The Magnificent Seven

He located the tractor, an amazingly well-kept old Alice Chalmers that would probably bring a small fortune at an antique auction, checked it for gas, and lifted a tow chain down from the wall.

He drove the smooth-running tractor to the pond and waded out to the Silverado, lamenting his beautiful cab filled with scummy water. Noting that the gearshift was in Neutral, he made his way back to dry ground.

Hooking the chain to the truck axle, he climbed onto the seat and slowly eased the tractor forward, pulling the truck out. Murky green water streamed all the way up the incline. He stopped the tractor in the gravel parking area and got down to secure the pickup. Water dripped from beneath the hood and from the bottoms of the doors. A long crease marred the front fender where it had scraped along the fence post. He’d sure been fond of this truck.

He opened the driver’s door and a gush of water hit his already soaked boots. He glanced around and found the girls sitting on the porch with the Johnsons, the entire group watching the proceedings with apprehensive interest.

He placed the gearshift in Park and opened the other door, though not hopeful of the interior drying out anytime soon. At least Taylor and Ashley were all right. That was what was important, he told himself, gritting his teeth. It was, after all, just a truck. A very expensive truck.

Heather Johnson and the children walked toward him. She’d picked up her youngest and carried him on her hip. Her eyes held a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, and for some reason he didn’t care for the fact that she was a little bit afraid of him.

“You gonna keep that turtle, mister?” The oldest child questioned him with wide hazel eyes, eyes very different from her mother’s.

Mitch followed her gaze and discovered the turtle that had been swept out of his cab on that last rush of pond water. The creature had poked head and feet out of its shell and was lumbering slowly toward the grass. “No.”

“Hey, look, Mama!” she said, hurrying over to kneel near the animal, who stopped and tucked its head into the shell. “You won’t have to find us a turtle now! The man caught us this one. Thanks!”

The rest of the kids gathered around the turtle and touched its shell.

“No problem.” He raised his gaze to the woman’s and found her studying him with those golden-brown eyes that still revealed a hint of mistrust. “Sorry about our interview. And about—” he glanced around and felt tingling heat climb into his cheeks “—this. I’ll fix your corral right away.”

“How long do you suppose it will take for your truck to dry out?” she asked.

No doubt she wondered how soon she could be rid of him. He didn’t blame her. “At least a day—just to see if it will start.”

The seats and carpet would never look—or smell—the same. Wondering if his insurance would cover this, his shook his head.

“I’ll give you a ride back to Whitehorn,” she offered, at once very businesslike.

“I don’t want to get your car wet or dirty,” he said, gesturing at his soaked jeans and boots.

“I’m sure I can find you something of my father’s to wear home.” Apparently his actions had satisfied her fears, and he appreciated her consideration.

“I’m hungry,” Taylor said.

His anger simmered anew at her words. She hadn’t eaten three bites of her meal at the café. “You can wait.”

“No, I can’t. I’m starving!”

Embarrassed, he moved toward her.

“Why don’t I fix everyone a snack while you’re changing?” Heather’s no-nonsense voice stopped him. He glanced over and found those disturbing eyes on him. “You can shower if you’d like. The upstairs bathroom has ancient plumbing and one of those old cast-iron tubs, but it gets the job done.”

He took a calming breath. His jeans were cold and clammy and getting out of them sounded too good to pass up. “She probably won’t eat anything. They’re both picky eaters.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can’t find them something.” She ushered the throng toward the house, brought Mitch clothes and a towel, and directed him to the upstairs bathroom. He couldn’t help watching her walk away, her denim shorts a mere teasing cover-up for a softly rounded backside. Once she’d disappeared down the hallway, he discovered a pair of faded boxers tucked between the folded jeans and shirt.

She’d been right. The fixtures were old and the room outdated, but it was an enormous space, with a window overlooking open pastureland. He imagined the room with a Jacuzzi tub and a skylight. What he’d seen of the house so far was sound and spacious, merely sadly outdated. It would make a good family home for a relatively small investment.

Showering in the old tub, he found himself wondering how much land went with the house. Garrett wanted to give him a section of the Kincaid ranch, but right now the details were hung up in court. If Mitch had the money and the inclination to stay in Montana, this would be a good spread to look into.

Heather’s father had been as tall as Mitch, but wider, so the jeans hung precariously on his hips. He wrapped his wet clothing in the towel he’d used and carried them down to the kitchen.

“I’ll wash those and you can get them when you come back for your truck,” Heather said, reaching for the bundle.

“No, you don’t—”

“Don’t argue,” she insisted. “A few more things won’t make a dent in the amount of laundry I do.”

“Well, thank you.” He released the bundle, but not his grip on his waistband.

“Here.” She fished in a drawer and came up with a length of twine.

Mitch thanked her and tied the cord through the belt loops, then glanced toward the kids.

Taylor and Ashley sat at the round oak table with her children, nearly empty plates in front of them.

“We never got around to proper introductions,” Heather said. “This is my daughter, Jessica, and these are my sons, Patrick and Andrew. Children, this is Mr. Fielding.”

“Mitch, please,” he corrected, appreciating her cordiality. She had every right to think him the biggest loser in history. Times like this, he would agree. “And you met Taylor and Ashley.”

Heather nodded.

Had she ever. “They ate something?”

“Just a small snack. Grapes and raisins and a few cubes of cheese with crackers, nothing to spoil their dinner.”

Spoil their dinner? As if! He marveled at the concept of them eating the nourishing fare she’d provided. The food she described was more than they ever ate for dinner! How had she done it? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to appear even more incapable in her eyes.

“Children, wash your hands and use the bathroom. I’m going to get the Blazer.” She opened a cupboard and took out a small purse.

Her children obediently carried their plates to the counter and washed their hands at the sink. Jessica pulled out a chair and helped Andrew. Mitch watched in awe.

The twins miraculously fell in behind and washed their hands without a complaint, then took their turns in the bathroom. They were still in shock over the truck incident, waiting to see what horrible punishment was going to befall them, otherwise they’d have been their usual contrary selves.

He would enjoy this compliance while it lasted, he decided, and followed the children out to the Blazer Heather had pulled up to the back porch. She got out and locked up the house, checked all the riders for seat belts, then returned to the driver’s seat. Her delicate scent, something fresh and feminine, drifted toward him, and once again those disturbing eyes touched his face. This time her gaze was like a breezy caress that fingered across his brow, along his jaw.

His imagination had gone into overdrive. He looked away, and she changed gears.

“I appreciate this,” Mitch said, though she really hadn’t had much choice once he’d been stranded in her backyard. Get them to town or have them on her steps, he guessed.

She drove toward the county road.

“About the job…” he dared.

“I don’t think that’s going to work out,” she replied, firmly crushing any scrawny hope he’d held.

“I had a great idea for that upstairs bath,” he said, anyway. “Of course you need one downstairs, too.” He explained his concept of the bath he’d envisioned. “If you change your mind, I’ll be glad to work out the details with you. Like I said, I can delay payment, and I know I could keep costs down.”

“Thanks,” she said, not giving him any encouragement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Where am I taking you, anyway?”

“The Kincaid ranch,” he replied. “Know where it is?”

“You’ll have to point the way.”

He nodded. “I suppose you’ve heard all about the grandson roundup.”

“No.”

“Garrett Kincaid is my grandfather.” He studied her profile, then let his attention drift to those shapely legs.

She glanced over and caught him looking. King of Cool here, he scoffed at himself. “I’ve only been here two and a half weeks. I live in San Francisco. I don’t plan on sticking around, and I don’t really know anyone in town anymore.”

He’d grown used to everyone knowing his business, so the fact that she hadn’t heard all the local gossip was refreshing. For some weird reason, he found himself wanting to tell her his side of the story. “My mother is from here,” he explained. “I grew up thinking I had no family on my father’s side. Hearing from Garrett last year was a surprise. My biological father was Garrett’s son, Larry. When he died, he left quite a few descendents—to my grandfather’s surprise. Seven of us, to be exact.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right.” He kept his voice low. “He was married when he had an affair with the nanny—my mother. Apparently Larry gave her money for an abortion, but she kept it and moved to Minnesota. She told me she sent him a photo and a letter after I was born, but he never responded, so she went on with her life. Married my stepdad, had more kids.”

“You don’t sound upset or bitter.”

“People do what they have to do. My mom did the best she knew how. My grandfather never knew about me—about any of Larry’s illegitimate children—but once he found out, he did what he thought was right. Well, six of us, anyway. He’s still looking for the seventh. He got us all together and is working to give us each a piece of Kincaid land.”

“He sounds like a nice man.”

“He is.”

“And Larry?” She cast Mitch a inquisitive glance.

“What about him?”

“How do you feel about him?”

A personal question. One he hadn’t anticipated from her, but he didn’t mind. Her curiosity hinted that she may think a little more kindly of him than he’d worried. “I don’t really know how to feel. He never wanted to be a part of my life, and I’ve had a fine life without him.”

Heather turned onto the long strip of road that led across the Kincaid ranch to the house. “This it?”

“This is it.”

“Is there a Mr. Johnson?” Mitch asked. He’d told her quite a bit about himself, but knew nothing about her.

She cast him a quick, unrevealing glance before returning her attention to the road. “There is, but we’re divorced.”

“Oh.”

A minute later, a quiet, “You, too?”

“No. My wife died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He gazed at the house that came into view ahead. “Me, too.”

“Recently?” she asked.

He turned to look at her. “Four years ago. She had a blood disease.”

Her eyes held compassion when she took them from the road for a moment. “So you’ve been raising Taylor and Ashley by yourself?”

“My mother and my wife’s mother kept them, and we tried a few day cares. Nothing worked out. They’re, uh, a handful.”

“Most kids are.”

She didn’t have a clue. He’d seen how well behaved hers were. Sometimes he felt like a total failure at parenting. Heck, most times he was a total failure at parenting.

Well, being raised by grandmothers would explain some of the twins’s spoiled behavior, Heather thought. But she’d never seen anything like their kicking and screaming histrionics, and she knew she wouldn’t have put up with it for five minutes.

She pulled the Blazer up the winding drive, past detached garages, and stopped in front of the house. A tall, dark-haired young man with dark eyes and olive skin approached the vehicle, a smile on his handsome face. “Hey, bro! Where’s your truck?”

“Hey, Cade. It’s at Ms. Johnson’s place, drying out.”

Cade lowered his head to peer into the vehicle. “Ms. Johnson?”

“From Pete Bolton’s ranch,” she clarified.

“This is my half brother, Cade Redstone. Cade, this is Heather Johnson.”

Cade stretched a tanned arm in front of Mitch, and Heather shook his hand. “What’s this about drying out your truck?”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Mitch said.

“Uh-oh. Has the dynamic duo been at it again?”

“Big-time.” Mitch got out and opened the back door to help unbuckle his daughters. They ran off toward the house.

“Thanks again,” Mitch said, ducking in the passenger window. “I’ll be out tomorrow to fix that fence. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

His directly appreciative gaze caught Heather up short. She wasn’t in the market for anything other than a remodeling job, and he didn’t even fit those qualifications. She shrugged. “No rush. The horses were boarded at a neighbor’s before I arrived.”

“You know where I am if you change your mind about the project.”

She nodded noncommittally. Besides how disturbed she felt in his presence, his children were more trouble than she needed. “Goodbye.”

He moved away and she steered the Blazer back toward the highway. She’d been thinking about considering his offer when they’d heard the commotion from outside. Thank goodness she hadn’t made a quick decision based on her instantaneous reaction to his appearance. She didn’t trust a man who couldn’t handle two small children to manage a remodeling project.

Somebody else was sure to call about the job.

Three

N o one else called about the job. Heather had tried every number in Whitehorn’s leaflet that someone had amusingly labeled a phone directory, without finding anyone willing to take on the repair work. One local company offered to place her on their waiting list, but wouldn’t promise anything until November.

She couldn’t wait that long. She couldn’t wait any longer. Once she even found a contractor, the work would take weeks. Her vacation was over and she had been forced to ask for a leave of absence until matters were settled. Her boss had pressed her for a return date, but she’d been unable to provide him with one. She had to get things moving quickly or she worried her job would be in jeopardy.

The children had been in bed for more than an hour, the laundry was done, and Heather made herself a cup of tea and carried it out to the porch. She went back in for a sweatshirt before snuggling down in the comfortable rattan rocker that creaked beneath her weight.

The clatter of the frogs sounded more like locusts than the deep-throated croak one expected. At the sound, long-buried memories edged to the surface of her mind and she recalled the summer evenings of her childhood. She’d been alone. Always alone. After her mother’s death, her father had retreated into a bottle and turned her care over to his dominating housekeeper.

Heather had despised the woman and at every opportunity had hidden herself away to avoid her. Coming back to the ranch after so many years raised memories better left forgotten. With strict discipline, she locked away those unpleasant thoughts.

Her husband had never been much of a father. He’d paid minimal attention to Patrick at first, since he’d been the first boy, but the novelty had soon worn off. Craig had made money. That had been his forte. But he’d believed Heather should be making money, too. They couldn’t afford the life-style and the house and the status he thought they needed on one salary.

And Heather had never minded working, since her job gave her the satisfaction and self-worth she’d never received at home. Sometimes she’d had misgivings about the time away from her family, about the firsts she had missed, and the opportunities that slipped by, but it was just the way things were for everyone these days.

Her boss had called tonight, conferring with her on a project due in another month. His reliance on her expertise assured her of her value in the company. They were impatient for her to settle this situation. Everyone had family matters arise from time to time; however, companies were understanding only to a point.

Unfortunately, Mitch Fielding’s offer was the only option she had at this time. That or selling the ranch off in its present condition and losing a heck of a profit. Heaven knew she could use the money from the sale of the ranch to make life easier. Craig paid child support, but her apartment cost a small fortune and there were always unforeseen expenses with a family.

Their house hadn’t been paid for, so she’d let him take over the payments. He’d married again within a year.

Not her. She got by just fine without someone to stifle and criticize her every move, thank you very much. She almost felt sorry for Craig’s new wife, who obviously hadn’t known the oppression she was bowing under when she’d spoken those vows.

No, this was the life for her. She tucked her feet under her and sipped her tea. And as soon as she got back to San Francisco, everything would be back to normal—better than normal actually.

How long could the remodeling take, anyway? Could Mitch hurry along contractors? She would have to make it clear that expediency was part of the deal. No waiting around for weeks and weeks to get things done. She planned the tactics in her head—how she would make the arrangement, how long she would give him, and how soon the work would be under way.

And as for his children—what were two more little girls?

Mitch had been replacing wires and checking belts under the hood of his truck for about an hour when the pewter-colored Blazer pulled up into the graveled area. Heather got out, sent Jessica and Patrick into the house, and came over to talk to him, carrying her youngest. Mitch couldn’t help noticing the young mother’s shapely legs revealed by a pair of cuffed white shorts. His gaze skimmed up the length of those slender legs to her slim waist.

“Get it running?” she asked. Her shoulder-length honey-brown hair glistened with streaks of blond in the sunlight. She wore a sleeveless sweater with a row of tiny buttons that drew his attention to nicely rounded breasts beneath the fabric. The soft shade of blue made her golden eyes sparkle once she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. The baby’s hand rested on the swell of one breast and Mitch’s throat got so dry, he had to look away.

He wiped his hands on a rag. “Pretty rough, but it’s running. I figured I’d have it towed to get it out of your yard, if it didn’t start.”

“It’s not bothering anything,” she replied. She glanced around the yard. “You fixed the corral.”

“First thing.”

Her unreadable gaze fluttered to the barn and back. “Mitch.”

His name from her lips pleased him in some unexplainable way. He liked the sound. “Yeah.”

“Your suggestions were better than any of the other candidates’s. I’ve decided to negotiate with you on the remodeling project. There are a few things we need to get straight first, and I have a list of questions.”

“My time is your time,” he said amenably.

“Have you had lunch?”

“Not yet.”

“Please join us. After we eat, we’ll sit on the porch, such as it is, and talk business.”

He gave a nod. “All right.”

“Where are your daughters?”

“Cade agreed to look after them. He’s a newlywed and his wife Leanne teased that he could use the practice.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“Very. I’m glad we got together. With my other half brothers, too. It’s been an interesting experience. Whether or not I get any land isn’t really important. Discovering I have family is.”

She tucked a length of hair behind her ear and looked away, as if the personal subject made her uncomfortable. She adjusted Andrew on her hip and the boy’s hand dropped from her breast. Mitch made himself look at her eyes. Equally as disturbing.

“About twenty-five minutes, then?” she asked.

He refocused on their conversation. “I’ll be there.”

Almost an hour later she carried two frosted glasses of iced tea out to the porch and they settled on the weathered furniture. She crossed her smooth, distracting legs. She had to know what a distraction that was, but she seemed to not notice his perusal. Her toes peeked from her sandals, revealing delicate nails painted a pale pink.

Mitch purposely studied one of the barn cats that lay in a sliver of sunlight. The feline gave him a disinterested blink and flicked his tail against the porch floor in a rhythmic beat.

“First, it’s important that you know I’m under time pressure to get this done and get back home,” Heather told Mitch.

“I understand.” He’d never met anyone who wasn’t in a hurry to get a construction project finished. “There’s quite a bit I can do on my own,” he said. “But the more help I can hire, the faster it’ll go. But since money is tight, we can’t bring in too many workers.”

“How many will speed things up?”

“Even two or three would help a lot.”

“Can I afford them?”

“I’ll contract them. That way they’ll be getting paid as the work progresses, even though I won’t get paid until the sale goes through. How’s that?”

She looked surprised. “That’s more than I expected. You wouldn’t survive a week in San Francisco, doing business this way.”

“You can get ripped off by paying for services ahead of the finished work,” he replied, thinking she was biting the hand that fed her if that had been criticism.

“Noted,” she said with a nod.

“Let’s decide how extensive you want this renovation, and make a budget.”

Again she looked surprised, as though she hadn’t expected him to be this professional. After seeing his ineptitude with his kids, her surprise might be justified, he thought wryly.

She walked him through the house, and he took notes and made lists on the tablet in his black folder. He asked her questions and made suggestions until their ideas for the project were compatible.

They entered the wood-floored living room where the kids were sprawled on sleeping bags, watching a cartoon.

“Do you have a computer?” he asked.

She nodded. “I brought it with me so I could work.”

“Good. I have a program for designing kitchens and baths that you can play with. You give it the specs, lay out the requirements, and it designs the blueprints. Saves a lot of money and the plans are easy to work from. I’ve used it dozens of times. Let’s go outside.”

She nodded and they walked out to survey the house and outbuildings together.

“The house is good and solid, and the land is valuable. Your father had a nice operation going here at one time. I would think it would be hard to sell and leave it all to strangers.”

She glanced at the cloudless blue sky, then down the length of the drive. “I have a good job waiting for me.”

Not an explanation. Not a word about any sentimental ties or feelings of regret at selling. Nothing personal at all. He’d been neatly kept at a distance. Her impersonal treatment shouldn’t have bothered him; he was a professional. But it did. For some reason what she thought of him mattered. And she obviously didn’t think him worthy of her thoughts or feelings.

He took her cue and stayed on the subject of the work. Another hour later he climbed into his truck, praying it would start again, and gave her a salute when the engine turned over and he drove off.

Beneath the plastic sheeting the seat was wet, and the once-blue carpeting was green and slimy. The whole cab smelled like skunky water. He’d called around and found a place willing to clean the interior, but it wasn’t going to be cheap. There was still the matter of the creased fender, too.