The Sheriff's Mail-Order Bride (The Watson Brothers #2)
Ann B. Harrison
Chapter One
“You could do a lot worse, you know.”
Rory Watson listened to his brother speaking, doubt in his mind as he stood at the fence looking at the shambles that remained of an old ranch cottage. He wondered if Chance had taken more of a knock to the head than they’d thought when Terror the bull charged him a few months ago and left him in the hospital with swelling of the brain.
“It’s got great bones and I’d have to call that character, the way it’s looking.” Chance pointed at the front awning and the elegant lean it had over the doorway, shading the rotting boards on the porch. “Seriously, it would clean up real good. There’s plenty of land so you’ll never feel hemmed in. The house is big enough for you and your lady if you get hitched again. And if you want a whole tribe of kids, you can add on.”
“You make it sound so easy.” The renovation would no doubt be the easiest part. He wasn’t about to tell his brother that and start yet another long drawn out conversation around his deceased wife and lonely existence, his self-inflicted punishment for being the one left alive. And certainly not when he already had something in the works.
“I thought you were ready to let go and start living again. Isn’t that why you came back home?” Chance directed his gaze to the old fence and picked at the petals of the pale pink rose rambling along the top wire.
“I am. Or at least I think I am. Some days it feels right, some days not so much.” He looked at the old house again and pushed open the gate, careful not to let it fall from its rusty hinges. To lower the risk, he leaned it back against the rickety picket fence. The path up to the porch was set with old, flat river stones which he could barely make out among the tall weeds, a poor excuse for what used to be the front patch of lawn.
He stepped up onto the porch, and the dry timber moved precariously under his weight. Rory glanced at his brother, still not convinced. “Needs a heap of work.”
“Sure it does. That’s why you’re getting it so damned cheap.” Chance rested his boot on the top step and leaned on the porch post. “We can all hook in and help out. Have this place looking like new in no time. Besides, it’s not as if you’re snowed under with dates on your days off, right?”
Rory turned and glanced at him, surprised at his brother’s optimism. “Right.” He couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice. The setting was sure pretty though. Nestled in the shadow of the Copper Mountain, its two hundred acres ran along the edge of the Marietta River, the pine forest on the opposite bank. The other bonus was the closeness to town and to Chance’s ranch. Tyson, their younger brother, lived just down over the hill, his horse ranch butting up to the boundary line of this property. Rory could still commute to work as Marietta’s deputy sheriff and get away from it all to his own place when he was off duty.
Empty for the last two or three years, the old house stood shadowed in the cloak of neglect that shrouded the whole place. The windows were mostly intact, although a few panes of glass were broken. Paint had peeled from the timber boards, giving the building an unloved, almost ghostly look.
Down past the house, almost hidden under a creeper vine threatening to pull it to the ground, stood an old barn. It had looked sturdy enough on further inspection, as did the stables attached to one side. He could clean them up and so long as the roof was safe, he would be happy. It’d be nice to have his own horse again.
Around the back of the barn he’d discovered a pig pen and a chicken coop, both filled with someone else’s garbage and years worth of dead and decayed leaf litter. What appeared to be an old orchard lay hidden under knee high weeds and creepers covering mostly unidentified fruit trees struggling to survive.
But it was the amount of work needed on the old house that concerned him the most. Rory’s shoulders sank at the thought of cleaning the old place up while trying to hold down his demanding job in town. “I can’t live in that house like that.”
“I don’t expect you to. Get it fixed up before you move in. It probably needs rewiring and new plumbing anyway” He grinned and slapped Rory on the shoulder. “You have a home with us for as long as you like; you know that. I wouldn’t make you move in here until it’s been cleaned out anyway. Hell, if you don’t stay with us, you know I’d only get an earful from Callie. She loves having you around. I think she misses her sisters in Australia more than she lets on.”
“Are you sure I’m not in the way?” He looked at his brother for any sign of discontent. He’d thought of taking a room at the Graff Hotel when he’d decided to come home but he knew Chance would protest so he didn’t mention it.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t care if you stayed there forever, but you said you wanted your own place, so I figured you might like to see this one.” Chance stepped up onto the porch and pushed wide the partially open door. He ducked his head when a swallow flew out, its wings close to his face. “Sheesh, just about took ten years off my life. Wonder what other wildlife is living in here?”
“Let me go first. I’ll do my best to save you from anything big and scary.” Rory laughed and brushed past his older brother. Ragged blinds let slivers of light inside the otherwise dark house. Old furniture lay piled up in several rooms along with scattered belongings and years of garbage. Bird droppings piled on the floors underneath light fittings that made convenient perches. It looked as though whoever lived there last had just picked up their keys and walked out one day, leaving the house to nature to deal with.