Page 35 of A Cowboy to Call Her Own

Asher cleared his throat and said, “I’m happy to pay. Whatever you need.”

“Keep your money, son,” Herman said swiftly. “As it happens, I’ve got a different sort of deal in mind.”

That was not a surprise. Herman Whittaker might look more like an unstuffed scarecrow in his waders, plaid shirt and rubber boots. But he was sharp and astute and proof that, as Asher’s mom always claimed,a dusty hat did not mean a dull mind. Asher asked, “What kind of deal?”

“The kind where you build me a chicken coop and I give you full use of my trailer.” Herman grinned at Asher. There was merriment in his gaze and delight in his words. He rolled up onto the balls of his feet and lifted his eyebrows. “Didn’t think I remembered you, did you, son?”

Asher had been hopeful Herman might have forgotten the twins and their antics from their high school daredevil days. No such luck. Asher said, “I’ve been away for a while.”

“Yes. Too busy taking a bite out of the Big Apple to see fit to come home,” Herman stated, a thread of disapproval in his words.

“I’ve got a pretty demanding job in New York,” Asher said by way of an excuse. One that suited him quite well. Until he came back and danced with a pretty chef.

“Well, Walter always claimed you wouldn’t forget your roots.” Herman harrumphed and plucked his straw hat off his head as if to better see Asher. “Have you, then? Forgotten your roots.”

Things were certainly coming back to Asher. Yet, those he feared had more to do with the cowgirl beside him than his roots. It had been a while since he felt any sort of spark. The last time he had been captivated by a cowgirl was even longer.

There was no denying he was drawn to Kelley. Although, it was like sweet tea on a hot summer day—eventually, it ran out. Sparks faded. Distance would dim that awareness. As for his roots, there were too many city miles under the soles of his boots to feel that tug anymore.

“Perhaps we should get back to this chicken coop,” Kelley cut in. “This seems like a rather big request, Herman.”

But would Kelley consider dinner with Asher and a few turns on the Lucky Lane dance floor too big of an ask? Asher was only inquiring out of curiosity, of course. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Kelley continued, “Perhaps there is something else Asher might assist you with. Something perhaps less technical and labor intensive.”

Asher arched an eyebrow at Kelley, amused to realize that his cowgirl doubted he could build a chicken coop.

“Don’t fret, Kelley.” Herman waved his hand in the air and grinned. “The Blackwell boys have experience with chicken coops. They are particularly good at knocking them down.”

Kelley swung toward Asher.

“That is true.” At Kelley’s dismayed expression, Asher quickly added, “We also put it back together.”

That was after his brother Dylan knocked the chicken coop over and released more than a dozen of Herman’s excitable chickens into the field. Asher had the entire coop back to rights long before Dylan corralled the last of the agitated hens. Unfortunately, Asher had been laughing too hard watching the hens cluck and peck at Dylan’s ankles to help his twin or they might have gotten away before Herman caught them. Asher looked at Kelley and said solemnly, “No chickens were harmed.”

“Even so, you didn’t have to come back only to knock the chicken coop down again the following day and the day after that for more than a week straight.” Herman smashed his cowboy hat in his tight grip and shook it at Asher. “Don’t think I wasn’t watching you.”

Asher straightened and adjusted his cowboy hat. He had not returned to jump the chicken coop. Not one time. Asher had been the only one to scale the coop cleanly and without incident the first time. There was no need to do it again. However, his brother Dylan could not claim the same bragging rights. Apparently, Dylan had not been so keen on giving up, either. What his twin could do, Dylan always wanted to do better. For the most part, Dylan succeeded, except when he didn’t. And that was usually when Asher covered for Dylan.

Kelley shook her head at Asher and said, “What were you thinking?”

“We were teenagers. We pretty much only thought about racing fast on our horses and scaling whatever we could find,” Asher argued, still defending his twin even now. As if he was still looking out for Dylan like he always had when they were growing up. Asher continued, “It was all about the dare for my brother and me. Jumping things like fences and streams and whatever seemed to be the preferred obstacle in the moment.”

“Like my chicken coop,” Herman muttered and propped his straw cowboy hat back on his head. Then the crafty farmer turned around and started walking across his property. “Come on, then. I’ve got something to show you.”

Asher and Kelley followed Herman toward a vintage red barn with a second-story hayloft. Asher motioned Kelley inside, then let the door shut behind him.

Herman went over to a warped workbench where what looked to be building plans were spread across the stained wood top. Kelley moved beside Asher and leaned over to study the drawings.

The farmer’s gaze flashed and he said, “I can assure you that you won’t be knocking this chicken coop over anytime soon.”

“I think my days of jumping and racing across the back prairies are over,” Asher said easily and watched a small smile curve across Kelley’s face.

Herman shook his finger at Asher, yet his words were good-natured. “Get yourself in the saddle, son. It’ll all come back to you right quick.”

“I’m in the saddle, but it’s work related.” Getting the twos ready to race was requiring all the staff’s help. Asher added, “Seeing as I’m not scheduled to be in town for long, I doubt there’s time for pleasure riding.” Or fun with a chef.

Kelley’s smile faded.