Wild Cowboy Ways (Lucky Penny Ranch #1)(9)

“You cussed! Not very fitting for the future wife of a preacher. Mama, did you hear that?”

Katy gave her daughter a hard stare and sighed. “Really? What are you girls, five years old again?”

Lizzy shrugged. “Quit trying to change the subject and just answer my question. Is he sexy?”

Allie took a step closer to her sister. “You answer mine first. Why should he come to church?”

“Because that’s the first thing a respectable person should do when he moves to a new town. For all we know he’s going to run a brothel over there,” Lizzy answered.

Laughter exploded out of Allie. It bounced off the walls and echoed all the way through the two-story house. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black for sure. And darlin’, he is so damn sexy that my underpants crawled all the way to my ankles.”

Lizzy pulled out a chair and loaded her plate with pancakes. “Mama, she’s takin’ up for him and talkin’ dirty, too.”

“Don’t you worry none about Allie,” Katy said. “She’s learned her lesson.”

Lizzy smiled smugly. “At least I’ve got more sense than that. My Mitch is a man of God.”

“Well, bless your little heart,” Allie smarted off. “I’m happy for you, but even men of God have faults.”

“Not my Mitch,” Lizzy declared.

Irene poked her head around the corner and giggled. “I’ve been eavesdropping for a long time. In my opinion, it’s a bad idea for Allie to go to the Lucky Penny. That man is plumb deadly to women, and she can’t afford another broken heart. And, Lizzy, crawl down off that high horse. The Good Book is full of men who couldn’t keep it in their pants. Even David, the man after God’s own heart, had a problem along those lines.” She crossed the room and pulled out the fourth chair. “Pancakes. I do love pancakes.”





Chapter Four



Blake’s and Shooter’s breathing fogged up the cab window of the bulldozer that morning before the heater finally kicked in. The machinery was far from new and the heater worked sporadically, running a while and then shutting down until it was damn good and ready to start up again.

Shooter sat straight and tall in the passenger’s seat and listened to the music coming from the radio. At least the speakers worked better than the heater.

Blake hummed along to a Josh Turner song.

Shooter kept his eyes straight ahead, watching every mesquite tree that the dozer blade ripped out of the cold ground by the roots.

“You lookin’ for rabbits or squirrels to come out from those thickets?”

Shooter’s ears shot straight up.

Blake’s phone vibrated against his chest and he unzipped his coveralls enough to reach inside and fetch it. He glanced down and took a deep breath. This was it. Either Allie was calling to tell him that Logan Construction was taking the job or else he would have to learn how to shingle a roof.

He touched the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hello.”

“Mr. Dawson, this is Allie Logan. We have decided that we can fix your roof. We’re going for supplies this morning after we run by and measure it. And we will probably start removing the old shingles this afternoon. Do you have a preference of shingle color? White is what you’ve got on there, but before we agree on a price, you have to understand that if I’m needed at home to take care of my grandmother, then I’ll have to work around that.”

“Whew! Slow down, Miz Logan! That pretty little mouth of yours was made for something other than talking too fast.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me. Do you still want me to fix that roof?”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “And I was stating a fact, not flattering you. Your lips are perfect and made for kissing.”

“I want to get supplies today and get to work so it can be done by the time the bad weather rolls in that the weatherman is calling for.”

He chuckled. “Thank you for that.”

“Now, shingles or metal roof?”

“Which is cheaper? I’m on a budget.” She was a tough nut to crack for sure. Usually those lines had a woman in his pocket for at least a night and maybe a whole weekend.

“Shingles.” One word. Her tone said business.

“Then that’s the route to take and I’m not particular about color. What would you suggest?” Blake asked.

“Are you going to repaint the outside in the spring when it’s warm enough?” she asked.

“Of course. The way the paint is peeling, it’s a wonder some of the boards aren’t rotted out,” Blake answered. “Thank goodness the lower half of the place is fieldstone.”

“What color?” Allie asked.

“The color of your eyes when the sun makes them sparkle.”

“Get serious, Blake Dawson!”

“Okay then. Light gray with white porch railings and trim work.” He wasn’t sure where the idea came from, maybe from that big two-story house painted gray with white trim he noticed as he drove through Throckmorton on his way to Dry Creek. “How do you see it?”

“That would be beautiful. How about a charcoal gray roof?” Allie asked.

Blake turned down the volume on the radio. “Sounds good to me.”