Cowboy Crazy(16)
“I will, Hank.”
After hanging up, she ran back outside in time to see Mr. Dalton carrying his wife out of the storm cellar. Charlotte rushed ahead, taking his order to open the truck door. She helped Mrs. Dalton position herself so her foot was propped, but the woman was still as white as snow and grimacing in pain.
Standing back, Charlotte wrung her hands. “Is there anything else I can do?”
Mrs. Dalton gave a short nod. “If you don’t mind throwing some feed at the chickens, I’d appreciate it.”
They buzzed down the driveway in a cloud of dust, leaving Charlotte alone on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. And she’d never fed chickens in her life. Did she hand-feed them? Scatter grains?
She thought back if she’d ever seen a TV show or even a cartoon where characters had fed chickens.
First, she needed to find the chicken coop. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed over the land that had been left in her care, even if only for an afternoon. While butterflies hatched in her stomach, she possessed a sense of ease that hadn’t come easy to her in months.
She’d definitely found a new life.
* * *
Damn, what a long day. Up before dawn, and half the day spent waiting for his mother to come out of surgery. Hank still had evening chores too. The best part of the day had been hearing Charlotte’s voice on the phone.
He climbed out of the truck, feeling about seventy years old. Thank God he didn’t have a desk job—sitting all day wasn’t for him.
The front porch light was on, and Charlotte was on the porch, arms hugging her middle. His heart stuttered and seemed to restart with a huge lurch. In a few strides, he reached the steps. One more and he cleared the stairs. Charlotte stepped back, laughing, and he found her holding an afghan around her shoulders. Hell, she was even endearing wrapped in Aunt Diane’s ugly crocheted creation.
“How’s your mom?”
“She’s been through a rough day, that’s for sure. I called my brothers, and that was even worse than dealing with Pa. He was fit to be tied, pacing like a mountain lion while Momma was in surgery.” Suddenly the whole day caught up to him, and he wanted nothing more but to sink onto the old porch swing and push off with a toe.
He twitched his head toward the swing. “Care to sit for a spell?”
“Okay.”
He waited for her to curl into the corner of the swing, and he crowded beside her. With a short laugh, he said, “I seem to take up a lot of space.”
“It’s okay.”
“Good thing you’re small.”
She dipped her head, and he swore she was blushing, though the bluish light cast by the porch fixture didn’t make it clear. Her curls were tucked behind one ear, exposing the tender shell. So perfect for nibbling.
“Thank you for being here. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“I only fed the chickens.” Embarrassment sounded in her feminine voice.
“And found Momma. Who knows how long she might have laid there. And feeding those chickens can be hell.” He raised the leg of his pants to expose his hairy leg above his boot. A silvery scar lived there. “Got spurred by a rooster when I was ten.”
“I didn’t know they’d do that.”
He laughed. “If you had, you might not have gone close, right? I deserved this wound. I was teasing the rooster, waving a stick at him, and he came after me.”
Now she laughed. They pushed off and began to swing.
For several minutes they rocked in silence. She smelled good and her toes were bare. Longing rose in him, closing off his throat. More than anything, he ached to turn and draw her into his arms. To taste those sweet rosebud lips.
And learn what she was running from.
“I got your car parts.”
She groaned. “Do I want to know the damage?”
He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Plenty of time for discussion. I was hoping to strike a deal with you.”
She scraped her big toe on the wooden floor, slowing them. “What kind of deal?”
“Well, Momma’s laid up for six to eight weeks. She has some screws in her leg now, and it will be some time before she can get into a walking cast. I was hoping you might stay on here and help while I fix your car.”
She darted her tongue over her lips. He tracked the movement, aware of the pressure building inside him. “I don’t know, Hank.”
Sweet Jesus, he was in trouble. Just hearing his name fall from those honeyed lips tied him in knots. “We could use your help. We’ll trade work.”
“You don’t even know if I can cook!”
“Won’t matter. Momma will want to oversee from a wheelchair if she has to. All you have to do is take direction. In exchange, I fix your car and you drive off, no payment necessary.” It hurt him a little to say those words, though it shouldn’t. He had no ties to her.