by Ellie Danes
“This place definitely needs building up,” Jacob said from behind me. He’d insisted that I take the shotgun seat, that he would be perfectly comfortable sitting in the back. I hadn’t argued that much—I tended to get motion sickness in the back, though not usually bad enough to actually throw up.
I glanced over at my dad. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was about fifty-five, since he still had most of his hair, and it was only starting to go gray. I knew that he dyed it at home, carefully—never wanting to make it look like he dyed it—but he mostly managed to look like a man’s man, in spite of the suits he wore. He didn’t get manicures, but he took care of his hands. He kept himself clean-shaved, and I knew one of his own personal luxuries was a twice-weekly trip to the barber shop for a professional shave, which came with a hot towel treatment and all that masculine luxury. He’d throw a fit if you suggested he’d ever even heard of moisturizer, but I’d seen the little tube of it—comfortably labeled “for men”—in his medicine cabinet at home. It was a big part of how he managed to look like he was in his fifties when he was actually about ten years older—that, and the fact that he’d hopped on board the sunblock bandwagon back when it had first started, and he’d gotten me in the habit, too.
We finally arrived at the town of Mustang Ridge. It was actually pretty cute, maybe in part because it was so small. We went past cotton and wheat fields, all of them with a little farmhouse tucked away far from the road heading into the town proper. This was farming territory, not ranch land, and I had to agree with my dad—and ultimately with Jacob—that it was probably a blessing for them that we were coming in to develop some of the real estate, to bring some more business to the town.
But as we got to the center of the town, there was another part of me that almost regretted it was bound to change, after we got done with it. The little town’s center, with the courthouse, town hall, and administrative offices, was surrounded by a little huddle of businesses that looked timeless. I could almost tell when each of the buildings had gone up, based on the architecture: a diner that looked like something out of the 50s, a repair shop that seemed like it had been around since the Great Depression—even if it had managed to keep up with the times with the signage—and a tiny grocery store that in Houston would be little more than a convenience store.
As we made our way around, I couldn’t help but notice the people who were out and about, most of them on foot. They looked almost cute, dressed in jeans and work shirts, a few of the women in frumpy-chic dresses or mid-length skirts, everyone in sneakers or boots. There was a little landscaping around the town square, but it was pretty plain looking apart from the buildings themselves.
Dad parked the car and we got out and headed for the town’s administrative offices—a big building that housed the town planning office, the sheriff’s office, and the town’s postal services.
“Okay, this is where we’re going to get the plans for that parcel we’re looking at,” Dad told me as we walked up from the cracked, sunbaked parking lot nearby. There were a few cars scattered around, but more trucks, and I thought to myself that there were probably lots of people in the town who wore multiple hats—not just town officials but also farmers, or business-owners.
“Do you have the email, Em?” Jacob asked.
My mind blanked for a second, but then I swung my purse down from my shoulder as I remembered that I hadn’t printed it off—we didn’t actually need the email itself, just the information in it. I opened my purse and searched for my phone in it, so I could call up the email for what we needed. My father and Jacob went on ahead. I probably should have asked them to stop and wait for me, but I nearly had my phone. I could feel it lodged in one of the smaller inside pockets. I opened my purse wider and peered inside.
There it was. I snagged it with the tips of my fingers and had just started to pull it out when I hit something full-on, colliding with it hard enough to rebound and tumble backward. My purse fell completely off my arm. Its contents scattered over the parking lot.
I barely caught a glimpse of the obstruction . It was a person, rather than a thing—but my first impression was that the person I’d run into might as well have been a statue. He was a good foot taller than me, and twice as wide, though he was lean and muscled rather than obese.
After I landed on my butt with a jolt, my teeth snapping together painfully, I got a better look at the man.
He had shoulder-length blond hair, and as he turned around to face me, looking startled, I saw that he had beautiful blue eyes. His lean, surprised face was covered from cheekbones to chin with long stubble—not quite a beard, but more than a guy would get after not shaving for a day or two.
My phone had come out of my hand as I’d fallen and I looked around in a panic, but instead of finding it smashed on the ground, I saw it in the man-mountain’s hand. He’d caught it.
“I’m so sorry, hon,” the man said, bending over and then almost dropping to his knees to start picking up the things from my purse.
“No—no, it’s my fault, I wasn’t paying attention,” I said, gathering myself up and fumbling to get my things together.
“I should have heard you coming,” he continued, as if he hadn’t even heard me. “I’ve got my head in the clouds today.”
“No, really, I was looking for my phone instead of watching where I was going,” I insisted. Up close, the man was actually pretty gorgeous. His cheeks were pink with some sunburn, and his face looked weathered, but he was lean and quick and obviously young, maybe around my own age.
“Hey! Em, you okay here? What’s going on?” Jacob hurried over to me, scowling, and I wasn’t sure what to say. It was embarrassing enough to run into someone—even a big guy like the one helping me get my things together—hard enough to knock myself on my ass, but worse to have to admit it to someone else.
“It’s nothing, Jake,” I said quickly.
“What, you thought you’d just mow down anyone in your way, hot shot?” Jacob glared at the man I’d run into. Instead of being embarrassed for myself, I started to feel embarrassed for the man.
He stood up with my stuff still in my hands. Jacob’s eyes widened slightly when he realized how big the guy was.
“Neither of us were paying attention, and we ended up proving a law of physics,” the man said calmly. “I don’t think she’s hurt—but I’m sure she’s glad you came back to check on her.”
“Yes,” I said, glad for the change in subject. “I think I’ve just about got everything together.”
The man turned to me and handed me my phone and the other things he’d picked up with a smile. Then he offered me his hand to help me up onto my feet.
I accepted, even though I could tell Jacob wasn’t fond of that little moment, and I gave the man I’d run into a smile to match his own. “Thank you for helping me out,” I said. “I’m sorry again that I ran into you.”
“All my fault,” the man said again. “You sure you’re okay?” He looked me over—not in a leering way, but like he was checking for evidence that I’d broken a bone or something.
I nodded, testing to make sure I hadn’t turned my ankle or bruised myself in some way that would make taking the tour with my dad and Jacob out of the question.
“My pride was hurt more than I was,” I told him. “Thank you again.”
He nodded and turned away, and I dusted myself off quickly.
“Let’s not keep Dad waiting,” I told Jacob, starting in the direction we’d been going. I couldn’t help watching the gorgeous man-mountain as he headed off on a different path. Well, if I was going to make an ass of myself by running into someone—literally—at least the person I’d plowed into was unharmed, charming, and good-looking to boot.
Chapter Two
Rhett
I walked away from the town center, away from the sheriff’s office. After running into the woman, I had to wonder what such a well-dressed lady was doing in my little town. Since there are only about two thousand people
in all of Mustang Ridge, I had known most of the people here since I was a kid, and she didn’t even look vaguely familiar. I was sure that I would remember if I’d ever seen someone that cute around town before. She’d been a foot or more shorter than me, with blond hair pulled back into a bun and green eyes that sparkled in the sun as soon as she’d gotten over her shock. She’d been dressed in some kind of women’s suit, a pantsuit maybe, in brown and pink. Maybe she’s a lawyer from somewhere, working for one of the business owners in town, I thought as I continued on to my truck.
I’d been in to see Sheriff Peters, but the meeting went right out of my head when I thought about the fact that it was a shame I hadn’t even gotten the woman’s name. Of course, I reminded myself as I settled behind the steering wheel and pulled my seatbelt over my chest, if I hadn’t recognized her, then she was probably not from around here—so I wasn’t all that likely to see her again.
Since I’d taken a break from my usual routine to go into town, I figured I should make the most of it. I’d written up a list of errands that had needed running, and by the time I got home from those it would be lunch time, and then I could go back out into the field and get the fence repaired without risking sun-stroke. I checked the list that I’d made on my phone and decided where to go first.
Mom had asked for some groceries to keep the pantry stocked up and to have a few fresh things in the fridge to eat, but the fresh things would spoil waiting out in my truck while I took care of other things, so I put that off to last. I pulled out of the parking lot attached to the town center, and went up the street a bit to Lyle Holder’s hardware store to get the things I needed to fix the fence.
I had plenty of wire, but I needed a few fence posts to replace what had been broken, so I parked outside the store and climbed out of my truck, waving hello to Lyle, who was out in front of his store, scrubbing the windows.
“You can go right on in and get whatever it is you need, Rhett,” he told me. “Just give me a shout when you need me to ring you up.”
It was the time of year when dust and pollen covered just about every surface it could attach itself to, so I didn’t blame Lyle for trying to keep his storefront looking good. I stepped into the cool air of the shop, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. Sarah Roberts—homecoming queen the year I’d graduated high school—was looking over the kitchen hardware, while Nathan Locke, who’d been on the varsity football team with me, was examining timber.
“Oh—good to see you, Rhett,” Sarah said, smiling at me as I walked past her.
“You too, Sarah. You still working on that kitchen?”
She nodded. “If you could build half as well as you tear down, you’d put Matt Jenkins out of business for good,” she told me, sighing.
I chuckled. “Well if I could build half as well as I tore down, I might not be a farmer anymore.”
An oven fire had gotten a little out of control at the Roberts house, but the volunteer fire department had been able to get it contained before it could spread beyond the kitchen. I’d gone over to help with the tear out, since Sarah’s husband Nick had helped me more than once in the past with some extra hands on my own farm, and between me, Nick, Kyle Burns and Matt Jenkins, we’d managed to get the tear-down done in less than two days. Matt Jenkins, the main contractor in town—along with a couple of his buddies—had managed to get the kitchen operational again within a week, but getting it completely renovated and back to its former glory was taking longer.
I chatted with her for a minute or two and then moved on to the section I needed, gathering up the stuff I didn’t have back at the farm for repairing the fence. Living out in the sticks, my family never really had any kind of complicated fencing—it just isn’t worth it when you end up having to replace parts of it at least once a season. But I’d run out of odds and ends—and fence poles—after the last time I’d worked the perimeter of the fields, so I needed to stock up again.
Lyle managed to come back in before any of us made it to the register, and I put my bank card down on the counter. I looked around the old shop while he rang up my purchases. Lyle had inherited the place from his father, the same way I’d inherited my farm. Lyle Holder Senior had passed away about three years before my dad had, after fighting pancreatic cancer for a couple of years, and Lyle had gone through hell to get his business degree while his father was sick, so he’d be in the best position to take over the shop when he died.
Lyle pushed the receipt across the counter for me to sign.
“This doesn’t look right,” I said, glancing at the total. I’d added up the figures in my head to make sure I knew how much I would be spending before I put my card down. “Did you ring everything up?”
“I did,” Lyle said. “You just forgot your discount.”
I shook my head, even though I knew it was pointless to argue with Lyle about giving me the discount. He’d been insisting on giving it to me ever since I’d done a favor for him a few years back—but I never felt good about accepting it. It’s his business, and he’s managed to keep it running. He doesn’t give out discounts willy-nilly, so don’t you go lecturing him about charging you full price.
Instead, I just thanked him and made a mental note to come in for some more supplies in another week—I’d need to anyway, but they were things I could either get from him or order from elsewhere, and I wanted to make sure to give Lyle the business.
I left the hardware store and loaded up the fence posts in the back of my truck, tossed the bag with the other odds and ends into the cab, and walked up the sidewalk to the craft shop. Mom wanted some fabric—she’d been very, very specific about what kind—to redo the curtains in the living room, since the ones she’d made years ago had gotten bleached out from the sun. Since I was going to be in town anyway, I’d agreed to pick it up for her.
“Good morning, Rhett,” Sandy Henderson said as I stepped into her shop.
“Good morning, Sandy,” I replied. “Mom sent me to come get an order for her, so I hope you can make sure I don’t screw up her directions.” Sandy laughed and grinned at me.
“Sweetie, you can just tell your mother that if she has a problem with what you brought home for her to play with, she can take it up with me,” Sandy said. Her grin went wicked. “Of course, I could enjoy giving a big old hunk of man like you a proper punishment.”
I rolled my eyes and kept smiling. Sandy was a few years older than me, but she’d been flirting with me ever since I turned eighteen. She’d opened up shop while I was still in college, and had managed to make a go of it, cornering the market on one of the few things Mustang Ridge hadn’t had up until that point.
I told her the specific kind of fabric my mother wanted, consulting the notes I’d made under Mom’s direction back at home, and Sandy nodded, all business once it came to actually taking and fulfilling an order. She went into the back and came out with a big bolt of fabric with a light floral print on it—I was glad to see it wasn’t gaudy or anything.
“Okay, this is for the outer part,” Sandy said, measuring off the length that I’d specified with practiced pulls on the bolt along the measuring table that was built into her counter. She cut the amount I needed and turned her back on me to grab something off of a shelf behind the counter. “And this will be the liner,” she mused, and I figured she was confirming it to herself more than telling me; certainly I didn’t think she expected me to be the one to make the curtains.
I chatted with her a little bit about business, about town gossip, and I finally excused myself when she had another customer come in. I checked the time and realized that I needed to get to the grocery store and then head back home, if I wanted to be in time for lunch. I got out my list again and went into the grocery store, blessing Mr. Jackson for having the forethought to install air conditioning right when it had become available, long before I’d been born. It was comfortable and cool, and I took my time gathering up the things I needed to take back home, including some decent steaks and some flour, some
salt and some dried chilies, things like that—stuff Mom kept stocked in the fridge and pantry to make meals all throughout the week.
I headed back home as quickly as I could, knowing that even with the AC in my car, I needed to get the meat and other perishables out of the heat and sun sooner rather than later. Mom was sitting out on the porch when I drove up, and she stood to help me unload the stuff from the cab—I’d get the stuff for the fence out later.
“Did you find out who it was?” she asked.
I shook my head in response to her question. “Nah, but that’s all right,” I said. “I didn’t expect to.”
I’d visited the Sheriff to file a complaint about damage to my fence, which looked like it had been hit or run over—or maybe both—by someone late the day before. It was part of the fence that ran close to the road, so it hadn’t exactly been a surprise, but I’d also wanted to make sure no one had been hurt in the process.
“And of course you’re going to go out there as soon as you’re done eating and fix the fence with that sun beating down on you,” Mom commented, carrying the grocery bags into the house while I hefted the hardware supplies and her fabric.
“The fence is there for a reason,” I pointed out. “I might as well fix it as quickly as I can.”
“We live so far out and with so few neighbors that it could wait a few days,” Mom countered.
“And then animals will come in and get at the wheat or the sorghum,” I said. “Nah, it’s better to just go ahead and get the project done today.”
“On top of everything else,” Mom said. “You work too hard, Rhett.”
