paused, trying to choose his words well. If he couldn’t get through to her, from his point of view there would be no reason to continue this interview—but he had a feeling she’d still write a piece and it just might not be the kind he was hoping for—and Jackson would really have a reason to be angry.
That meant he had to get her to understand what they—especially Jackson—were doing here.
“Right now, we’re in the red, which is why I talked Jackson into agreeing to let you do this story.”
“Wait, he doesn’t want me writing about what you’re doing here at the Healing Ranch?” Kim asked, surprised. She assumed that everyone wanted free publicity. The only people who didn’t had something to hide.
“Jackson’s very private and he didn’t want any of the boys put under a microscope, either,” he explained. “I was the one who talked him into it because I was hoping that the exposure might make more people aware of the ranch’s existence. I figure that the more people know, the more people might want to send their kids here. And that way, we get to stay on top of our bills instead of one step ahead of foreclosure.”
She would have to do more research to find out just how much of what Garrett had just said was actually true. He certainly seemed sincere enough—but so did the most successful con artists. Just because Garrett was ruggedly handsome with soulful eyes didn’t make him honest or selfless.
She played devil’s advocate. “That sounds very melodramatic,” she told him.
Garrett shrugged and she found herself captivated by the way his broad shoulders rose and fell.
“It’s also very true—not that that’s something Jackson wants made public, either,” he warned. “I’m only telling you this so that you drop the notion that my brother is lining his pockets with the extorted money of worried-sick parents. The charges vary and depend on how long the kid stays. As for those parents who can’t afford to pay for the Healing Ranch but whose kid really needs to come to a place like this, Jackson lets them make payment schedules they can live with.”
He could see that the woman was still somewhat skeptical. He knew it was against Jackson’s rules, but he gave her an example to back up what he was saying, omitting only the people’s actual names.
“One family’s kid was here when he was twelve—a real hellion, by the way. He’s about to graduate high school this coming June—and they’re still making payments.”
“He charged them that much?” Kim asked, stunned.
“No.” Was the woman baiting him? Garrett wondered. “Jackson made the payments that small—after giving them a discount. The kid’s father was a wounded vet, his mother was an elementary school teacher. They had two more kids at home.” There were times when his brother exasperated him, but he had to admit that when the dust finally settled, he was nothing if not damn proud of Jackson. “I’m the greedy one in the family—Jackson remembers his roots.”
She waited a beat and when Garrett didn’t say anything to fill her in, she asked, “And those roots are—?”
“—for him to tell you about.” Jackson would be the best judge on how much he wanted to let the woman know, Garrett thought. “I’ve already done too much talking,” he told her.
In her view, there was no such thing as too much talking. “I thought this was both your stories,” she pointed out, trying to flatter Garrett. In her experience, people always talked as long as they felt they had a friendly audience.
Garrett, apparently, would be the exception that proved the rule.
“No,” he contradicted. “It’s Jackson’s story. I’m just along for the ride.”
Kim frowned slightly. She sincerely doubted that. From what Stan had told her, it seemed as if both brothers ran this ranch and shared equally in the work it took to oversee anywhere between four to ten teenaged boys at a time. At least half, she assumed, were really problematic.
Garrett began walking again. She fell into place beside him.
“Why boys?” she asked suddenly just before they approached the corral.
The question had come out of the blue without any connection to what she’d asked last. It caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”
“Why boys?” Kim repeated. This question she intended to get an honest answer to, no matter how much he danced around it. “You only have boys here. Why not girls, too?” She watched his face closely as she went on. “Or don’t you and your brother consider girls worth helping?”
If he didn’t feel that there was a lot riding on this, he would have been amused at the dogged way she kept trying to unearth something less than flattering about the way the ranch was run. But there was a lot riding on this, so he wanted her to get it right.
“It’s not like that,” he told her, then offered a speculation as he continued, “I suppose that there are more boys who get in trouble than girls—”
“Or maybe the girls just don’t get caught.”
“Maybe,” Garrett allowed. “It might also be that it’s easier working with boys if they’re not distracted,” he pointed out, “and girls can be a really huge distraction to guys.”
The way he said it, looking deep into her eyes, suddenly had her pulse racing.
I bet you’re really something else when you get going, aren’t you, Garrett White Eagle? she thought, doing her best to get her breathing back under control. For a second it had felt as if the very air had just backed up in her lungs and then stayed there.
“Is that what you think?” Kim asked him when she finally found her tongue. “That girls are a huge distraction?”
“I don’t ‘think,’” Garrett retorted, then added, “I know.”
His face, when he leaned over her like that, was just inches away from hers and for one moment, she thought he was going to follow through on what she was certain was on his mind. He was going to kiss her and she had to admit that she didn’t exactly find the prospect off-putting.
But the next moment, the whimsical smile was back on his lips again as he straightened up, putting distance between their faces—and her sanity returned. Getting physically involved with the subject of her article—or at least one of the subjects—was definitely a bad idea.
Even though he was awfully appealing.
“Why don’t I introduce you to my brother?” he was suggesting as her mind did cartwheels off in the corner somewhere.
When he looked at her like that, she found that she actually had to summon up saliva in order to say anything in response—the inside of her mouth had gone that dry.
“Why don’t you?” she agreed, doing her best not to croak out the words.
C’mon, Kim, get a grip, she told herself sternly, doing her best to focus on what had brought her here in the first place—she was doing a story that would allow her to pay her rent. Getting distracted was no way to become a celebrated writer—or even build a reputation that would
