Chapter 4
The next morning, after chores, Brady headed to Elmer Thompson’s ranch to ask him about Buchanan Fencing and the work they’d done for him. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because he wanted more information on Abby, but he wasn’t used to lying to himself.
Thompson’s ranch was only five miles away. Brady found it easy to see where the front of the rancher’s property started and ended if the beautiful fencing was any indicator. It appeared to be high density polyethylene (HDPE) livestock fencing, no doubt high-dollar and way the hell out of his cash reserves. But Abby would likely have options more in line with his budget, and it wouldn’t hurt to chat with Thompson about her family’s company.
Brady drove up the dirt road and parked in front of a two-story yellow home with white trim and front porch that ran the full length of the house. A red barn stood to the left of the house, and two large German shepherds trotted out of the shadowy recesses and headed for his truck. An older gentleman wearing denim overalls and work boots followed the pair.
The dogs didn’t look aggressive, so Brady climbed out of his truck and waited for the man to reach him. The dogs did first, and parked themselves five feet away and just watched him, as if waiting for permission to move.
“Howdy, stranger.” The man reached him and studied him with sun-bleached blue eyes. “Can I help you with something?”
Brady took a step forward and held out his hand, making sure his movements telegraphed to the dogs as both non-aggressive and confident. “I’m Brady McLeod.” He inclined his head in the direction of his place. “I own the ranch a couple miles west of yours.”
“Elmer Thompson.” The man took his hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure, young man. I’ve heard nothing but good things about McLeods around here.” He released Brady’s hand and straightened. “Is this a social visit or is there something I can do for you?”
“A bit of both.” Brady offered the rancher a smile. “Abby Buchanan sent me your way. Told me you could share your experience with her family’s business.” Brady nodded toward the rancher’s HDPE fencing along his property. “Looks like they did a nice install.”
Thompson gave a nod. “Best damn fencing I’ve ever had. Strong and durable, and lasts forever.”
Brady hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I understand you moved here from Montana, and they took care of your property there, as well.”
“Sure did.” Thompson inclined his head toward the house. “Come on in and have some lemonade. My daughter stopped by this morning and made some fresh.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Brady said. “A little refreshment is much appreciated on a warm day like this.”
“Max. Jasper. Come on now,” Thompson said to the German Shepherds, and the pair jumped to life.
Brady fell into step beside the rancher, the shepherds trotting at their owner’s side. “I understand you’ve known Ms. Buchanan and her family a long time.”
“Yep.” Thompson made it to the porch stairs and paused, one boot on the bottom step. He turned to Brady. “I’ve known that family for some forty years, and they’re a good bunch of people.” He grasped the wooden handrail and slowly started up the steps.
“Abby said something to that effect, that she’s known you a long time.” Brady started up the stairs, keeping his pace slow to match the old man’s. “I’d like to get some insight on who I’d be dealing with if I do decide to go with Buchanan Fencing.”
The front screen door squeaked on unoiled hinges as Thompson opened it. He held it for Brady, who thanked him. Coming in from the bright day made the interior dark and Brady blinked until he became accustomed to the dimness. The room smelled of old leather and dust.
Thompson gestured to a leather couch with polished wood armrests. “Take a load off and I’ll get us some lemonade.” The dogs followed the man out of the room.
Brady parked himself and took in the modest and comfortable living room. Besides the couch, there was a love seat and two armchairs, and a large-screened TV hogged up most of one wall.
Framed photos marched along the fireplace mantle and more photographs stood on the end tables, as well as on a series of bookshelves. He spotted Hemingway, Patterson, and Tolkien along spines among countless other books on the shelves.
The photos were mostly pictures of a woman as she aged over decades, but also brown-haired children and young adults. He squinted at a photo on the bookshelf of a kid with flaming red hair. Was that Abby at a young age?
A heavy tread came toward the room, the wood floor creaking beneath Thompson’s not insignificant weight. The older man walked into the room carrying tall glasses of lemonade, the sides frosted with condensation.
He handed one to Brady, who took a long drink of the tart but sweet liquid. He set the half-drained glass on the coffee table. “Hits the spot, Mr. Thompson.”
“Elmer.” The man held his own glass between his hands, condensation from the glass dripping and making dark spots on the jeans covering his thigh. “What can I tell you?”
“Please call me Brady.” He leaned back in his seat and gestured toward a picture with the redhead and a boy arm-in-arm. “Could that red-haired girl with the young man by chance be Abby?”
The old man gave a soft chuckle. “Yes, sir, she was my son, Jeff’s, best buddy. Those two were thick as thieves and just as ornery.”
Brady grinned. “I take it they were a handful.”
Elmer took a swig of his lemonade and lowered his glass. “You have no idea.”
Brady thought he might, considering he’d grown up with four brothers, but he just listened.
“And competitive as hell.” He gestured toward a picture on a bookshelf that had the two kids holding stringers of fish—the one young Abby held had at least six fat beauties and the boy’s had three small ones. “Abby could out fish Jeff every time. Even on a bad day, she’d come up with bigger trout than my son. Would have him fit to be tied, but you can see they both had a great time whatever the outcome.”
His grin broadened. “Jeff called her Gingersnap just to get under her skin. She’d lay into him, but I don’t think she really minded.”
Elmer looked from the picture to Brady. “I would have loved that girl for a daughter-in-law, but the two have only ever been good friends.”
Brady found himself real glad Abby hadn’t thought of Jeff as more than a friend, at least as far as Elmer knew. Then he wondered why it should matter. But since he was being honest with himself, he knew exactly why it mattered.
He was interested in Abby for more than her fencing. A lot more.
Elmer focused on him. “You might be wondering how I can give a good recommendation considering how far back my family goes with the Buchanans, but I’ll tell you now that I don’t say anything that’s not God’s honest truth.”
Brady gave a nod. “Abby said as much.”
The old man set his now empty glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “My wife of sixty-one years passed away going on a year now. She grew up with Abby’s grandma, so our family history goes back for some time.”
The man went into the types of fencing he’d had installed, interspersed with stories about the Buchanans and his own family.
When he finished, the old man focused on Brady. “Any questions you have, just ask.”
“Thank you.” Brady put his glass on the coffee table. “I think you’ve answered all of them.” He indicated the photo with Abby and Elmer’s son with the fish. “I’m not surprised she likes to be number one.”
“In anything,” Elmer said. “You name it.”
Elmer walked him out, the pair of German shepherds trotting at their heels. Brady thanked him again before climbing in his truck and leaving.
As he drove away, he thought about what the old man had said about Abby’s family’s company. He didn’t doubt that Elmer was telling Brady exactly how he felt about the company and the fencing.
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He could call Abby and tell her he wanted to talk fencing.
Or he could wait until they had dinner, so that he had more alone time with her. Yeah, waiting ’til Friday sounded like the best plan of action to be around a woman he wanted to get to know a whole lot better.
Abby sat in her rental in the parking lot of Mickey’s Bar and Grill, the setting sun bleeding pink, orange, and yellow over the western horizon. The sunsets were gorgeous here.
She was hungry, but first she needed to call her dad. Loyal Buchanan had always been a strong, powerful man, and she hated that he’d been fighting a virus for a couple of weeks now, and it had weakened him so fast.
“How’s my June bug?” he asked in way of greeting.
“I’m doing well, Daddy.” Abby smiled at his teasing. He had to be okay if he was calling her by his pet nickname for her. “How are you feeling?”
“Better every day.” He coughed, which sounded deep in his chest and horrible. He took a moment to come back on the line and cleared his throat. “Allergies, you know.”
“Better take something for it.” Abby frowned.
“I’m fine,” he said in a firm tone. “How’s it looking for prospects?”
“I have a couple of good ones, McLeod and Donovan.” She leaned against the car window. “They both have a need and are interested in our products. McLeod needs his entire property re-fenced as well as pens and corrals.”
“We need this, honey.” Loyal sounded dead serious now. “Too many family members and others depend on what you can pull in.”
“I know.” Abby sighed. “We need at least two more people out in the field getting business. Katy and I can’t do it all.” Her younger sister, Katy, was good, but didn’t bring in as much business as Abby did, and Katy didn’t enjoy it as much, either. “I’m worried Katy might leave.”
“She won’t walk out on the family business, but I’ll get Sadie trained so she can go out in the field, too.” Loyal spoke in a thoughtful tone. “She’s been chomping at the bit to do something other than cold-calling.”
“That would be good.” Abby shook her head. “Cold calling is the worst.”
“But she’s great at it,” Loyal said. “She gets a lot of high-quality leads. It’s just been tougher since the recession started.”
Abby slowly nodded, even though she was alone. “It sure has been difficult. But you’ve kept it together, Daddy, and we haven’t had to lay off anyone.”
“Barely, honey. Barely.” He coughed again and Abby frowned at the strength of his cough. He came back on the line. “Thanks to how hard you work and the new territories you’ve opened up, we’re doing okay. We’ll get back in the black soon.”
“Katy’s been a big help, too,” Abby said.
“She sure has,” Loyal replied. “But you know how to reel them in better than anyone.”
It was true, and Abby felt the responsibility weighing her down. She was the only one other than her dad who knew the business from top to bottom, and she was the best at getting new business. Fortunately, she did love her job and it suited her way of life, her love of travel, new places, and new people. She’d hate to be stuck in one place, especially in an office.
“I’d better get going. I’ve got to call on old Bull McBride and follow up on the work we did for him in Prescott,” Loyal said. “I love you, honey.”
She smiled. “Love you, Daddy.”
Abby disconnected the call and climbed out of the SUV. She couldn’t have been thirstier or hungrier than she was at this very moment. A cheeseburger and a beer would be just what she needed.
It had been a long day with visits to three ranches, which included almost being bitten by a Rottweiler at one of them and she had nearly fallen when she’d tripped over a rake in the barn at another. Still, it had been a good day with one potential sale at the Donovan ranch. She had a good feeling about that one.
Black-haired, blue-eyed Tyson Donovan was sinfully sexy, but there was only one man who had her attention right now. As a matter of fact, she didn’t know how to get Brady McLeod out of her head.
She’d just left getting a manicure and a pedicure at a place in King Creek, which had made her feel better after her crazy day. Now, for food.
Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she made her way to the entrance to Mickey’s, and she smelled onion rings, beer, and burgers. She’d heard good things about the establishment and Tyson had mentioned the place made the best burgers in the county. She aimed to find out if that was true.
Live country music came from inside and an incredible male voice floated on the evening air. Excellent—she loved live music, and her favorite was country.
The song ended as she strode up the wood steps to the building-length porch and she headed through the door. She paused and took in the country-western decorated interior and paused on the small stage where the band was apparently taking a break, the last member disappearing through a door at the back of it.
She wove her way through the crowd toward the bar, surprised that so many people were there on a Thursday. Must be due to the live band.
A tall, muscular man, who must have been in his late-fifties or early sixties, tended the bar that only had a couple of open stools. She snagged one, climbed on to it, and rested her feet on the bottom rung. She placed her forearms on the bar and waited for the bartender as he poured a lowball glass with two fingers of whiskey and a mug of draft beer and delivered them to a couple at the far end.
The good-looking bald bartender came her way and smiled when he reached her. “What’ll you have?”
“I need a beer.” She returned his smile. “Anything you have on tap is fine, and a cheeseburger with the works and fries will make me very happy. Make that ecstatic.”
He chuckled. “I’ll get your order in for the burger and the beer will be right up.”
“Thank you.” She lifted her braid, hoping the ceiling fans would blow enough air on her nape to cool her off at least a little. It felt hot and close with so many people in the building.
The bartender returned with her mug, foam rolling down the side of the frosty glass, and told her that it would be about fifteen minutes for her cheeseburger. Abby thanked him again and grasped the mug with both hands, enjoying its chill against her palms. She took a long drink, enjoying the malty flavor that tasted sweet and bready.
“You’re new.” A body pushed in from the side, jostling her, and she tried not to roll her eyes as she glanced at the aging cowboy who had barged in on her thoughts. “Can I buy you a drink, missy?” A fog of whiskey rolled off the cowboy and he reeked of cigarettes.
The “missy” had her grinding her teeth. She swallowed back curt words and said as calmly as possible, “Thank you but no, I’m waiting for someone.”
Abby turned away and focused on her beverage, hoping that by not giving him attention he would just disappear.
No such luck. The man had an exaggerated drawl when he spoke again. “I’ll keep you company until whoever you’re waiting on gets here.”
She closed her eyes and prayed for divine intervention.
The sound of the band returning came from the stage and the squelch of a microphone made her wince.
“I’ll buy your next beer,” the cowboy was saying, and she wanted to put her hands over her ears to shut him out.
The band started playing, giving her an excuse to turn away, but the cowboy caught her arm. “When is your company getting here?”
She was ready to tell him exactly where to put his offer when a familiar strong, deep, and smooth voice had her swiveling on her stool.
Her jaw dropped when she saw Brady McLeod playing guitar and singing a song in a way that could rival any country star she’d heard.
God, the man could sing.
The ramble of the man hitting on her faded into the background as she watched, transfixed by the gorgeous cowboy on stage. The band backing him up was good, but not fabulous like Brady was. What was he doing in Small Town, Arizona with a voice like that?
The man bothering her drifted away, and without his blather she could focus entirely on Brady. Yep, he was the sexiest, most gorgeous man she’d met.
His Stetson shadowed his strong features, but she could still watch his firm lips as he sang and his shifting expressions as he seemed to pour out his heart with the words.
He wore a button-up western shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. He was broad through the shoulders, and she could see the flex of muscle in his arms as he played his guitar.
The band was clearly strictly backup. They followed his lead and kept to the background for the most part.
She felt like a groupie as she found herself looking forward to going up to him when he finished and asking him to have a drink with her.
A spunky-looking pink-haired server brought Abby the cheeseburger she’d ordered. She absently thanked the server and held her partially paper-wrapped burger in her hands and slowly ate it while watching and listening to Brady. The cheeseburger was dang good but paled in comparison to the man on the stage.
She downed her burger and every one of her fries and two mugs of beer. When Brady announced it was the last song of the night, she was both sorry he was almost done and excited to talk with him again. Was it just a fangirl kind of reaction? No, she’d already been strongly attracted to him, and this was just icing.
And she’d bet he’d taste twice as delicious.
Abby’s face flushed with heat at the thought just as Brady focused on her, and she grew even hotter. He gave a sexy smile like he could read her thoughts and looked like he was singing only to her. He didn’t look away.
When the final note drifted across the room, she realized she was holding her breath along with the note, and she sucked in a lungful of air. She hastily pulled out thirty in cash and put it under the mug, next to her plate.
Abby slipped off the stool and headed straight for Brady. She didn’t care if it looked like she was a groupie, she just wanted to talk with him and hear his voice again but directed at her. She wondered what it would be like to have him singing just for her.
Brady put his guitar into a case, set it aside, then sat on the edge of the stage, his gaze focused on her.
Her belly tingled as she neared him, knowing he was waiting for her.
Right before she reached him, a twentyish blonde darted in front of her. “You were wonderful Brady.” She actually gushed the words. “You’re always wonderful.”
“Thanks, Carrie.” He offered her a smile. “Tell your mama ‘hi’ for me.”
He turned his smile on Abby. “Hi, Abby.”
She felt suddenly shy. The blonde scowled when she looked at Brady again and saw his attention was focused on Abby.
Brady slid off the stage, nodded to Carrie and moved to Abby’s side. She was close enough now to see sweat rolling down the side of his neck. She could imagine that beneath his cowboy hat, his hair would be damp. It didn’t take much imagination to know his body would be hot after a performance like that, and just as damp from perspiration as his hair.
Warmth spread through her chest and up to her face, and she was certain he could see her thoughts written all over her blushing face. She managed to get past her embarrassment to say, “I’d like to buy you a beer, Brady.”
“I sure can use a cold one.” He caught her off guard as he grasped her elbow, turned her with just a touch, and propelled her toward the entrance. “First, let’s go out on the porch. I need some air.”