Home On The Ranch. Trish Milburn

of the world.

      Well, she wasn’t going to be crying over Austin Bryant, and it wasn’t going to be the end of the world when he went back to Dallas. Sure, she’d miss the whole sexy-package thing he had going on, but soon enough she’d be buried in her work and too darn busy to wonder about what Austin was doing more than two hundred miles away.

      No, she’d enjoy the male scenery while they were here crossing paths, and that would be that.

      Several times throughout the day, she came across items that she wanted to ask Austin if he’d like to keep. But he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested, which saddened her. How many times had she wished she had more keepsakes, more tangible items with memories attached? But not everyone was like that. Still, something in her gut told her he wasn’t as unattached as he claimed.

      By the time she’d unearthed an old treadle sewing machine, her truck was filling up again. She stood back, eyeing the half of the bedroom where she’d been working for the past couple of hours. She’d made a good-size dent in the contents of the room and was now able to see one whole wall.

      Ella looked out the window, estimating the space left in the truck versus the space needed for the sewing machine. After she had time to examine it more thoroughly, she’d figure out what to do with it. For now, it was destined for that rectangle of space left at the back of her truck bed. She hated to do it, but she was going to have to ask Austin for help with this one.

      But when she went outside, he was nowhere to be found. She walked around the house, noting that the gutters appeared to all be in their proper spots, but no Austin. She spun in a circle, but she still didn’t see him. Oh well, she wasn’t going to chase him down, wherever he’d gone. It might take some wrestling and grunting, but somehow she’d get the sewing machine in the truck. After all, she was used to doing things by herself, a necessity of single life.

      Then she’d go home, unload everything and face-plant in her bed until she had to get up and do it all over again. Maybe she’d be so tired by the time she crawled into bed that she wouldn’t even have the energy to fantasize about Austin Bryant joining her there.

      * * *

      AUSTIN STOOD IN the tack room of the barn staring at little pieces of the life he’d enjoyed sharing with his grandfather. Unlike the rest of the indoor spaces on the ranch, this one small room was orderly and free of clutter. When he hadn’t been outside, this had been the place where he’d felt able to breathe. Odd since the room was so small compared with everything around it.

      He took the couple of steps that brought him within reach of the wooden pegs on the wall where more memories hung. He ran his hand down the rough fabric of his grandfather’s old work jacket he’d used in the winter. How many times had Austin seen his grandfather wearing it as he’d gone out to take care of the cattle or to work on machinery?

      Austin had never felt more alone than he did in that moment, when it really hit him that all of his family was gone. Oh, his dad might be out there somewhere, but he wouldn’t know the man if they sat beside each other on a plane.

      He grabbed the hat he’d come in here to retrieve and headed back out, wondering when the heavy sadness that seemed to have settled in his chest would dissipate.

      When he stepped out into the sunlight, he noticed Ella at the bottom of the front steps, struggling to maneuver his grandmother’s old sewing machine.

      Damn fool woman was going to hurt herself. Then wouldn’t they be a pair, unable to get through an entire day without sustaining an injury.

      He put on his old hat and ran toward her. Without making a big deal about it, he lifted the heavier end of the machine that was still teetering on the steps and helped her carry it to the truck. Ella did her best to hide how hard it was for her to carry the weight on her end, and he admired her for it. Sure, it could be seen as stubborn, but he liked the fact that she worked hard and did things on her own. Sure, any decent guy had the instinct to take care of a woman, but he couldn’t stand the women who acted helpless to get a man’s attention.

      Whatever problems he’d had with the way his grandparents had chosen to live, he could never accuse them of being lazy. They had been the two most hardworking people he’d ever known. He did his best to follow in their footsteps in that regard, if not others.

      When they reached the back of the truck, he pointed toward the bit of empty space left in the bed. “Hop up and I’ll lift most of the weight up to you.”

      He doubted the wisdom of his direction when Ella’s shorts stretched across her hips as she shoved herself up into the back of the truck. When he forced himself to avert his eyes, they landed on the top of the closed sewing machine. Out of nowhere, a memory of his grandmother sitting at the machine stitching together the top for a patchwork quilt assaulted him. He couldn’t have been more than four or five at the time, but the image was as clear as if he’d watched the scene only yesterday.

      “You okay?” Ella asked.

      “Yeah. Just remembered a time I saw my grandmother working on this.” He rubbed his hand across the wooden top. Had the quilt she’d been piecing in that memory been the one that ended up on his bed? That part he couldn’t remember.

      “So maybe you should keep it?”

      For a moment, he even considered it. But only a moment. He shook his head. “I have no use for it, and I can’t even remember the last time I saw it.”

      He looked up in time to see Ella press her lips together in a straight line, signaling she didn’t understand him. He guessed that went both ways.

      “Let’s get this thing loaded.” He took the brunt of the weight of the sewing machine as they lifted it up into the bed. And it was a good thing because he realized Ella looked on the verge of collapse. As soon as the machine was in the truck, she sank onto the side of the bed.

      Had his assertion that he needed things cleared out fast pushed her to work too hard? Guilt twisted inside him, right alongside the hunger. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the cinnamon roll, and he didn’t think Ella had either. And it was already late afternoon.

      “I think we need a break and some food,” he said.

      “I’m okay,” she said with a faint wave of her hand that proved she wasn’t. Not to mention the audible growl of her stomach that she seemed to be hoping he hadn’t heard.

      “Well, I’m not. I feel like I could eat half of one of those cows out there.” He pointed toward a few head of his grandfather’s herd huddled under one of the few trees that dotted the pasture.

      The edges of her mouth turned up a bit in a tired smile. “Since you put it that way.” She patted a pile of boxes next to where she sat. “Let me get this tied down and I’ll get out of your hair.”

      “Leave it. Trust me, no one is going to make off with it, and there’s a zero percent chance it’s going to rain.”

      The slight widening of her dark brown eyes told him she was just catching on that he meant for them to go eat together. He half couldn’t believe it himself. But it wasn’t a date, just him making sure she ate and drank enough on his watch. The last thing he needed was something to happen to her that would make his stay here even longer.

      Sure, tell yourself all kinds of lies. You just want to sit across the table from her.

      Okay, maybe that was true. He was a guy, and guys liked to look at pretty women. It was hardwired from day one. Plus, he really was hungry.

      “What are you in the mood for?” she asked.

      She really didn’t want him to answer that question. Instead, he shrugged. “As long as it’s food, not picky.”

      “Pizza?”

      “Sounds good.”

      She nodded once and got to her feet. Before he could think better of it, he grabbed her at the waist and lifted her to the ground. When she broke contact and took a step back, Ella looked every bit