Taking Charge (Lone Star Burn #4)
Ruth Cardello
Prologue
Gorgeous men don’t flock to a town like Mavis. They don’t even drive through. I would have showered today if I’d known one finally would.
Lucy held the door handle of her ranch home in one hand while she brought the other up to smooth her hair down. It sprang back defiantly, wildly. Probably because I didn’t shower yesterday, either. What day is today? Thursday? Monday? God, I’m a mess.
You’d think I’d be back to normal by now.
Does normal return?
Maybe not. It hasn’t for Steven.
Her brother, wherever he was hiding that day, was no longer the man he’d been before their father had passed. Like Lucy, he’d always dreamed of more than the ranch they’d been born on. Her parents had blamed the Internet and television for why both of their children had spent more time planning how to leave than learning the business side of ranching. They’d both left, too, as soon as they were old enough. Lucy had gone to college in New England while Steven went west to California. She’d chosen a business path, and he’d studied how to create video games.
Lucy and Steven used to joke that they’d both been switched at birth. That in some far-off city there were parents who couldn’t understand why their children dreamed of riding horses and raising cattle.
After their father died, Steven and Lucy, both worried about their mother, had come home, but Steven had been the one to take over running the family business. Lucy had done her best to help her mother through her grief, and, proud like their father, Steven hadn’t asked for help with the ranch.
She’d never forget the day he told her how behind he was in the mortgage payments. She’d seen how deeply his pain ran when he’d explained how leaving had been his first mistake—at least in the eyes of their parents—but thinking he could step into his father’s shoes had been his worst failure, according to the bank.
I shouldn’t have accepted it every time he told me things were fine. I had wanted it to be true, but I should have known better. No matter what he said, I shouldn’t have let him try to do everything himself.
Then he wouldn’t be off in some bar today drinking himself to death the way Mom did. And I wouldn’t be a shell of my old self, waiting for him to leave me as well.
Which brings me here, to answering the door of my home, unshowered and unable to remember how long it has even been since I bothered to.
The tall blond man standing in her doorway removed his Stetson and smiled at her kindly. He introduced himself, but Lucy didn’t focus on his words. His deep voice felt far away, as if she were watching herself meet him. A part of her appreciated the wide, muscular expanse of his shoulders and the strength he exuded. He looked like a man who was not only used to manual labor but also comfortable in his own skin. The flicks of excitement that tickled through her surprised her. She hadn’t felt anything but sadness and anger in so long, she’d forgotten what it was like to be excited about anything.
She clasped her hands together and watched the beautiful man continue to explain why he was there. Perhaps it was the number of nights she’d gone without sleep, but she fought back a punchy laugh. Her friends in Fort Mavis had sent this man, David Harmon, to help her save her ranch. Her old roommate from Rhode Island, Sarah Dery, was about to marry a local, world-famous horse trainer and was probably the happiest person in Texas. She also had a huge heart. It wasn’t a surprise that she’d go this far to help Lucy. How do I tell her that the ranch is fine now, but I’m falling apart?
Lucy was broken.
Defeated.
The only reason she still had her ranch was the kindness a neighbor, Ted York, had shown. He’d given her a substantial loan when the bank would have evicted them. Steven had wanted to refuse his money. He’d suggested they both walk away from the ranch. Lucy hadn’t been able to. Her promise to her mother was all she had left to hold on to, the last shred of anything that made sense.
She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, asking her where her manners were and suggesting she invite the man inside or at least offer him a lemonade. Her mother had considered herself a Southern lady. Lucy doubted she’d ever looked or smelled the way her daughter presently did.
“Lucy Albright?” David asked, as if he wasn’t sure.
She wished she could deny it. “Yes.”
“You look like you’re not feeling well. Do you need someone to run to the pharmacy for you?”
“No, I have medicine here.” Crap. I should have said yes. That would have given me time to shower. Lucy looked down at her cutoff jeans and ratty college T-shirt she’d thrown on, seeking comfort. Sick sounded better than the reality. She coughed into a fisted hand, then lied while looking directly into his eyes. “It’s probably best, though, that you don’t come in. I could still be contagious.” She tried unsuccessfully to once again tame a wild side of her hair.
My life is in shreds. Why do I care what he thinks?
Tired as it was, Lucy’s body knew why. It wasn’t simply that he was an attractive man; there was an instant sexual tension that invigorated her. She momentarily felt free from all that had happened until she caught a whiff of herself and reality slapped her in the face. “I could use ginger ale if you wouldn’t mind making a trip to town. It’s about fifteen minutes south of here.” Not that I will look much better, no matter how much soap I use.