a physical therapist. He hadn’t revealed he was a bull rider yet and he didn’t know why he withheld the information. All he’d accomplished was something to be proud of, but after years of buckle bunnies hopping after him and reporters haggling him, he was tired of the fascination. Being a regular dude felt good. Like pulling on an old pair of blue jeans.
“Right,” she said when she realized he wasn’t going to explain. “Oh, so you know, I checked out of the motel. I’m staying here tonight.”
“But the windows are still busted.”
“I found the screens in the attic. Cats are gone and I’m tired of motel life.”
“But it’s hotter than hell without AC.” His thoughts flickered to an image of her in a short nightie, sweat glistening between her breasts. Maybe no air-conditioning would be a good thing, especially since he’d pulled his trailer out this morning and had a nice view of the house. Of course, he wasn’t a pervert who’d sit around, peering out his blinds, trying to catch a peek. But if she did venture out to the saggy porch in her barely there nightie, he damned sure wasn’t looking away.
“I’ll manage. Just get those guys from the hardware place out here tomorrow to replace the panes. Oh, and call the roofing company again. No rain in the forecast, but if a storm blows up, I don’t want to have to get pans out.”
“I’ll put in another call, boss.”
“Are you staying here tonight?” she asked, looking down at the bucket and eyeing the door again.
“Are you asking me to keep you company tonight, darlin’? ’Cause I’m more than willing.”
Maggie’s head jerked up. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I was thinking about safety.”
“You can’t blame a guy for wanting to keep a pretty filly company.”
“Are you comparing me to a horse?” she asked, her brown eyes flashing. He loved her feisty spirit...which explained the teasing. Ruffling her feathers could become an addiction.
“You say it like being a horse is a bad thing. I like horses.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Lincoln, our relationship is strictly a working one. I’m not in the market for being your...filly.”
“But you’ll settle for being my nag?” he cracked.
That made her lips twitch. “On second thought, I prefer filly. And hasn’t anyone ever suggested to you and to half of Texas that calling women baby, honey and filly is offensive?”
“If I kiss you and whisper ‘baby, you’re driving me wild,’ you’d be offended?”
Maggie swallowed. “Yes.”
“I’ll file that away for—”
“Not for future reference. We can’t... I mean, you are...” Maggie clamped her mouth closed, a faint pink creeping into her cheeks. He’d only known her for three days, but already he knew flustering Miss Priss was more fun than staring at Charlie’s sad ass all day long. Maggie pulled on her business face, but he sensed the flirting pleased her. Like she was a woman who needed a little teasing in her life.
“Relax, Mags,” he said, giving her a wink. “I never graze in a pasture if the gate ain’t open.”
Then he walked away at a slow ramble, knowing it would aggravate her. He’d bet his boots she loved cocky in a man and that’s something he held by the bucket load. He was short on a lot of things—manners, stature and patience at times—but knowing who he was and what cards he held had always been his best quality. Which was why this injury had thrown him for a loop. He’d done everything required of him to no avail. Everyone kept saying “give it time,” but that was something he didn’t have. He had to be back on a bull soon with an eye on the standings if he wanted a shot at the money and title.
When Rasputin had stepped on his shoulder, he’d shattered the bones along with cracking two ribs. Then he’d tossed Cal, puncturing a lung in the process. All ornery eighteen hundred pounds of snot, muscle and fury, Rasputin was up for Bull of the Year for good reason. And Cal knew he’d probably draw the bastard again in one of the last few events before Nationals. He finished the first half ranked number four, but the points were close this year. Come mid-August he had to be ready. But because the injury had been on his left side and his shoulder didn’t have good mobility, his balance was still shit.
He’d see about putting a bucking barrel in one of the stalls in the barn. He needed to practice and wasn’t ready to ride anything that breathed yet. Or maybe he was...just not a bull.
But until he could get back in the proverbial saddle, he’d head to therapy where he’d sweat buckets, cuss like a sailor and pray his shoulder’s flexibility improved. August wasn’t far away.
* * *
MAGGIE WIPED THE sweat from her forehead and surveyed her efforts. The screens were in place and she’d managed to give the kitchen, living area and one bedroom a decent scrubbing. She’d ordered a new mattress but until it arrived, she’d make do on one in a bedroom that had been closed off. She found sheets in a linen closet and ran them through the washing machine that, praise Jesus, still worked. Currently they flapped in the hot Texas breeze, pinned to the old-fashioned wash line she’d found and strung up on the two old poles behind the house.
She glanced out at the barn, relieved to see the painters had accomplished a good bit in one day. Thankfully, they’d primed over the rude graffiti so she didn’t have to stare at the rendering of the giant penis.
Waving at the men who loaded into a van, she went back into the oven, aka the house, to fix something for dinner. A knock on the door stopped her.
Charlie stood on the porch, wiping his face with a faded bandana. “I’m leaving now.”
“Okay,” she said.
“How many days I gotta put in to satisfy you?” He looked grumpy as an old bullfrog.
“As many as it takes to get this place back to where it was when Bud entrusted it to you.”
Charlie wiped a hand over his face. “Goddamn it. That could be next year. I ain’t got time for this. I got my own shit to do.”
“Like supporting the local bars? Don’t you feel remorse for letting this place fall apart?” She crossed her arms and gave him her best boardroom stare. Yeah, there were times she had to be Bud’s junkyard dog...in heels, of course.
“I did what I was hired to do. You can’t blame me.”
“Then whom shall I blame?”
“I don’t give a damn. Blame Bud. I told him I needed more money.”
“There was plenty of money in the ranch accounts.”
Charlie frowned. “You don’t understand the cost of running a ranch, but you’ll see. Everything’s expensive. Wait till you get the first vet bill. Bud only gave me so much and I took care of the animals first. Then I maintained the fence lines. I left the house for last. Wasn’t nobody here no how. Every time I replaced the glass in the windows, those damn kids broke them again. I painted over the graffiti twice. Started seeming
