Myra Johnson - Her Hill Country Cowboy

He had one more stop to make on his way home. At the farm-and-ranch supply on the outskirts of town, the kids latched onto both his hands as he waited for Wally, the teenage store helper, to load four fifty-pound bags of horse feed into the pickup bed. When Wally tipped his baseball cap at Eva, she scooted farther behind Seth’s leg.

“Shy as ever, ain’t you, sweet thing?” Wally glanced up at Seth with a regretful frown.

Seth had long ago grown tired of fending off such remarks about his little girl, skittish as a newborn foal. Eva would get over her timidity when she was good and ready. “Thanks, Wally. Hop in the truck, kids.”

Twenty minutes later, he backed the pickup up to the barn door. As he helped the kids to the ground, his grandfather ambled through the opening. Bryan Peterson, Seth’s mother’s dad, walked with a slight limp, thanks to his horse taking a misstep some twenty years ago and both of them landing in a gully.

The kids darted over to greet their great-grandfather, affectionately known as Opi, a German endearment for grandpa. “Daddy helped a turtle get to the other side of the road,” Joseph announced. “Then he had to fix a lady’s car that wouldn’t start.”

“Sounds like y’all had yourselves a little adventure in town.” Opi tousled Joseph’s mop of tawny hair. “Why don’t you take your sister to the house? I think Omi has some chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven.”

Seth’s heart clenched as he watched the indecision play across his son’s face. Since their mother’s death not quite three years ago, neither of the kids strayed far from Seth’s side. But the lure of those fresh-baked cookies finally won out. Joseph grabbed Eva’s hand, and together they jogged across the lane to the white three-story farmhouse that served as both their home and the guest ranch offices.

Only then did Seth notice the blue compact sedan parked in the gravel lot behind the house. He yanked off his Stetson and slapped it against his leg. “Shoulda known.”

“What, son?” Opi hefted one of the feed sacks.

“The car over there. Our new housekeeper?”

“Yep. Pretty little thing.” As if Seth needed reminding. “Your grandma’s getting her paperwork in order.” Shifting the feed sack to his shoulder, Opi started for the storeroom.

“You told her she couldn’t keep the dog here, right?”

“It’s a service dog. Got no choice.”

Bile rose in Seth’s throat. They most certainly did have a choice. Omi would just have to find another housekeeper.

He stormed across the lane, but before he made it to the back door, he spied Eva shivering on the wooden swing at the far end of the porch. “Aw, baby.”

She pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to whimper, “The big dog’s in there, Daddy!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Sweeping Eva into his arms, he sank onto the swing and held her close. It was all he could do to speak calm, soothing words to his little girl while a cauldron of fury boiled in his gut.

“Omi gave me a cookie and said to wait out here.” Eva looked up, tears pooling in eyes as brown as the chocolate smearing the tip of her nose. “Can you make the big dog go away?”

Seth fully intended to, but he dare not make promises to his daughter until after he cleared the matter with his grandmother. Marie Peterson pretty much ruled the roost at Serenity Hills Guest Ranch, and she’d have to be the one to send this woman on her way.

“Tell you what,” he said, shifting Eva onto the swing beside him. “I’ll walk you over to Opi in the barn, and you can give him a hand feeding the horses while I talk to Omi about the lady with the big dog.”

The suggestion seemed to mollify Eva. She nodded and slid off the swing, then clung to Seth’s fingers as they headed over to the barn. Once Eva had transferred her death grip from Seth’s hand to Opi’s, Seth marched back to the house. He squared his shoulders and hauled in a determined breath before yanking open the screen door.

Stepping into the kitchen, he found Joseph perched on a barstool at one end of the granite counter. A milk mustache adorned the boy’s upper lip, and cookie crumbs dotted the counter. At the oak trestle table beyond, the housekeeper wannabe sat with her back toward Seth while Omi went over some paperwork with her. The dog lay on the floor between their chairs.

Joseph didn’t share Eva’s intense fear of dogs, but he still looked plenty glad to see his dad walk in. He jumped down and ran over to hug Seth around the waist. “Where’s Eva?”

“With Opi.” Seth kept his voice light. “You want to go help them in the barn?”

Joseph’s welcoming smile faded. “Can’t I stay here with you?”

“I need to talk business with Omi. Go keep an eye on your sister, okay?”

Lower lip thrust out, Joseph trudged across the kitchen. Seth waited until he heard the back door bang shut, then strode around the bar.

Omi looked up as he approached. “Hey, Seth, meet our new housekeeper. Christina, this is my grandson, Seth Austin.”

He glared at the woman while trying to ignore how her hair shimmered beneath the wagon-wheel chandelier. “I believe we’ve already met.”

* * *

Her pulse skittering, Christina looked up with a gasp. “You?”

“Surprise.” Seth Austin’s greeting held no warmth whatsoever.

“Seth...?” Mrs. Peterson’s tone was part question, part warning.

“We sort of ran into each other in town this afternoon,” Seth muttered. He looked pointedly at Gracie. “I told you we can’t have dogs on the place.”

“We’ve already talked this through,” Mrs. Peterson said patiently. “Gracie is Christina’s service dog.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Seth’s fierce stare wavered as he glanced toward his grandmother. “But think about Eva. You know this can’t work.” He swung his gaze back to Christina. “I’m sorry, Miss—”

“Hunter.” Christina swallowed nervously. Was she about to get fired before she’d even filled out her W-4?

“Miss Hunter. Like I told you in town, we’ve got rules. This is a working ranch, and safety is our number one concern. We aren’t in a position to start making exceptions.”

Whining softly, Gracie sat up and rested her chin on Christina’s leg. When Christina glanced down into those soft, expressive eyes, the tension that had welled at Seth’s arrival slowly subsided. One hand on Gracie’s head, she sat a little straighter and cleared her throat. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Austin. As long as Gracie isn’t disruptive and doesn’t interfere with my work, I have the legal right to keep her with me.”

Jaw clenched, Seth backed up a step. His steely gaze combed Christina from head to toe. “Housekeeping at a guest ranch isn’t exactly light work, and you look pretty able-bodied to me.” His tone turned skeptical. “So forgive me for asking, but what exactly is your disability?”

Christina pressed her lips together. She should be used to the question by now, along with the typical doubts. If she’d lost her sight or hearing, or if she were in a wheelchair, her disability and need for a service animal would be obvious. But when she explained she’d suffered a brain injury and had post-traumatic stress disorder, she’d come to expect the raised eyebrows and dubious frowns.

Before she could form a response, Mrs. Peterson interrupted. “Now, Seth, stop the third degree and be a gentleman. Christina’s been forthright with me about why she needs Gracie, and I’m not anticipating any problems.”

Seth glared at his grandmother as if debating his chances of winning this argument. Christina held her breath and prayed. She needed this job. It could mean the difference between being stuck forever living with her overprotective parents or groping her way back to independence and a normal life.