Never Trust A Cowboy. Kathleen Eagle

out of my flower bed. Or maybe you’d tell him for me when you find him.”

      “Should I try the doghouse?”

      “I don’t have one. My dog...” She stepped past him and surveyed the yard. Her tone shifted, the wind dropping from its sails. “Should be chewing on the seat of your jeans right about now.”

      “Guess he ain’t hungry. Maybe he got a piece of Benson.”

      She gave her head a quick shake, banishing some momentary doubt that had nothing to do with him or with Benson. “Maybe you should check the pickup.” She nodded toward the dirt road. “It’s another mile and a half to the new house, and you can be sure Brad didn’t walk. How drunk was he when he hired you?”

      “Couldn’t say.”

      “And you wouldn’t if you could.” She lifted a lightly tanned shoulder. “It really means nothing to me, but it might make a difference to you.”

      “I’ll check the pickup.” He touched two fingers to his hat brim and stepped back. “Sorry to bother you. Sign says Flynn Ranch, and Benson wasn’t clear on where the house would be.”

      “I’m Lila Flynn,” she said quickly. “Brad is my stepbrother. He lives down the road with his mother and my father.”

      “In the new house.” He smiled, grabbing the chance to start over. “You get the home place.”

      “And you’ll get the bunkhouse out back if Brad remembers hiring you.” Suddenly retreating, she cast a backward glance. “Like I said, check the pickup.”

      Before the screen door slapped shut, Del caught the edge of a smile, the flash of blue eyes. Slim chance, he thought, but the door to making a second first impression had been left ajar.

      Driveway gravel rattled under Del’s boot heels as he approached the red short box pickup. Benson’s chin rode his collarbone as his head lolled from one side to the other.

      “Good morning.”

      Benson opened his eyes halfway, squeezed the right one shut again and squinted the left one against the sunlight until Del’s shadow fell across his face.

      “Remember me?”

      “Yeah, I remember.” Brad waved a fly away from his face as he slid his spine up the back of the pickup seat. “You said you had all the experience I might be looking for. You haven’t seen Thompson around, have you? The guy you’re replacing?”

      “Not since last night. Your sister’s the only person I’ve run into since I got here.”

      “Stepsister. She sure can be a bitch, that one.” Brad draped one hand over the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes with the other, muttering, “The kind you wanna bring to heel.”

      “She said I could have the bunkhouse out back.”

      Brad dragged his hand down over his face. “She did, huh?”

      “She did, but it’s up to you. Like you said, you’re the boss.”

      “You just said the magic words. What’s the name again?”

      “Del Fox. Do I need a key?” No answer. “You got anything you want me to do before I stow my gear?”

      “What time is it? You probably missed breakfast.”

      “I had breakfast.”

      “That’s right. You got yourself hired and called it a night. Showed up on time, too. Maybe we’ll keep you around.” He fired up the pickup. “Make yourself at home. Fox? It’s Fox, right? Sorry, I’ll be more hospitable after I’ve had some coffee.” He pointed to the cabin fifty yards or so behind the house, not far from an old red barn with a lofty arch roof. “That’ll be your home sweet home. We’ve got another barn down at the new house, but that’s the only bunkhouse. Who needs two bunkhouses these days, right? Or two hired hands.”

      “One of each is more than most places have.” And having a cozy log cabin to himself was a vast improvement over his usual accommodations.

      “Everybody around here is downsizing. Either that or diversifying.”

      Del glanced to one side and noticed a fenced area close behind the house with a swing set, a little playhouse, a sandbox and more kid stuff. For some reason he was surprised, and he turned quickly back to Brad. “Which is it for you?”

      “You’ll have to ask Frank. My stepdad. Can’t seem to make up his mind.” Brad shifted into gear. “Take your time. I’ll be getting a slow start today. If Thompson shows up, tell him to come find me.”

      * * *

      Del dropped his duffel bag just inside the bunkhouse door and drew a deep breath. Pine pitch and dust. Pine was fine, but dust— He grinned—busting dust was a must. He opened the window between the two single beds and heard someone whistling—warbling, more like—and then calling out for Bingo. From the window he had a view of distant tabletop buttes and black whiteface cows grazing on buffalo grass. A meadowlark sang out, and a chorus of grasshoppers responded. He liked the sights and sounds, most of the smells, and he decided he wouldn’t be living out of a suitcase for a while. He liked the idea of hanging up his shirts and putting his toothbrush on a shelf.

      He was wrestling with the drawers in a broken-down dresser when the warbler tapped on the door.

      “It’s open.”

      The woman with the big blue eyes, Lila, peered inside. “It’s always open, but you can have a lock on it if you want.”

      “I don’t use locks. You knock, I’ll answer.” Gladly. No man in his right mind would lock her out. She was a pretty woman trying to pass for plain, and it wasn’t happening. The world owed women like her a clue. She’d get noticed no matter what. “You need any help?”

      She pushed open the door with the edge of a straw laundry basket. “I brought you some bedding. I have a feeling you won’t see Brad before suppertime, and I don’t know what’s here.”

      “Somebody’s clothes. If anyone comes looking, they’re in that box on the bench outside the door.” He nodded toward the floor in front of the dresser, where he’d tossed the sheets he’d stripped off the beds. “I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do with those.”

      “I’ll take care of them.” She peeked into the bathroom. Her hair was clipped up on the back of her head in a jaunty ponytail. “I guess I could spare you some towels. Doesn’t look like the last guy...” She turned and handed him the neatly folded bedding. It smelled like early morning. “I still can’t find my dog,” she said quietly as he set the laundry on the bed.

      “I didn’t see anything on the highway.”

      “You weren’t really looking.”

      “You want me to? I’ve got nothing else to do. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been on the payroll for about an hour now.”

      “He’s pretty old. Doesn’t usually go far from the house.”

      “You probably don’t want your kids to find him first. How old are they?”

      “My kids?” She gave him a funny look, as if maybe he’d been reading her mail. And then the light went on. “Oh, the play yard. I do some day care. Other people’s kids.”

      “Maybe other people’s kids took your dog.”

      “The kids aren’t here on the weekend. Bingo. Little black terrier. If you see him...” She wagged her finger and chirped, “Bingo is his name-o.”

      “Ain’t much of a singer, but I’m a hell of a whistler.” He reproduced her warble perfectly. “Like that?”

      “He won’t be able to tell us apart.” She smiled. “I’m not a hell of a whistler.”

      He smiled back.