Unmasking The Maverick. Teresa Southwick
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so soon.
* * *
Fiona waited for Mr. Fix-it on the front porch. The interior of the O’Reilly family’s rambling ranch house wasn’t big enough for her and the nerves jumping around inside her. She hadn’t expected to see him at all and definitely not this soon. It made her wonder if fate was taking a page from Luke Stockton’s matchmaking book or just having a laugh at her expense.
She saw a black F-150 truck turn off the main road and head toward the house. That was a cue for the nerves to stop the jumping jacks, pull together and form a knot in her stomach. Why was she being such a twit? He was just another guy and didn’t even want to be here. She’d practically twisted his arm and he was simply doing it as a favor because she’d played the “Dad asked me to call you” card. Paddy O’Reilly would survive if Brendan had said no. But Brendan didn’t know that and now she had to see him.
The truck stopped in front of her and she noticed his Texas license plate in a United States Marine Corps frame. Pulling her denim jacket tighter against the chilly north wind, she left the porch to meet him as he exited the truck. Then he grabbed a red toolbox from the rear bed.
“Hey, thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” Politely he touched the brim of his Stetson. “If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll take a look at the tractor.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee or anything? I’ve got an extra to-go mug. My father and brothers, Ronan and Keegan, use them all the time.” She was babbling and he was letting her. It wasn’t easy but she stopped talking.
“No coffee. Thanks anyway.”
“Okay. The tractor is parked in the shed down there next to the stable.”
“This is a nice spread,” he said as they walked. “I saw the sign as I drove in. Rusty Bucket Ranch. Interesting name.”
“Kind of whimsical but down to earth.” She smiled up at him. “My ancestors emigrated from Ireland. They made their living from the land and wanted to do that in America. So they came West and found this property. After buying it, as the tale goes, they had nothing left but a rusty bucket. The name stuck.”
“And they prospered.”
“Yeah. We have all this.” She gazed from the white, split rail corral fence and stable to the other ranch buildings and the barn her brothers had converted into their living space. “And a tractor that won’t start.”
“Let’s see what we can do to change that.” He followed her into the shed.
“You can set your toolbox on the worktable there.” She went to the other end and opened the doors to give him more light, then came back. Her breath caught when she saw that he’d removed his long-sleeved flannel shirt. The olive green T-shirt he wore under it was snug and fit him like a second skin that highlighted every luscious muscle.
She swallowed, then said, “So, here she is. Sorry about the tool explosion there. My dad left all his stuff out. He was going to take another look at it. Just between you, me and the goats, that would involve less looking and a lot more colorful language. When he’s working on this tractor, the words run more to the four-letter variety.”
While she nattered on, he’d opened the side panel to inspect the inside. Without looking up, he said, “What about you?”
“Oh, I’ve been known to swear, but only when necessary. And always in a ladylike way.” She heard him chuckle and that brought a smile to her face. Resting her back against the workbench, she settled in to keep him company. Hand him tools. Admire the way his back muscles moved and bunched under that snug shirt. Check out his world-class butt in the worn jeans. “And I guess I also have a way with words that are more than four letters.”
“How’s that?” He didn’t look up but kept poking around in the tractor engine.
“I write freelance articles about ranch life for farm and outdoor magazines.”
“What kind of articles?”
“A recent one was about recycling bent nails, rusty hinges and old bottles. A rancher’s motto is ‘Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.’”
“I know all about that,” he said wryly.
She remembered him saying he’d grown up making do. “I’m working on an article now about preparing for the winter. Cold weather in Montana isn’t for sissies.”
“I bet.”
“So, between my writing job and chores on the ranch, I keep pretty busy.”
“Sounds like it. A good life.”
“It is. I love what I do.”
“You’re lucky.”
She couldn’t see his expression but there was a wistful tone in his voice. Since he had his head buried in the engine, this might be a good time to ask some of the questions that had been rolling around in her mind when she couldn’t sleep last night.
She’d hoped he would open up a little while ago when she called, but he didn’t. Maybe he would now. What was the worst that could happen? He’d take his tools and go home? She was willing to risk it.
“So, dinner last night was awkward. Did you notice how we got paired off?”
“Yup.” He still didn’t look at her. “This morning when I was helping with chores, Luke asked what I thought about you.”
“No. Really? What did you say?” That was unexpected.
“I told him you make a mean macaroni.”
And? Her heart skipped a beat waiting for...what? Didn’t matter because he didn’t come through with more. “At least you didn’t say I was mean.”
“Actually, I said you seem nice.”
“I think I am. But Luke was probably just making polite conversation. Not necessarily matchmaking.”
“There’s more. He underlined the fact that you’re single and I’m single.”
“And?” she prompted.
“And I asked him why you’re still single.”
“What did he say?”
“That I should ask you. So, why are you still single?”
“Because I’m not married,” she said.
“Smart-ass. So why aren’t you married?”
If that question had come up at dinner last night she would have been angry and defensive. With so many people watching her reaction, it would have felt too much like the public way she’d found out the man she’d expected a proposal from had cheated on her and gotten a girl pregnant. But now they were alone, and Brendan wasn’t even looking at her, so it felt like the solitude of the confessional.
“So many reasons for being single,” she started. “I’m too old—pushing thirty, a spinster by Old West standards. Not thin enough. Men seem to like stick women who have to run around in the shower to get wet. On top of that there are no men here in Rust Creek Falls—”
“Don’t look now but—” Without turning he lifted a greasy hand. “Man. Says so right on my driver’s license.”
“Okay. That last one deserves some context. I grew up in Rust Creek Falls. Spent my whole life here and most of the guys have, too. They’re friends of Ronan and Keegan and, by extension, like my brothers. So...ew. It’s too weird. That makes meeting men a challenge.”
“Okay. I respect your honesty.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Luke was just doing his part, then.”
“Exactly.” She beamed at him. “Look at you paying attention and participating in the conversation.”
“I’ve been