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“I see.” Zane’s gaze held hers for several long moments before he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER FIVE
ZANE ACCEPTED EARLY ONthat the remodeling project would be a nuisance, but he hadn’t realized exactly how much it would disrupt his life. A constant parade of workers walked in and out of his house. Sawdust and noise became incessant irritants.
Mrs. Applegate was in an uproar in an effort to protect her precious territory. When she wasn’t yelling at the workers to be careful about one thing or another, she was feeding them freshly baked cookies. Zane wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. He didn’t want to give the construction crew any incentive to take longer than absolutely necessary.
Zane did his best to stay out of the workers’ way, but his home and his life were no longer his own. As the month of May progressed, he wondered what had ever possessed him to make expensive and drastic changes in a home he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy.
As had become his habit each morning, Zane walked out to the stable to saddle Arabesque, his black gelding. This hour of peace and quiet had become his sanity.
Carl was in the barn, busy working the tractor’s engine. Zane entered the barn and heard his friend cursing under his breath.
“Having problems?” Zane asked.
Carl looked up and frowned. “Not really.” He reached for the rag tucked in his hip pocket, and strolled toward Zane. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure.” Zane glanced at his watch. Lesley was due to arrive at ten, but he’d be back in plenty of time to meet her. It had been almost two weeks since the night of the Larabees’ dinner, and in that time, Zane had given serious thought to his relationship with Lesley. Asking her to review the progress on the house was little more than an excuse to see her again.
Carl seemed to find it necessary to clean his hands. He concentrated on wiping away the grease before he asked, “Would you object if I went back to ordering supplies from Hoffman’s?”
The question surprised Zane, and he could tell Carl was uncomfortable asking it. “I told you before those decisions are yours to make. I trust you to get the best price, and beyond that, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Good.” Carl turned back to work on the tractor and reached for a wrench.
Because he couldn’t resist, Zane asked, “I thought you didn’t want anything more to do with that Hoffman woman?”
“I don’t,” Carl insisted heatedly, tossing a wrench back into his toolbox. It landed with a clang. “But I feel I might have been a bit hasty earlier, pulling our business.”
“The decision is yours,” Zane reminded him.
Carl nodded abruptly. “I should mention something else. I found a piece of property that interests me, north of Sleepy Valley.”
Zane knew Carl would eventually move on, but he hated to have him leave. Up to this point, their arrangement had been loose. Carl lived in the guest house, and helped with the horses. As it was, he’d taken on several other responsibilities. It would be difficult to find someone to replace him.
“It’s got fifty acres and plenty of open space.”
Carl was a natural with horses. When they’d talked about what they’d do when they gave up soldiering, Carl had mentioned his desire to raise the world’s finest Arabians.
“It sounds ideal.”
Carl leaned against the side of the small tractor and crossed his arms. “The place needs a lot of work, but I’m not afraid of that. The way I figure, it could be another year or more before I’m able to start buying my stock.”
Carl never had been one to show a lot of enthusiasm, but Zane could see his friend was excited about this property. He was slow and meticulous, traits which had come in handy over the years. He’d make the decision about the land the way he did everything else—in his own time and in his own way.
“I haven’t made any decisions yet, but I figured I should mention it.”
“Let me know what you decide.”
“I will,” Carl said, and turned back to the tractor.
* * *
Carl made an excuse to drive into town later that morning. He was honest enough to admit he had no real reason, other than to see Candy Hoffman.
If d been over two weeks since he’d last talked to her, and frankly, he missed their sparring matches. His life had been downright dull without crossing swords with that little hellcat. If the truth be known, he enjoyed their verbal battles.
Chuckling to himself, Carl recalled how her face would get all red, starting with her neck. The hot color would work its way up until the tops of her ears looked as if they were on fire. There was no way that woman could hide her feelings. She was a hot-tempered wench, and by heaven, he’d missed her.
