Gambling on a Secret (12 page)

She folded her arms over her chest. “I didn’t say you were. I’m just amazed at how much you were able to do. Did you take any breaks at all?”

“Just to eat.”

Had she snorted one too many lines of coke? Nothing about the man before her should have been remotely sexy. Sweat stained his shirt and whitish dust covered his hat, clothes and scuffed work boots. “Do you need any help?”

His lips tugged up at the corners as he looked her over. Sweet mercy, did he know what he was doing to her?

“Sure do. Those duds aren’t worth more than you’re payin’ me, are they? ’Cause you’re gonna get dirty.”

Dropping her arms to her sides, she looked down at the Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt and jeans shorts. “Are you implying I’m too prissy to do manual labor?”

His eyes twinkled as he finished the water and shrugged.

So much for considering him hot. She put her hands on her hips. “I can do anything I damn well please. What do you need done?”

He tossed the empty bottle into a wheelbarrow holding broken boards and other debris. “You can start by grabbing the shovel over there and use it to gather up this–
crap
.”

She eyed the dark gray and black pile, but retrieved the barn shovel from the corner near the open sliding door. When she returned, he handed her a pair of gloves and a mask. Together, they finished cleaning years of dust and litter.

Afterward, he lugged out two sawhorses and a rotary saw to measure and cut boards from the pile that had been delivered earlier that morning.

Once he had a pile of varying lengths of boards, he laid the saw to the side. “Now, we’ll build a stall door.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted to do.”

Dylan cocked a brow at her sarcasm as he bent and picked up two boards. “Okay. Come here and I’ll show you what you’ll need to do.” He held up one of the boards. “This is a two-by-four.” Indicating a wider but thinner one, he said, “This is a one-by-six. Got it?”

“I don’t know.” She scratched her head and scrunched up her face. “Is there going to be a quiz later? Because if there is, I may need to take notes. This is pretty hard stuff to grasp.”

He positioned the boards on the sawhorse and grumbled, “Smart-ass. Get another two-by-four.”

She grabbed the board and handed it to him. “Takes one to know one.”

He met her gaze and held it for a beat before chuckling and looking back at his work.

Two hours later, they’d built two stall doors, and she felt grimy and tired. They cleaned up, as best as they could, at the tack room sink before going inside.

She scrubbed the last of the crud from her hands and arms at the kitchen sink. Glancing at Dylan, she didn’t want the evening to end. “Why don’t you stay for supper?”

“I think I’d better go.”

She stepped away from the sink to allow him his turn. “Aren’t you going to work over at the bunkhouse?”

He nodded and lathered his hands. “Yeah.”

“Without supper?”

He shrugged and picked up the hand towel. “I won’t starve.”

“Maybe not. But I got some chicken breasts and was going to make a casserole my mom used to make. I’ll have more than I can eat. So, why not share it with you?”

He studied her as he slowly dried his hands. “Okay. I’ll stay. Need any help?”

With her heart light with a fluttery joy, she moved to the refrigerator to get the ingredients she’d need. “Doing what?”

He leaned against the counter at the sink. “Cooking.”

She set down the butter and vegetables. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised. My mother is a chef. I may have picked up a thing or two.”

“A chef, huh?” She handed him the package of chicken breasts.

“What do you want done with these?”

“Cut them into thin strips.”

“Got it.” He put the package on the counter beside the sink. “Will I be quizzed? I never was good at tests.”

“Jerk.” She held a large knife out to him as they locked gazes. He wrapped his hand around hers on the handle. Heat suffused her cheeks as she pulled her hand from his, but neither of them looked away.

As they ate the simple chicken and rice casserole, she said, “I have a guy I’d like to interview Monday for the ranch hand position.”

He took a drink of his sweet tea. “Who do you have in mind?”

“Kyle McPherson.” No point telling him Leon recommended him.

“Kyle worked on the old McPherson place before Sinclair Development bought it and Leon’s construction company turned it into a mall and fancy cookie-cutter housing.”

After taking a sip of her own tea, she set the glass down. “You mean out there where new grocery store is?”

“It used to be a beautiful ranch. The Circle M belonged to my great-aunt and uncle. It’s not the only place Sinclair bought up and Ferguson’s construction company built on.” He lifted a forkful of chicken and vegetables to his mouth.

She looked down at her own plate of casserole. “Is that why you think Leon wants my place? He’d subdivide it?”

“I think it’s a good possibility.” Dylan laid his fork down. “Even in this housing market, Leon’s making money.”

The thought of a subdivision of nearly identical houses on her land made her stomach hurt. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “You know I still can’t believe it. Besides, a developer bought that ranch, not Leon. If he really wanted this place, why not just make me an offer? It’s what I’d do.”

He curled his hand into a loose fist beside his plate. “Charli, you don’t know Leon.”

“I didn’t know you either, and if I’d listened to all the naysayers instead of my instincts, you wouldn’t be sitting here eating chicken right now.”

He didn’t say more on the matter, but she knew he wasn’t convinced.

After picking up his fork again, he pushed the food around on his plate. “Kyle’s my second cousin. We’ll interview him, but I don’t know if he’ll be a good fit for this place.”

“I guess we’ll decide that together, won’t we?” She went back to finishing her dinner.

“You’re the boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You aren’t the boss?”

“Yes, but I don’t like the way it sounds.”

“Whatever you want,
boss
.”

When she looked up at him, he grinned. Her heart did a little flip-flop, and her whole world tilted. Why did she feel like things would never be the same again?

* * * *

On Friday evening, Dylan climbed the stairs to the apartment he shared with his sister. He’d hoped to move out to the ranch, but the bunkhouse wasn’t livable, at least, not without a major update. Charli and he had spent two hours every evening working on the place, but it was going to take a while to fix the manager’s quarters. Blackwell had been a penny pinching SOB and never fixed anything if he figured he didn’t need it.

Bone tired, he limped through the apartment. His leg and hip burned with a deep throb. For the past four days, he had accomplished more work than he’d done in a year. He was the soberest he’d been in about as long, too. While with Charli, it was easy not to crave a drink. The first couple of days had been tough, but at the end of today, he didn’t have the shakes anymore.

Over the weekend, he planned to go back to the ranch and work on the bunkhouse apartment. He didn’t understand the anxiousness to move out there, and tried convincing himself he wanted out of Tracy’s house. But the real concern lay with Leon Ferguson and his obvious scheme to woo Charli.

Yesterday, Ferguson had showed up with another gift–a dozen multicolored roses. The poor girl acted as if she’d just won the lottery. Leon’s setting his sights on Charli and her refusing to see through his neighborly act made Dylan crazy.

As he entered the kitchen, the shower went off in the only bathroom. Since his nephew, Bobby, wasn’t bombarding him with questions, the boy must be with his father for the weekend.

A note tacked to the corkboard on the refrigerator informed him a plate of food waited in the oven. He rarely ate the food Tracy thoughtfully left for him. After sneaking a peek at the leftover mac and cheese and fish sticks covered with plastic wrap, he wrinkled his nose and closed the door. He loved his sister to death, but the woman couldn’t cook worth shit. Amazing, considering their mother had trained at one of the best culinary schools in America.

The memory of Charli’s breakfasts and her interesting, yet good, dinners came to mind. Damn, the woman could cook.

After snagging a Budweiser from the fridge, he headed to the living room. He stopped and looked at his crap lying all over the floor. When had he turned into such a pig? He’d have had his soldiers by the balls if they’d kept their barracks like this.

Before he even took a draw on the beer, he set it on the end table and cleaned the room. When Tracy entered, he was folding the blanket he used at night.

His sister stopped and peered at him. “I don’t believe it. I’ve been after you for days to clean up this sty. Besides, it’s Friday night. Isn’t the Longhorn hopping?”

Instead of playing into her sarcastic comment, he looked over her outfit of faded jeans, boots and a Western shirt, which she only wore to honky-tonks. “Hot date?”

“No. I’m going down to Waco to watch Logan play.” She headed toward the dining table. “Hey, I left you supper in the oven. I fed Bobby before Jake picked him up.”

His stomach churned at her idea of supper. “Thanks. But during the week I’ve been eating over at the ranch.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Really? She makes you dinner?”

Since he hadn’t been able to keep a secret from his baby sister since they were kids, he shrugged. “Breakfast, too.”

Tracy’s mouth parted in surprise.

Time to change the subject. He picked up his beer. “You look good. So, are you and Logan Cartwright an item?”

“You know better.” Tracy busied herself with getting her purse from the table and digging through it.

“I don’t know anything.” He sipped his beer. “You’re dressed like a woman who’s hot to trot.”

Glaring at him, Tracy pulled a lip-gloss tube from the canvas cavern in which she carried everything from her wallet to extra socks he’d seen her whip out once. After she’d swiped the goop onto her lips, Tracy dropped the tube back into the bag.

“Logan and I are friends.” She grabbed her doe-colored Stetson off the table, then settled it over her long brown hair as she peered into a mirror over the sideboard. “He’s my best friend to be exact, since my big brother is a jerk these days.” She fussed with the soft curls she’d ironed into her otherwise straight hair. “Besides, I happen to like his voice. I want to see him perform.”

He raised a brow, and she flushed as scarlet as the cowboy boots on her feet and lace trimming her shirt. “Okay,” he drawled. “But, sis, I don’t need the particulars.”

“Oh, you are impossible sometimes.” Tracy rested her backside against the table. Her shoulders slumped like a balloon losing its air. “You know what I mean.”

“Want to talk about it?” He surreptitiously leaned his shoulder into the doorframe of the galley kitchen, taking his weight off his bad hip.

“Not really.”

Tracy had guy trouble, and he’d bet his paycheck the guy was a Cartwright.

“Zack gonna be there?”

“Logan said he’d try to come. Depends on whether he can find someone to babysit his little girl.” Tracy jumped away from the table when he raised the beer to his mouth, but not before she caught sight of his grin. “You really are a bonehead if you’re implying I’m dating Zack.”

He drank his beer and studied his little sister. “Something’s sure as hell going on between you and our good sheriff–or his country singing brother–or both. I hear that’s all the rage these days.”

“Now that’s just totally sick.” Tracy grabbed a denim jacket off a ladder-back chair. “Nothing is going on between Logan and me, or Zack and me, and you damn well know it.”

“Is Bobby with Jake on Sunday?”

“Yes. I hate not having him for two major holidays in a row. Jake had him at Christmas, too.” Scowling, Tracy jammed her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. “That jerk wanted me to meet him tomorrow night at some sleazy hotel while his mother colored Easter eggs with Bobby. Can you believe that?”

Knowing her ex, he did. After all, Jake Parker had manipulated and lied until he stole his best friend’s girlfriend away from him. His sister knew better now, though. “You aren’t going to fall for his sweet talk, are you?”

“A certain place slightly farther south of Antarctica would freeze over before that would happen again.” With her jacket in place, Tracy fussed with straightening the collar. “How’s the job going? You haven’t said much about it. The boss makes you meals. Sounds interesting.”

He inwardly groaned and headed into the kitchen, paused at the sink and glanced at her. Tracy would get all the mileage she could with that news flash. “It’s good. The job, I mean.”

She stood in the doorway, trapping him in the narrow galley. Tracy grinned and crossed her arms.

Trying to sound blase, he sniggered and shook his head. “Don’t you go and get any ideas in that head of yours. She’s my boss. And a kid.”