The Magnificent Seven. Cheryl St.John
away. Maybe thirty, with sandy-brown hair and a golden tan attesting to hours working in the sun.
The jeans he wore encased long legs and slim hips. A navy-blue, button-down knit shirt, work boots, and a slim black folder with a clipboard completed the classically sexy look of a handyman. Heather could picture him with a tool belt around his hips and smiled to herself. Certainly nothing wrong with his appearance.
He neared the porch. “Mrs. Johnson?”
She composed her face and nodded.
“Mitch Fielding.”
She reached to shake his hand. He had calluses on his palms. Hardworking. Steadfast. Where had that come from? It had been a long time since she’d noticed a man the way she noticed this one. Perturbed, she released his hand. “We can talk inside.”
He glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder.
“Your children?” she asked.
He nodded. “They’re supposed to sit there until I get back.”
She wondered again why he’d brought them along. It was completely unprofessional. “Would you like to let them come in and color at the kitchen table?”
“No,” he said immediately with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”
She glanced at the truck, seeing he’d left the windows partially down. It wasn’t a hot day and this meeting shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. The children would be safe.
She led the way through the kitchen, reminding her own to play quietly until she was finished with her business.
“Your kids?” he asked, turning his head to observe the trio at the table.
She nodded.
They entered the sparsely furnished room her father had used for an office. Pushing aside a drawer she’d been emptying, she sat in the cracked leather chair and Mitch took the wooden one.
“Sorry about your father,” he said, catching her off guard.
She fumbled with her thoughts for a moment before realizing he meant Pete Bolton’s recent death. “Thank you. I came here nearly three weeks ago to sort through things and sell the ranch, but the house and outbuildings are in terrible condition, as you’ve seen. The Realtor wants me to fix up the property. She suggested updating the house, but I don’t know if I want to go to that much trouble and expense, and I don’t know the first thing about how to go about it.”
“I’m a contractor,” he said. “That’s what I do for a living. You could leave all that up to me.”
“I didn’t see you in the directory.”
“I’m not from Whitehorn. I’m here visiting my grandfather.” When she didn’t comment, he opened the folder he’d brought and presented her with several sheets of paper. “These are my references and specs on similar projects.”
Heather glanced through the impressive details, not questioning his ability. “I don’t have funds for a big undertaking.”
He nodded understandingly. “I don’t require a retainer. You wouldn’t have to pay me until you’ve seen the work in progress. Sometimes I can get suppliers to delay billing until after the sale goes through. I could work on that. If not, I’ll handle the cost until the place is sold.”
That sounded encouraging. Still, there was the eventual expense of his fee, which would be considerable, with all the hours needed to get the place in shape. Remodeling would be ideal and bring the best price, but a quick fix was about all she could afford.
He glanced at the desk and back up. “Are you home all day long?”
She nodded, wondering why he’d asked. Did he think her children would get in the way of construction projects? “Unless I go into town to shop.”
“I might have a solution for both of us.”
She’d been studying the papers, but she glanced up, caught off guard by the way the navy shirt sculpted his solid-looking chest and arms. She focused deliberately on his face. His disturbingly sensual lips pursed for a moment, then opened as he spoke. The odd little tremor in her stomach must have been caused by too much coffee that morning.
“Maybe we can work something out. I’ve been trying to find someone to keep my girls for me, so I can work. I would lower my bid considerably in exchange for you taking care of them while I do the job.”
Heather dragged her distracted thoughts from his arresting appearance and mulled his suggestion over. It did sound like a wise arrangement. And she was here anyway.
Childish shrieks caught their attention at the same time. Heather listened, but Mitch immediately jumped off his seat and shot out of the room, surprising her with his agility. She followed.
Her three children had gathered at the screen door to see what was going on outside. They gave Mitch wide berth as he bolted past, then followed Heather out onto the porch.
The shiny Silverado, which had been parked on the gravel behind the house only minutes ago, now rolled slowly toward the corner of the corral, gaining momentum.
Heather watched in horror. Her gaze immediately searched for whoever had been in the back seat. Thank goodness, two blond-haired girls stood on the grass, clinging to each other, jumping and screaming as the truck crunched into the wooden coral fence, flattened the corner sections with a crack, and kept going.
Mitch had reached the girls, checked them over for injuries, then ran after his truck, which was now on the grassy slope leading to the pond. Heather followed in dismay. The screen door slammed forgotten behind her.
By the time she reached the edge of the pond, the pickup had come to a stop, the entire front end submerged in the green water, the tailgate pointing toward the horizon.
Two
M itch Fielding stood on the bank and sank the fingers of one hand into his hair in frustration. He splayed the other hand on his hip.
Heather came up behind him in time to hear the curt expletive whistled from between his rigid lips. He turned quickly. “Sorry.”
She absently waved his apology away. They both turned and gaped at his partially submerged truck. Behind them, the girls continued to howl shrill cries of terror.
A little anxious over what this stranger’s reaction might be, Heather glanced at his profile. He stared in disbelief, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
“You think it’ll sink more?” a childish voice asked.
Heather turned to see that her own kids had followed and now stood beside them. Patrick had asked the question and gazed wide-eyed up at Mitch. Heather readied herself to hush him or move her children safely back.
Mitch studied the situation and replied calmly, “I don’t think so. Probably hit a rock or something that’s holding it there.” He turned to Heather. “You have a truck or a tractor?”
“There are both in the machine shed,” she answered with relief at his composed reaction. “I’ll get you the keys.” Taking a few steps, she turned back. “Need some help?”
“I need some help, all right,” he muttered, following her up the incline.
Mitch couldn’t believe this had happened. He’d had a perfect chance at a job; now this woman would never hire him. As he neared the girls, Ashley gaped at him with wide blue eyes, her tears subsiding. Taylor threw herself on the ground and wailed.
“Which one of you did this?” he asked.
“I told her you’d be real mad,” Ashley said. “I told her we should stay strapped in just like you said.”
“No, you din’t!” Taylor whined, halting her histrionics long enough to sit up and argue. “You took your seat belt off first!”
“How