Betting on Texas. Amanda Renee

the time Miranda unloaded her truck and rental trailer, it was midafternoon. Taking a bottle of pink lemonade and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from her cooler, she surveyed the ranch through the screen door.

      Miranda had to face the fact that Jonathan knew about Jesse and the livestock. Why else would he be dodging her calls? His secretary claimed he was away on business for the remainder of the week, but he’d mentioned nothing about that yesterday. How convenient. When she tried his cell phone, all she heard was Jonathan’s chipper voice mail greeting. After the last message Miranda left, she’d be amazed if he ever spoke to her again. Why didn’t he clue her in on everything before she arrived? She’d had enough surprises over the past year to last a lifetime.

      “How am I ever going to manage this place?”

      “With a little help and a lot of kindness.”

      Miranda jumped at the response. A middle-aged woman, with skin the color of cinnamon, poked her head through the door.

      “I didn’t mean to startle you, dear,” the woman said as she let herself in. She carried an armful of brown paper sacks filled to the hilt with cleaning products. She placed them on the table, then beelined for the boxes Miranda had left on the counter.

      “Excuse me.” Miranda tried to get the woman’s attention. “Excuse me, um, whoever you are.”

      “The name’s Mable Promise,” she said as she glanced around the room. “Jesse reckoned you might need a helping hand, or two, around here. We sure do have our work cut out for us. This house sat empty for way too long. Needs a good going-over, if I do say so myself.”

      “I don’t understand.” Jesse told the woman she needed help? “I—”

      “There’s nothing to understand. Now come on. We have plenty to do by the looks of things.” Mable directed Miranda to a stack of unopened boxes while she worked her way through the pots and pans. “Well, don’t just stand there stewin’ in your own juices. If we’re going to make this ranch work, we best get started.”

      Miranda struggled to speak, choosing to chew on her bottom lip instead. Who was this woman unpacking her utensils?

      “I’ll wash everything here. Do you have fresh linens on the beds?”

      “Beds? I don’t have any beds. I don’t have any furniture really. I’m planning to go shopping tomorrow. Tonight I’ll camp out on the living room floor.”

      “Well, we can’t have that!” Mable dried her hands and walked over to the screen door. “Jesse! Get on in here!”

      The apples of Mable’s cheeks glowed as she smiled at Miranda. She had welcoming eyes. Caring and compassionate, like the eyes a mother has for her child. Miranda could only guess what it would have felt like if her own mother had once looked at her that way.

      Jesse stood in the doorway. A perfect silhouette of his body stood in contrast to the afternoon sun. Miranda’s pulse began to quicken.

      “Drive Miranda into town and pick up a mattress and box spring. I don’t want her sleeping on the hard floor. Lord knows it needs a good scrubbing. If you hurry, you can get to Mayfield’s before they close.”

      Mable bustled about the kitchen as she spoke, her feet moving as fast as her tongue. Jesse laughed. This was apparently normal to him. He seemed at home and relaxed as he watched the robust woman. Until the woman stopped in her tracks and glared at him.

      “Uh-oh.” Jesse groaned then scrambled for the door.

      “Now go on...git!”

      Mable chased them outside and down the porch stairs with a dish towel. Miranda yelped as they crossed the yard to her truck. She’d forgotten she was barefoot. Her blisters sure hadn’t.

      Her shoes were inside. She imagined the wrath she would incur if she went back in and asked for them. A few seconds later, the screen door swung wide and Mable tossed a pair of flip-flops down the stairs. Carefully, she slid her feet into them. As much as they hurt, she wasn’t about to let Jesse see her pain.

      “You didn’t have to do this.” Miranda nodded toward the kitchen. “I don’t know what to say.”

      “Forget it. It was my way of apologizing for the way I treated you earlier.”

      Miranda wasn’t quite sure if she should thank him or strangle him. A stranger just chased her out of her home and took over her kitchen.

      “Who is she, anyway?”

      “Mable’s been a family friend for as long as I can recall.” Jesse leaned on the truck fender. “She worked for the Carters before the accident. Lived in that cottage over there. Figured she could work here again since you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

      “Work for me? Look, I don’t know how much money you think I have, but—”

      “As long as she can live on Double Trouble, she’ll be happy with whatever you can pay. Her husband passed on a few years ago. He ran the cattle end of the business before they downsized it. They shared their final years together here. This place has sentimental value to her.”

      Miranda sensed a guilt trip coming on. “I’m sorry to hear that but—”

      “Word to the wise, sugar, don’t ever let Mable hear you say you feel sorry for her. She’ll tan your hide for sure.”

      “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

      “I know what you meant. It’s Mable who won’t.”

      Miranda felt all control over her ranch slip further away with each word out of her mouth.

      “Nice rig. Must have set you back a bit,” Jesse said, as he inspected the black quad cab pickup. “Not that it would matter much to you.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Jesse jumped in the driver’s seat. “Toss me the keys.”

      “Thanks for the offer, but I can drive myself, without any help from you.”

      “You have no idea where you’re going,” Jesse said. “The center of town is nowhere near the interstate, which I assume is the way you came in. You’ll get lost on these back roads.”

      “If I can manage to get here all the way from D.C., I think I can handle a little trip into town. Just point me in the right direction.”

      “Suit yourself.” Jesse pointed toward the main road. “It’s that way.”

      An endless dirt road lay before the ranch. The same dirt road she drove down when she arrived. And she didn’t recall seeing any signs for a town ahead along the way.

      “Sure you don’t want me to tag along? I can help you try out those beds.” He winked, his intentions all too clear.

      “Let me get this straight.” Miranda smiled. “You don’t even like me, yet you’re offering to sleep with me?”

      “Honey, I don’t have to like you in order to bed you for the night.”

      Miranda ignored his comment as she climbed in the truck. She headed down the dusty road, in the opposite direction she had come earlier. She had grown accustomed to her new truck over the past few days. Anything beat the broken-down cracker box she’d driven for the past six years.

      After she passed three unmarked turnoffs, she decided to try her luck on the next one. It was next to impossible to tell which led to ranches and which ones were legitimate roads. Acres upon acres of pastures and crops lined the narrow lane, but there was no sign of a town.

      A few attempts down others brought her to an intersection identical to the one she’d passed a few miles before. Now she was lost.

      An hour later, she found herself in front of Double Trouble—no closer to town than she was before she left.

      “Shoot!”