Rancher To The Rescue. Arlene James

      They drove along in silence for some time before he abruptly announced that Frankie had begged for air fresheners for himself and his cousin because they came in the shape of Christmas trees. Kathryn had to digest that.

      “You mean those evergreen car fresheners?”

      “Yep.”

      “You know those could be dangerous, don’t you? He shouldn’t put it in his mouth.”

      “Relax, worrywart,” Jake said, grinning. “The air fresheners are still in their packages, and once they come out, they’ll be used for their intended purpose.”

      “Oh. Well, you can’t be too careful.”

      “Really? You mean like accepting rides from strangers on isolated Oklahoma roads?”

      She started to say that she hadn’t had any other choice, but suddenly every murder mystery she’d ever read, every cop show she’d ever watched, flitted through her mind.

      “Oh, come on,” Jake said. “You’re perfectly safe with me. It was a joke.”

      Kathryn caught a swift breath and provided him with a weak smile. “I’m sure I am. It’s just that this has never happened before, and I can’t help worrying. A-about the car.”

      “Want me to stop off at the ranch and ask my sister-in-law to ride the rest of the way with us?” he asked, clearly not fooled.

      She considered it, but Sandy knew where she was and who she was with. He spent a great deal of time on the phone with his few remaining friends, and word had filtered through the grapevine that the Smith brothers were regular attenders at Countryside Church and friends of the Billings family. Besides, Jake had been very generous with his time and concern thus far. She shook her head, feeling a little foolish.

      “No. Thanks for offering, though.”

      He smiled, nodded and fell silent again.

      It’s just that he’s so handsome, she told herself, and so big.

      She was used to standing as tall as most men, or nearly so. Those she met in the grocery store and at the gas station weren’t usually as tall as him. Plus, she knew them, at least by sight or name, and if they spoke to her, she just nodded and moved on. Glancing at Jake’s broad, long-fingered hands, she wondered why none of those other men seemed as strong, capable or dangerous as him. She felt a keen sense of relief—and a puzzling disappointment—when they turned onto Sixth Street.

      “This is a lovely part of town,” he remarked, slowly navigating the tree-shaded lane.

      “Yes. Our house is the smallest on the street, but it’s so pretty here.”

      “Our?” he queried. The word came out sharply.

      “It’s my mother’s house,” she murmured, deciding not to mention her mother’s recent death. Of course, he could find out from anybody in town, but why would he? Whether he was a Good Samaritan or merely drumming up business, his only interest would be in her car. He was no threat and couldn’t have any interest in her personally. Still, she owed him no explanations.

      He brought the big truck to a halt in the narrow drive, glancing around. “This is really nice.”

      Kathryn couldn’t help smiling. She was proud of her flower beds, and she thought the green trim, which matched the shingles on the roof, made a pretty contrast to the white siding.

      “About the car,” he said, abruptly switching subjects. “When should I drop off the estimate?”

      She didn’t stop to wonder why he didn’t offer to call with the estimate. “I have to be at a client’s house every morning by ten and don’t get off until six.”

      How she was going to get to her clients, she had no idea. Sandy had suggested she rent a car from a facility in Ardmore, but a quick telephone call had revealed that even a few days’ rental fee would consume more of her income than she could afford, and it wouldn’t fix her car. Maybe the agency for which she worked could offer a solution. Hopefully, one other than firing her.

      Jake nodded. “I see. Okay, then.”

      She grappled for the door handle, found it and let herself out of the idling truck. “Thank you so much for your help.”

      Smiling in acknowledgment, he nodded again. She shut the door and stepped back. Within moments, he and his truck had disappeared the way they’d come. As Kathryn turned toward the house, she spied old Mrs. Trident glaring at her from the front steps of the house next door. Kathryn waved, but Mrs. Trident simply turned and went back inside.

      She’d avoided the Stepp household since Kathryn’s father had stumbled up the wrong steps, drunk and belligerent, one night more than a decade ago. Soon after, realizing that Mia Stepp was never going to recover from her accident, he’d abandoned his handicapped wife and seventeen-year-old daughter, but that didn’t seem to matter to Mrs. Trident. In all those years, Kathryn hadn’t heard from her father until about six months after her mother’s death, when he’d sent a letter demanding that Kathryn sell the house and split the profit with him.

      Kathryn started toward her own front door, sighing heavily, but as she traveled along the walkway flanked by daylilies and Shasta daisies, she felt a familiar sense of peace and belonging settle over her. This place had always been her sanctuary, the one safe spot in the whole world. She loved this old house. Living anywhere else seemed unimaginable. Somehow, she had to keep her father from forcing her to sell it. If only she could find that missing insurance policy.

      Shaking her head, she pushed aside such thoughts and went indoors to telephone her employer and inform them of her changed circumstances. It wasn’t as if that insurance money could save her house, after all. She simply would not think of everything else it could do.

      * * *

      “Pretty!” Frankie declared the next morning, pointing to the wreath hanging on the front door of the Stepp house.

      Frankie had said the word half a dozen times since they’d pulled into the driveway. While they waited for someone to answer Jake’s knock, Frankie gestured toward the prim white wicker rocking chair on the porch. The ruffles on its flowered cushions fluttered in the breeze.

      “I know,” Jake said wryly, smiling down at his son, “pretty.”

      The door opened, and Kathryn Stepp gaped at him with obvious alarm. “What are you doing here?”

      Wearing a loose, flowered dress that hung almost to her ankles over slender bare feet, she folded her arms, trying—and failing—to fix a stern expression on her face. She looked like a girl playing dress up, a very pretty if somewhat bedraggled girl.

      Jake removed his shades, tucked them into his shirt pocket and doffed his pale straw cowboy hat. “Morning.”

      Frankie, who knew nothing but exuberance, lurched forward and threw his arms around her, bellowing, “Mording!”

      After shooting a shocked, puzzled glance at Jake, Kathryn softened. She leaned forward slightly and returned Frankie’s hug as best she could, shuffling her feet to keep her toes from being squashed by his athletic shoes.

      “Good morning. What brings you and your daddy here today?”

      “We’re here to give you a ride to work,” Jake answered. Wasn’t it obvious? He removed a folded sheet of paper from his hip pocket. “The ride will give you a chance to look over this estimate.”

      Her rosy lips turned down in a frown. “I’m not sure I have a job to go to. It depends on if they’ve found someone to replace me already.”

      “Shouldn’t you find out?” Jake asked.

      She turned her head, glancing into the room. For the first time, Jake looked past her. The living area was larger than he’d expected, with gleaming wood floors and a painted brick fireplace set against a sage-green interior wall. Colorful throw pillows