The McCaffertys: Thorne by Lisa Jackson

Author:Lisa Jackson [Jackson, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460363461
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2000-01-24T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“I just don’t want the rug pulled out from under me again,” Larry Todd said. He was tall, about six-three or six-four, with straight blond hair that fell over piercing green eyes. Somewhere between forty-five and fifty, he stood military straight on the porch, a thick jacket zipped to his neck as a raw wind chased down the valley.

“I’ll draw up a contract for a year,” Thorne assured him. “By that time Randi should be in charge again. Then you can deal with her.”

Frowning slightly, Larry gave a sharp nod. “Okay.” He slid a glance at the three brothers who had spent the day showing him around the place that he already knew like the back of his hand. If anything, Larry had pointed out the flaws in the ranch—the stretches of fence that needed to be repaired, the way the soil was eroding on the north side, why it would be a good idea to sell off some of the timber on the lower slopes of the foothills, pointing out that buying a new bailer wasn’t necessary this year, while investing in a larger tractor was a necessity. He knew about a neighbor’s bull—a prize-winner that could be traded for one on the ranch to mix up the genes of the herd. Why Randi had seen fit to let him go was beyond Thorne.

“So, how is that sister of yours?” Larry asked and, despite his falling out with Randi, deep grooves of concern stretched across his brow.

“Still in a coma.” Slade kicked at a small dirt clod with the toe of his boot.

“But she’ll pull through.”

“The doctors think so,” Thorne replied.

“And the baby?”

The men exchanged glances. Thorne said, “We had a scare. He’s still not out of the woods, but he’s doin’ better.”

“Good. Good.” Larry tugged at the hem of his gloves, fitting the rough leather more tightly around his fingers as the phone blasted from inside the house. “Draw up that contract and we’ll talk again.”

He took the steps toward his pickup as Thorne heard Juanita shout his name.

“Mister Thorne. Telephone!” she yelled and all three brothers smiled. It was good to have her back. They’d grown up with her heartfelt convictions, flashing dark eyes and stern sense of right and wrong.

Thorne stepped inside the house. “Boots off!” Juanita’s voice rang from the vicinity of the kitchen. She appeared, round-faced, her black hair now shot with strands of wiry gray, wiping her hands on the edge of her apron. “It’s your secretary.”

“I’ll take it in the den.” Thorne snapped up the receiver and listened as his secretary gave him an update on his ongoing projects. The development he was working on with Annette’s dad had hit a snag with the planning commission, there was threat of a framer’s strike and a real estate agent he worked with was “frantic” to talk to him.

By the time he got off the phone his brothers had settled into the living room. They stood in stocking feet, warming the backs of their legs against the fire.

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