Trouble in Paradise - Hatcher, Robin Lee Page 0,2

Vincent. It won’t be easy work.”

She suddenly remembered her own appearance. Most of her clothes were in the hamper, awaiting a trip to the Rainbow Laundromat. When she’d dressed that morning, she’d laughed about the awful T-shirt she wore, then thought, Who cares? Who will see me? The memory made her want to groan.

Here she was with Mr. Charming Smile himself, and she was dressed like a bag lady, wearing no makeup, her kinky-curly mop of mousy brown hair caught in a clip atop her head, no doubt sticking out in all directions, as usual.

She felt a flush of embarrassment rushing into her cheeks. No wonder he’d thought her crazy.

Nat seemed unaware of her private agony. “I’d need you to come in for a few hours every day at first. I haven’t had a housekeeper in more than a year, and the place is in sad shape.” He paused, grinning sheepishly. “I guess that’s an understatement.” He shrugged. “I’m a cattle rancher, and there’s always plenty going on that needs my attention, always other things to spend my time and money on, if you know what I mean. I never give much thought to the house, living alone like I do.”

He lived alone. That was hard to believe. There must be something wrong with the women in this valley—or something wrong with him. She wondered which it was.

“My mother’s been talking about coming for a visit later this summer,” he continued. “If she sees the house like it is right now, she’ll skin me alive. She's always taken great pride in a tidy, well-run home.”

Shayla nodded. She’d seen the enormous O’Connell ranch house from the highway. It looked more like a log castle. She knew a place like that had to be spectacular on the inside and, sight unseen, could understand a woman taking pride in it.

“Once the deep-down cleaning’s done and things are organized again, I imagine you could keep things up without much effort. Maybe come over once or twice a week, a few hours each time.”

“You said you live alone. What about the men who work for you?” The last thing she wanted was to be cleaning up after a bunch of cowboys. She’d had enough of housekeeping for a large brood when she lived with her parents and six younger siblings.

“Nope. My ranch hands don’t bunk there. They’ve got their own homes and families to go to. Like I said, it’s just me.”

“No cooking.”

“No cooking.” That charming grin returned. “No windows, either.”

“And this trade in services would mean you’d do what around here?”

He put the Stetson on his head as he stood. “Well, we both know the roof needs patching. Why don’t you show me around so we can figure out what else needs to be done and what needs attention first?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

Half an hour later, Shayla watched from her deck as Nat mounted his dappled-gray horse. He made it look easy, sliding the toe of his boot into the stirrup, then stepping up and swinging his other leg over the saddle in one fluid movement.

Hmm, she thought, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Cowboys were popular. Maybe the protagonist in her book should be a rancher. With a bit of tweaking, it might work. A cowboy sleuth. Had that been done in a mystery novel before? It would make sense.

All the how-to-write books said to write what you know. She was already using this valley and her cabin as the setting for her book. Instead of a small town sheriff solving the murder, she could have her lead character be a cattle rancher with a charming smile and dark hair and kind brown eyes—

“See you this afternoon,” Nat said as he bent the brim of his hat between index finger and thumb in what must be true cowboy fashion.

Oh, yes. Male readers would like the rough, tough qualities of a cowboy protagonist. And female readers would be drawn to that smile and his lean, rugged look.

Absentmindedly, she replied, “I’ll be there around two.”

She turned and hurried inside, making a beeline for the computer. If she could get down a few of these ideas before they disappeared. It wouldn’t take long at all. After that, she could change her clothes and go over to the O’Connell ranch.

Nat checked the anniversary clock on the mantel. It was almost three o’clock, and still no sign of Miss Vincent. She couldn’t be lost. Her property bordered Paradise Ranch. All she had to do was take the