Heart Of Texas. Mary Baxter Lynn

on her homey but tastefully decorated home while the heat seeped into his back, but he couldn’t. He was too conscious of her.

      “Do you mind me asking what brings you back to River Oaks?”

      “My ranch,” he said off the top of his head, then kicked himself mentally. Why the hell didn’t he tell her the truth?

      She gave him a disapproving look, which raised his ire and his curiosity.

      “I was hoping you’d come to see about your aunt.”

      That flat statement tightened his gut, as well as the noose around his neck. “That, too, of course.”

      “She’s a sweetheart, you know? I see her almost every day when I visit my mother, who’s also in the nursing home.”

      “I appreciate that a lot.” Tell her, dammit. But the words still wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat.

      “She would appreciate seeing you a lot more.”

      While her criticism was wrapped in soft words, he felt the sting nonetheless, a feeling he didn’t like. “Look, I’ve intruded enough on your time. It’s late, and I know you have to work tomorrow.”

      “That I do.”

      Blessedly, he got to his feet without mishap. “Thanks again for everything. I feel like a heel for—”

      Sara held up her hand, stopping his flow of words. “Forget it. You’re not the first to appear on my doorstep at an ungodly hour, nor will you be the last.”

      “At least you’re a good sport about it.”

      She shrugged. “I consider that part of my job.”

      He stared at her a long moment, trying to figure out what was really going on behind those lovely green eyes. Though she met his gaze, he learned nothing. The woman was one cool cookie who either had his number or didn’t didn’t give a damn. Maybe she disliked men in general, or just him in specific.

      If the latter was the case, then he was in deep trouble. Somehow he had to figure out a way to do some damage control. But before he could say anything else, she had reached the door and had it open.

      “Good night, Clark Garrison. It was nice seeing you again.”

      He didn’t believe that for a second. “Same here, Dr. Wilson,” he said, walking out the door.

      Once outside he cursed a blue streak.

      Three

      “You old son of a gun, how’ve you been?”

      Clark slapped his foreman, Joe Hanover, on the arm while pumping his hand.

      Joe gave him a wide grin that exposed the gaping hole in front where two permanent teeth should’ve been. The remaining teeth were nicotine coated, as Joe smoked like a chimney on the coldest of winter days.

      Even so, his health was good, so good that to Clark’s knowledge he’d never missed a day’s work. But with Joe, looks could be deceiving.

      Though short and wiry, his foreman was as tough as the cowhide he took care of on a daily basis. In addition, he could do most anything with his hands from plumbing to carpentry work.

      Clark shuddered to think of what he would do without his foreman. If nothing else, Joe was invaluable because Clark was rarely able to get to the ranch. He depended sorely on Joe to keep things up and running.

      “I’m tolerable,” Joe finally responded, following several deep drags on a cigarette before dropping, then crushing it with a scuff-toed boot. “I sure as hell wasn’t expecting you anytime soon.”

      “I wasn’t expecting to be here, either. I stayed at Zelma’s place in town last night and thought I’d stop in this morning for a look around the ranch.”

      Joe shoved the brim of his soiled hat back. “So, what’s up?”

      “Business, actually.”

      “Well, whatever, I’m shore glad to see you, ’cept you don’t look so good.”

      “I had a bad night. The old back nailed me.”

      “Man, that’s too bad.”

      Clark’s mouth curved down. “Yeah, it is. And it’s something I’m going to have to learn to live with.”

      Joe merely shook his head.

      Clark turned away, his eyes roaming over his treasured domain, taking in pastureland as far as the eye could see, all dotted with cattle. Then he turned and noticed the ranch house sitting atop a hill.

      The white paint that covered it sparkled in the morning sunlight. The last time he’d taken a vacation, he and Joe had made some much needed repairs to the rambling old house, making it livable, if not cozy.

      “You stayin’ for a while?” Joe asked.

      “I’m not sure. Right now, though, I have to go, but I’ll be back later.”

      Joe waved his hand. “I’ll be here. I’m starting to brand that new herd we got last week.”

      “Again, I sure appreciate you taking care of that for me,” Clark said, hearing the longing in his own voice.

      A friend from Lufkin had called and said he was selling off his herd and had wanted to know if he was interested. Clark had said yes without hesitation. But he’d been unable to get away; too much was going on. Of course he’d called Joe, who had said, No sweat, boss.

      Apparently, it hadn’t been any sweat, as the new cattle were chomping on his grass with the same vengeance as hogs on slop. Clark felt envious of Joe and his relatively uncomplicated life.

      Hell, he’d like to be dressed in his grubs the same as Joe and work with him, tagging the cattle with the Garrison Ranch brand.

      One of these days, Clark told himself.

      “Look, you don’t have to thank me,” Joe said. “I’m just doing the job I love.”

      Clark smiled, then slapped him on the shoulder again. “Just don’t ever quit on me.”

      “I’d be a crazy man to do that.” Joe grinned. “Hell, you pay too much.”

      Clark laughed. “I’ll see you later.”

      Once Clark was back in his utility vehicle, he took one more look around the place, sighed, then drove off. When he’d awakened earlier that morning, he’d been afraid to move for fear his back would freeze up on him again.

      It hadn’t, thanks to the doc with the magic fingers. Thoughts of Sara and the evening before had jumped to the front of his mind in vivid detail, and he’d groaned. He couldn’t afford emotionally or monetarily to think about Sara Wilson in any capacity other than that of a doctor and a businesswoman. Yet the fact that she was part owner of the facility he was sent there to purchase had definitely rattled his cage.

      Earlier that morning, instead of dwelling on the predicament he was in, he’d gotten out of bed, showered and, over several cups of coffee, had read the entire file concerning the facility and the owners. The information had been sketchy, but he wasn’t worried. All he needed to know was how to get the owners’ names on the dotted line of a sales contract.

      With that uppermost in his mind, Clark had intended to head straight for the nursing facility, eager to scope it out. And with his aunt Zelma residing there, he had every right to be on hand and do all the snooping he wanted without raising any suspicion.

      However, at the last minute, he’d decided to run by the ranch, eager to see that, as well. Now as he drove through the arched gates of Quiet Haven, to say he was impressed with what he saw would be an understatement.

      This was indeed a prototype facility, one Norton and Associates just had to have. Excitement coursed through Clark as he parked the vehicle and got out. The outside,