Authors: Donna Kauffman
His lips remained a flat line, but she could have sworn there was a hint of a twinkle
in his dark eyes as he nodded and motioned her ahead of him with a low swept arm.
She wandered inside before it occurred to her to ask why he wanted to see inside her
barn in the first place.
It was musty and dank. The weathered boards had warped allowing long slivers of light
to cut across the hay-strewn dirt floor. She’d only taken a few steps, but it was
enough to stir up dust motes,
and she paused to wave her hand in front of her face to clear the air.
When she looked up again, she saw that Kane was circling the ancient tractor rusting
quietly in the open area between the run-down stalls.
“It’s as bad as it looks,” she commented, as she crossed the room to stand on the
other side of the tractor.
He looked up, his gaze meeting hers across the cracked leather seat. “You never know.
Looks can be deceiving.”
Elizabeth shrugged, trying not to examine his statement for hidden meanings. “I think
my biggest concern with this old heap will be how to move it out of the way.”
He didn’t respond, but turned his attention back to the tractor.
Elizabeth blew out a silent breath. Trying to figure out what was going on behind
that stoic gaze of his was beginning to irritate her. She wandered over to the few
remaining stalls at the opposite end of the barn.
She had to get rid of this guy.
“These look salvageable.”
Again she started, banging her elbow against the stall door hanging drunkenly on one
hinge. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
He was barely a foot away. Her pulse picked up speed. She shivered and rubbed her
sore elbow, fighting the impulse to cross her arms over her
chest. It had to be near ninety degrees inside the barn. The goose bumps stayed. “You
sneak up on people without making any sound.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. You were merely distracted. How long have you been living out
here?”
The change in topic threw her. But she rallied quickly. It was a simple question,
really. Understandable, even. But suddenly Elizabeth didn’t want to answer any more
of his questions. “I don’t see where that is any of your business, Mr.… I’m sorry,
what did you say your name was?”
“Hawthorne. Kane Hawthorne. I guess I’m not doing too great with this job interview,
am I?”
Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open. He’d actually smiled. And he looked almost … handsome,
if someone with such focused energy could be called something so bland. It suddenly
occurred to her that she probably shouldn’t be alone in the barn with a strange man.
Of course, being outside wouldn’t be much better, she reminded herself. Four miles
of hard mountain road stood between her and Dobson’s little store and the Boundary
Gap post office.
And yet, she realized she wasn’t afraid of him. At least, not in the physical sense.
She glanced quickly at his broad frame, remembering the bunched muscles of his biceps
as he’d yanked open the barn door. Her gaze fell to his big, strong hands. In a way
it really was a shame she couldn’t hire him on. “I’m truly sorry, but as I explained
earlier—”
He stepped forward. A sliver of light slashed
across his bronzed features. Elizabeth drew in a ragged breath and instinctively stepped
backward. Her hip bumped against the hanging door.
“It’s obvious you need help, if you want to get your canning operation off the ground.”
At her raised eyebrow, he added, “Dobs told me about your famous preserves.” He went
on without letting her speak. “If you can’t afford to pay me, we can always work out
a barter system.”
Goose bumps lined her skin again as images came to her mind of what she had to barter
with. Maybe she’d been wrong about being in physical danger. She lifted her chin and
leveled him with her best glare. “I think you’d better leave now.”
He actually had the grace to look … well, she wouldn’t call it embarrassed exactly,
but he did shift his dark eyes away from her.
Lord, but the man was intense. And intensity usually equaled stress. More stress,
she did not need. She moved to slip by him, intending to head outside, hoping he’d
take the hint and leave without making a scene.
“What are those things on your knees?”
She froze, then slowly looked downward. “Sponges.” She stifled a groan.
“That’s what I thought.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as a mental vision of what she must look like flashed in
her mind. Her pinned-up shoulder-length hair once had been #74R Auburn Dream, but
now, after an overly enthusiastic home perm, looked more like Ronald McDonald
Red. To make matters worse, she had on a raggedy, juice-stained T-shirt, abused designer
jeans that even acid washing wouldn’t help, and big orange car-washing sponges strapped
to her knees.
She smiled ruefully and opened her eyes to look at him. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“What for? You use them for knee pads, right?”
“Yes. But I meant for my earlier assumption that you were angling to trade work for …”
Her voice trailed off as the lightest of twinkles flickered in his black eyes. If
she’d been embarrassed moments ago, it was nothing compared to the humiliation she
felt now.
It must have shown on her face, because his lips curved a bit more and he leaned over
and rubbed at a spot on her cheek.
“I imagine you clean up just fine.” As suddenly as it had appeared, his smile fled.
He dropped his hand and stepped away. “But you’re right, that wasn’t what I meant.
No offense.”
“No,” she said, her voice cracking. She was a bit short of breath for some reason.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “None taken.”
“I also think you should reconsider.” He held up his hand to stop her automatic denial.
“I’m looking for a place to stay just for a while. A few weeks, a month at the most.
I noticed you have a small bunkhouse behind the barn.”
“It’s hardly habitable,” she replied. But any hope she had of gaining control of the
conversation was short-lived.
“If you take me on, I’ll take care of that on my own time. I can restore enough of
the barn so that you can move your working operation out here. I’ll be glad to do
other small repairs on the ranch house, if you need them done.” His tone implied it
would be pointless to argue. “In return, you let me stay in the bunkhouse, maybe throw
in an occasional meal.”
Take him on? A man like Kane Hawthorne? Elizabeth could come up with a dozen reasons
why she shouldn’t—two dozen. And not all of them had to do with her current predicament.
But it was hard to ignore the single reason why she should. The fact was, he was offering
her the best solution to her problems she could ever hope to have.
The money she’d taken from her brother’s apartment was almost gone, and she didn’t
know when he’d be back in the country. Selling in bulk the preserves she made with
her grandmother’s family recipe was her best shot at supporting herself until Matthew
came back from his latest overseas assignment.
If she was willing to take the risk of hiring Kane.
She studied him. Judging from his clothes and his physique, he was no stranger to
hard labor. But the fact remained that he was a total stranger. Elizabeth gritted
her teeth in frustration. More than anything in the world, she wanted to not have
to question people’s motives, not to see potential danger lurking in every corner.
It was an exhausting
lifestyle, and she resented the hell out of being forced into adopting it.
Of course, if Kane proved to be trustworthy, it might not be a bad idea to have someone
like him around for a while, in case Sam or one of his hired goons managed to track
her down. And if Matt surfaced during that time, then all her problems would be solved
anyway.
She wavered, glancing away as she mentally calculated increased profits versus how
much a man his size might eat.
“If you want references, I can provide a few names for you to contact.”
She jerked her gaze to his. “Why are you here?” she asked, then added, “I don’t mean
here on the Lazy F, I mean in this area. It’s pretty barren this far north, and with
fall coming, these mountains aren’t going to get any friendlier.”
“Guess I’m what you’d call a wanderer. Can’t seem to find any one place that interests
me enough to make me want to stay. I move when I want, work when I can, then move
on again. I like it that way.
“Sounds lonely to me.”
“If I want to be around people, I go where there’s people.”
“I didn’t say alone. I said lonely. Big difference.”
“Sounds to me like it might be more your problem than mine.”
His uncanny perception rattled her, but Elizabeth shoved that fact aside and focused
on the decision at hand. “So you want to help me because
restoring a barn is more interesting than wrangling cows?”
“Didn’t say that. But if you’re asking me if you’re more interesting to me than a
herd of cattle, then I’d have to say yes. Yes, you are.”
Elizabeth gripped the beam next to her shoulder, wondering how big a mistake she was
about to make. Possibly bigger than the one she’d made the night she’d decided to
follow Sam to one of his frequent late-night meetings. A mistake that had forced her
to run for her life.
“The only materials you’ll have to work with are whatever you can scrounge up from
the outbuildings. I don’t have money to invest in building supplies. I can’t promise
to fill your stomach every night, but if I have enough for two, you’re welcome to
share.” She turned away and headed toward the barn door, forcing herself to breathe
evenly and walk slowly.
What was she doing?
“Oh, and I do want that list of references.”
She’d walked several yards away from the barn when he spoke from behind her. “I’ll
get them to you before nightfall. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to check out the
buildings and make a list of the materials—”
She whirled around. “I thought I’d made it clear—”
“You did,” he broke in quietly. “But my bartering skills aren’t limited to getting
a stubborn redhead to admit she needs help in exchange for room and board.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him about her hair color. Being a redhead
was a new experience. An old adage proved correct. If the life she’d led since the
day she’d left Boise was any indication, blondes most definitely had more fun.
She put her hands on her hips, determined to take charge before things got any further
out of hand. “Fine. Just don’t trade away anything on this property without asking
me first. And you might think about finding a place to sleep before it gets dark.
I have running water piped in from an uphill stream, but my propane is limited, so
no hot water unless it’s necessary. No electricity, either. I have to pick another
couple of quarts of berries, so I can’t promise you dinner tonight. If you need a
place to store any of your gear until you get the bunkhouse livable, let me know.
I’ll make room for it in the house.” She paused for a breath.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She squinted in the sun, but was unable to determine from either his expression or
his tone if he was teasing her. Somehow, she didn’t think he was the type. And to
her eternal dismay she found herself wondering just what type he was.
Kane watched Ann Fielding walk away from him. His instincts and his research left
very little doubt that she was actually Elizabeth Lawson-Perkins.
So why wasn’t he heading back to Boise with her
in tow? A whole lot of money was waiting there for him. All he had to do was hand
her over to Sam Perkins, take his fee, and walk away. Walk away. Yeah, he was a real
pro at that.
Kane shook his head and turned on his heel, taking off around the old ranch house
and heading for the big bay mare he’d left tied to the porch railing. He’d been so
distracted by his mixed reaction to Ms. Lawson-Perkins that he’d neglected to mention
the horse.
Rubbing her muzzle, Kane spoke to her softly in his native tongue, glad she’d been
available when he’d needed to ditch his truck in a hurry. He unstrapped his duffel
bag and saddle packs, then loosened the cinch on the saddle. He hung it over the sturdiest
section of porch railing, scooped up his gear, and headed around the house. Telling
her about the horse was going to be the least of his problems.
Kane didn’t even bother ignoring the jolt his system received from observing her lush
backside as she bent on her hands and knees to pick more berries. It was a position
that brought an immediate answer to his earlier mental query.
He wasn’t dragging her to Boise because his brains had gone south for the summer.
He’d be lying if he said his reaction to her hadn’t surprised the hell out of him.
He’d hardly expected a wild-haired redhead with brand-new freckles, scrabbling around
in the bushes for wild berries, sporting sponges for
knee pads. He’d also been surprised to learn that on the right woman, freckles could
be sexy as sin.
Of course, she wasn’t the right woman.
Not for him, at any rate. She was a wanted woman. A married, wanted woman.
But one look had been enough to confirm his suspicions of three weeks earlier as he’d
stood in Perkins’s office. This was no errant wife with a grudge. And until he figured
out what the hell was really going on, he was a hired hand on the Lazy F.
Elizabeth cast a wary glance at the barn. After Kane had all but splintered the remains
of the bunkhouse door several hours before, he’d dumped his gear inside and headed
into the rickety building. She heard several thumps and a few loud crashes, but avoided
giving in to the temptation to go inside and find out what he was doing. Being alone
with him in that dark, steamy barn again was not a good idea.
She stood and arched her back, massaging her spine with her gloved fingers. She checked
the sun and figured she had just enough time to rinse off the day’s harvest in the
clear spring that spouted from a tumble of rocks up the hill behind the barn. Groaning
as she stooped to grab the bucket, she froze in midpull as a high whinnying sound
echoed across the yard.