“Mrs. Thompson is going to sit with you, sweetie. I saw some cookie mix in the pantry. Maybe you two could make a batch of chocolate chips. They’re your favorite.” She flicked a glance at the older woman.
Mrs. Thompson smiled at Ivy. “That sounds like fun. You like to bake, Ivy?”
“I do!” Ivy grinned and jumped up and down. “We get to bake cookies!”
Mrs. Thompson turned back to Tory. “I brought some toys and games, things my great-granddaughters like to play with when they visit. We’ll have all sorts of fun things to do.”
Tory was torn. She really needed the woman’s help, but she didn’t want to take advantage. “Are you sure, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m just glad Josh called me.”
Tory looked at Josh. It had been so long since anyone had helped her. She blinked back the unexpected sting of tears and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Thank you.”
Josh gave a faint nod, tugged his hat down on his forehead, turned, and strode off down the steps.
Tory led the woman into the house, showed her around, and got her and Ivy settled. “There are books and crayons on the table and Ivy’s always been good at entertaining herself.”
“We’ll have fun,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Don’t you worry.”
Kissing the top of her daughter’s head, Tory left the house and headed for the barn, her mind turning to the job she’d been hired to do.
The way the stable was laid out, each stall had a short fenced-in run that allowed the horses to move inside and out. Their stalls had to be cleaned every day, but it wasn’t too big a problem since they were outside a lot of the time.
She was halfway there when she spotted Josh, but he was no longer alone. It took a moment to realize the two men he was talking to were both disabled, one a double amputee fitted with metal prostheses, the other a man with only one arm.
Both men were good-looking, not as tall as Josh, but lean and wide-shouldered, with biceps bulging from the sleeves of their T-shirts. She wondered if they might be soldiers wounded in the war, wondered if maybe Josh was former military, too.
She had noticed a scar on his right side that first day when he’d had his shirt off. He certainly looked tough enough to have been a soldier, though his several days’ growth of beard was gone today.
Tory kept walking, hoping to avoid him. The less she talked to him, the less chance he’d find an excuse to fire her.
He strode into the barn a few minutes later, while she was shoveling out her first stall. She could sense his presence even before she saw him, a shift in the air like an electrical pulse. It made her heart speed up a little.
“You don’t need to do that today,” he said as he approached. “I’ll find something else for you to do.”
She set the shovel down and leaned on the handle. “If I don’t do it, who will? You?”
He shrugged those wide shoulders. “It’s no big deal. I was shoveling manure before you got here. I can do it again. Like I said, I’ll find you something else to do.”
No way,Tory thought. Stable hand was the job she had applied for. It was the job he needed done. “I’m fine right here. Three days. That was our deal. I’ll find you when I’m finished. Okay?”
He looked like he wanted to argue. Instead he clenched his jaw and shook his head. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
“I’ll do a good job for you, just like I promised.”
Those cool blue eyes ran over her, making the inside of her stomach lift.
“Fine. Suit yourself.” Turning, he walked out of the barn, and Tory breathed a sigh of relief. If she proved herself, maybe he would let her stay. She already found herself liking the ranch, the wide-open spaces and fresh air, horses and cattle roaming the pastures. Maybe she could pay Mrs. Thompson enough to get her to sit on the workdays.
She walked over and picked up the shovel. Her hands were sore, but the salve Josh had brought over had helped, and gloves made the job a lot easier. Of course, they didn’t keep her back from hurting.
She’d get used to it, she told herself. She was tough and she was determined. She had Damon Bridger to thank for that.
Chapter Five
“Sir, you can’t go in there. Mr. Phillips is on the phone.”
“Yeah, well, if he wants his paycheck, he’ll get off the fucking phone.” Damon clamped down on his temper and softened his tone, along with his expression. He flashed the receptionist one of his most disarming smiles. “Sorry, I’m a little frustrated. You’re just doing your job. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
