Cowboy for Hire. Marie Ferrarella

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can lie, Brett maintained, but it took a real man to tell the truth each and every time, even when it wasn’t easy.

      “No,” Finn replied. “The ranch house was already here. I just changed things around a little, replaced what needed replacing, added a little here, a little there—that kind of thing,” he told her simply.

      He made it sound as if he’d hammered down a few loose boards, but one look at the exterior told her that the man with the impossibly appealing physique had done a great deal more than just that. The structure looked brand-new. She knew for a fact that this part of the state was hard on its buildings and its terrain. Summers could be brutal, and they left their mark on practically everything, especially structures. The ranch house she was looking at had been resurfaced, replaced and renovated—and recently.

      Connie couldn’t help wondering if that craftsmanship extended to the inside of the building, as well.

      There was only one way to find out.

      “Could you take me on a tour of the inside of the house?” she asked brightly.

      “I could,” the cowboy answered but made no effort to follow through on her request.

      “But?” she asked.

      She made him think of a stick of dynamite about to go off. He was about ten inches taller than she was, but a stick of dynamite didn’t have to be very big to make a sizable impression.

      Just who was this woman, and what was she doing here? “But I don’t even know who you are.”

      “I’m not dangerous, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she told him.

      Like he believed that.

      Finn’s mouth curved ever so slightly, the left side more than the right. He wondered just how many men this woman had brought to their knees with that killer smile of hers.

      “There’s dangerous, and then there’s dangerous,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

      She raised her chin just a little, doing her best to generate an air of innocence as she assured him, “I’m neither.”

      The cowboy continued looking at her. The image of a human lie detector flashed through her mind for an instant. She discovered that breathing took a bit of concentration on her part.

      “I don’t know about that,” he said. But the next moment, he seemed to shrug away his assessment of her and said, “Okay, why not? Don’t lean against anything,” he warned before going up the porch steps. “The paint’s still fresh in places.”

      She had no intentions of taking away any part of this house on her person. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him.

      Connie waited for her tour guide to open the front door. If the inside looked nearly as good as the outside, she was ready to be blown away.

      “After you,” the cowboy told her once he’d opened the front door.

      Connie crossed the threshold, taking it all in at once.

      She hadn’t missed her guess. The inside of the house was simplistic and all the more captivating for that. It was a house that emphasized all things Western, with just the right touch of modern thrown in to keep the decor from being completely entrenched in the past.

      There were only a few pieces of furniture. For the most part, the house was empty, but then, she hadn’t asked to come in just to see the furniture. She was looking to take stock of the workmanship firsthand.

      She hadn’t been wrong.

      This cowboy did have a gift for bringing things together—and apparently, a knack for knowing just when to back off.

      “How long have you been working on this?” she asked, wanting as much input from the man and about the man as she could get.

      “Awhile,” Finn replied vaguely, as if wondering just what her end game was.

      * * *

      WHILE THIS WOMAN had apparently been taking stock of the house as he went about showing her around the two floors, Finn did the same with her. So far, he hadn’t come to any useful conclusion. She hadn’t really volunteered anything except a few flattering comments about his work. He still had no idea what had brought her to Forever, or even if she meant to come to Forever, or was just passing by on her way to somewhere else.

      “Awhile,” the woman repeated, going back to what he’d said about his timetable. “Does that mean six months or six years or what?”

      “Awhile means awhile,” he replied in a calm voice, then added, “I’m not exactly keeping a diary on this.”

      “Then you’re just doing this for fun?”

      “Not exactly.” Because he could see that she intended to stand there, waiting, until he gave her some sort of a more satisfying answer, he told her. He saw no reason not to. “It’s a wedding present.”

      “For your bride?” she guessed.

      Finn nearly choked. He didn’t intend to get married for a very long time. Possibly never.

      “No,” he denied with feeling. “For my brother. It’s his wedding.”

      “And this is his house?” she asked, turning slowly around, this time taking in a three-hundred-sixty-degree view. No doubt about it, she thought. The work done on the ranch house was magnificent.

      “He says it belongs to all three of us, but Earl Robertson’s will left it to him.” And as far as he and Liam were concerned, this was Brett’s house.

      “Honor among brothers. That’s refreshing.”

      He thought that was an odd way to phrase it. “Don’t know one way or the other about refreshing. Do know what’s right, though, and this house is right for Brett and Lady Doc.”

      “Lady Doc?” she repeated, slightly confused.

      “That was the nickname my brother gave Alisha when she first came to Forever. Alisha’s a doctor,” he told her by way of a footnote. “Look, lady, I’d love to stand around and talk some more—it’s not every day that we see a new face around here—but I really do have to get back to work.”

      The woman raised her hands in mock surrender, showing the cowboy that she was backing off and giving him back his space. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take you away from your work.”

      Having said that, she turned on her heel and headed back to her vehicle.

      As he watched her walk away, Finn found himself captivated by the way the woman’s hips swayed with every step she took. It also occurred to him at the same time that he didn’t even know her name.

      “Hey,” he called out.

      Ordinarily, that was not a term Connie would answer to. But this one time, she made an exception. People acted differently out here. So rather than get into her car, Connie turned around and looked at him, waiting for the cowboy to say something further.

      Raising

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