he moved toward her.
“Why don’t I fix everyone a snack while you’re changing?” Heather’s no-nonsense voice stopped him. He glanced over and found those disturbing eyes on him. “You can shower if you’d like. The upstairs bathroom has ancient plumbing and one of those old cast-iron tubs, but it gets the job done.”
He took a calming breath. His jeans were cold and clammy and getting out of them sounded too good to pass up. “She probably won’t eat anything. They’re both picky eaters.”
“Well, I’ll see if I can’t find them something.” She ushered the throng toward the house, brought Mitch clothes and a towel, and directed him to the upstairs bathroom. He couldn’t help watching her walk away, her denim shorts a mere teasing cover-up for a softly rounded backside. Once she’d disappeared down the hallway, he discovered a pair of faded boxers tucked between the folded jeans and shirt.
She’d been right. The fixtures were old and the room outdated, but it was an enormous space, with a window overlooking open pastureland. He imagined the room with a Jacuzzi tub and a skylight. What he’d seen of the house so far was sound and spacious, merely sadly outdated. It would make a good family home for a relatively small investment.
Showering in the old tub, he found himself wondering how much land went with the house. Garrett wanted to give him a section of the Kincaid ranch, but right now the details were hung up in court. If Mitch had the money and the inclination to stay in Montana, this would be a good spread to look into.
Heather’s father had been as tall as Mitch, but wider, so the jeans hung precariously on his hips. He wrapped his wet clothing in the towel he’d used and carried them down to the kitchen.
“I’ll wash those and you can get them when you come back for your truck,” Heather said, reaching for the bundle.
“No, you don’t—”
“Don’t argue,” she insisted. “A few more things won’t make a dent in the amount of laundry I do.”
“Well, thank you.” He released the bundle, but not his grip on his waistband.
“Here.” She fished in a drawer and came up with a length of twine.
Mitch thanked her and tied the cord through the belt loops, then glanced toward the kids.
Taylor and Ashley sat at the round oak table with her children, nearly empty plates in front of them.
“We never got around to proper introductions,” Heather said. “This is my daughter, Jessica, and these are my sons, Patrick and Andrew. Children, this is Mr. Fielding.”
“Mitch, please,” he corrected, appreciating her cordiality. She had every right to think him the biggest loser in history. Times like this, he would agree. “And you met Taylor and Ashley.”
Heather nodded.
Had she ever. “They ate something?”
“Just a small snack. Grapes and raisins and a few cubes of cheese with crackers, nothing to spoil their dinner.”
Spoil their dinner? As if! He marveled at the concept of them eating the nourishing fare she’d provided. The food she described was more than they ever ate for dinner! How had she done it? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to appear even more incapable in her eyes.
“Children, wash your hands and use the bathroom. I’m going to get the Blazer.” She opened a cupboard and took out a small purse.
Her children obediently carried their plates to the counter and washed their hands at the sink. Jessica pulled out a chair and helped Andrew. Mitch watched in awe.
The twins miraculously fell in behind and washed their hands without a complaint, then took their turns in the bathroom. They were still in shock over the truck incident, waiting to see what horrible punishment was going to befall them, otherwise they’d have been their usual contrary selves.
He would enjoy this compliance while it lasted, he decided, and followed the children out to the Blazer Heather had pulled up to the back porch. She got out and locked up the house, checked all the riders for seat belts, then returned to the driver’s seat. Her delicate scent, something fresh and feminine, drifted toward him, and once again those disturbing eyes touched his face. This time her gaze was like a breezy caress that fingered across his brow, along his jaw.
His imagination had gone into overdrive. He looked away, and she changed gears.
“I appreciate this,” Mitch said, though she really hadn’t had much choice once he’d been stranded in her backyard. Get them to town or have them on her steps, he guessed.
She drove toward the county road.
“About the job…” he dared.
“I don’t think that’s going to work out,” she replied, firmly crushing any scrawny hope he’d held.
“I had a great idea for that upstairs bath,” he said, anyway. “Of course you need one downstairs, too.” He explained his concept of the bath he’d envisioned. “If you change your mind, I’ll be glad to work out the details with you. Like I said, I can delay payment, and I know I could keep costs down.”
“Thanks,” she said, not giving him any encouragement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Where am I taking you, anyway?”
“The Kincaid ranch,” he replied. “Know where it is?”
“You’ll have to point the way.”
He nodded. “I suppose you’ve heard all about the grandson roundup.”
“No.”
“Garrett Kincaid is my grandfather.” He studied her profile, then let his attention drift to those shapely legs.
She glanced over and caught him looking. King of Cool here, he scoffed at himself. “I’ve only been here two and a half weeks. I live in San Francisco. I don’t plan on sticking around, and I don’t really know anyone in town anymore.”
He’d grown used to everyone knowing his business, so the fact that she hadn’t heard all the local gossip was refreshing. For some weird reason, he found himself wanting to tell her his side of the story. “My mother is from here,” he explained. “I grew up thinking I had no family on my father’s side. Hearing from Garrett last year was a surprise. My biological father was Garrett’s son, Larry. When he died, he left quite a few descendents—to my grandfather’s surprise. Seven of us, to be exact.”
“Wow.”
“Wow is right.” He kept his voice low. “He was married when he had an affair with the nanny—my mother. Apparently Larry gave her money for an abortion, but she kept it and moved to Minnesota. She told me she sent him a photo and a letter after I was born, but he never responded, so she went on with her life. Married my stepdad, had more kids.”
“You don’t sound upset or bitter.”
“People do what they have to do. My mom did the best she knew how. My grandfather never knew about me—about any of Larry’s illegitimate children—but once he found out, he did what he thought
