Wild Cowboy Ways (2 page)

A
llie hated two things: cleaning and cooking. But every third week it was her turn to clean the big two-story house known as Audrey's Place.

Back during the Depression, Audrey's had been a rather notorious not-exactly-legal brothel. Miz Audrey, the lady who owned the place, had seen an opportunity where everyone else around Dry Creek saw defeat. She'd hired six girls at a time when everyone needed jobs. She was one of the few folks who hung on to her land, her business, and came out on the other side of the Depression with more money than she knew what to do with. Her girls, too. The hundred-year-old house had withstood tornadoes, winds, and all the other crazy weather that Texas could throw at it.

But Allie wasn't appreciating her family home's rich history as she trudged through each of the six bedrooms on the second floor to vacuum, dust, and tidy up. She would far rather be the one creating mess. Give her the glorious smells of wood shavings, plaster dust, or varnish during a home remodel and she'd be much happier than breathing in pine-scented cleaners.

She paused on the bottom step, made sure that Granny was arguing with the characters of
Golden Girls
on the television in the living room, before she toted the bucket of cleaning supplies up the stairs. Allie had put in the new railing the previous spring and still liked to run her hand over the new wood, taking a moment to admire the intricate spindles she'd turned on her lathe. Her father had given her the tools, the knowledge, and the love for carpentry. Some days she missed him even more than others, like when she opened the bathroom door and there was the lovely vanity they'd worked on together the year before he died.

She was about to return downstairs, when her phone buzzed in the side pocket of her cargo pants. She pulled it out and without even checking the caller ID she answered, “Hello.”

“Alora Raine Logan,” her mother said.

“Why are you double-naming me? I couldn't possibly get into trouble while cleaning the house!”

“You let your grandmother get away from you.” Katy's voice was so shrill it hurt Allie's ears.

“Impossible, Mama. The doors are locked with those new baby guards that she can't open. Besides, not fifteen minutes ago, I checked on her. She was sitting on the sofa watching
Golden Girls
.”

Granny had shaken her fist at the television with a string of cuss words. Even in her moments of confusion, she never lost her spirit.

“Well, she's at the Lucky Penny now,” Katy said.

A gust of cold wind hit her in the face when Allie reached the foyer. The door was thrown wide open, and Lizzy's yellow boots were gone from the lineup beside the hall tree.

“You're right. She's gone! But why the Lucky Penny?” Allie was already cramming her feet down into a pair of boots.

“She must've heard us talking about a new cowboy buying that place. I can't leave the store so you'll have to go get her,” Katy said. “It's going to rain so take a vehicle. I hope she at least put on a jacket or else she'll catch pneumonia, frail as she is.”

“Lizzy's rubber boots are missing from the foyer and I dressed her in jeans and a sweatshirt this morning.” Allie stuck her free arm into a stained mustard-colored work coat.

“Thank goodness she's at least got something on her feet. Last time she went over there, she was wearing nothing but a nightgown when I went to get her. There she sat on the porch flirting with someone in her head because the only living thing on the whole ranch was an old gray tom cat,” Katy said.

Allie picked up her van keys from the foyer table and headed out the door. “I'm on the way, Mama. She's probably sitting on the porch like last time. I don't think anyone has moved in yet.”

“Lizzy said that Herman Hudson came in for a load of feed this morning and that at least one cowboy moved in on Saturday,” Katy said.

“How'd you find out where she is?” Allie asked.

“The crazy cowboy who bought the place called the feed store. The number was on the bottom of one of those calendars we used to give out at Christmas. Lizzy answered and then called me.”

“I'll call you when I've got her back in the house.” Allie jogged out to her work van and hopped inside. She shivered as she shoved the key into the ignition. They'd had a mild winter up until now, but January was going to make up for it for sure if this was a taste of what was to come. She didn't give the engine time to warm up but shoved the truck into gear, hit the gas, and headed down the lane toward the road where she made a right-hand turn. The steering wheel was as cold as icicles, but in her hurry she'd left her gloves on the foyer table. Half a mile farther she made another right and whipped into the winding lane at the Lucky Penny.

Had she gone by foot, Allie would have walked a few hundred yards, crawled over or under a broken-down barbed wire fence, and gone another hundred yards to the old house. That's most likely the way that Granny had gone, and it took less than ten minutes to get there. Allie came to a screeching halt outside the house and with a carpenter's eye saw how much more dilapidated it had gotten since she was last on the ranch.

How long had it been? At least eight years because she'd been divorced more than seven, and the last time she'd been there was back when she and Riley, like all the other kids in that day and age, parked there to make out. Looking back, the smartest thing she did when she and Riley split ways was take her maiden name back.

A big yellow dog met her halfway across the yard. His head was down and his tail wagging, which meant he wasn't going to take a chunk out of her butt. But the sight of him did slow her down.

She held out a hand. “Hey, feller, what's your name?”

The dog nosed her hand in a friendly gesture, so she rubbed his ears. “You got my granny in that house, or is she hiding in one of the barns this time?”

The first big raindrop hit her on the cheek and rolled down her neck. It was as cold as ice water, and more quickly followed before she made it to the porch. Shivers chased down her spine as the water hit her bra and kept moving to the waistband of her underpants.

She knocked on the door and waited.

“Walter, don't open that door,” her granny called out loud and clear.

“Are you Walter?” she asked the dog, who'd followed her to the porch, just as the front door swung open.

“No, he's Shooter. Are you Katy?”

Allie looked up into the greenest eyes she'd ever seen rimmed by dark lashes. Her gaze traveled to his wide shoulders, the Henley shirt stretched over bulging abs, and the big belt buckle with a bull rider on it. She had to force herself to look back up, only to find him smiling, his arms now crossed over his chest.

Lord, have mercy! Crazy cowboys who bought a bad luck ranch were definitely not supposed to be that sexy.

She wanted to crawl under her work van because there she stood wearing cargo pants, a faded thermal-knit shirt frayed out at the wrists, black rubber boots, and the old coat she wore on the job site. She smelled like pine oil and ammonia and didn't have even a smidgen of makeup on her face.

Granny shuffled across the floor. “Don't be silly, Walter. This is Katy, my daughter. You've seen her lots of times at church for the past six months. Don't you have enough sense to get in out of the rain, girl? Why haven't you invited her inside, Walter? Where are your manners?”

“Granny, I am not Katy. I'm Allie, your granddaughter. You know better than to sneak out of the house like this. You scared all of us,” Allie fussed.

“Maybe we can sort this out inside where it's warm and dry,” Blake offered. He stuck out his hand. “I'm Blake Dawson. C'mon in.” His eyes were so green that she would have sworn he was wearing colored contact lenses.

She put her hand in his. “I'm Allie Logan, your neighbor. I'm so sorry about this.”

Her hand tingled and the feeling lingered as she followed him into the house and through to the kitchen, tugging Granny after her. Maybe it was the weather, or the fact that he was one sexy piece of baggage. Most likely it was the fact that she hadn't had sex in so long that she might have to get out the how-to booklet to even remember what body part went where.

“I'm ready to go home now.” Irene's head tilted to one side and she shoved her hands into the pockets of the chenille robe. “I came over here to welcome this young man to Dry Creek. You should have come with me.”

“You live nearby?” Blake asked.

“Yeah, the big house called Audrey's Place. It's just past your east field and over the fence.”

“Audrey's Place? Is this Audrey? She told me her name was Irene.” Blake shoved his thumbs into his hip pockets.

Irene's face went into that mode that reminded Allie of a dried apple doll; all wrinkles with deep-set eyes and a puckered-up mouth, hollowed cheeks and a sharp little chin. She poked Blake in the chest with a bony finger and raised her voice as high as it would go. “Hell, no! Audrey was a whore. I'm a fine, upstanding churchgoin' woman. I'm not a hooker like my great-great grandma. I am Irene Miller, young man, and don't you forget it.”

She held her hand up to catch a drop of water when it fell from the ceiling. “Don't know why we're wasting our time with makin' casseroles to welcome him. He won't be here more'n a year. The good-lookin' ones never stay. Couple of ugly ones made it two years, but the cold winter will put this one on the run.”

“Granny!” Allie said as soon as she could get a word in edgewise.

Irene shrugged. “Better get a pan and put it under that leak, young man, or you're going to be mopping all day. Now take me home, Allie.”

“Granny, you're being rude.”

Blake chuckled. “She does manage to keep things lively.”

“You have no idea.”  Allie glanced at the drip coming from the ceiling. “It's been leaking a while from the size of that brown ring. You're lucky someone put down linoleum flooring because it could ruin carpet or hardwood.”

Blake nodded. “Damn. I hoped that the water marks on the ceiling were from a long time ago and the leak had been fixed. I'll just have to add it to the list of the million other repairs.”

“Allie's great at repairs,” Irene piped in. “We have a construction business, and we're damn good at what we do.”

“Really?” Blake's eyes lit up. “Could I hire you to put on a new roof?”

Allie threw an arm around her grandmother, wishing she had a muzzle. “We'll have to check our workload and get back to you.”

“You was complainin' last week that you needed a job and things were slower,” Irene fussed. “But I'm not doing one damn thing to help anyone on this ranch after the way Walter acted. You didn't know him like I did, Allie. What in the hell are we doing here, anyway? Take me home right now.”

“Let me get your things, Miz Miller,” Blake said.

Allie's eyes followed him as he walked away. He filled out those jeans really well and she could imagine what that tight butt would look like with nothing on it at all. Good lord, she had to get a grip.

“Who's Walter?” Allie asked.

Irene's lips tightened and she shook her head. “You just stay away from this ranch. It don't bring nothing but heartache and pain to anyone who comes around it because no one ever stays. It should be called Hard Luck not Lucky Penny.”

Allie folded Irene's hand in hers. “Tell me more about Walter and his family. When did they live on this ranch?”

Before Allie could get any more information, Blake came back with Irene's flamingo boots and her cane, plus an empty trash can to put under the leak. “So, can you ask the carpenter in your family if he'd be interested in a job?”

Irene waggled a finger at him. “No and that is final. We ain't interested in your leaky roof and I'm not talking about Walter even if you put me in my room and give me nothing but bread and water for a month.” She pulled free from Allie's hand and stormed out of the house into the rain.

Allie watched as she marched straight to the van, stomping right through the mud puddles. The bottom of her robe was soaked by the time she slung the passenger's door open and crawled inside.

Blake chuckled. “And to think thirty minutes ago she was trying to talk me into running away to California with her to pick fruit. Someone named Walter must have lived on this ranch and she loved him at one time.”

“Sorry that you had to be Walter, whoever he is, today,” Allie said.

“I wasn't going to argue with her. Besides I got to meet you. Like Mama says, dark clouds can have silver linings.” He shot her a wicked grin that zinged right through her. “You will check that calendar and have your carpenter give me a call. I'll get you my number.” He hurried over to the sofa, wrote the number on the bottom edge of a magazine page, and handed it to her.

His fingertips grazed hers and there was definitely a tingle. Sweet Jesus! She had to remind herself that this was the Lucky Penny. Folks came and went on it and no one ever lasted, especially not any sexier than hell cowboys. She straightened herself and put some steel in her spine.

“I'll call when I check the calendar. And I'll keep a better eye on Granny. Thanks for calling the feed store.”

“You could call about other things, too…if you wanted,” he drawled.

The glint in his eyes promised some temptation beyond imagining, and the gravel in his voice had an underlying tone of making all her dreams come true. She came close to promising to build him a brand-new house for free from the ground up. Lord, have mercy! He was flirting. Flirting with Allie when she looked like shit in her work clothes with her hair up in a messy ponytail. He was a player for sure, one of those wicked, wild cowboys who got what they wanted with a slow drawl and a sexy strut. He flirted, not because he was interested in Allie, but because it was a way to get a roof on his house.