He checked the text from the unfamiliar number. It asked him about his availability. It was Wednesday now. He glanced at the paddock and the fourteen sections where he still needed to put boards up.
If he finished today and took care of the one-night stand thing on the weekend, he could go see his librarian after church. Did she go to church?
Saturday. Afternoon or evening preferred, he typed. That would give him time to get a haircut and feed the horses before he went.
He hesitated. Was it really fair to whomever they were hooking him up with that he was interested in another woman?
It’s just one night, A.J.. What can happen in one night?
He hit send and tossed the phone on top of the letters then pushed himself off the porch swing and went back to work. The fence boards weren’t going to hammer themselves into place.
***
Saturday afternoon? Panic locked up the air in her lungs like an allergy attack. She grabbed her brown sack lunch and dumped the food out before putting the paper up to breath into it. It crumpled and rattled with every forced inhale and exhale.
Why did I say yes? What had she been thinking? Her teeth dragged over her lower lip as the pounding of her heart finally slowed. She stole a glance around the library. The chatter of children playing in the back with their mothers was the only noise of the day. Fortunately, no one was close enough to see her near freak out.
She leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. Saturday afternoon she had a date to get laid. Should she add that to her appointment calendar? A wildly inappropriate giggle stole through her.
This is assuming my date is with A.J. Turner…what if it’s not? It’s Freewill, how many cowboys have you seen in this town?
The sound choked off and she swallowed hard. But no Marines. A.J. was the only Marine she knew there—well correction—the only Marine under the age of sixty.
A ding on her computer signaled a new email. She clicked it open. The date was set for four p.m. at a private cabin at the Misbegotten Gaines Ranch. Heat crept into her cheeks. The location hadn’t even occurred to her. A private cabin meant she could avoid the main house and maybe any whisper of her date.
But it was Freewill…how discreet could she manage to be?
Oh my God. What do I wear?
Chapter Three
It was after three before A.J. hit the shower. After a quick sluice of water to rinse away the sweat and a shampoo to get the grit out first, he took his time to shave. He’d pushed himself to finish the paddock and guided the first of three yearlings in there an hour before. The barn sported fresh paint and all the damaged boards had been replaced. First thing Monday, he would start working the yearlings out, getting them used to lunging with mild weight and more. As he scraped away the stubble, he considered ordering a hot walker. He could build one, but that would cut into the time he wanted to spend on the horses.
Washing off the traces of shaving cream, he rinsed his hair one more time and then shut the shower off. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled on boots and settled a black Stetson on his head. Nothing a little spit and polish couldn’t clean up.
He went over the mental list of chores. Horses fed. Water troughs full. Young stallion in the paddock getting used to his new workout space. House lights shut off. Truck keys in hand, he considered indulging himself and riding one of the horses over to the MGR Cabin where he was supposed to meet his ‘date,’ but a truck required less care and no stabling.
Not that he minded if the Gaines noticed his presence or not, but the lady in question might. Freewill offered a lot of freedom to its residents. Unfortunately, an absence of gossip was not one of those freedoms.
He left the front door unlocked and strolled over to classic 1950’s pickup truck. It sat parked in the U-shaped drive in front of the main house. The vehicle had belonged to his grandfather and father before him. The day after he arrived, he went over the engine with a fine-tooth comb, replacing rotted belts and changing the oil, glad that Guy came out every season to warm her up, run some fresh fuel through her lines and adjust the belts. He’d washed it up that morning first thing, polishing away seven years of dust and firing up the engine. He liked the smooth lines and comfortable ride.
He also enjoyed repairing it and there was a heavier duty SUV and modern pickup in the garage if he needed them. The car didn’t boast a CD or tape player much less anywhere to plug in a phone with MP3s, just an old radio that picked up two stations, country or news.
A.J. chose neither. He cranked the window down, fixed his hat and pulled out of the drive and up the long, bumpy gravel toward the road at three-thirty straight up. He would be early, but that suited him fine, too. The ride to the cabin took less than fifteen minutes. He parked the truck and trotted inside to check the lay of the land.