Temporarily Texan

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown.

She pulled herself a little straighter and tightened her hold on the jute handle. “Your ranch doesn’t look like the kind of place where my services would be needed.”

“For one thing, maybe the association didn’t tell you but this isn’t really my ranch. My brother runs it, but he’s in the military. The Rocking C has been in my family for a little over a hundred years, though.”

“Oh, I see.” Not that she really did, of course. He was confusing and cryptic, and all she wanted to do was get to the bottom of this assignment.

“My brother Cal asked me to take care of the place while he’s gone, and he asked the association to send someone to help me.”

He said the word help as if he didn’t believe he needed any. Or didn’t believe the person his brother sent would be any use.

“I haven’t been a rancher in fifteen years,” he added. “I’m a marketing director for Devboran cattle. It’s a new breed, a cross between beef Devons and African Borans, so you might not recognize it. Normally, I live in Fort Worth, but I’m on the road a lot.”

Raven frowned. “I see, but why did you need me?”

“I already told you,” he said, giving her another one of those not-quite-sincere smiles as he reached for her bag. “I’m not a rancher. I’ve taken a leave of absence from my job to help out my brother.”

She held on for a moment too long, before realizing he was pretty intent on dragging her big tote into his house. She let go and he opened the door.

I’m not a rancher, either! she felt like shouting. Instead, she ignored the building’s unwelcome vibes and followed him inside.

“You might not be a rancher, but you look like a cowboy.”

He turned back with an amused look on his face. “Yeah? And how is a cowboy supposed to look?”

That smile could melt butter in January, she thought as she peered at him in the dim interior light. He was definitely handsome. At a little over six feet of lean muscle, long legs encased in the requisite jeans and scuffed boots on what must be size-twelve feet, he sure looked as if he could ride and rope and…whatever else cowboys did.

“I’m not sure, I suppose. I’m from New Hampshire.”

His smile faded and he looked at her as if questioning her response. “Okay, then.”

She wanted to say, Okay, what? but for the sake of getting off on the right foot simply followed him into the eat-in kitchen. The large square room seemed to be the hub of the house where the hallway came together with the living spaces.

The kitchen was just as dreary and outdated as the exterior of the house, with beige vinyl flooring, dull brown cabinets and faded floral wallpaper. The pseudocowboy staring out the back windows appeared far more interesting than the decor.

“Can I get you a glass of water or a soda?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“I suppose the association mentioned that I have a guest bedroom for you here at the house. Is that okay?”

“Yes, they did say I’d have accommodations on the property.” She’d envisioned a quaint guest cottage surrounded by roses and bluebonnets. They hadn’t explained that she’d be sharing a very isolated house with a handsome cowboy. She wasn’t certain how she felt about that setup in the light of day, much less in the dark of night.

“Is anyone else living here?” Wife and children, perhaps.

“No, it’s just me. Neither Cal nor I are married.”

“I see.” So, they would be alone.

“My bedroom is down the hall,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “You’ll be at this end of the house with your own bathroom.”

“All right.” They wouldn’t be sharing a bath, but she was near to the kitchen and living areas. Not as private as that nice guest cottage she’d envisioned.

“I grew up here in this house,” he said, cutting into her wandering thoughts. “I left for college and haven’t worked on a ranch since I was eighteen.”

“Do you miss it?”

He paused a moment too long. “No.”

“Oh. But—” She hurried to catch up as he turned down the hallway to the left. What did he study in college? Did he miss his job? How long was he taking off?

And why was she so interested in a brooding Texan who was so difficult to read?

“This is your room,” he said, placing her tote bag on the double bed. The brown coverlet had probably been put there before Troy Crawford left for college. The off-white walls hadn’t been painted recently, either, and the dresser and nightstand were of some type of dark wood. Nubby beige drapes hung from a sagging rod.

She looked back at Troy Crawford and found him watching her. “It’s not a five-star hotel, but I imagine you’ve stayed in worse.”

“Oh, I wasn’t…Sorry. The room is a surprise. I wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s just that I’ve never stayed in a ranch house before.”

“What?”

“Most of my work has been done east of the Mississippi.”

“I wouldn’t think there were many ranches that needed your help back there.”

“Ranches? No, but there are lots of homesteads, some with three or four generations still living on the same land that was settled in the 1700s.”

He frowned. “Why would you care about historic homesteads?”

She frowned right back, more confused than ever. “Because that’s how I glean much of my knowledge.”

“About their cattle?”

“No,” she replied slowly. “About their heritage gardens.”

“Gardens? What are you…Wait a minute.” She watched an entire evolution of expression transform his face. “You aren’t a ranch expert, are you?”

“Of course not! I’m a vegetarian. I’m against eating beef. Any kind of meat, for that matter.”

Troy Crawford rubbed a hand across his face. “I knew there was something wrong.”

“Just as I did when I arrived on a working cattle ranch!”

“Wait a minute. Why did you think you were here?”

“To document and restore a heritage garden.”

“A what?”