Home On The Ranch. Trish Milburn
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She knew approximately where the ranch was, but she wasn’t certain where the driveway sat. As she navigated a slight curve, she caught sight of the correct mailbox. The 5 at the end of the address had slipped and was hanging at an angle. Ella turned left onto the dirt and pea gravel drive that led out through scrub vegetation and a few cacti, then a line of live oak trees, their sprawling branches reminding her of octopuses.
After about half a mile, the vegetation gave way to an open area with an older house, barn, scattered outbuildings and rolling pastureland beyond. The spot felt cozy, cut off from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world. Not that Blue Falls was a metropolis, but what she could see of the Bryant ranch seemed homey and probably filled with family history, even if perhaps it needed a little cosmetic TLC. Mr. Bryant had been in his seventies, a widower and not in good health. So it wasn’t surprising that the place looked a little run-down.
She parked next to a shiny black sedan that looked out of place in the rural setting. As she slipped from the driver’s seat, she spotted someone approaching from the house. Ella rounded the front of the truck but dang near tripped over her own feet when she looked up and saw the guy she assumed was Austin. In one glance, she noted his almond brown hair, striking blue eyes and a chiseled jaw that would be right at home on a cowboy in an old Western. She’d bet a considerable stack of cash that if she wiped the edges of her mouth, she’d find spontaneous drool.
“Miss Garcia?”
She continued to stare until her mind smacked the inside of her skull and said, Say something, you goob!
“Uh, yes.” She extended her hand and he shook hers once before pulling back. It was over so quickly that she wanted to whimper. She’d gotten the fleeting notion that his hand was strong and warm. “I’m sorry about Mr. Bryant’s passing. You’re a relative?”
“He was my grandfather.” He motioned for her to follow him toward the house.
Okay, so not a small talk kind of guy. Of course, his mind was probably still occupied by grief at the loss of his grandfather. As she followed him, she had to force herself not to admire the breadth of his shoulders beneath his gray T-shirt.
Austin paused on the porch and shifted his beautiful blue gaze back to her. “I don’t know if you know this, but my grandparents were hoarders. When I said there was a lot of junk, it wasn’t an exaggeration.”
Hoarders? Eek, what had she walked into? She had visions of mile-high refuse and a stench that would fell a skunk.
But when she followed him inside, she wasn’t knocked over by the odor. It was a bit musty with a layer of that old-people smell they couldn’t help, but considering how much stuff was just in the living room her nose was getting off easy.
She scanned the room, already picking out a few items that could be repurposed into eye-catching modern decor. So many people looked at a dated item and thought it had outlived its usefulness. She laid eyes on something such as the old cabinet-style TV and saw the cute shelving unit it could become with a little time, effort and paint.
“You can walk through the house if you like,” Austin said. “But if you already know you’re not interested, I understand.”
She looked at him and would swear he’d stiffened up. The tension was radiating off him like heat rising off a long stretch of Texas highway in July. He did not want to be here. Whether it was because of memories or the monumental task of cleaning out his grandparents’ things, she couldn’t tell.
“I’ll look around.” As she walked from the living area into the kitchen, she tried not to let her excitement start galloping like a runaway horse. But it was difficult considering the wealth of tins, crockery, utensils and even an old percolator-style coffeepot on the stove.
As she moved from one room to another, Austin didn’t leave the living room. It was as if he didn’t want to be out of view of the front door. She didn’t dawdle, but she took enough time to get some idea of what was available before returning to where Austin waited, definitely closer to the open door than when she’d left him.
“So how much to haul this away and how long will it take?” he asked.
Her gaze landed on several mason jars full of buttons behind him but she forced herself to focus on Austin, even if he did make her heart beat faster than normal.
“How much are you keeping?” she asked.
“None of it.” He glanced around as the space between his dark eyebrows scrunched, as if he were perplexed why she would ask that question.
He wasn’t the only one with questions. Had he already retrieved any mementos or heirlooms he wanted to keep? Or did he truly not want anything? She had never encountered a haul this large, and she worried about how she would manage to get it all out in a timely fashion and still meet her other obligations. But she’d have to because she was standing in the midst of a treasure trove of possible income.
Considering the situation, she reined in her giddiness. “I’ll haul it away for free, but it’ll take me several days since I’m a one-woman operation.”
Austin’s confusion deepened as he shifted his attention back to her. Damn, that man’s eyes were enough to turn a woman’s insides to puddles of undiluted desire.
“How can you make a living hauling trash for free?”
“It’s not trash.” She gestured to their surroundings. “I can make a lot of really wonderful home decor items from all this. Upcycling and repurposing are very popular right now, and a good way to keep items that still have use from ending up in landfills.”
He shook his head. “If you say so. I just want it gone as quickly as possible.”
She couldn’t imagine throwing away a legacy as he seemed determined to do. She’d moved around so often as a kid that her belongings had necessarily been kept to a minimum. The only things she had left of her father were a quilt she’d made from his shirts and a small album of photos. Her mom, in grief at his loss, had given everything else away, as if doing so would ease her pain.
Was that what Austin was doing?
“Would you like me to start today?”
“If you can. But you might want to see the rest of it before you start.”
“The rest?”
He motioned for her to follow him outside. This time, not only did she have to avert her eyes from his shoulders but also how nice his long legs looked in his jeans. Honestly, why couldn’t it have been a frumpy niece who’d called her out here?
Austin headed toward the barn, not slowing his stride to accommodate her shorter legs. This dude was in a hurry, and she wondered if he would give her enough time to go through his grandparents’ belongings. Would she have to haul it all away and sift through it later? As she walked, she tried calculating the number of trips that would take, how many hours of work.
When Austin opened the barn door, her preliminary calculations got blasted to smithereens.
He must have seen the surprised look on her face. “I told you it was a lot.”
“You weren’t kidding.”
“And there’s more in the two small outbuildings out back.”
Holy macaroni. She strode into the barn, glancing from side to side. Though it wasn’t as packed as the house, there was indeed a lot of extra stuff lining the alleyway down the middle of the barn and occupying the stalls that didn’t hold the one chestnut-colored horse in residence.
“So people really buy stuff made from junk?”
The way he said “junk” rubbed her the wrong way, as if what she put her heart and soul into was foolish and the people who bought it even more so. But she held her tongue. She wasn’t going to let momentary annoyance prevent her from scoring enough raw materials to keep her hands and imagination busy for months. And with plans in the works for a new arts and crafts trail to lead tourists to the shops of local