Temporary Rancher. Ann Evans

dishes in the sink, brush your teeth, comb your hair. Your clothes are on the bed.”

      She glanced at the television. Three cartoon kids in space suits were cautiously walking through alien territory. They looked nervous.

      I know just how you feel, she thought.

      “Can we go outside?” Roxanna asked without taking her eyes off the TV.

      “Later. When I get back.”

      Wendy glanced up at her. Her forehead creased. “Is that man your new boss?”

      “Yes.” For nearly three weeks, anyway.

      “I don’t think he likes us very much.”

      “Once he gets to know you, he’ll love you just like I do.” She caught Wendy’s head in her hands and planted a noisy kiss on her daughter’s blond hair. Then she did the same to Roxanna. “You two behave. And don’t make a mess.”

      The twins nodded absently. On the television, the space adventure was heating up—bubble-headed aliens were shooting ray guns at the kids.

      Riley took calming breaths as she walked the short distance to the house. Somewhere nearby she could hear two squirrels having an argument, and overhead the sky looked as if it had been painted in oils. After yesterday’s cleansing rain, today would be a hot one.

      She knocked so determinedly on the front door that little chips of white paint flew off. The entire house needed a fresh coat. After a significant amount of rotted and missing wood got replaced.

      The door swung wide and Riley straightened. As expected, Quintin Avenaco stood there. He wasn’t scowling, exactly, but his expression looked as though it had been permanently set on skeptical.

      “Morning!” she declared, putting more confidence in her tone than she felt. “I’m ready to get started.”

      He expelled a deep sigh. Then, as though he had no choice, he stepped aside. “Let’s go to my study.”

      She followed his broad back as he led her past the foyer and a nondescript staircase, through a sparsely-furnished living room and down a gloomy hallway. Idly, she took in the sight of linoleum floors rippling like tide pools, dark paneling from the sixties and flocked wallpaper stamped with faded square ghosts where photographs had once hung.

      It would be generous to say the house spoke of gracious neglect. More like dilapidation. It was pretty depressing, actually, and desperately in need of a make-over. Did Avenaco live here alone, amid the wreckage of former tenants? In their emails back and forth, he hadn’t mentioned having a wife or family.

      The study was a different matter. A big desk with the requisite computer setup. Comfortable looking chairs and a leather couch in front of a fireplace. Surprisingly little clutter. Stylish and tasteful, but definitely a man’s room.

      “This is a great house,” Riley said, feeling the need to start making a connection somewhere.

      He looked at her and did an eyebrow hike. Checking for sarcasm, maybe.

      “I mean, it has great potential. Obviously it needs work.”

      “I have a renovation crew starting tomorrow.”

      “Will I need to be involved with that in any way?”

      “No.”

      Well. A very definite negative to that question. She stood in the middle of the room, waiting as he moved behind the desk and shuffled through papers.

      During their earlier conversation she’d barely had time to notice, but it struck her as she watched him now—the guy was good-looking. Not GQ material, but the kind of handsome a woman should feel comfortable with, not intimidated by. His hair was silky and black, worn at a length that wouldn’t please a boardroom, but looked right on him. A calligraphy of lines around his eyes suggested he might have a killer smile, though she’d yet to see it.

      Maybe they were just squint marks from too much Texas sun. Regardless, he had a great body, like a man who’d been an athlete once and kept his shape.

      He motioned absently toward a sideboard holding a carafe and mugs. “Do you want coffee?”

      “I’m fine, thanks.”

      “Give me a minute.”

      She nodded, though he didn’t see it. Unwilling to just stand there with her pad and pen hugged against her breast like a census taker, she tried to find something to take her mind off how nervous she was.

      She found it on the sideboard. A photograph. A woman tucked close to a man who held a child in his arms. All three were smiling for the camera, dressed in denim and cowboy hats. Even the little boy. There were trappings of a rodeo in the background, but it couldn’t have been Texas. Enormous snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance.

      Riley guessed that the man was Quintin Avenaco, though he looked at least ten years younger. The woman next to him, probably his wife, wasn’t beautiful, but she had appealing features that spoke of deep experience and rural wisdom. Definitely Native American with those prominent cheekbones and all that dark, flowing hair.

      It was the little boy’s face that made Riley smile. He was a miniature version of his father, and his slightly lopsided grin seemed to say he knew magical secrets. He couldn’t have been more than four. She remembered the girls at that age. Complete charmers.

      She wondered if his family was living someplace else right now, waiting for Avenaco to get Echo Springs on its feet. Funny he hadn’t mentioned them, but maybe that explained why he was in such an all-fired hurry to make headway here. Missing his wife and kid, no doubt.

      She picked up the frame and held it toward him. “Nice looking family. Yours, I assume?”

      He glanced up, then straightened. After too long a silence he said, “My wife, Teresa, and our son, Tommy.”

      “Do they live here, as well?”

      Avenaco’s mouth pulled flat as his eyes met hers, black as night and unyielding. “No.”

      She returned the photo to its place on the sideboard. Okay. He wasn’t willing to go further down that road. He looked calm, almost as though he had no interest in the picture, but the muscles in his jaw betrayed him.

      Probably a messy divorce. Join the club, buddy.

      Clearly, the door had been slammed on any more discussion of his family. Silence fell, and she couldn’t think of anything to say.

      “Let’s get started, shall we?” he said at last.

      She approached the desk and waited until he took a seat, before she slipped into the chair in front of him.

      “I didn’t see a strange horse in the barn,” he told her. “So I assume you didn’t bring your own mount.”

      Memories rushed in. The image of Ladybug, the sweet-faced mare she’d ridden for so long, still stung. With no way to take care of her, and Brad determined to hurt Riley in any way he could, she’d been forced to leave the animal behind, another victim of the divorce.

      “No,” she said. “My ex-husband got the ranch and everything on it.”

      “Sounds like you could have used a better divorce lawyer.”

      Had she sounded bitter? Better work harder on that. “I came out of the marriage with what I wanted,” she said, as though unfazed by one of the most traumatic events of her entire life. “Do I need my own horse?”

      “Not necessarily. I have ranch stock stabled at a friend’s right now. As soon as the main barn’s ready, I’ll move them over, and you can use one of them. I assume you can ride?”

      Wow. After finding out she’d been less than honest just to get here, he really had no trust in her. She gave him a mild look, determined to be pleasant and professional. “Very well, actually.”

      “Can you drive a stick shift?”