"This is it."
"Is there a Mr. Johnson?" Mitch asked. He'd told her quite a bit about himself, but knew nothing about her.
She cast him a quick, unrevealing glance before returning her attention to the road. "There is, but we're divorced."
"Oh."
A minute later, a quiet, "You, too?"
"No. My wife died."
"I'm sorry."
He gazed at the house that came into view ahead. "Me, too."
"Recently?" she asked.
He turned to look at her. "Four years ago. She had a blood disease."
Her eyes held compassion when she took them from the road for a moment. "So you've been raising Taylor and Ashley by yourself?"
"My mother and my wife's mother kept them, and we tried a few day cares. Nothing worked out. They're, uh, a handful."
"Most kids are."
She didn't have a clue. He'd seen how well behaved hers were. Sometimes he felt like a total failure at parenting. Heck, most times he was a total failure at parenting.
Well, being raised by grandmothers would explain some of the twins's spoiled behavior, Heather thought. But she'd never seen anything like their kicking and screaming histrionics, and she knew she wouldn't have put up with it for five minutes.
She pulled the Blazer up the winding drive, past detached garages, and stopped in front of the house.
A tall, dark-haired young man with dark eyes and olive skin approached the vehicle, a smile on his handsome face. "Hey, bro! Where's your truck?"
"Hey, Cade. It's at Ms. Johnson's place, drying out."
Cade lowered his head to peer into the vehicle. "Ms. Johnson?"
"From Pete Bolton's ranch," she clarified.
"This is my half brother, Cade Redstone. Cade, this is Heather Johnson."
Cade stretched a tanned arm in front of Mitch, and Heather shook his hand. "What's this about drying out your truck?"
"I'll explain it to you later," Mitch said.
"Uh-oh. Has the dynamic duo been at it again?"
"Big-time." Mitch got out and opened the back door to help unbuckle his daughters. They ran off toward the house.
"Thanks again," Mitch said, ducking in the passenger window. "I'll be out tomorrow to fix that fence. Sorry for the inconvenience."
His directly appreciative gaze caught Heather up short. She wasn't in the market for anything other than a remodeling job, and he didn't even fit those qualifications. She shrugged. "No rush. The horses were boarded at a neighbor's before I arrived."
"You know where I am if you change your mind about the project."
She nodded noncommittally. Besides how disturbed she felt in his presence, his children were more trouble than she needed. "Goodbye."
He moved away and she steered the Blazer back toward the highway. She'd been thinking about considering his offer when they'd heard the commotion from outside. Thank goodness she hadn't made a quick decision based on her instantaneous reaction to his appearance. She didn't trust a man who couldn't handle two small children to manage a remodeling project.
Somebody else was sure to call about the job.
Three
No one else called about the job. Heather had tried every number in Whitehorn's leaflet that someone had amusingly labeled a phone directory, without finding anyone willing to take on the repair work. One local company offered to place her on their waiting list, but wouldn't promise anything until November.
She couldn't wait that long. She couldn't wait any longer. Once she even found a contractor, the work would take weeks. Her vacation was over and she had been forced to ask for a leave of absence until matters were settled. Her boss had pressed her for a return date, but she'd been unable to provide him with one. She had to get things moving quickly or she worried her job would be in jeopardy.
The children had been in bed for more than an hour, the laundry was done, and Heather made herself a cup of tea and carried it out to the porch. She went back in for a sweatshirt before snuggling down in the comfortable rattan rocker that creaked beneath her weight.
The clatter of the frogs sounded more like locusts than the deep-throated croak one expected. At the sound, long-buried memories edged to the surface of her mind and she recalled the summer evenings of her childhood. She'd been alone. Always alone. After her mother's death, her father had retreated into a bottle and turned her care over to his dominating housekeeper.
Heather had despised the woman and at every opportunity had hidden herself away to avoid her. Coming back to the ranch after so many years raised memories better left forgotten. With strict discipline, she locked away those unpleasant thoughts.
Her husband had never been much of a father. He'd paid minimal attention to Patrick at first, since he'd been the first boy, but the novelty had soon worn off. Craig had made money. That had been his forte. But he'd believed Heather should be making money, too. They couldn't afford the life-style and the house and the status he thought they needed on one salary.
And Heather had never minded working, since her job gave her the satisfaction and self-worth she'd never received at home. Sometimes she'd had misgivings about the time away from her family, about the firsts she had missed, and the opportunities that slipped by, but it was just the way things were for everyone these days.
Her boss had called tonight, conferring with her on a project due in another month. His reliance on her expertise assured her of her value in the company. They were impatient for her to settle this situation. Everyone had family matters arise from time to time; however, companies were understanding only to a point.
Unfortunately, Mitch Fielding's offer was the only option she had at this time. That or selling the ranch off in its present condition and losing a heck of a profit. Heaven knew she could use the money from the sale of the ranch to make life easier. Craig paid child support, but her apartment cost a small fortune and there were always unforeseen expenses with a family.
Their house hadn't been paid for, so she'd let him take over the payments. He'd married again within a year.
Not her. She got by just fine without someone to stifle and criticize her every move, thank you very much. She almost felt sorry for Craig's new wife, who obviously hadn't known the oppression she was bowing under when she'd spoken those vows.
No, this was the life for her. She tucked her feet under her and sipped her tea. And as soon as she got back to San Francisco, everything would be back to normal—better than normal actually.
How long could the remodeling take, anyway? Could Mitch hurry along contractors? She would have to make it clear that expediency was part of the deal. No waiting around for weeks and weeks to get things done. She planned the tactics in her head—how she would make the arrangement, how long she would give him, and how soon the work would be under way.
And as for his children—what were two more little girls?
Mitch had been replacing wires and checking belts under the hood of his truck for about an hour when the pewter-colored Blazer pulled up into the graveled area. Heather got out, sent Jessica and Patrick into the house, and came over to talk to him, carrying her youngest. Mitch couldn't help noticing the young mother's shapely legs revealed by a pair of cuffed white shorts. His gaze skimmed up the length of those slender legs to her slim waist.
"Get it running?" she asked. Her shoulder-length honey-brown hair glistened with streaks of blond in the sunlight. She wore a sleeveless sweater with a row of tiny buttons that drew his attention to nicely rounded breasts beneath the fabric. The soft shade of blue made her golden eyes sparkle once she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. The baby's hand rested on the swell of one breast and Mitch's throat got so dry, he had to look away.
He wiped his hands on a rag. "Pretty rough, but it's running. I figured I'd have it towed to get it out of your yard, if it didn't start."
"It's not bothering anything," she replied. She glanced around the yard. "You fixed the corral."
"First thing."
Her
unreadable gaze fluttered to the barn and back. "Mitch."
His name from her lips pleased him in some un- explainable way. He liked the sound. "Yeah."
"Your suggestions were better than any of the other candidate’s. I've decided to negotiate with you on the remodeling project. There are a few things we need to get straight first, and I have a list of questions."
"My time is your time," he said amenably.
"Have you had lunch?"
"Not yet."
"Please join us. After we eat, we'll sit on the porch, such as it is, and talk business."
He gave a nod. "All right."
"Where are your daughters?"
"Cade agreed to look after them. He's a newlywed and his wife Leanne teased that he could use the practice."
"He seems like a nice guy."
"Very. I'm glad we got together. With my other half brothers, too. It's been an interesting experiene. Whether or not I get any land isn't really important. Discovering I have family is."
She tucked a length of hair behind her ear and looked away, as if the personal subject made her uncomfortable. She adjusted Andrew on her hip and the boy's hand dropped from her breast. Mitch made himself look at her eyes. Equally as disturbing.
"About twenty-five minutes, then?" she asked.
He refocused on their conversation. "I'll be there."
Almost an hour later she carried two frosted glasses of iced tea out to the porch and they settled on the weathered furniture. She crossed her smooth, distracting legs. She had to know what a distraction that was, but she seemed to not notice his perusal. Her toes peeked from her sandals, revealing delicate nails painted a pale pink.
Mitch purposely studied one of the barn cats that lay in a sliver of sunlight. The feline gave him a disinterested blink and flicked his tail against the porch floor in a rhythmic beat.
"First, it's important that you know I'm under time pressure to get this done and get back home," Heather told Mitch.
"I understand." He'd never met anyone who wasn't in a hurry to get a construction project finished. "There's quite a bit I can do on my own," he said. "But the more help I can hire, the faster it'll go. But since money is tight, we can't bring in too many workers."
"How many will speed things up?"
"Even two or three would help a lot."
"Can I afford them?"
"I'll contract them. That way they'll be getting paid as the work progresses, even though I won't get paid until the sale goes through. How's that?"
She looked surprised. "That's more than I expected. You wouldn't survive a week in San Francisco, doing business this way."
"You can get ripped off by paying for services ahead of the finished work," he replied, thinking she was biting the hand that fed her if that had been criticism.
"Noted," she said with a nod.
"Let's decide how extensive you want this renovation, and make a budget."
Again she looked surprised, as though she hadn't expected him to be this professional. After seeing his ineptitude with his kids, her surprise might be justified, he thought wryly.
She walked him through the house, and he took notes and made lists on the tablet in his black folder. He asked her questions and made suggestions until their ideas for the project were compatible.
They entered the wood-floored living room where the kids were sprawled on sleeping bags, watching a cartoon.
"Do you have a computer?" he asked.
She nodded. "I brought it with me so I could work."
"Good. I have a program for designing kitchens and baths that you can play with. You give it the specs, lay out the requirements, and it designs the blueprints. Saves a lot of money and the plans are easy to work from. I've used it dozens of times. Let's go outside."
She nodded and they walked out to survey the house and outbuildings together.
"The house is good and solid, and the land is valuable. Your father had a nice operation going here at one time. I would think it would be hard to sell and leave it all to strangers."
She glanced at the cloudless blue sky, then down the length of the drive. "I have a good job waiting for me."
Not an explanation. Not a word about any sentimental ties or feelings of regret at selling. Nothing personal at all. He'd been neatly kept at a distance. Her impersonal treatment shouldn't have bothered him; he was a professional. But it did. For some reason what she thought of him mattered. And she obviously didn't think him worthy of her thoughts or feelings.
He took her cue and stayed on the subject of the work. Another hour later he climbed into his truck, praying it would start again, and gave her a salute when the engine turned over and he drove off.
Beneath the plastic sheeting the seat was wet, and the once-blue carpeting was green and slimy. The whole cab smelled like skunky water. He'd called around and found a place willing to clean the interior, but it wasn't going to be cheap. There was still the matter of the creased fender, too.
Taylor and Ashley would never make enough allowance in their combined lifetimes to pay for this fiasco, and he still wasn't sure how to handle their behavior. Last night, he'd given them each a stern lecture and grounded them to their room. He and the girls shared a room in Garrett's house, which Mitch had twin-proofed, so there had been no way to separate them. Since they'd had each other, he wasn't sure just how effective the evening's confinement had been.
Besides, he thought, pulling into the drive, taking them to Cade and Leanne's today had given them another reprieve.
He found the three of them on the side lawn, engaged in a chaotic game of croquet. Cade merely shook his head, rubbed his shin, and turned the girls over to their father.
"Thanks, man," Mitch said. "I owe you one."
"You owe me two," his half brother replied with a wry grin.
Mitch agreed with a laugh, belted the girls into the borrowed ranch truck, and drove to his grandfather's ranch.
"Daddy, we're bored," Ashley said, jumping out of the truck and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"I have to take my truck to get it cleaned, and you two are grounded."
"But you left us all day!" Taylor said, wide-eyed.
"Don't tell me you didn't have a good time with Uncle Cade."
"But we want to go get some ice cream. It's boring here."
As usual, Mitch couldn't bring himself to be harder, because he felt sorry for them. They had no mother. Somehow these incidents just never seemed important enough to disrupt life more, to make his girls even more unhappy.
Ashley pouted and plopped herself on the lawn, her grass-stained knees drawn up to her chin. Taylor took his hand and pumped it persistently. What had happened to those darling, angelic babies? When had they become manipulators?
"All right. Let's go get some ice cream."
"And rent a movie, Daddy?" Ashley begged.
He wasn't doing the right thing, but he didn't know what to do, and he didn't know how to change this cycle of behavior. The twins were confused. This was another new situation, and they'd been faced with so many adjustments in their short lives.
He hoped that once the work started at the Bolton ranch, his girls wouldn't make the days miserable for all of them. He just had no idea how to ensure that.
Arranging bids and hiring his helpers took most of the week, but by the following Monday, work was under way. Mitch had pulled a lot of strings and taken advantage of small-town kindness to hasten the progress, and Heather appreciated his efforts.
He and the three men he'd hired had been tearing off the back porch and the shingles most of the morning. Heather figured she'd better get used to the racket; this was only the first day.
She'd shopped in Billings and ordered via the Internet to acquire materials to teach and entertain five children for several weeks. Organization was the key to keeping things running smoothly, so she'd scheduled their days on a calendar with classes and crafts and playtime.
This morning, Taylor slumped in her chair and refused t
o participate. She glared at Heather. "You can't make me."
"You're right, I guess. I can't make you. You'll just have to sit there and be bored."
Taylor folded her arms over her chest and belligerently raised her chin. "I want to watch a video."
"It's not video time until after lunch."
Taylor scowled and kicked the table leg with her swinging foot.
Heather took a deep breath and turned back to the table. A few minutes later, while showing Patrick how to connect the numbered dots on a page, she heard Taylor jump up from the table.
The child ran for the back door—the door they'd all been warned not to use—twisted the bolt and threw open the door. A scream ripped from her throat as she disappeared from sight.
Heather reached the opening and stared four feet down at the pile of boards and rubble where the girl had landed. "Taylor! Are you all right?"
Mitch scrambled down the ladder from where he'd been ripping off boards and bounded over the debris to his daughter. Crying indignantly, the child sat and raised her bleeding knee.
"Honey, didn't you hear me tell all of you not to come out that door?" he asked.
Heather stared down at the top of his head. "She heard you, all right."
He glanced up. "What happened?"
Taylor wiped hair away from her eyes and glared at Heather. "She's mean. I don't like her. I wanna go back to our grampa's ranch."
"Taylor, Heather is not mean. You can't go back until we all go back together tonight. Heather is taking care of you during the day while I work. I explained that."
She managed to make her chin quiver. "She tried to make me draw pictures I don't want to color."
Mitch propped a small ladder from the ground to the doorway above. He picked up Taylor. "Let's get this cut cleaned and bandaged."
Heather moved back and watched him enter the kitchen and sit his daughter on the chair she'd earlier occupied.
"Look what I made, Daddy." Ashley held up the picture she'd drawn.
Mitch praised her artwork and accepted the plastic first-aid kit Heather supplied. He paused in cleaning his daughter's knee to survey Heather's expression.
The Magnificent Seven Page 3
