“I’m glad Caleb was okay.” He glanced out into the arena and saw Tucker talking to a group of the younger kids.
“He’s fine. Didn’t even shake him up.” Wes spit a sunflower seed in the dirt and continued grinning.
Rowdy suddenly had an idea. It might not be a good idea, but that was yet to be seen. “Wes, I need you and Joseph to help me with something in the morning. Can you do it?”
“Sure thing. What are we going to do?”
More than likely make Lucy madder than a hornet. “We’re going to do a little yard work and y’all can make a little pocket change.”
“Sweet. When do we start?”
“Sunup.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” A group of the boys over by the chutes called for Wes. “Showtime. I’ll tell Joseph.” Giving his horse a nudge, they raced off at a thundering gallop.
Rowdy watched him and the horse fly across the arena as one. When it came to riding, Wes was the best. He was a natural. Rowdy had a feeling the kid would ride a bull just as well. Though it was against the rules, Rowdy hesitated to say anything until he knew for certain. Wes was courting trouble...but then so was Rowdy if he went through with his plan in the morning.
What was he thinking, anyway?
The woman didn’t want his help. She needed it, though, and for reasons he didn’t quite understand he felt compelled to follow through—despite knowing he needed to steer clear of her.
He had a feeling he was about to see some major fireworks tomorrow...but he’d rather take that chance than do nothing at all.
Chapter Three
The morning light was just crawling across her bedroom floor when Lucy opened her eyes. She’d been dead to the world from the moment she’d fallen into bed late last night, and she stared at the ceiling for a moment, disoriented.
The ache in her arms brought clarity quickly.
And no wonder with all the manual labor she’d been doing for the past week. The muscle soreness had finally caught up with her last night. Caught up with her back, too. She’d always had a weak lower back and sometimes after a lot of stooping and heavy lifting, it rebelled on her. That moment had happened when she’d taken her last swing at the long wall in her living room—a muscle spasm had struck her like a sledgehammer.
It had been so painful she’d been forced to stretch out on the floor and stare at the ceiling until it had eased up enough for her to make it upstairs to bed.
She’d had plenty of time to contemplate her situation and the fact that she really had no timeline to finish her remodel. She could take all the time in the world if she wanted to. Uncle Harvey, bless his soul, had made sure of that.
He was actually her grandfather’s brother, whom she’d lost as a young girl. He had been in bad health when her world had fallen apart, and hadn’t lived on the ranch for a couple of years. But he’d told her this was where she needed be. And he’d been right. She’d known it the moment she’d arrived. She was making the place her own and searching for her new footing at the same time.
And yet, things had changed when Rowdy McDermott had offered to help her. She watched him drive off, and her conscience had plucked away at her.