He wondered what her story was. Clearly, she’d run into trouble. He hoped that trouble didn’t follow her here. He’d had enough of it already.
“Is it okay if I take this stuff outside where I can see Ivy?”
“Fine with me. Let me know when you’re done.” He left her there and went back to the two-year-old filly he was training. He’d get a good price for the horse when he was finished, a good price for all of them with any luck.
He thought of Satan. The horse had been on the ranch when he’d bought the place. He was a gorgeous animal, pure black with a white star on his forehead, a sixteen-hand papered quarter horse with great confirmation. He’d be the perfect stud for the broodmares he’d bought.
Too bad the stallion was as wild as a peach orchard boar, completely unmanageable and more than a little dangerous. He’d give it a little more time, but if Satan didn’t start making some progress soon, he would have to put the animal down.
No way could he sell him. Sooner or later a horse that crazy wound up badly hurting or killing someone.
He wondered what had turned the stallion into such a demon, or if the animal had been born that way. Whatever the case, he didn’t have time to worry about it now. Josh untied the rope, tugged the filly into the middle of the arena, and went back to work.
Chapter Four
Tory had never been more exhausted in her life. As she stood at the kitchen sink, every bone in her body ached. She had blisters on her hands, and the back of her neck was sunburned from raking up straw outside the barn.
Tomorrow she’d wear a hat and sunscreen, and the gloves Josh had loaned her. In what she called her past life in Phoenix, her job as an advertising executive had put her in charge of a whole team of marketers, men and women who came up with commercials, jingles, and slogans that could make or break a company.
She’d been a dedicated career woman who had worked long hours, had jogged and done yoga to stay in shape, or exercised at the gym. She’d worked hard, but it was nothing like the backbreaking labor she had done today.
The last job Josh had given her had been a little easier—putting the tool shed into some kind of order. He’d let Ivy sit by the door while she worked. Since she was detail-oriented by nature, organizing people and projects was one of the things she did best. She thought he’d been pleased with the job she had done.
And her hands hadn’t suffered any more damage.
An image of her new employer popped into her head. He’d looked good the first time she had seen him, with his amazing body, dark blue eyes, and square-jawed, handsome face. Slap a worn-out cowboy hat on his head to go with those snug jeans and big boots, and he could stop hearts in half the women in Texas.
Fortunately for both of them, he didn’t seem attracted to her. This was good, she told herself. The last thing she needed was another man. Any man, and especially not one who would draw every feminine eye within fifty miles.
Something tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. Tory looked down to see Ivy staring up at her. “When are we eating, Mama?”
Inwardly she groaned. The thought of standing on her feet another hour while she fixed supper was enough to make her weep. “I have to look in the pantry, sweetie, see what I can find.” And pray there was actually something she could make edible. This morning, she had made do with cereal, then fixed sandwiches for lunch from a can of Spam she had found.
She trudged across a kitchen painted butter yellow with walnut cabinets and Formica countertops. Like the rest of the trailer, it was neat and clean, a simply furnished two-bedroom, two-bath unit. A brown plush sofa sat in front of an older TV against the wall in the living room, and there was a queen-size bed in the master bedroom covered with a handmade blue-and-peach-colored quilt.
She winced as she opened the door to the pantry, breaking one of the blisters on her hands. She had Band-Aids in the medicine kit she carried with her. She just needed the energy to get them.
She glanced into the pantry. A big can of Hormel chili sat beside ajar of Newman’s Own spaghetti sauce and a couple of packages of pasta. Assorted canned vegetables and fruits, and the box of Honey Nut Cheerios she had discovered that morning rounded out the inventory.
Josh had been right. There was enough in the house to last at least three days.
Ivy walked up beside her. “SpaghettiOs!” Spotting one of her favorite meals, she grabbed the can off the shelf and started jumping up and down. “I want SpaghettiOs!”
There is a God, Tory thought as she stretched her back and tried to work a kink out of her neck, and He had her sincere thanks. Along with the can of biscuits she had seen in the fridge, supper was a done deal.
She wondered why the food was still in the trailer, had a hunch Josh had lived there until recently. Some of his shirts still hung in the back bedroom closet. She could tell from the outside that he’d done extensive work on the barn. The house looked like something built in the forties, so it had probably needed plenty of work, as well.
She figured he was moving his things into the main house a little at a time. She’d be happy to help him if he’d just let her stay.
She turned on the oven and opened the can of biscuits while Ivy set the table. A knock at the door had her head coming up. A little shiver of apprehension chased down her spine.
Surely Damon couldn’t have found her again. Perspiration dampened the palms of her sore hands. She carefully wiped them on the front of her jeans.
“Stay here.”
Making her way to the door, she checked the peephole, then breathed a sigh of relief to see Josh standing on the porch. An instant later, her relief disappeared. What was he doing there? What did he want? She thought of the fat little bald owner of City Cleaners in Albuquerque who had expected fringe benefits, and prayed Joshua Cain didn’t expect more from her than the grueling hours she had already put in today.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hi. Did you . . . umm . . . need something?”
He must have read the worry in her face for he took a step back, giving her plenty of room. “I don’t need anything, but I thought you might.” He held up a jar with something thick, dark, and gooey inside. “For your blisters. My mother used to make it for me. I did ranch work in the summers when I was a kid.”
The feeling of relief returned. Tory took the jar from his big, calloused hand. “Thank you.”
“I should have brought some Band-Aids. I wasn’t thinking. If you need some—”
“I have some. Thank you.” She wondered if she should ask him to come inside, but she didn’t really know him, and when she looked up, he had already taken a few more steps back from the door.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
She nodded. “Good night.”
She tried not to watch him walk away, but with that tight behind, a clean white T-shirt stretched over the muscles in his back and biceps, she couldn’t resist. Thank God Damon hadn’t completely destroyed her feminine instincts.
“I don’t like that man, Mama. He looks mean.”
Ivy’s words snapped Tory back to sanity. Closing the door, she walked over to her daughter. “He’s my boss, sweetheart. He was just being nice.” She held up the jar of salve. “His mother used to make this for his blisters. Wasn’t it nice of him to bring it over?”
Ivy ignored her. “I’m hungry. When are we having our SpaghettiOs?”
“I’m going to fix them right now.”
Supper didn’t take long and she had Ivy in bed soon after they had finished their meager meal. Tory took a couple of Advil, curled up on the sofa, opened a book, and read for a while. But it didn’t take long before fatigue settled in and her eyelids began to droop.
Closing the book, she headed for bed, grateful to be sleeping on a mattress instead of the seat of the car.
*