The Way to a Cowboy's Heart. Teresa Southwick
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mine the only one you received?”
He shook his head. “Got about six or seven.”
“If you didn’t read mine, how did you pick me?”
“Yours was on top.”
“Would I be wrong to assume that you didn’t check out my references either?”
“No.”
“If I were a cowboy, would you have done some checking on my background?”
“Yes, but—”
She shook her head. This was no way to run a youth program. Cavalier and slipshod at best. “We’re talking about children, not horses. This is irresponsible—”
“So I’ve been told,” he said, bitterness twisting his words.
“I can’t believe someone entrusted you with this program.”
“Me either. But someone did.”
“Who?”
“My father. It was his idea.”
“And he passed away before he could get it running,” she guessed. “I’m sorry for your loss, Cade. But this could be a dynamite thing you’re doing. Channeling your energy into children will help you get over your grief—”
“That’s what you think this is about?” he asked.
“Isn’t it?”
“No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I hardly knew him. We hadn’t spoken since I left home at eighteen. When he found out he was dying he sent for me. He ordered me to finish what he’d started.”
“Ordered? You didn’t want to?”
“Nope.”
“Then why are you?”
“If I don’t, I lose the ranch.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If I don’t see this program through the summer, the ranch will be sold and the money donated to his favorite charity.” Cade watched her big brown eyes grow wider.
“You must have misunderstood—”
“His will was so clear I didn’t even need the lawyer to translate.” He shoved his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans. “He had already picked three kids from a local probation program. By the end of the summer, they’ll go back where they came from and the ranch will be mine, free and clear. I just have to get through the next couple months.”
Cade waited for her disapproving look. He wasn’t disappointed. Her full lips tightened. Lifting his gaze slightly, he saw her nose wrinkle, drawing his attention to how freckle-splashed and turned-up-cute it was. A pale yellow cotton blouse tucked into her jeans showed off her slender curves. Shoulder-length brown hair curled in layers around her pretty face. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but clean-cut and appealing. Not his normal type, although under different circumstances he might have been tempted to put moves on her. But she had a kid. That was strike one. Strike two: he had a bad feeling P. J. Kirkland was a do-gooder who would give him what-for about his attitude.
When she took a deep breath, he braced himself. Sometimes he hated it when he was right.
“Get through?” she said, clearly offended. “That’s not good enough. These are children. They’re at risk. You have a unique opportunity. This is a chance to make a difference in their lives. And you just want to ‘get through’?”
“That’s about the size of it.” He didn’t care whether or not she approved. He just needed her until the end of August. “So you still want the job, or do I need to call the second résumé in the stack?”
She blinked. “You’re hiring me?”
The sound of footsteps kept her from saying more, and they both turned to see Emily coming toward them. The child stopped beside her and looked from PJ. to him. “Mister, if you have a broom, I’ll sweep up the glass. Mom always makes me clean up my messes.”
“I have a broom. You can sweep it into a pile, but don’t pick it up. I’ll do that so you don’t cut yourself.”
She glanced at her mother. “Is that okay, Mom?”
“It’s fine,” PJ. said.
“Good,” he answered pointing. “The kitchen is that way. Follow me.”
He started toward the back of the house when the little girl slipped her small hand into his. It was amazingly small, and wet from a recent washing. Surprised, he looked down at her and she smiled. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked to make sure PJ. was following.
“I’ve never seen a cowboy before,” she confided.
“I’ve never seen a little girl before.”
She stared up at him, doubt written all over her small oval face. “You’re fibbing, mister.”
“Call me Cade. And I’m not exactly fibbing. I’ve never been this close to a little girl.” The thought bothered him a little. He wondered what else he’d missed out on because of his wandering life-style.
“Really?”
“Cross my heart,” he said.
“Did you hear that, Mom?”
“I did, sweetie. Cade hasn’t been around boys either, he says.”
“Is that why you need my mommy to help you?”
Helping him made it sound more intimate than it was. Bottom line: he was the boss; she was the cook. He glanced at the woman on the other side of the little girl. “Yes.”
“At least you know when you’re in over your head,” P.J. said.
“Does that mean you’ll stay for the summer?” He hoped the answer was yes. It would be convenient if he didn’t have to find someone else on such short notice.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“How’s that?”
She sighed. “I need the work.”
Bright-eyed with excitement, Emily tipped her head back and looked from him to her mother. “So we don’t have to go?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I think we have a duty to stay.” PJ. shot him a meaningful glance. “We have to help him get to know kids.”
Emily frowned. “I don’t know how. Travis Wilkins always pulls my hair. I ask him nicely to stop, but he won’t. How can I help Mister Cade?”
“By doing what you’re told,” P.J. said.
The child nodded. “I can do that.”
Cade shook his head, mystified. As easy as that she would behave, he thought. But his cynicism quickly returned. Emily was young yet. Give her time. Rebellion would set in and he’d like to be around to see Ms. Cool, Unruffled, Idealistic P. J. Kirkland deal with that. If Emily was half as much trouble as he’d been, he figured her pretty mother would have her hands full.
They entered the kitchen and he watched P.J. look around what would be her territory for the next three months. The approving light in her chocolate-brown eyes told him the spacious ceramic tile countertops and center island work area appealed to her. The side-by-side refrigerator would hold plenty of food for the three boys who would be boarding for the summer. The only thing he knew about young boys was how much they could eat—that he remembered. At the far end of the room, sitting on the oak-plank floor, was a table with eight chairs. That should give them enough space for eating.
He reached into the closet beside the pantry and pulled out the broom, handing it to Emily. “This is pretty big. Can you carry it?”
“Yes, sir.” She tilted her head back