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Grandma Cora had left a to-do list on the kitchen counter and I studied it now. I appreciated the detailed instructions, but it was intimidating too, since it was nearly as thick as a user manual for operating heavy machinery.
What have I gotten myself into?
When Grandma had offered to hand the place over to me, I knew it would be a massive undertaking and the biggest project of my life. Running a homestead wasn’t going to be easy. As Grandma Cora’s only grandchild, I had the final word. Did I want to keep it? Or did I want to sell it?
At the top of Grandma’s to-do list was a note.
Dear Callie,
No words can express how proud I am to pass Robinwood Acres to you. A long line of McClaren women have fought for this place with blood, sweat, and tears. I hope your future children will love this land just as much as you do.
All my love,
Grandma Cora
Hugging the list to my chest, I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep, despite my head bursting with plans for tomorrow.
It seemed as if I’d barely dozed off before a furious pounding on my door woke me. I bolted upright, scrambling out of bed. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to the front door.
When I yanked it open, I came face to face with an unsmiling man in a familiar pale cowboy hat and a pair of filthy—but very snug—Levis. He stood a full head taller than me, with stubble sharpening his chiseled features.
Holy hell.
He was beautiful, in a severe way—all lean muscle, wiry energy, and big, callused hands. A girl could spend countless hours fantasizing about what hands like that could do…
“Um…hi,” I said, trying to smooth my tangled hair into some semblance of control.
The cowboy’s gray eyes flicked over me for a moment in awkward silence. Even though the sun hadn’t risen yet, and the sky was barely tinged with a soft pink, he was fully dressed and ready to face the day. I crossed my arms, attempting to hide my strawberry-print tank top and no bra. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about my lacy pajama shorts. Why hadn’t I grabbed a robe? Or a coat?
His gaze skittered away. Clearing his throat, he flung an arm toward my pasture.
“Your horse,” he said. “Got out. Chewed halfway through my laundry drying on the line before I managed to loop a rope around her neck.”
Mortification scorched my cheeks.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
I grabbed a pair of boots by the door, hopping on one foot as I yanked them on. To make matters worse, I nearly lost my balance and almost fell over, right in front of the broody cowboy with the tight jeans, big hands, and the stubble that would probably leave beard burn on my thighs for days.
Jesus, stop thinking like this!
I didn’t even know his name, let alone if he had a wife and kids at home. Just because I was twenty-six years old with a painfully disappointing dating record didn’t mean I could shamelessly drool over the first guy I came across.
“I should have put the horses in their stalls last night,” I rambled. “The barn is a mess though. And it needs to be muckedout but I just didn’t have time. Can I pay you for the laundry? At least let me replace it. Where is she now?”
The cowboy jerked his thumb over his shoulder without a word. I followed the direction he indicated to see Hera grazing peacefully, tied to a hitching post by the barn. She lifted her head with a serene blink, as if she hadn’t been feasting on my hot neighbor’s wardrobe minutes ago.
“Told Miss Cora she needs to fix that break in her fence,” he grunted in a sandpaper-rough voice. “She said she would take care of it, but she was busy getting ready for her granddaughter…”
He trailed off as understanding dawned on him. I offered a sheepish smile.
“That would be me. I’m Callie McClaren.”
When I extended my hand, the cowboy simply glanced at it with a blank look.
“Right. The city girl.”
There was no denying the obvious distaste in his tone.City girlsounded about as welcoming assnakeorcockroach. I bristled.
