SIXTEEN
“THIS ONE HAD better be good,” he said.
Because being a cowboy—or a nursemaid—wasn’t in Logan Hunter’s plan.
His black Stetson cocked at an angle, he narrowed his eyes at the distant plume of dust rising off the dirt access lane to the ranch. The Circle H was cut off—literally, in bad weather—from the road by half a mile. One reason he didn’t want to be here, especially in spring when he knew the rains would come. Staring across the wide expanse of land, which looked as flat as an old mare’s shank, he studied the fast-approaching car.
Logan wished he were in a car and headed the other way. Three years after the nasty divorce that had turned him into a hard man, he was still dealing with the fallout when his grandfather got hurt. He was more than willing to come back here and help Sam—he’d raised Logan and his brother after all—but April was the busy season. He couldn’t run the ranch and care for Sam at the same time. He needed more help. Fast.
Certainly his brother hadn’t stepped up to the plate. Sawyer hadn’t even answered his calls. Everything was up to Logan, at least for now.
Still watching the lane, he scooped up the tortoiseshell kitten that had kept twining around his feet. Cradling the little cat, Logan propped a shoulder against the front porch post and listened to her purr. He was a sucker for animals, with one exception.
Bison.
Why couldn’t his granddad run cattle like everybody else?
The car barreled into focus, gathering speed the closer it came, as if someone was chasing the driver. The broken-down sedan crunched to a stop in the gravel by the front steps, and Logan envisioned another frustrating go-round with the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency’s latest candidate. The male caregiver he’d asked for was a rare commodity in the middle of Kansas, so he’d been told.
He didn’t want excuses. The driver’s door opened and disappointment swamped him. Logan didn’t want another woman in the house—in his life either. Then the dust cloud settled and he really saw her. As she climbed out of the car, the denim ball cap she wore snagged on the door frame. The hat flopped off into the dirt, and a riot of russet curls spilled free. That bright hair bobbed everywhere. Hidden behind huge sunglasses, her eyes could be any color, but her chin hitched upward in her heart-shaped face and his stomach clenched.
He might have been a fool at twenty-three, but at thirty-two he knew better.
The woman’s clothing was something else. Baggy top, baggy pants, both in dark colors, which shouldn’t have made her look attractive, but did.
She pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were brown, like the plain grass in winter, yet he saw something deep within them. Despair? Fear? He couldn’t tell.
But her voice held firm. “Mr. Hunter?”
“Yep.” From his casual stance against the post, he gave her his best strong, silent cowboy stare. “You’re looking at him.”
She took a breath. “I thought I’d never get here.”
“So did I.” Idly, he stroked the kitten. He’d waited most of the afternoon for this newest applicant.
She glanced behind her at the long drive. “Well. This is Kansas.” Suddenly, she grinned up at him from the bottom step. “I feel like I’m in The Wizard of Oz before the tornado whisked Dorothy away. Not much out here, is there?”
“Not much.” Logan had almost flinched. He didn’t need any reminders of the ranch’s isolation.
“I was sure I was lost. Even your driveway goes on forever.” She shot another look over her shoulder. Who was she expecting to see?
Logan exaggerated a drawl. “Well, that’s the thing about Kansas. Straight roads. You can just keep goin’. Even fall asleep if you want, then wake yourself up when you get here—or there.”
Her smile faded. Worrying her lower lip, she took a step backward toward her car. Logan couldn’t blame her. He wanted to run, too, and never come back. This was the place where he’d lost his parents, then his wife, his marriage. And, nearly, his child.
“So,” she said, “this must be the Circle H.”
“That’s what the sign says.”
She tilted her head to study him. “That sign at the end of your road is hanging by a thread. It wouldn’t take a minute to put it back up.”
“That part of your job description?”
“No,” she said, looking away. “I imagine it’s part of yours.”
“Look, we have ten thousand acres here. Miles and miles of fence line. Two men quit this morning, the cook three days ago.” Thanks to Sam’s grumpiness. “Things keep going this way, we won’t need a sign except one that says For Sale.” Her mouth fell open. “On top of that—”
“Logan, where are you?”
It was uncanny timing. His grandfather’s voice blasted from his upstairs bedroom down the steps and through the screen door onto the porch. It happened about ten times a day. He’d always been difficult, but since his accident...
Sam was making a real racket now. Banging on his tray, probably, with the spoon he’d thrown at Logan earlier because he didn’t like canned stew for lunch. Stroking the kitten he still held, he stood frozen. If Sam continued to be the worst patient in medical history, Logan might never be able to get any work done. Or leave. He had to hire help. Right now anyone would do.
“Coming!” he called and then studied the woman. “You still want this job?”
She returned his hard stare. “I’m not sure yet. But I do need it.”
Well, at least she’d made herself clear. He couldn’t keep from asking.
“That bad?”
She
