His Favorite Cowgirl. Leigh Duncan

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СКАЧАТЬ stopped only long enough to draw open the drapes and hit the switch on the overhead fan before she made her way into the dining room. There, she added the day’s mail to a growing pile. She rifled through a stack of bills, dismayed by the collection of late and overdue notices that had been sitting untouched for so long they felt gritty.

      “What have you been up to, old man?” she muttered. The meeting with her grandfather’s attorney was starting to take on even greater significance.

      A wave of nostalgia swept her when she headed down a short hall into a room where once bright paint had darkened to dull beige. Their corners curled and yellowed, posters of pop bands whose fame had long-since faded dotted the walls. She made quick work of stripping the sheets someone had draped over the furniture before she pulled a worn pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her bag. As much as she itched to give the house a thorough cleaning, it would have to wait for another day. On her grandfather’s ranch, the livestock always took top priority.

      Her hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, she headed outside. She strode across the yard to the cattle pen, where troughs filled with food and water told her she owed Hank another round of thanks. An approaching pickup truck meant she’d have the opportunity sooner than she had expected. Despite all that had gone on between them, her heart did a little dance when the tall rancher stepped from behind the wheel.

      “Hey.” She crossed to him, her hand outstretched in a neighborly fashion. Keeping her tone decidedly neutral, she said, “Thanks for seeing to the livestock.”

      She felt the press of Hank’s calloused hand in hers and waited an instant. When no chills raced up her arm, she relaxed, certain time and distance had healed her broken heart. He’d crushed her, turned his back on her when she’d needed him most, and she’d moved on. Her life, her future, was in Houston.

      “Not a problem.” He leaned into the truck and emerged bearing a casserole dish in one hand, a large paper bag in the other. His lips slid into their trademark half grin. “Our cook, Emma, sent food. Let me take it inside for you.”

      Kelly sent a troubled look over one shoulder. “If you think it’s bad out here, you should see the house. I’ll spare you that.” She hustled the food into the kitchen. When she emerged five minutes later, Hank was nowhere to be seen, but his truck hadn’t moved.

      She followed the clang of metal against metal to the barn, where the bitter smell of ammonia stung her nose and brought tears to her eyes. Wiping them, she swept a quick glance down a crowded center aisle. She noted tools and equipment in haphazard piles, bales of hay that should have been stored upstairs in the loft. Scum floated in the closest watering trough. The three stalls on each side of the aisle needed serious attention.

      Hank was already hard at work in one. Grabbing a pair of gloves and a shovel, she stepped into the stall across from him. Muscles that had grown used to working out at the gym sent up a protest when she bent to remove the old bedding, but the routine came back quickly as she raked and spread fresh straw. Across the aisle, Hank worked without speaking until they finished the first set of stalls.

      As they moved on to the next pair, Kelly stripped her gloves from her hands while Hank drank from a thermos.

      “How’s Paul? Any change?”

      She twisted the cap on a bottle of water she’d grabbed from the fridge. “He’s still the same. The hospital sent in a caseworker. Margie Johnson. Do you know her?” When Hank shook his head, she went on. “She suggested I talk to Pops’s lawyer, get myself appointed his legal guardian.”

      Hank grabbed his shovel and disappeared into the stall. His voice floated over the partition. “You’ll be sticking around, then?”

      Kelly brushed the back of one hand across her face. Though anyone else might have thought her high school sweetheart sounded indifferent, she caught the quiet awareness in his voice. More for herself than for him, she shook her head. “Only till I find someone to run things here. I’m not staying,” she said firmly.

      A shovelful of manure landed in the bottom of the wheelbarrow. She shrugged. Hank’s interest had died as quickly as it’d flared, which only confirmed how little he’d changed over the years. She returned to the business at hand. “You say there’s no one in the bunkhouse?”

      “From the looks of things, it’s been empty for some time.” He answered without a break in his rhythmic shoveling.

      Kelly struggled to keep pace. “It looks like he’s been trying to run this place on his own. Has anyone at the Circle P said anything?”

      “I’ll ask.” Hank’s damp T-shirt had molded to his muscular chest. He swapped his shovel for a rake.

      “You don’t know?” Her grandfather might not have trucked with the Parkers, but neighbors usually kept tabs on one another.

      “Haven’t been here that long myself.” Across the aisle, Hank piled soiled straw into the wheelbarrow before hefting the handles and heading for the back door. “I’m only filling in till Randy and Royce come back.”

      “It’s hard to think of the twins being all grown up. They were still in elementary school the last time I saw them.” Her motions slowed. Though she’d fallen out of touch with her classmates, she occasionally checked the high school’s Facebook page, where, several months before, someone had posted Seth Judd’s obituary. “I was sorry to hear about your dad.” For the eight years she’d lived on the Bar X, Seth and Doris had shown her more kindness than her own relatives had. “He was too young.”

      A strained “Yeah, it sucks” was the only answer she got, as Hank dumped the load on the refuse pile. He pushed his way back down the barn’s wide aisle. “Mom’s at Garrett’s. He and his wife teach school in Atlanta. Or they did till Arlene got pregnant. But things aren’t going well, and Mom’s there for the duration.”

      Problems with the pregnancy? Kelly sipped air. Praying Hank wouldn’t notice the way her fingers had spread protectively over her belly, she turned away from him. “And Colt?” she asked over one shoulder, brushing aside the pain the same way she had every day for the past twelve years.

      Metal scraped against wood as Hank moved into another stall. “He fell in love with the Circle P’s new cook and got married last month. That was some wedding.”

      “I’m sure it was.” But thinking of weddings only brought up more old pain. She turned aside, working without saying anything more until the sweet smell of fresh bedding filled the air. She stepped into the aisle while Hank trundled the empty wheelbarrow the length of the barn. At some point, he’d removed his shirt. Sweat glistened on his toned and hardened muscles. She couldn’t help it when her eyes slid down his sculpted abs to the pair of jeans he wore low across his hips.

      Despite a stern reminder that Hank had proven himself a fair-weather lover, her mouth went dry. Reaching for her bottle, she gulped the last of the water. The days when she had thought Hank Judd hung the moon and all the stars in the sky—those days were over. The life she’d built to fill the void he’d left waited for her in Houston. And the sooner she got her grandfather situated, the sooner she could return to it.

      * * *

      “WANT TO BRING the horses in?” A few hours earlier, the barn hadn’t been fit for man nor beast, but a proper mucking and fresh bedding had put things to right. Or at least, right enough that Paul’s big gray gelding and pretty little mare didn’t need to spend another night in the corral.

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