      He unclenched his hands and stared at the phone, willing it to ring. He wanted to find out something before he e-mailed Cal in Afghanistan. If he was out on patrol or somewhere equally remote, he might not reply for days. Besides, it would only make him more concerned about the ranch if he knew the specialist he was depending on hadn’t shown up.

      Troy promised himself that he’d give Mr. Goodman half an hour, then he’d call back. If the senior person there couldn’t help him, Troy would do some research on his own. Surely he could discover how this mess had happened.

      After all, as his swirly-girly reluctant guest had suggested, there had to be some connection between the two completely different associations.

      Chapter Two

      “I can’t believe neither one of us could get any answers,” Raven said as she followed Troy from the home office into the kitchen an hour later.

      He’d tried to call his association again, but with no luck other than the vague promise that they’d get back to him ASAP. The Internet hadn’t yielded any results for them, either. There was no apparent connection between the two groups.

      Raven leaned against the kitchen counter near the sink. “I can’t believe Mrs. Philpot is the only person who can sort this out for me. This is just too bizarre.”

      He opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. “Tell me about it. Every day without the guy I was expecting is another day wasted.” He held up the brown bottle for her to see. “Care to join me?”

      “No. I’m too upset.”

      He took a long drink from the bottle. She watched his throat move as he swallowed the cold beer. Odd, but she’d never thought swallowing beer could be so…sensual. He lowered the bottle and asked, “What kind of arrangement do you have with the gardening folks?”

      “I’m helping a local organization get a historic farm certified by the state. The property and house were donated to the township but had to be renovated. The construction is just about complete, and we’re ready to plant the garden.”

      “But why are you here?”

      “The township felt it was better to have someone experienced to plant the garden rather than getting the locals to do it. So I volunteered to come down here for at least two weeks and work in the garden while, in return, the Society for the Preservation of Heritage Gardens will restore a homestead garden near where I live in New Hampshire. It’s rather like Habitat for Humanity, where people work in each other’s homes and eventually get their own house.”

      “So you and your colleagues trade out time to help each other?”

      “That’s right. We’re not paid. We’re all volunteers.”

      “That must be tough—to take time away from your own jobs for two weeks.”

      “Some people do it on their vacations, but in my case, I have a good friend, Della, who is taking care of my farm. She has an apartment in the city, but we work together on a lot of fiber projects, so she’s often at my СКАЧАТЬ