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“Okay, thank you for the tour,” he said, tipping his hat. “I really enjoyed hearing the history, too. See you Monday.”
She didn’t respond, the rebuttal clear finally. He wasn’t interested, at least not yet. After getting Cleveland settled for the night, she entered the house from the back to avoid having to talk to her father. The phone beeped just as she shut her bedroom door.
“You were riding with a celebrity,” Robin said. “He’s the former boyfriend of Bethany Behnig.Andhe had a couple of bit parts on television recently.”
“Ithoughtthere was something familiar about him! He’s a tough one to get a read on. And he’s not biting, either. Maybe Faith will have more luck with him.”
“You rode with the guy. What was that like?”
“Great. Yep, I hope it won’t be the last time.”
Monday morning, he waited out in the barn for Dr. Faith, mucking out stalls after he released Alfred and the girls into the paddock. At eight sharp, the sound of a big diesel engine vibrated the ground as she drove through the gate.
Leaning the pitchfork against the wall, he walked out to greet her. She tried to keep one eye on his body as he sauntered out of the barn and not break her neck trying to get supplies out of the back of the truck.
“Whoa, girl,” she muttered. “Calm down. He’s just a guy.”
She’d gotten the same call that Karin had from Robin. But she wasn’t a big television watcher and hadn’t seen him. However, she knew of Bethany Behnig, and that riled her up a little bit. Was Paul Saint a modelizer?
Instead of the coveralls she wore on Saturday, today she had on a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, a belt with a silver belt buckle, and cowboy boots. The messy bun was back, and this time she wore earrings, silver dangly things with turquoise stones.
She had a professional air, and he looked forward to watching her work with the horses. He admired her; just her education alone had already impressed the heck out of him.
It had been a while since a man had gotten her attention, a while since anyone new moved into Red Mountain Ranch. On Saturday, she was due out at the Smith place when Robin called.
“Are you on your way or not? Because there is a piece of man flesh on the other side of the fence, talkin’ to Sam right now. Hurry!”
“Oh god, it’s not the kid renting Barney’s place, is it? He’s only twenty-five, Robin.”
“And you’re only thirty-two. Hurry up!”
“I’m on my way,” she said, ending the call and running to her truck from the office, her father watching her out of the window, scratching his head in amusement. His daughter was desperately on the make, and any single guy was fair game.
Approaching the ranch, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, talking to Sam. Robin was right. He wore a tight white T-shirt that emphasized his shoulders, new-looking blue jeans, and a cowboy hat. That clicked something in her brain; although the newer jeans were a dichotomy, a guy in a cowboy hat was staying a while.
He watched her with interest, and it didn’t make her uncomfortable at all. If anything, it got her juices going, and she felt a little damp in the wrong places.
“You got a tissue?” she’d whispered to Robin, who pulled a pack off the shelf in the barn.
“You sweatin’? It’s only sixty degrees out here.”
“Not by the fence,” Faith said, patting her upper lip.
“Oh! Sam’s got you all hot and bothered? The man will love you forever if I tell him.”
“It’s not Sam, but not because it couldn’t be. He’s yours. It’s the young’un out there. Oh lord.”
“What did I say? You get over there and at least bat your eyelashes at him. He’ll have plenty of company before the weekend is over, I believe.”
There was no shortage of young women in the neighborhood. Faith was probably the most well known because of the clinic. And Karin Smith made a name working her way through college while her good-for-nothing father drank away what little money he made.
According to firehouse gossip, Paul was a cutup and a prankster, doing things like stealing everyone’s underwear from the dryer and clipping them to the flagpole—that one almost got him a suspension—and when it was his turn to cook, making chocolate chip cookies but using diced-up black olives instead of chocolate chips. Everyone said they actually had turned out pretty good, like a savory scone. The chief threatened that he’d suspend everyone if they started talking like foodies.
On the day she stopped by the cabin at Firehouse Ranch to vaccinate Barney’s horses, she was ready to do what it would take to find out more about Paul Saint. So far the general consensus was that he didn’t have much to say, at least to women.
“Give him a chance. He’s only been there a few days,” she said to herself, walking across the paddock to meet him.
“Thanks for coming out,” he said politely. If all else failed, at least he was polite.
