Temporary Rancher. Ann Evans

      “Exactly. I’ve seen the damage a horse can do to itself when it’s tangled up in barbed wire. All of it needs to go. A truckload of lumber is being delivered tomorrow. The Ramseys should be able to handle the tear downs.”

      Quintin stared at her thoughtfully, for a long enough time that she began to feel uncomfortable. He had the darkest, most intense way of looking at a person. Sort of unnerving.

      After an agonizing wait, he seemed to come to some decision. He pointed toward a meandering circle notated at one end of the pasture. “Have you ever put in irrigation?”

      With that, things got easier. He walked her through every nook and cranny on the drawing, until she thought she could have traveled the property blindfolded. In an easy, confident voice, he told her what he hoped to accomplish and how he planned to do it. He remained somewhat aloof, but at least he stopped patronizing her, and actually seemed interested in her responses.

      From their earlier emails back and forth, Riley knew basically what he wanted to create here. But when he spoke again of his eagerness to provide the best horseflesh to police departments around the nation, perhaps internationally, as well, she saw the real passion in him and couldn’t help finding it infectious. She tried to keep her features professional, interested, but inside she realized that her heart had slipped into a faster rhythm. The guy sure knew how to sell an idea.

      One thing took her by surprise even more. As they sat hunched over the property layout, heads nearly touching, she became intensely aware of him as a man. She inhaled his scent, something citrus and musky and completely male. Again and again her eyes were drawn to the short hairs that feathered around his temples like black silk, with just a few threads of gray woven in. To the dark shadow that lay along his jawline, and the strong flex of his arm muscles when his hand reached out to stab a spot on the map.

      And those hands. Long fingered. Tapered at the end. Roughened slightly, but still managing to look gentle and kind. Riley had always been a sucker for a man with great hands.

      Not that she was looking to be a sucker for any man these days.

      She yanked her mind back, forcing it to concentrate on what her new boss said, not on how he looked. The conversation was winding down. With all the bases covered and her pad full of instructions and notations, they were nearly done. Avenaco was rolling up the map, clearly ready to see the last of her, no doubt.

      Straightening, Riley gave him a positive, reassuring smile. Forget those hands and all the rest, she told herself. You’ve got a job to do. “So you want to make all this happen by October.”

      “Yes.”

      “Beginning or end?”

      “October 3.”

      “Then there’s no time to waste, is there? I’ll get started right away.”

      He shook his head. “You can start tomorrow. Today’s Sunday. I assume you’d like to finish getting settled in, and spend some time with your kids.”

      The offer surprised her, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you. I will.” She produced another self-confident smile and offered her hand. “I’m not going to disappoint you, Mr. Avenaco.”

      He shook her hand, but didn’t indicate one way or the other whether he honestly believed that or not. There wasn’t anything else for her to do but leave. She swung around and headed for the door.

      “Riley…”

      She turned back. He just looked at her, another one of those unnerving stares that made her feel as though he was sizing her up. Maybe he was.

      Finally he said, “I think you’re right. We should be on a first name basis. Call me Quintin.”

      She was smiling by the time she hit the front door. Three weeks, she thought. A lot could happen in three weeks.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      BY EIGHT O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING he had finished going over the plans with the renovation crew foreman. Quintin stood in his study, trying to prepare himself for the workers who were about to take over the house like an invading army.

      He’d lived alone too long to like the idea of being closely surrounded by other people, but if Echo Springs was going to be presentable by October, it was necessary. First the downstairs area, then the upstairs. And in between all that, the exterior would be spruced up so it no longer looked like the set of a horror movie.

      After draining his coffee from his cup, he picked up the photograph he’d set on the sideboard. His son grinned out at him, and beside him, Teresa, the smile on her lips so gentle it made Quintin’s heart stutter even after all these years.

      She would have loved this renovation. When they’d bought their run-down ranch in Colorado Springs, newly married and hoping to turn it into something grander, they hadn’t had the money to hire outside help. Not that it mattered. Working on the place together had only brought them closer.

      He carried the photo to his desk. At times, when the past lay heavy on him and guilt was like a yoke, he felt depressed just looking at their faces. This shot had always been one of his favorites—that last golden summer afternoon spent at the Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo. They’d had so much fun, and he’d won enough money in the events that they’d been able to repair the ranch-house roof.

      Even in the still photo, it wasn’t difficult to see the delight his family had found in one another. Quintin stared at his own face—younger, flush with excitement and love. Not a worry in the world. So…oblivious.

      How could he have been so carefree? It felt wrong somehow. Shouldn’t his features have revealed something, some hint of the grief that would come only a few months later? Stillborn dreams for his marriage. A future for Tommy that would never happen.

      He yanked open a desk drawer and placed the photograph inside, forcing himself to concentrate on the present. He had charted a different course now, set ambitious goals and found new purpose. Alone. And as hard as that was to think about, he would not turn back. The sensation of feeling something, after years of numbness, was a novelty, and he wouldn’t give it up.

      Somewhere in the house he heard a skill saw start up. Men called to one another. He could tell they were already ripping out the outdated paneling in the dining room next door.

      The new hands would be here soon, needing instructions. He punched the toggle switch on his computer. Time to search the employment sites, post ads and go through the steps necessary to find a replacement for Riley Palmer. Things he should have done in the first place.