Deb Kastner - Redeeming the Rancher

“Who am I?” he growled as he swiveled around to face her. “The better question would be…” The man’s sentence drifted off into a strained silence and his dark brows lowered over gray-blue eyes. He shook his head, clearly bewildered.

“I asked you a question.” Alexis lifted her weapon and took a defensive stance.

“Vivian? What are you doing here?” He hesitated a moment, his head tilting as he scrutinized her features. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “You’re not Vivian.”

Alexis sighed in relief and let her posture relax a bit. If the man knew her sister, then he probably wasn’t a thief, although what he was doing making breakfast in her kitchen was still a mystery.

That said, she was impressed that he could tell her apart from Vivian. Most folks couldn’t, at least not right away. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever been mistaken for her twin sister and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But she reminded herself not to give him too much credit. Since this man knew Vivian, he’d probably realized his mistake in calling Alexis by her sister’s name as soon as he saw the complete lack of recognition on her face.

He was clearly out of his element, and not just because he was cooking up a meal in her kitchen as if he owned it. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties and well-to-do. Thick dark hair threaded with the occasional touch of silver lent him a sophisticated air. Everything about the guy screamed city boy, from the spit-shine of his black cowboy boots to the designer scarf draped around his neck.

Designer clothing. On a guy. In Serendipity, Texas. He might as well have a Kick Me sign on his back. Men around here wore the scuffs in their boots like trophies.

“Alexis,” she corrected. “Grainger. Vivian’s twin sister.”

“Alexis? A-Alex?” he stammered. “I… I’m, uh…”

“Confused, obviously.” No one ever called her Alex, for one thing.

He nodded adamantly. “Yes, there is that. Were you—” he gestured toward her hand, one corner of his lip rising “—planning to stab me with your curling iron?”

Heat flooded her face as she hastily lowered her “weapon.” She stuffed the flat-iron wand back into her bathrobe pocket, frantically looping the uncooperative tail around her palm. The cord stubbornly refused to follow and it took a humiliating length of time to complete the action. Her cheeks were positively burning by the time she finished.

“Yes. No,” she stammered, shaking her head and scowling at the unwanted intruder. So he wasn’t a random stranger but rather a friend of her sister’s. That didn’t mean he was welcome to barge into her home at a ridiculous hour of the morning. “Maybe. I thought you were a burglar.”

Alexis didn’t like the way the stranger flustered her with his sharp gaze. She liked it even less when he burst into laughter at her expense.

“Lady, if I was intent on swiping your possessions or causing you bodily harm, you would have been a lot smarter to sneak out the front door, get yourself to safety and call the cops on me. I’m guessing most criminal types wouldn’t be deterred by your curling iron, no matter how bravely brandished.”

His eyes flooded with amusement, but there was something else there, too.

Admiration.

The nerve of the man.

“Well, you’re not here to steal my things or to hurt me, now, are you?” she demanded, annoyed that she continued to wrestle with the ridiculous inclination to defend her actions. Why should she? He was the one who was trespassing.

“No, ma’am, I’m not.”

“It’s a good thing for you I didn’t call the police or you’d be in handcuffs right now. You should be thanking me, not giving me a hard time.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding as if it were more of a concession to her than a heartfelt expression of gratitude. His lips quirked as he wiped his greasy palm against the black denim on his thigh. He extended his hand. “Griff Haddon, at your service.”

“At my service? Really? I was under the impression you were helping yourself to breakfast.” She ignored his outstretched hand and crossed her arms, not caring if the gesture looked defensive. Why should she care what he thought?

“I brought my own food.” He gestured to a canvas bag tipped flat on the counter, spilling a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread.

“How reassuring.”

He frowned. “Obviously there’s been a misunderstanding here.”

“Oh, I believe I understand just fine, or at least I can take a good stab at it. If I don’t miss my guess, you’re making yourself at home in my house because of something my ditzy sister said or did. What’s lacking here is communication, a fact I’m going to rectify at my earliest convenience. I have a few words to exchange with my dear sister. I’m assuming she loaned you the key to our house?”

He scoffed and shook his head. “I’m glad you seem to think you’ve got a handle on what’s happening, because I certainly don’t. Yes, your sister gave me the key to the house, but in my defense, I was given to understand it would be empty. And for the record, I thought Vivian’s sibling was a guy.”

“I’m not, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agreed wryly, his gaze altering as he swept a glance over her that made her skin prickle. She was relieved when he shifted his attention back to the stove and the bacon, which had burned down to shriveled, blackened crisps. Smoke was billowing from the pan. Griff snapped the knob on the burner off with a grunt.

“I’m surprised the fire alarm didn’t go off,” she said with a chuckle. Not that she’d noticed the food smoking any more than he had. She’d been too intent on Griff’s presence to pay attention to anything else. Her house could have blazed down around them and she would have been oblivious.

“Sure, just rub it in,” he muttered crossly as he wrapped a towel around the handle and removed the skillet from the burner. “There goes my breakfast, and after I drove half the night to get here in the first place,” he added in disgust. “Oh, well. It is what it is. Where do you keep the trash can?”

Alexis leaned her hip against the table. Now it was her turn to be amused. “Under the sink. But there’s no sense throwing perfectly good meat away, even if it’s burned to a crisp.” She couldn’t help but rub it in a little bit. “I’ve got a few dogs out back that’ll be happy to chow down on that bacon. If you hand me the skillet I’ll take care of it.”

“Dogs, huh?” he said, gingerly transferring the pan to her, towel and all. “Good thing I didn’t run into them. They probably would have believed I was an intruder, as well.”

“Good thing,” she agreed, opening the back door and depositing the contents of the skillet into one of the dog dishes just to the right of the door. Good thing for him, anyway. In her mind, he was an intruder of sorts, even if he had no intention of making off with her flat-screen television. He was lucky she wasn’t the type of woman to sic her dogs on him.

“Coffee cups?” Griff asked when she returned. “Once I’ve got some caffeine in me, I’ll explain what I know and maybe you can fill in the rest. After that, I guess we’ll decide what we’re going to do about this…situation.”

She pointed to the cabinet above the microwave. What did he mean, decide what they were going to do? He was going to leave, thank you very much, and the sooner, the better—like, as soon as he had coffee in his system.

“It’s hazelnut coffee. Cream or sugar?”

“Black, thank you.”

He retrieved two mugs and poured the steaming coffee, then offered her one and gestured her to a seat on the bench side of the small breakfast nook table she kept in one corner. The larger table, where she usually took meals with her kids from the ranch, was located in the dining room. Her house was usually brimming with troubled teenagers, but this was the weekend between Mission Months and all was uncharacteristically quiet.