“No. I just been here before,” Dean said, catching Erin’s confusion as well in his peripheral vision.
He wasn’t about to satisfy it, either. Bad enough that she got to see him in all his crippled splendor, she definitely didn’t need to hear about losing his dreams when Tiffany jilted him.
In favor of his brother.
“I think you’re right about the work it needs.” Jan turned to Erin. “The renos Dean suggested are the ones we have to do to get the house ready for winter. We’ll pick a warm day to replace the windows. You won’t be cold, but you might be fighting flies that day.” Jan grinned at Erin but she was looking around, a peculiar smile on her face, as if the idea of living here held infinite appeal.
Dean knew how she felt. He was thirty-three and still living at home. That definitely hadn’t been in his ten-year plan. When his brother started renting the ranch from Keith he had hoped to get this place subdivided. This house had been his goal.
“So I could live here? Right away?” Erin asked.
Jan shrugged, brushing off the dust he’d gathered while inspecting the attic. “You could move in this afternoon if you want. Like I said, you’ll have to put up with a few inconveniences when we do the windows.”
“That’s good news.”
Jan turned to Dean. “I’m putting you on this job. If you need help I might be able to spare a guy here and there but for the most part I think you can do this on your own.”
“I thought I would be helping on that new barn you’re building by Mercy.” He didn’t want to work on this house. He didn’t want Erin to see him making his slow and methodical way up and down a ladder or scaffolding.
And the fact that it bothered him, well, that bothered him, too. He wasn’t supposed to care what people thought of him. He was Dean Moore. A tough-as-leather cowboy and, even more, a saddle bronc rider.
One-time bronc rider, his thoughts taunted him.
“Isn’t there someone else who can do this work?”
Erin’s question caught Dean off guard, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Clearly she didn’t think he could do the job, either.
“Dean’s capable,” Jan said. The faint narrowing of Jan’s eyes encouraged Dean though it would take a lot more than a bit of restrained anger on the part of his boss to balance out Erin’s lack of confidence.
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Erin said, lifting one hand, clearly flustered. “It’s just... I thought...” She waved off her comments. “I’m sure Dean is more than able to do the work.”
“Good. I think so, too, otherwise I wouldn’t have put him on the job.”
“Look, if this is going to be a problem, let me work on that job in Mercy,” Dean said.
Jan slowly shook his head, gnawing at one corner of his mouth, a sure sign he had something he didn’t really want to say. “Sorry, I just hired on a new guy and he’s married and got a couple of kids. He needs the hours. Besides, this is close by and I won’t have to charge out traveling time for you.” Jan gave him a careful smile, as if hoping that would placate him. “And this way you can start whenever you want. Work your own hours.”
It all sounded so reasonable, but his boss’s comments still bothered him. And he was trying hard not to read subtext in his reasoning. Working his own hours meant flexibility for the rehab he was supposed to be doing and for the days he wasn’t well because the pain took over.
“Of course,” he said. “I get it.”
Then his eyes slid sideways to where Erin stood. She was looking at him and he didn’t imagine the pity on her face.
Anger surged through him. Anger with his circumstances and that Erin had to be a witness to this moment.
He wasn’t good enough. Simple as that. Just a washed-up bronc rider who couldn’t even get on a horse.
Erin hadn’t wanted anything to do with him all those years ago. He was convinced she certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with him now.
* * *
“Be it ever so humble.” Lauren turned off the vacuum cleaner and looked around the living room with a half smile. They had been busy in Erin’s new house most of yesterday and today, cleaning and moving furniture in.
“It looks homey,” Erin said, pushing a brown leather recliner into the corner beside the rust-colored couch Lauren had just finished cleaning. A wooden table replete with scuff marks and coffee rings sat in front if it. Mismatched end tables flanked the couch, each holding different lamps. A love seat in a pink plaid sat across from the couch. They had come out of a storage shed on Vic’s mom’s place. The rest came from the secondhand store in Saddlebank.
Two wooden chairs and three folding chairs were tucked under the oval wooden table in the dining room. A metal watering can holding daisies and lilies sat on the table. That particular touch of whimsy was courtesy of Jodie, who had shown up only briefly, full of apologies. She and Finn had a last-minute meeting with Abby Bannister to scout out some wedding photo locations.
It didn’t matter to Erin that Jodie couldn’t be here. She would see her again. That much she could count on now that she was back at the ranch.
“It’s perfect,” Erin said, folding her arms as she glanced around the room. Her home.
Her own.
And the best part was the cast-iron wood stove taking up the far corner of the living room. She already could imagine being curled up on the couch, reading a book, Caitlin in her arms, the lights low as a fire crackled in the stove.
“And you’re sure about this?” Lauren was asking as she plumped the pillows they had found at the bargain store in Mercy. “You’re sure about living here on your own?”
“Believe it or not, I am,” Erin said. “You have no idea what a treat it will be for me to have my own office.”
“Vic said the internet people might be coming tomorrow so it will be a day or two before you’re connected again.”
“That’s okay. I’ll need a couple of days to get myself organized.”
“Will you be able to keep busy? Out here?”
Erin chuckled at the skepticism in her sister’s voice. “I actually just got a call this morning from a previous client in Colorado. He wants me to do a series of static and interactive graphics for his website and some promotional material he will be putting out. It won’t be for a month or so but in the meantime I’ve got a few feelers out on some other work.”
Lauren shot her a puzzled look. “Still can’t believe all that coloring and sketching you used to do has translated into a job.”
“The degree in graphics design probably helped, too.”
“Of course.” Lauren gave her a smile, then dropped the pillows on the couch. “So this is the last of it. I’m really glad we managed to
