to have to—”
“Will you stop?”
He took a few steps forward and stared down at her. “I want this job, but I don’t beg. Is it mine or not?”
“You’re broke, aren’t you? That’s why you want to work here.”
“I’m not broke.”
“You’re lying.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed just enough that she knew she’d hit a nerve. It was just as she’d suspected. His hospital bills had nearly wiped him out. And since bull riding was his livelihood and he couldn’t pursue it until his knee was healed, he had no means of support.
“No matter what you think,” Luke said, “this is just a temporary setback for me. Come the first of November, I’m going to the World Championship in Denver.”
“That’s less than three months from now. Your knee won’t be completely healed.”
“Whether it is or it isn’t, that’s where I’ll be. And when it’s all over, I’ll have the championship and the money that goes with it.”
Her first thought was that he was just as cocky as he’d ever been. But his gaze never left hers, telling her he believed every word he spoke. She had the feeling he didn’t just profess to be the best at what he did. He really was the best.
“If I give you this job, I expect you to work,” she told him. “No screwing around.”
“I know we’ve had our disagreements,” Luke said. “But was there ever a time back then when I didn’t do my job? Ever?”
He was right. He’d never shirked his responsibility on the job. If she didn’t hire him now, it would be because she was a petty-minded person who couldn’t get over the past, and she hated to think she might be one of those.
“Fine,” she told him. “The job is yours. But only until I find somebody permanent. Even if that happens tomorrow, you’ll have to move on.”
“Deal.”
“The job requires you to work six days a week, including both weekend days, with one day off during the week.”
“That’s fine. But I have to go to Austin twice a week for physical therapy, so I’ll need another morning or afternoon off during the week.”
“You haven’t even started and you’re pushing for time off?”
“Most of the work around here can be done in off hours—early morning, late evening. I’ll make up the time.”
Shannon hadn’t liked this before, and she really didn’t like it now. But he was right. Whether the animals were fed at seven in the morning or nine really didn’t matter, as long as it was consistent.
“When can you start?” she said.
“No time like the present.”
“Good. I assume you want to move in immediately, too.”
“Yes.
“Okay. Freddie Jo will put you on the payroll and—”
All at once her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. Russell?
She hit the Answer button. “Hi, Russell. What’s up?”
“I just called to ask what kind of wine would be appropriate for tonight.”
She started to say, Wine for what? And then it hit her, that horrible sinking sensation that always came over her whenever she realized she’d forgotten something important. Sure, now she remembered they were going to her parents’ house for dinner. Now, less than an hour and a half before Russell was supposed to pick her up and she was a hot, sweaty mess from head to toe.
She took several quick steps away from Luke, turned her back, and spoke quietly. “Uh…yeah. A bottle of wine. That would be nice.”
“Do you have any idea what your mother is making?”
“Uh…”
“Beef?”
“Well…”
“Pork? Fish?”
She squeezed her eyes closed. Think…think…what did she tell you?
Oh, yeah. Chicken. But not just any old chicken. She was making her prized Monterrey Chicken, famous the world over, as long as the world didn’t extend past the city limits of Rainbow Valley. When it came to cooking, Loucinda North was the self-crowned Queen of Cuisine. While other kids were eating macaroni and cheese on plastic plates in the breakfast room, Shannon remembered white-tablecloth dinners, complete with gravy boats, napkin rings, and narrow-eyed glares for any child who dared put her elbows on the table.
“Chicken,” she said.
“Then I’ll bring a white. Chardonnay. Light and crisp. Fruity. Will that work?”
“Yes. White. That’ll be perfect.”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Sounds good,” she said with a smile in her voice that never made it to her face. She hit the End button and stuffed the phone back into her pocket.
“White wine and chicken,” Luke said. “I hear that’s a good match. Me, I’m a beer man. The darker, the better.”
Ignoring him, Shannon dashed back to the grain bin, stabbed the scoop