Temporary Rancher

He laid his mouth gently against the slight rise of an almost-healed blister. It felt so warm, and was ridiculously like some heady perfume. When he kissed it, he heard Riley drag in a deep breath of her own.

“Quintin…”

“I know,” he said in a slow, husky voice. He lifted his head to catch her gaze. Her mouth was parted, and she was frowning. “Insane, isn’t it?”

“I—” The word was a trembling sigh, barely more than a whisper. She wet her lips. When she tugged her hand away, he released it immediately. “I think I should get back to the men.”

He watched her walk away from the shadows and back into the soft light where the cowboys stood. Watched her, and thought how much he had liked what happened. How he had enjoyed it more than he had anything in a long, long time.

But what he’d done had made a difficult situation even more so, and he couldn’t help but realize how foolish he’d been.

Dear Reader,

By the time I finished writing That Last Night in Texas, I had developed quite a fondness for Ethan’s business partner and best friend, Quintin Avenaco. As the story evolved, I grew more and more interested in exploring his tragic past and what had brought him to this point in his life. So when my editor asked if I might like to write about Quintin, I was ready.

Unfortunately, that’s where my muse deserted me. I knew what Quintin’s goals for himself were. But for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine the kind of woman who could bring him out of his painful past and make him willing to face the world again. Weeks went by, and I began to wonder if I’d ever find her.

Then I came across a magazine article about a group of people who had lost their jobs as a result of the economy. They had been brought to the lowest point in their lives, but instead of giving up, they reevaluated the talents they had developed, the strengths they could tap into, the dreams they had left behind as too impractical. Instead of trying to find a new position in their chosen fields, they channeled their efforts into creating new careers for themselves. Some of them succeeded on a grand scale. Others had to adjust to earning a bit less money, but they were far happier than they’d ever been in their old jobs.

I thought a woman with that kind of brave, single-minded purpose might work well as my heroine and make an excellent match for a loner like Quintin. So that’s how Riley Palmer came to life—a divorced mother of twins who is desperately determined to make a good life for her children, even if she has to persuade a lonely, no-nonsense cowboy like Quintin that she will make an excellent ranch manager for him.

I hope you enjoy Quintin and Riley’s journey. Please don’t hesitate to contact me at eannbair@gmail.com or visit my Facebook page. I love to hear from readers.

All the best,

Ann Evans

Temporary Rancher

Ann Evans

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ann Evans has been writing since she was a teenager, but it wasn’t until she joined Romance Writers of America that she actually sent anything to a publisher. Eventually, with the help of a very good critique group, she honed her skills and won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America for Best Short Contemporary Romance of 1989. Since then, she’s happy to have found a home writing for the Harlequin Superromance line. A native Floridian, Ann enjoys traveling, hot-fudge sundaes and collecting antique postcards.

Times are tough right now.

This book is dedicated to anyone who has hit

their own rough patch in life and found the

courage to climb to their feet and fight again.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE COMPUTER SCREEN glowed in the darkened shadows of the living room. Riley Palmer stared at it, wondering why she couldn’t seem to hit the email send button.

“Do it, Riley,” she muttered softly. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Do it for Wendy and Roxanna and yourself. Do it for the National Organization for Women. Just do it!”

Her fingers hovered over the mouse as she tried to find courage.

Tonight her sister’s small apartment felt cozy, but foreign somehow. Both the girls were sound asleep in Jillian’s spare bedroom—as they should be this close to two in the morning. Her sister had gone to bed after the late news. The place was so quiet Riley thought she could hear her wristwatch ticking.

It was the perfect time to think about making life-changing decisions, the perfect time to work through her thoughts in peace and quiet, and she’d spent the past two hours doing just that. So why couldn’t she send this email?

She knew that some of her reluctance was because her email wasn’t completely honest. She hadn’t lied, exactly. Just embroidered a little. Considering the current job market, who didn’t do that when they applied for work these days?

Desperation made a powerful motivator. She’d been divorced from Brad for almost a year, but she was still sleeping on the couch in her sister’s apartment while the twins took the second bedroom. Jillian had been an angel about all of them sharing such tight quarters, but it wasn’t right.

Riley needed a job. She needed decent money coming in. Most of all, she needed a home for her eight-year-olds, Wendy and Roxanna. The decision to leave their father had been hard enough on the girls. They deserved stability. Security. Faith that their mother could provide for them. So if that meant adding a few embellishments to her résumé and omitting one big, stupid drawback that shouldn’t even be an issue… Well, so be it.

And really, would Charlie Bigelow ever steer her wrong intentionally? He’d been friends with her family for nearly forty years. He’d helped Riley and Jillian plan their parents’ funeral after the accident, guided them through probate, even walked Riley down the aisle. All those times when Brad had left her on the ranch to figure out things for herself, hadn’t Charlie been the one she’d turned to for advice?

If he thought this Quintin Avenaco guy would make a fair boss, and she’d be a great ranch manager for him, then who was she to disagree? Charlie didn’t just know livestock. He knew people.

Riley had always been a little impulsive, and in the past had made a few foolish decisions she’d been forced to live with. But this was a chance she had to take. She couldn’t stand the idea of spending another week searching for a job and coming up empty-handed. With that thought, she surrendered to impulse and clicked the send button before she could change her mind. The email zipped into cyberspace. “There you go, Quintin Avenaco of Beaumont, Texas. You’ve got mail, cowboy.”

Almost immediately she had second thoughts. She should have checked her résumé one more time, tried to find a way to honestly address the only problem she could see that might get her a big fat no right off the bat.

She placed her hands on either side of the screen. “I take it back! Give me a do over, darn it.”

“So now you’re talking to yourself?”

Riley nearly yelped out loud. She turned to find her sister at her shoulder, yawning. “Geez. You scared the life out of me.”

Jillian frowned down at her. “Why are you still up?”

“The usual. Job hunting. Charlie Bigelow called me yesterday afternoon with a lead. I’m following up on it before it hits the classifieds.”

“Great,” her sister replied, though she sounded too sleepy to care much.

“I hope it will be great. I hope it pays a ridiculous amount of money, though right now, I’d settle for a place to live.”

“You have that here.”

“I know, but you’re family. You have to pretend you like living in a two-bedroom apartment with four people. And when two of those people are rambunctious eight-year-olds…”

Jillian gave a grumpy growl. “Don’t say a word about my nieces! They’re angels. You’re the one I just tolerate.”

Riley smiled up at her. Really, how would she have managed without Jilly’s help this past year? Her life had been torn to shreds by Brad’s infidelity, Wendy’s stay in the hospital and that bitter court battle for custody. Through it all, Jillian had been a rock.

“I know my kids,” Riley told her. “Somehow they’ve reverted to the terrible twos without my permission. Wendy starts bawling if you just look at her the wrong way. And Rox…Rox’s answer to everything I say is ‘Why?’ I checked her scalp yesterday to see if 666 had been branded there.”

“They’re just…unsettled right now. But I think we’re managing.”

“I have to do more than just manage, Jilly. We can’t continue to impose on you this way. I know Doug wants to take your relationship to the next level, as they say. But he can’t do that with the three of us underfoot. So that means I need a decent paying job and a place to call home.”

Jillian conceded that point with a grimace, then stared down at the computer screen. “Anything else encouraging out there? I heard Wegman’s is thinking about opening up a third store. They might need accounting help.”

Before the girls were born, Riley had been a pretty competent bookkeeper. “I’m not going after any more accounting jobs. Every bean counter in the country seems to be looking for work in Texas.” She put a big smile on her face, ready to go into sales mode for Jillian’s sake. “I’m reinventing myself. All the magazines say that in this job market you need to review the talents you have and find work that fits them. So I did.”

Jillian looked at her askance. “What talent do you have besides accounting?”

“You don’t have to sound so incredulous. There are lots of things I can do. And I just took the first step.”

She tapped the computer screen and clicked into her sent mail so Jillian could see her latest message.

“‘Dear Mr. Avenaco,’” Jillian read over Riley’s shoulder. “‘I understand from a mutual friend of ours, Charlie Bigelow, that you’ll soon be in the market for a ranch manager…’” She straightened and scowled. “You’re applying to be his ranch manager? When have you done that kind of work?”

Riley frowned back. “Who do you think managed Hollow Creek? While Brad was playing footsie with his boss’s daughter, I kept our place up and running. I might not have the official credentials, but I can do that job, and pretty well, I think.”

“Really?” Her sister looked very skeptical now. “You know everything about running a ranch.”

Riley felt her cheeks grow hot. All right. Admittedly, there were a few holes in her résumé that she’d glossed over. But she didn’t see her shortcomings as a serious problem. “Well, maybe not everything. But close enough. Charlie’s been out to this guy’s place in Beaumont. He says Avenaco’s only going to run about one-hundred head. Strictly horses.” She lifted her eyebrows. “He’s probably a Sunday cowboy who’s in love with the idea of the Old West. Which means he’ll be open to someone else’s direction.”

“Or he’ll second-guess every move you make, and watch every dollar you spend to be sure he’s getting his money’s worth. He could drive you nuts, micromanaging. And what about…what about the other thing? The fact that you’re…”

“A woman?” Riley finished, wishing her sister hadn’t gone there. It had taken Riley two hours to convince herself she could overcome the gender problem. “I keep reminding myself that this is the twenty-first century. Texas State had thirty students in their ranch management class last year. Four of them were women. I checked. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it?”

“Did any of those women get jobs? This is Texas. You know the men here can be…kind of chauvinistic.”

“Some of them. That’s why I’m not telling this guy I’m a female.” She lifted her chin, prepared to argue if her ultraconventional sister found fault. Which she did. Immediately.

“You lied to him?”

“No!”

Riley pointed to the bottom of the message, where she had signed off. “I used my real name. It’s not my fault Dad wanted a boy, and I ended up with a name that could work either way.”

“But Avenaco will probably think you’re a man.”

“Then that’s his foolish mistake,” she said, determined to be positive. “If he flat out asks me, I’ll tell him, but otherwise…”

“Did you tell him you have two little girls?”

“No. What difference does that make, as long as I can do the job?” Seeing her sister’s face, Riley called up some of the same reasoning she’d used on herself only hours ago. “Look, it’s not like I’m going to dress up as a guy and lower my voice to try to fool anyone.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“Stop staring at me like I’m one of the trespassers who sneaked into the White House. I just want to establish an email relationship with him, chat back and forth. Maybe he’ll realize how capable I am before we actually talk on the phone or meet in person.”

“Charlie must have told him you’re a woman.”

“He didn’t, because the conversation never got that far. Avenaco said he was looking for a ranch manager, and Charlie told him he knew a couple of good prospects and would send them his way. That was it.”

“But surely…”

“This guy doesn’t exactly own the King Ranch, you know?” Riley argued. “Who’s ever heard of Echo Springs? How demanding can it be?”

“Who’ll watch the girls while you’re out digging postholes and herding horses?”

“The twins are getting old enough that they should expect to help out. Didn’t Mom and Dad have a whole slew of chores for us to do when we were their age? Time for them to stop playing with dolls and start making a real contribution.”

As expected, Jillian’s eyes went wide. Their parents had been pretty tough. Memories of the family ranch in Oklahoma weren’t filled with parties and fairy tales.

Riley laughed and gave her sister’s arm a shake. “I’m kidding,” she said. “I’d never turn them into the slaves we were.”

“Still, it seems like awfully hard work, Rile. A lot harder than crunching numbers as a bookkeeper.”

Riley set her jaw and shook her head. “You know what real hard work is? Trying to find a reason to keep a marriage alive with a man who’d rather be with his mistress than at the hospital with his own sick child.” The words came out angrier than she expected. She had thought she was all through with that. She forced out a deep, calming breath. “I can handle this, Jilly. I know I can.”

Unexpectedly, Jillian reached down to give her a hug. “I don’t want you and the girls to move away.”

“Beaumont’s only a five-hour drive from Cooper. Charlie thinks there’s a decent-size apartment on the property. You could come and visit us.”

“But—”

Riley held up one hand. “You can’t talk me out of this. Besides, the email’s sent. Please don’t make me feel bad about it. When Charlie suggested I send my résumé, it just felt…right. And if Quintin Avenaco isn’t interested, if he’s too dumb to recognize what a catch I am, then someone else will. I’m not giving up on this idea.”

Jillian reached out again, hugging her even tighter. “I hope you’re right. You know I want you and the girls to be happy, after everything Brad put you through.”

Riley couldn’t have agreed more, but a lump had formed in her throat and she couldn’t respond at the moment. She had wasted nine years trying to make her marriage work. Nine years. She shouldn’t have to be reinventing herself at age thirty-one. It wasn’t fair or right. But that was life. And if she didn’t take a few chances, how would she ever get back on track?

Unexpectedly, the computer chime went off, notifying her that she had mail. She and Jillian both glanced down at the laptop in surprise.

“Who’s after me now?” Riley complained with a laugh. Secretly, she was afraid it might be the automatic notification for her car payment popping into her inbox. She didn’t want Jillian to see that she was late with it. Her soft-hearted sister would just try to give back the money Riley had shelled out for this month’s share of the groceries.

She opened her email. After reading the subject line, she jerked back as if something had tried to reach out and grab her. “Oh, my God,” she said softly. “What’s he doing up at this time of night?”

“Who?” Jillian asked.

Riley gave her a stunned look. “Quintin Avenaco. He’s already answering my email.”

STANDING ON THE BACK PORCH of the Echo Springs ranch house, Quintin Avenaco stared out at the property he now owned lock, stock and barrel.

The dilapidated cattle chutes and a rusty-looking windmill that creaked in the early-summer breeze.

A sagging barn the color of tomato soup.

A line of perimeter fencing as jagged and crooked as a jack-o’-lantern’s teeth.

This house, a three-bedroom Victorian with a century-old foundation and a family of raccoons playing in the attic.

He’d closed on the place last month and moved in two weeks ago. It was his now. All of it.

God help him.

He tried to remember that, on the surface, there might not seem much to recommend about Echo Springs. But a year ago, he hadn’t been searching for a spread to call his own. He’d wanted only to lease good pastureland, and he’d found that here. But now his plans had changed. In spite of the deplorable condition of the horse and hay barn, the poorly-maintained equipment and loafing shed, the investment he’d made was sound.

The life he planned to carve out for himself could work.

At least, he’d been sure of that until about a week ago.

From the corner of his eye Quintin caught movement. He turned his head to see his best friend, Ethan Rafferty, coming around the corner of the wraparound porch. In one hand, he carried a bottle of Jack Daniels. In the other, two glasses.

“I rang the bell, but it doesn’t seem to work,” Ethan said with a grin.

“One more thing I need to fix.”

“Long list, I’ll bet.”

“Getting longer every day.” Quintin indicated the booze. “What are you up to?”

Ethan shrugged. “Just paying a visit to my best friend and ex-partner.”

For years Quintin had been Ethan Rafferty’s equal partner in Horse Sense. Three years ago they’d brought the business down here to Beaumont from Colorado Springs. Since then, Horse Sense had flourished, garnering a reputation in the horse world as the place to go if you had a problem horse or wanted mounts trained to interact with the public.

But last month, Quintin had sold his half of the company to Ethan. The amount they’d settled on had made it possible for Quintin to buy Echo Springs, and since then, they’d both been so busy there was little time for social calls.

“You look like hell, man,” Ethan said with a sad shake of his head. “Like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I’m not sure I have.”

“Well, I can fix that.” He wiggled the whiskey bottle. “Time we had a celebratory drink and a little guy talk.”

They settled into a couple wooden patio chairs Quintin had picked up yesterday. Their newness looked out of place on a porch with missing balusters and rotted railings.

Ethan uncorked the bottle, poured a generous amount in each tumbler and passed one over. Then he raised his glass. “Congratulations, pal. You’re now officially a Texas rancher.” He glanced out at the land, chewed the inside of his cheek a moment, then turned back to Quintin. “Poor dumb bastard.”

Quintin couldn’t help laughing. Ethan could always lighten his mood, and they’d been friends too many years for him to mind being gigged.

“You still mad about me quitting Horse Sense?” he asked.

“Hell, yeah. I miss you, man.”

That was nice to hear, even if it couldn’t possibly be true. Ethan had a business going, a big ranch to oversee and a pregnant wife at home.

“I had a great run with Horse Sense,” Quintin admitted. “But I was ready for a change.”

When it came right down to it, Horse Sense had probably saved his life, giving it meaning and purpose for a long time. What had started out small and shaky had grown into a thriving business over the years. Quintin and Ethan, and Ethan’s father, Hugh, knew how to coax ground manners and fearlessness into the most stubborn, skittish animal. Now they had contracts with mounted police associations around the country to train cops and their mounts. Those contracts kept Horse Sense’s books in the black these days, and the six-week course for horse and rider was booked solid until winter.

Ethan turned his head, giving Quintin a serious look. “I mean it, Quint. You may have lousy people skills, but even Dad can’t hypnotize a horse the way you can.”

“I need more in my life than a good set of parlor tricks,” he countered. “And all that wheeling and dealing you seem to enjoy these days… It isn’t for me. I’m just a nag wrangler at heart, and you know it.” He glanced toward the far pasture. “It’s one of the reasons I bought this place.”

Ethan blew out a resigned breath. “Okay. I get that. But now what? You still planning to run Dutch Warmbloods?”

“As much as I can. They’ve got the best temperament for police work.”

For a couple years now, Quintin had grown more and more disgusted by the quality of the stock they saw coming through Horse Sense. At the start of every new session, cops showed up with sleek, expensive trailers marked with law enforcement decals and filled with equally sleek, expensive horseflesh. Some of the animals were top-notch and would serve their masters well. But others were completely unsuitable as mounted police horses and had to be washed out of the program by the end of the second week. It frustrated Quintin to see how many of those hay burners couldn’t cut it. A year ago, he’d decided to do something about it.

“I don’t know where most of these cities are buying their stock,” he went on, “but they’re getting ripped off.”

Ethan nodded. They’d talked about this before, but there seemed to be little they could do except deal with the bad apples on a case-by-case basis. “You remember Bob Simmons with the Louisville bunch?”

“Yeah.”

Ethan refilled his glass before answering. “He called me a week ago. He has two Thoroughbreds he wants to put through the program. They were donations. Couldn’t cut it on the race track, I guess.”

Maybe it was the whiskey helping him out, but Quintin felt the heat of his blood kick up a notch. “Donated.” He swore softly in disgust. “It wouldn’t matter if they were Secretariat and Man O’ War. Prima donnas on toothpick legs. These guys are putting their own police officers at risk just to save a little money, and Horse Sense is supposed to fix the troublemakers.”

“Well, it is what keeps Horse Sense in business,” Ethan remarked with a light laugh. “You start supplying them with Warmbloods and I won’t have anything to fix.”

“I can give them good stock, but that doesn’t mean the horse can cut it. At best, it will only make your job a little easier.”

Ethan pursed his lips, seeming to consider. “How many head are you going to run?”

“No more than fifty at first. I want to concentrate on quality, not quantity.”

Ethan pointed north, past the pines and toward the far pastures of the ranch. “You still got your six-pack out there?”

Last year, when Quintin had decided to quit Horse Sense, he’d begun to put his plans for a new career in place, purchasing a gelding and five mares at an auction in Houston. He had needed someplace to put them, and that’s what had led him to Echo Springs.