do on my own,” he said. “But the more help I can hire, the faster it’ll go. But since money is tight, we can’t bring in too many workers.”
“How many will speed things up?”
“Even two or three would help a lot.”
“Can I afford them?”
“I’ll contract them. That way they’ll be getting paid as the work progresses, even though I won’t get paid until the sale goes through. How’s that?”
She looked surprised. “That’s more than I expected. You wouldn’t survive a week in San Francisco, doing business this way.”
“You can get ripped off by paying for services ahead of the finished work,” he replied, thinking she was biting the hand that fed her if that had been criticism.
“Noted,” she said with a nod.
“Let’s decide how extensive you want this renovation, and make a budget.”
Again she looked surprised, as though she hadn’t expected him to be this professional. After seeing his ineptitude with his kids, her surprise might be justified, he thought wryly.
She walked him through the house, and he took notes and made lists on the tablet in his black folder. He asked her questions and made suggestions until their ideas for the project were compatible.
They entered the wood-floored living room where the kids were sprawled on sleeping bags, watching a cartoon.
“Do you have a computer?” he asked.
She nodded. “I brought it with me so I could work.”
“Good. I have a program for designing kitchens and baths that you can play with. You give it the specs, lay out the requirements, and it designs the blueprints. Saves a lot of money and the plans are easy to work from. I’ve used it dozens of times. Let’s go outside.”
She nodded and they walked out to survey the house and outbuildings together.
“The house is good and solid, and the land is valuable. Your father had a nice operation going here at one time. I would think it would be hard to sell and leave it all to strangers.”
She glanced at the cloudless blue sky, then down the length of the drive. “I have a good job waiting for me.”
Not an explanation. Not a word about any sentimental ties or feelings of regret at selling. Nothing personal at all. He’d been neatly kept at a distance. Her impersonal treatment shouldn’t have bothered him; he was a professional. But it did. For some reason what she thought of him mattered. And she obviously didn’t think him worthy of her thoughts or feelings.
He took her cue and stayed on the subject of the work. Another hour later he climbed into his truck, praying it would start again, and gave her a salute when the engine turned over and he drove off.
Beneath the plastic sheeting the seat was wet, and the once-blue carpeting was green and slimy. The whole cab smelled like skunky water. He’d called around and found a place willing to clean the interior, but it wasn’t going to be cheap. There was still the matter of the creased fender, too.
Taylor and Ashley would never make enough allowance in their combined lifetimes to pay for this fiasco, and he still wasn’t sure how to handle their behavior. Last night, he’d given them each a stern lecture and grounded them to their room. He and the girls shared a room in Garrett’s house, which Mitch had twin-proofed, so there had been no way to separate them. Since they’d had each other, he wasn’t sure just how effective the evening’s confinement had been.
Besides, he thought, pulling into the drive, taking them to Cade and Leanne’s today had given them another reprieve.
He found the three of them on the side lawn, engaged in a chaotic game of croquet. Cade merely shook his head, rubbed his shin, and turned the girls over to their father.
“Thanks, man,” Mitch said. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me two,” his half brother replied with a wry grin.
Mitch agreed with a laugh, belted the girls into the borrowed ranch truck, and drove to his grandfather’s ranch.
“Daddy, we’re bored,” Ashley said, jumping out of the truck and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“I have to take my truck to get it cleaned, and you two are grounded.”
“But you left us all day!” Taylor said, wide-eyed.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t have a good time with Uncle Cade.”
“But we want to go get some ice cream. It’s boring here.”
As usual, Mitch couldn’t bring himself to be harder, because he felt sorry for them. They had no mother. Somehow these incidents just never seemed important enough to disrupt life more, to make his girls even more unhappy.
Ashley pouted and plopped herself on the lawn, her grass-stained knees drawn up to her chin. Taylor took his hand and pumped it persistently. What had happened to those darling, angelic babies? When had they become manipulators?
“All right. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“And rent a movie, Daddy?” Ashley begged.
He wasn’t doing the right thing, but he didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t know how to change this cycle of behavior. The twins were confused. This was another new situation, and they’d been faced with so many adjustments in their short lives.
He hoped that once the work started at the Bolton ranch, his girls wouldn’t make the days miserable for all of them. He just had no idea how to ensure that.
Arranging bids and hiring his helpers took most of the week, but by the following Monday, work was under way. Mitch had pulled a lot of strings and taken advantage of small-town kindness to hasten the progress, and Heather appreciated his efforts.
He and the three men he’d hired had been tearing off the back porch and the shingles most of the morning. Heather figured she’d better get used to the racket; this was only the first day.
She’d shopped in Billings and ordered via the Internet to acquire materials to teach and entertain five children for several weeks. Organization was the key to keeping things running smoothly, so she’d scheduled their days on a calendar with classes and crafts and playtime.
This morning, Taylor slumped in her chair and refused to participate. She glared at Heather. “You can’t make me.”
“You’re right, I guess. I can’t make you. You’ll just have to sit there and be bored.”
Taylor folded her arms over her chest and belligerently raised her chin. “I want to watch a video.”
“It’s not video time until after lunch.”
Taylor scowled and kicked the table leg with her swinging foot.
Heather took a deep breath and turned back to the table. A few minutes later, while showing Patrick how to connect the numbered dots on a page, she heard Taylor jump up from the table.
The child ran for the back door—the door they’d all been warned not to use—twisted the bolt and threw open the door. A scream ripped from her throat as she disappeared from sight.
Heather reached the opening and stared four feet down at the pile of boards and rubble where the girl had landed. “Taylor! Are you all right?”
Mitch scrambled down the ladder from where he’d been ripping off boards and bounded over the debris to his daughter. Crying indignantly, the child sat and raised her bleeding knee.
“Honey, didn’t you hear me tell all of you not to come out that door?” he asked.
Heather stared down at the top of his head. “She heard you, all right.”
He glanced up. “What happened?”