A SEVEN VIRTUES RANCH ROMANCE BOOK 1
An excerpt…
CHAPTER ONE
"Nothin' finer than a hardworking woman in a worn pair of jeans and a Stetson."
Faith Goodacre straightened and turned slowly. She'd know that voice anywhere. She removed her safety glasses, wishing she'd worn her shades instead, and narrowed her eyes against the brilliant sunlight. It was uncommonly warm for early May, but the weather could still change on a dime this time of year. She settled her hat a little firmer on her head, then lifted her chin a notch so she could look down her nose at the man who'd just rounded the end of the barn to park across the gravel driveway behind her. Hooking her thumbs in the belt loops on her jeans, she watched as Cordell Overman took his sweet time getting out of his big Cajun Red Silverado, grinning at her all the while. He stopped several feet away from her, thank the good Lord above, because even if she could get her feet to move, she wasn't about to retreat. He was on her turf, and she hadn't yet decided if that was a good thing or not.
She widened her stance and squared her shoulders. "Sure beats a city slicker with soft hands and a sunburnt scalp, kicking up dust in a shiny new truck, to boot," she said, letting her sweet tea drawl lace the words with just enough sugar to take the edge off.
"Ouch!" Cord clutched his chest and staggered backward a step or two. But he kept his eyes fixed on her face, and his smile didn't waver, making it somewhat difficult for her to maintain her disdainful expression.
Holy smokes, he looked good.
Not that she was looking.
Okay, yeah, she was.
"You're looking good, Cord." Dang it. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but at least she sounded unaffected by his sudden appearance.
"Even with this sizable hole you just blasted through me?" He lifted his hand and peered down as though to gauge the extent of the damage, then looked back up at her again, his eyes sparkling with humor.
"Looks to me like you'll survive," Faith quipped.
He held his arms out at his sides, making his already snug gray t-shirt stretch even tighter across his chest. "Then how about a welcome back to the holler hug for an old friend?"
She forced her gaze to stay on his face, but looking into his November sky eyes was proving to be just as troublesome as ogling his impressive physique.
Old friend. So that's what they were calling it these days? "Believe me; you don't want a hug from me."
"Sure I do." He took a step toward her, but she held up a hand to stay him.
"As you so eloquently put it, I'm working. Hard." She tapped a finger against the shield of the chop saw she'd been using, then lowered the blade and knocked the safety into place. "I'm not exactly in the mood to cuddle right now." With the back of her wrist, she swiped at a drop of perspiration that trickled down the side of her face and clung to her jawline. She was sweating like a sinner in church, covered in sawdust, and her hair clung to her head under her hat.
Cord, on the other hand, could have stepped right off the cover of American Cowboy. Except he didn't have a two-day scruff, he wasn't wearing a hat, and she was pretty sure he didn't own a horse. Not anymore, anyway.
"Cuddle is your word, not mine," he said, flashing his pearly whites at her. "I wasn't asking you to snuggle up to—"
"Semantics, Cord." She rested her hand on a cocked hip and exchanged his grin with a grimace. Speaking of pearly white… Her imagination conjured up a holster slung low at her waist, complete with a pearl-handled Colt .45 poised for the draw. Heck, her little Glock would do the job just fine—.
Good grief, Faith. What job are you considering using any gun for? She cleared her throat, hoping he couldn't read her uncharacteristically violent thoughts. "You're a long way from home. What brings you to our neck of the woods?" What she really wanted to ask him was what had brought him to Seven Virtues Ranch. And couldn't he have at least called first? Given her some kind heads up? Wasn't that just common courtesy?
Cord turned his head briefly in the direction of Seven Virtues' closest neighbor, Whispering Hills Ranch. Although nothing was visible through the wooded tract that marked the property line between the ranches, Faith was pretty sure he was picturing the abandoned hay barn on the other side of the small creek that meandered through the trees, same as she was. Not something she particularly wanted to dwell on, but his next words confirmed her suspicions. He spoke in a husky drawl. "How about a ‘Welcome Back’ kiss, then? Purely unselfish motives on my part, I assure you," he asked, shooting her a sideways look that made something coil tightly low in her gut. Then he chuckled, making light of his request. "In honor of Uncle Judge, God rest his soul."
"I never once kissed Judge Flanner," Faith retorted, hating that he could still get to her so easily. She crossed her arms and dipped her head, hoping her hat would hide the flush coloring her cheeks. Just the thought of kissing Cordell Overman again made her blood run hot. "Besides, he was a married man, so there'd be nothing honorable about it," she added, narrowing her eyes at him. Judge was, in fact, a widower, but he'd been married to Cord's aunt for more than fifty years before she passed away. "So, what did you say you needed? I really am busy, you know."
Cord let out a low whistle. "Why, Miss Goodacre, when did you get so prickly?"
Prickly? She tried not to be offended by his question, but coming from Cord, the barbed word smarted. It was self-preservation, as far as she was concerned. "Why, Mr. Overman, how do you know it's 'Miss'?"
"Because I made certain of it before I headed out this way to see you." The grin turned into a bold, piano key smile, one he'd used to charm her to his will a time or two—or two hundred—back in the day.
Even before he'd had his teeth straightened and bleached. Mercy, they were white. City boy.
"And I brought you something." He spun on his boot heel—at least those weren't new, she noted. He'd always preferred the Western work boots over more traditional cowboy boots. He reached into the open driver's side window of his truck to withdraw a pale blue mason jar spilling over with red and yellow columbines, the delicate star-like blossoms bobbing their heads in greeting as he approached. Holding them out to her, he said, "For you, Fair Maiden."
Faith couldn't help it. She smiled.
"There she is," he murmured appreciatively, dipping his head to look her in the eye. "There's that pretty smile I remember."
She pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to be impressed that he'd remembered, then she shook her head in surrender. Man, he was good.
She'd once pointed her favorite flower out to him where they grew in her mother's gardens. She'd told him the fiery wildflower with its flared petals, and backward facing spikes made her think of fairy tale dragons. He'd plucked a small handful, dropped to one knee, and offered them to her, declaring he was her knight in shining armor, ready to slay dragons for her. Faith still carefully tended the bushes that grew in riotous disarray at the top of the long drive up from Carpenter Road. She had the sneaking suspicion that Cord had helped himself on his way in.
Except she remembered, too. She remembered just how not ready he'd been to fight for her when it came right down to it. Almost a decade ago, he'd kicked the dust off a pair of Ropers just like the ones he wore now, forcing her to armor up and fight the dragons herself. The fact that he stood in front of her today, that pie-eating grin on his face, told her he had no clue about the damage he'd left in his wake.
After a moment's hesitation, she took the jar from him, careful not to let her fingers do any more than graze his in the exchange. It didn't matter; the jolt was still there, sending a current of electricity coursing through her veins. She resisted the impulse to shiver and turned away to set the flowers on the stacked stone retaining wall nearby. "Thank you. They're lovely. But then, I do grow the finest columbines in town."
"You do, indeed," he agreed, not denying her assertion that he'd snagged them from her flower beds. "Only the finest for Faith Goodacre. That's what I always say."
She lifted her hat and fanned her face with it, turning away from him to gaze at the blossoms that now seemed to mock her. She had no clue what her hair looked like, and even though she shouldn't care what he thought, she did. "And I always say, 'If I want it done right, I'll do it myself.' As evidenced by those flowers."
"Only because you don't know how to ask for help." His words were gentle, but they practically knocked the breath out of her anyway.
She clapped the hat back on her head and spun around to glare at him, her eyebrows raised in indignation. "That's not how I remember it."
Cord shrugged. "Maybe you remember it wrong." His tone remained casual, but she saw the tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way he cocked his right hip just a little higher than the left. They were like a couple of gunslingers settling in for a standoff. She imagined his trigger finger twitching in anticipation, just as hers had a few minutes ago.
But Faith wasn't interested in going toe to toe with him. Not today. Not ever. It had taken some doing, but she'd let go of what might have been a long time ago, and up until this moment, she'd assumed Cordell Overman had moved on as well.
So what in the Sam Hill was he doing showing up here at Seven Virtues Ranch, bringing her fairy tale dragon flowers, and smiling at her as though the last decade had never happened? It was bad enough that he was back in the hollow; did he have to try to breach the sanctuary of her heart as well?
"No, Cord, I remember it all perfectly well." She licked her dry lips and glanced down at the watch on her wrist. Her sisters teased her about it, but she refused to whip out her phone every time she needed to check the time. Every minute of her day was allotted for something, and none of those minutes were set aside for the man in front of her. She'd erased his name from her calendar and had no plans to put him back on the schedule. She gave him a pointed look. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to it." She stepped up to the saw, removed the safety, and slipped her safety glasses back on. She bent to pick up a two-by-four.
He beat her to it. "Let me help."
"But I don't need your help." Faith didn't even bother trying to convince him to hand the board over. Instead, she grabbed another one. She swung one end away from her, nearly clipping him in the hip, and balanced it on the rock wall, then slid the other end into place under the saw blade. She made a quick cut, then stacked the two pieces on the other side of her workstation with others she'd already cut.
"I was only asking." He offered her the board he held, but she didn't take it. First of all, she wasn't going to risk touching him again. And second, now she was stuck standing on principle and couldn't accept his help even if she wanted it. Even if he offered it with no strings attached.
Except she wasn't so sure there were no strings attached. "Actually, you didn't ask. You demanded that I let you help. Two very different things."
"Semantics, Faith," he said, tossing her word back at her. But he set the two-by-four back on the pile, then leaned his backside against the stone wall, bracing his hands on either side of his hips. The pose was casual enough, but she didn't miss the subtle shift in his demeanor, the slightly deflated posture, and furrowed brow.
The uncomfortable burn of shame made her skin crawl. She really was being prickly today.
And to give him credit, he did seem to be trying to make the best of a situation that was bound to be difficult, no matter how they approached it. A phone call to warn her of his visit may have proved just as volatile, truth be told.
"Where's Jack?" she asked, suddenly realizing that her dog hadn't alerted her to Cord's approach. Usually, the tri-colored Border Collie went out of his way to let everyone on the ranch know when visitors arrived. "Jack?" she called out before pursing her lips and letting out a piercing whistle. With a certain satisfaction, she saw Cord flinch.
The dog, however, remained AWOL.
Cord spoke casually. "I met up with Prudence and Jack at the front gate down the lane. She's the one who told me where to find you."
Faith spun to look at him. "What was she doing down there? And why did she have my dog?" A momentary bout of irritation rose inside her. Prudence, the sixth of the seven Goodacre sisters, was constantly off indulging in some whimsy or another. Faith had corralled her at the chicken coop a little earlier where the girl was collecting eggs and padding the nesting boxes with fresh straw. She'd given Prudence strict instructions to check in as soon as she was finished, as Faith would need her help framing up the new chicken tractor she was making. Their chickens free-ranged in the pastures behind the cattle, and the portable chicken housing kept the flock safe from predators.
"She was taking pictures," Cord said with a soft chuckle. "She'd put together a makeshift nest with weeds and flowers and chicken eggs, and set it up on top of that old stump next to the Seven Virtues sign. She had your dog posing with it."
"Poor Jack," Faith said with a snort, as she settled the board onto the saw. "She's always making him model for her. Then again, he doesn't seem to mind." She made quick work of the last three two-by-fours waiting to be cut, then brushed the sawdust off her hands and removed her glasses again. She really should be wearing gloves, but her daddy never did, so neither did she. Oh, she paid for it with calluses, ugly nails, and rough skin, but Prudence had a knack for whipping up amazing herbal salves, and Faith was one of her best customers. "Did she say she was coming up soon? I asked her to help me with this thing." She waved at the cut lumber and rolls of chicken wire nearby.
Cord shot her a dubious look, his eyebrows raised.
"See? I do know how to ask for help." She grimaced; she sounded like a two-year-old, even to her own ears.
"Right. I see." Cord nodded slowly, that stupid grin back on his face. "So, speaking of Judge Flanner—"
"But we weren't." Faith cut him off, glad for the change in subject, but not liking his patronizing tone. "We were talking about you and why you're here."
Cord continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Frankie's selling the old place."
She frowned at him. He seriously didn't think she already knew about it?
Frank "Judge" Flanner—so named because he'd held the title of head judge at every Plumwood Hollow pie contest as long as anyone could remember—had died last fall, and although she didn't really miss the grouchy old rancher, she hated what had become of Whispering Hills over the last several years, and especially since his unexpected passing. Frank Junior—Frankie to his family and friends—was career military and had little inclination toward picking up cattle ranching where his daddy left off, and no one else in the nearby area was in any position to purchase the huge property and its dwindling herd of cattle. Which inevitably meant some stranger from out of town would be moving into the close-knit community, something that always took some adjusting to.
Once again, she locked the saw blade down, and this time, she unplugged it from the bright orange extension cord snaking around from the front of the barn. "So you're here about your uncle's place? If you're hoping for an inside scoop, I don't really have much of one. I know Frankie wants to move it quickly and all in one piece, and he's priced it accordingly." She knew this because she'd contacted him about purchasing some of the acreage to expand Seven Virtues. "The big house is sitting empty right now, but Jordan Binks—you remember him? He lives on site in that cowboy cabin and keeps an eye on the place. He's a good guy, and he knows that place better than your uncle did, I'd wager, but he's old, and he's worried he'll get ousted when a new buyer comes in. He loves that place and is good with the herd. Granted, he lost a few calves and two first-calf heifers this spring, just because he was trying to manage what he could on his own. We helped out as much as we were able; Hope spent a fair amount of time over there early April." Faith frowned. "I hear he's considering keeping the bulls from breeding come fall if they haven't sold the place by then, but otherwise, he's been operating as though Judge was still calling the shots."
"Poor bulls." Cord winked at her.
Faith kept talking, choosing to ignore his juvenile comment. "Which means unless Frankie finds a buyer soon, the place is going to start losing some serious revenue." She worried about Binks. The old cowboy had made Whispering Hills his home for more than fifty years, and the thought of him having to make a new start this late in life just about broke her heart. "Anyway, it's a real steal for all that land, the house, and the outbuildings. What's left of the herd, too, I believe. I know Judge downsized pretty extensively in the last few years, but last I heard, he was still running a good two hundred head. Oh, and he's currently got eight or nine bulls, too. There are the two good-sized ponds, and a 5-acre lake—" She broke off, waving a hand as though batting away her words. "But then, you probably know that ranch better than I do. It's gotten a little run down, but otherwise, it hasn't changed much since you left." She swallowed hard, the words stinging the back of her throat on their way out.
For a few moments, he said nothing, just studied her. Faith held his gaze, even though it about killed her to do so. Her skin prickled with the urge to squirm, but she maintained her dignity and kept it together.
"You interested in the place?" he finally asked. "You looking to expand Seven Virtues?"
She shook her head. "I couldn't take all that even if I wanted to or had the resources to do so. It's all I can do to keep up with what we've got going here. I know of several folks around here who'd love to have just a piece of it—Seven Virtues, included—but Frankie doesn't want to parcel it out if he doesn't have to. And at the price he's selling, he'll move the package deal without too much trouble." She shrugged again like it made no difference to her, but she'd been acutely disappointed when Frankie had explained that he already had a potential buyer.
Cord nodded slowly, but when he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, she stiffened. He was nervous about something. That neck grab thing he did, while awfully pretty the way it showed off his muscular arms, was as sure a tell if ever there was one, at least when it came to Cordell Overman. And one she recognized, even after all these years.
A rogue breeze whispered against the damp tendrils of hair clinging to her neck, and Faith lifted her face to it, releasing a long sigh of pleasure. She reached up to hold her hat on, closing her eyes against the brilliant sky and shot him the same question he'd asked her. "Why? Are you interested in the place, city boy?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to suck them back in. She suddenly and acutely did not want to look at him for fear of what she might see on his face. She'd asked the question in jest, but now that it was out there, it struck her that Cord's arrival in Plumwood Hollow was quite a coincidence. What if he was back to take a look at his uncle's place?
Lord, have mercy, what if Cordell Overman moved in next door? The thought made her knees go weak.