Bethany Campbell - Home To Texas

Hat still in hand, he said again, “I’m Grady McKinney. My father’s manager over at the Double C—”

She tore her gaze from his face and looked at the gleaming truck. Now she saw the crest painted in gold on its door: two overlapping C’s within a gilded wreath. Her eyes went back to his, as if by magnetic attraction.

“Y-you work at the Double C?” Grady? This was the one Lynn had said she wouldn’t meet. Or had Tara misunderstood?

His gaze was bold, warm and slightly wicked. “No, ma’am. I just got in from Nevada. You’re Mrs. Hastings, I believe.”

Lono growled more horribly, his body shaking with suppressed rage. “Yes. I—I’m Tara Hastings.”

He put his hat back on and tilted it. “We have mutual friends, I think. My cousins. Second cousins, actually. Cal. And Lynn.”

Her breath felt trapped in her throat, but she managed to say. “Lynn? I’m on the phone to her right now.”

That smile again. Oh, Lord, he has dimples. Just like Cal’s.

He said, “That so? Tell her hello. I’ll be over to see her soon.”

“I will,” Tara said. “Just what can I do for you, Mr. McKinney?”

He hooked his thumbs on either side of his belt buckle. His belt was slung low, the buckle large and silver. It was engraved with a large cactus reaching skyward. How phallic, thought Tara in confusion.

He looked slightly rueful. “Frankly, Mrs. Hastings, I’m sort of marooned at the Double C. Meant only to be passing through, but I lost my truck in an accident. Borrowed this one from the foreman. I heard you just moved in and thought maybe you might need a hand. I’m a dependable worker, and I could use a job.”

He could use a job? Tara stared at him slightly dumbfounded. No, this would not do at all. He was far too good-looking. He was a McKinney, but unemployed? Something must be wrong with him, seriously wrong.

He seemed to see her doubt. “It’s been my experience that when people move, they need help. My father and brother’ll vouch for my honesty. So will Cal and Lynn, I reckon.”

She considered this. “What exactly do you—do, Mr. McKinney?”

“A little bit of everything, ma’am. I’m a sort of jack-of-all-trades.” He nodded at Lono. “I helped train guard dogs once. That fella’s little, but he’s a natural. Hello, boy. Good boy. Good dog.”

Grady McKinney had a low, rich, lazy voice, and amazingly, it seemed to quiet the dog. Lono stopped showing his teeth. He no longer strained at his collar. His growl lowered to a halfhearted grumble deep in his throat.

“What was your last job?” Tara asked.

“I worked with horses. Andalusans. In Nevada.”

“Andalusans?” she said, impressed in spite of herself. “What did you do with them?”

“Handled them, worked them out for Caesar’s Palace. Before that I crewed on a yacht out of Sausalito. Before that I did construction in New Mexico. I got some letters of reference if you’d like to see ’em.”

Grady reached into the back pocket of his jeans and drew out a long yellow envelope.

He’s a rolling stone, remembered Tara. That’s the problem. She looked him up and down, trying not to be distracted by his sheer male appeal. He was confident, friendly, clean-shaven, and his white shirt was ironed to perfection. His boots were worn but polished.

She put on her most professional air. “Let me talk to Lynn.”

“Fine.” His smile was close to cocky. But charming. Too damned charming.

Tara dragged Lono to the phone, though the dog was now wagging his tail tentatively.

Tara turned her back on the man and picked up the receiver. “Lynn, there’s a man here who says he’s your cousin Grady. He wants a job.”

“Grady?” Lynn practically shrieked his name in delight. “That’s just what I was going to say—I’d call the Double C and find out if Grady could help you. I just heard he was back. Grady’s the handiest guy in the world.”

Tara lowered her voice. “You mean I should hire him?”

“Is a bluebird blue?” Lynn laughed. “Grady can do anything. Your problems are solved.”

Tara gripped the receiver more tightly. “He’s—trustworthy?”

“Absolutely. He’s held down some very responsible jobs. My aunt Maggie used to keep us filled in on what he was up to. He’s a fascinating guy. He’s just got itchy feet.”

Tara repeated it mechanically. “Itchy feet.”

“It’s his only real flaw. He won’t stay put for long. But while he’s here, grab him and cherish him.”

Tara dropped her voice to a whisper. “If he’s so great, why’s he have to knock on a stranger’s door, asking for a job? Nobody sent him, right?”

“He probably heard you’d just moved and figured there’d be work. And he’s also probably too proud to ask his father for favors. Big Bret’s a good man, but with his sons, he’s—demanding. Bret’s very structured. And Grady, well, Grady’s a free spirit.”

“How long do you think the free spirit will stick around?”

“Who knows? This mess about his truck may take time to straighten out. Tell him to give me a call. Grady—I can’t believe it. And tomorrow Lang comes. They’re all going to be at the Double C.”

As Tara hung up, her heart beat hard and her palms were moist. She wiped her free hand on the thigh of her jeans and went back to the door.

Grady McKinney stood staring up at the sky. When he heard her approach, he turned to her. “You talked to Lynn?”

Tara had control of herself again. She was not a woman easily addled, but she was confounded by her own reaction to this man. It was just that he was so unexpected, she told herself.

Careful to keep Lono inside, she opened the door and stepped out on the raw boards of the porch. She was disconcerted by the gleam of sexual appreciation she saw in his eyes. He was attractive, sure of himself—perhaps too sure—and probably used to conquest. If he thought she was susceptible, she’d knock that idea out of his head fast.

She gave him a cool look of assessment. She held out her hand with a no-nonsense gesture. “I’ll see those references.”

He gave her the envelope, then stood, his hands resting on his hips, watching her skim the letters. “I hope you’ll find that my papers are in order,” he said. She didn’t miss the sarcasm, and it needled her.

But he had almost a dozen letters. One from the Parker Ranch in Hawaii, two from yacht captains, others from a startling array of people: a building contractor, a horse rancher, a security specialist, a stock manager.

“You don’t seem to stay in one place long,” she said, an edge in her voice.

“As long as I stay, I work hard,” he answered.

She thought of Del’s room and the walls that put him at the mercy of his nightmares. “Can you paint?”

“I worked for a painter in Sacramento. Yeah. I can paint.”

She thought of the fencing supplies lying in the mountain pasture up the slope. Lynn had had them delivered and waiting. But Fat Joe Wilder, the man hired to put them up, was a no-show. “Can you put up fencing? Temporary horse fencing? Set up portable stalls?”

“Done it many a time,” Grady said. “No problem.”

“I’ve got a lot of restoring to do on this house. Can you mend roofing? Do cement work?”

“All that and more.”

“And how long could I count on you being here?”

This was the first question that seemed to throw him. A shadow passed over the confident face. “I could promise you a month or two, I reckon. By then I hope to be on my way.”

A month or two, she thought. A hardworking man could get a lot done in that time. She took a deep breath. “When could you start?”

“Right now, if you want. You won’t regret it, I promise you that.”