Chapter One
“Pops, please.” Gentry Winchester whipped his ball cap off his head and slapped the crown against his thigh. “Let Doug help you get cleaned up. Leah is going to be here soon and I have a ton of stuff to get done. I don’t have time to fight with you. I need you to go with Doug. Right now.”
Damn the old man. Gentry didn’t need his stubbornness. The week had already gone to hell—two horses to train, one sale to finalize, no assistant to help manage the chaos. And it was only Monday.
The ranch phone jangled from his home office for the third time in five minutes. His cell phone vibrated in his back pocket a second later.
Pops shook a gnarled finger at Gentry, his bright baby blue eyes sparking. “Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I’m seventy-seven years old. I raised you.”
Gentry speared his grandfather with a look. “Then stop acting like a three-year-old.”
Pops sidled closer. When he spoke, his words were soft, eyes pleading. “I don’t like him, Gentry.”
Gentry’s irritation deflated like a shredded tire.
Doug stood off to the side, thumbing through his phone.
The thing was, Gentry didn’t click with Doug either. He was competent enough, but condescending toward Pops. Unfortunately, he had been the only caregiver available and willing to travel all the way out to the ranch when Gentry first arranged for help. Gentry had meant to search for a new caregiver, but demanding clients and the horses he was supposed to be training and selling consistently had usurped his time. Pops’s complaints were the least critical. Or so he’d thought.
Apparently, Gentry needed to make time. After everything his grandfather had done for him, the least Gentry could do was find the perfect caregiver. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the constant ringing and demands blurring into white noise.
The phone rang yet again. Dammit. Ranch business needed his attention. Gentry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Every day started before dawn and ended long after dark, and he was still falling behind.
“Pops, we’ll keep searching, but Marissa quit on us, and a buyer is going to be here any minute, and so is Leah, and I need to answer the damned phone. So please, please go with Doug.”
“Hello, Winchesters,” called Leah from the entryway. “I have someone with me.”
Gentry sighed in relief, and guilt snaked through him as a result.
“Leah, thank God. Come talk some sense into this old man.” He glared at Pops. Pops gave him the finger. Gentry threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. Doug snorted.
Leah came around the corner, followed by a guy in snug but not quite form-fitting khaki-colored slacks. A fancy insulated vest in a camel color covered a blue long-sleeve button-down. A leather messenger bag hung over his shoulder. He looked like he’d stepped out of a back-to-school spread for the Ivy League.
Then Gentry’s eyes reached the man’s face—clean lines, sharp cheekbones, and eyes a dark chocolate brown that didn’t mask how alert he appeared. Watchful. The kind of eyes that took everything in at once. His hair was neat, parted like he actually owned a comb and knew how to use it. Handsome, but in that polished, city-boy way Gentry never knew what to do with.
And shit. He’d completely forgotten about—
“This is Liam from Austin,” Leah said. “He says you’re expecting him.”
Gentry wiped his right hand across his ass and stepped forward. “Yes, of course. Gentry Winchester. Welcome to Winchester Ranch.”
The office phone jangled; his cell phone vibrated once again. He pulled the phone from his pocket and noted the caller id. “Fuck.”
“Gentry,” Pops admonished.
Heat flooded his cheeks and he glanced from Leah to Liam. “So sorry. I have to take this.” He ducked into the office.
* * * * *
Liam Townsend followed Leah through the window-paned door and into the foyer of the quintessential farmhouse. A staircase on the left of the entryway led upstairs, and the hardwood floor on the right led toward the back of the house, a wood-paneled room in view.
Through the wide doorway on the right was a formal living room with dark wood cabinets and collectible figurines, an expansive pastoral landscape, and furniture with light-colored brocade upholstery.
On the left was a more lived-in room with a large leather sofa and matching chairs; a huge tv hung on the far wall. Afghans hung over the sofa and one chair. A doorway in the far corner opened to what appeared to be the kitchen.
A mounted stag head watched over the room from between two front windows. Liam grimaced, unsure of how he felt about that exactly. Taxidermied animals in living rooms weren’t really his thing, but he was the guest here and he was determined not to make a fool of himself on day one.
One week, he reminded himself. He had to get through one week, submit a solid article, and keep his job intact.
“Pops, we’ll keep searching, but Marissa quit on us, a buyer is going to be here any minute, and so is Leah, and I need to answer the damned phone. So please, please go with Doug.”
The voice was deep and loud, but not quite yelling. Liam’s fists clenched, an automatic brace he hated but hadn’t quite managed to train out of himself.
Leah shook her head and rolled her eyes, a smile hovering around her mouth. Liam surmised then that such outbursts were common enough occurrences. Good to know if he was going to be around for the next week.
“Hello, Winchesters,” called Leah, moving down the hall. “I have someone with me.”
“Leah, thank God. Come talk some sense into this old man,” replied the voice. The deep timbre, while filled with impatience, sent Liam’s heart rate up a notch. He liked the sound, but the tone made him nervous.
Liam straightened his shirt cuffs, trying to appear composed—order was the only defense he knew—and followed Leah past the stairs and around a corner.
Three men turned their attention to Liam at once.
First, a very tall balding guy with washed-out eyes of gray or hazel, he couldn’t tell.
Next, an older gentleman with white hair, a bushy mustache, and bright blue eyes.
Then the third man. Dark brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a neatly trimmed beard outlining his mouth and chin; the rest of his face was clean-shaven.
Liam swallowed. He didn’t know whether to be turned on or to run screaming back to his rental car.
Dark hair and dark eyes definitely pushed Liam’s buttons. The facial hair too. The whole rancher/cowboy vibe, not so much. In college, he’d been on the receiving end of way too many insults from swaggering blowhards so insecure they believed that Liam was some sort of threat to their collective manhood.
But this cowboy? This cowboy looked tired and frazzled and not much like a cowboy. And despite Liam’s own anxiety, an inexplicable urge to offer assistance swelled in his chest.
“This is Liam Townsend from Austin,” Leah said. “He says you’re expecting him.”
A fleeting expression of dismay crossed the man’s face. Liam swallowed. Well. That didn’t bode well.
With a nod, the man wiped his right hand across his backside and held it out. “Yes, of course. Gentry Winchester. Welcome to Winchester Ranch.” The smile he offered Liam was brief but seemed genuine. Some of Liam’s tension eased, but his heart skipped a traitorous beat.
No, no, no. He was here to shadow Gentry for a week, to write a story worthy of Lone Star State Magazine, and to keep his job. Nothing else. No falling for straight men. Because men like Gentry were always—much to Liam’s disappointment but never to his surprise—heterosexual.
Liam slid his hand into Gentry’s, his skin brushing rough calluses. A phone rang, and a faint buzz sounded from Gentry’s person.
The phone kept ringing, and Liam twitched inwardly.
The phone jangled again; Gentry’s cell phone vibrated once more. He pulled the device from his pocket and glanced at the caller id. “Fuck.”
“Gentry,” the older man admonished.
Faint color rose on his cheeks as he glanced from Leah to Liam. “So sorry. I have to take this.”
“Sure,” Liam said.
Gentry whirled around and ducked through a doorway. “Winchester Ranch,” he said. “Todd—hey, sorry about that. Minor emergency.”
“Liam?” said Leah.
He turned toward her smiling face. Her spring blue eyes resembled the older gentleman’s. Maybe family, maybe coincidence, but their kindness steadied him more than he cared to admit.
“This is John Winchester, Gentry’s grandfather. Pops, this is Liam; he’s come to do a piece on your ranch.”
“That’s happening now?” Mr. Winchester stepped forward, appearing delighted and held out a hand. His keen eyes lingered on Liam longer than felt comfortable. “’Bout time.”
Liam didn’t shift or fidget outwardly. Instead, he curled his toes tightly inside his shoes and shook Mr. Winchester’s weathered hand.
“My grandfather and father started the ranch back in 1919,” said Mr. Winchester. “I’ve been working the land since I was a boy, but Gentry’s been in charge for a few years now.”
Something akin to relief sparked inside Liam at the man’s words. Mr. Winchester’s institutional memory could be invaluable—and might save him from having to spend too much time with Gentry. He clearly had a lot going on and Liam…well, Liam could do without the added angst.
“That’s amazing, Mr. Winchester. I’d love to chat with you this week, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, well, sure. Of course.” Mr. Winchester appeared way more pleased than a conversation warranted, but if it meant that much to the older man, Liam certainly didn’t mind. He offered him a smile.
“In the meantime,” Leah said, focusing her attention on the senior Winchester with arched eyebrows, auburn curls swaying around her shoulders, “you and I have a date.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Mr. Winchester with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Liam. We’ll talk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gentry reappeared in the hallway as Leah followed the tall guy and Mr. Winchester back to the stairs and then up.
“Sorry about that,” said Gentry. “It’s been a madhouse around here. I’ve got three buyers on their way, a couple of dozen things to do around the ranch, appointments all week, and Pops picked now to rebel. I’ll do my best, but bear with me—”
Gentry’s cell phone chimed.
“Dammit,” Gentry said. “My assist—”
“Marissa quit,” Liam said.
Gentry blinked, surprised. “Yes.”
“I overheard your exchange with your grandfather.”
A brief, uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
The phone rang again.
“Pardon me,” Gentry said and hustled into the office to grab the phone. “Winchester Ranch.”
Liam followed. Gentry’s voice remained pleasant as he spoke with whoever was on the other end of the phone, but the rolling eyes and tapping finger told a different story.
Piles of paperwork sat haphazardly across the desk Gentry stood behind. Mail was stacked on a file cabinet. Random file folders sat in a leaning pile next to it. The fax machine beeped and whirred, and several sheets of paper slid into the tray already filled with paper.
Who even faxes anymore?
Liam’s skin itched. Chaos made him antsy. He’d become an executive assistant for that reason—to bring order to clutter and disorganization. His conversion to reporter had been unexpected and definitely unwanted, but his options had been simple: venture into the wilds of northwest Texas or get fired. So. Yeah. Here he was. But he’d been assistant to the managing editor of the magazine for long enough that he could pull this off.
Overwhelmed by the sudden loss of his own assistant, Gentry clearly had more important things to deal with than a reporter. Now that he thought about the situation, Liam was surprised that Gentry hadn’t tried to cancel.
The tone of Gentry’s voice indicated stress and worry.
Although Liam had gained a modicum of poise over the years, the old reactions still hit—sweaty palms, tight throat, that reflexive urge to make himself invisible. Men like Gentry had reinforced his instincts in college, but he knew exactly where they’d started: childhood. Keep the peace. Stay small. Don’t make trouble.
But Gentry clearly needed help, and the kind of help he needed was Liam’s specialty.
Gentry hung up. “Sorry.”
Liam shook his head. Was he really going to do this? His heart thudded against his ribs as he said, “Look, your grandfather said he’s been working the ranch since he was a child, so, you know, I think he could probably provide me with the bulk of what I need for the article. If…if that’s all right with you.” He shoved his hands into his vest pockets, resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot.
Gentry’s eyes rounded, surprise and then relief flashed across his handsome face. He raked long blunt fingers through his short dark wavy hair. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? That’s perfect. Okay. Good.” Two rows of pretty white teeth flashed at Liam.
Liam’s heart pitter-pattered. After dark hair and dark eyes in combination, a gorgeous smile was going to trip him up every time. And being the recipient of a smile that genuine? That meant he’d done something right, and that was always a good feeling.
“So, uh, I am scheduled to be here for a week because I figured you were a busy man and you definitely are. But talking to your grandfather, who doesn’t appear to be as busy as you are, isn’t going to take me, you know, forty hours. And—” Liam adjusted the strap of his bag. “—I’m an extremely organized person. I have neat handwriting and can type around sixty words per minute. I could, uh, fill in and answer phones and perhaps get your office back into order? Give you a chance to get caught up, find another assistant?”
Gentry’s thick, dark eyebrows arched. “Oh, my God—you’d do that? No, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I caused this mess.” He waved at said mess. “I appreciate the offer though.”
“Look, Mr. Win—”
“God, Gentry, please.”
Liam nodded. “Only if you call me Liam?”
“That’s fair.”
“Okay, Gentry. I’m offering. I don’t have actual OCD, but I have…let’s call it a strong preference for order. You’d honestly be doing me a favor.”
Gentry grinned again, and Liam’s breath hitched minutely. He was going to be in serious trouble if he didn’t get Gentry Winchester out the door and on with his day.
“I can chat with your grandfather and work on this.” He waved a hand expansively. “Doing so is not an imposition. I swear.”
* * * * *
Gentry was so torn. Having someone step in would be a godsend. “But you’re a reporter.”
“I’m a reporter now. In a recent past life, I was a personal assistant and this is what I did for a living.”
“You’re only going to be here for a week,” Gentry said, not sure what to make of this man.
Liam’s gaze skimmed the office and shrugged. “I’m very good.”
Gentry sighed. He was going to get used to the orderliness and the help, and then Liam would be gone, and he’d be stuck again. But at least he’d have a clean office to start with. And Pops would have someone to keep him busy, and maybe Gentry could use some of the time he would’ve spent on office management on finding a new caregiver for Pops. “Okay. If you’re absolutely sure, then I accept.”
“I’m positive.” Liam appeared almost relieved as he surveyed the clutter. He gazed at Gentry. “What do I need to know for answering phones? Will I need to make appointments or take messages for you to make return calls and schedule them yourself? Do you have a calen—”
The office phone rang, and Liam reached for the handset, halting with raised eyebrows.
“By all means,” Gentry said. If the man was going to run his office, he may as well get started.
“Winchester Ranch, how may I help you?”
Gentry watched and listened. His unease at leaving a stranger in charge of his office dissipated as Liam talked.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’m not sure what’s going on with the invoice, Mr. Cassidy, but I’ll find out and give you a call before the end of business today.” He listened for another moment and then said, “Goodbye.”
And okay, Gentry was impressed. Liam handled the call professionally and succinctly, but still kindly and with respect. Mr. Cassidy was the crabbiest asshole on the best of days, and he tried Gentry’s patience as soon as Gentry heard the man’s voice, but Liam was perfect.
“Mr. Cassidy at Carson Hay says your last invoice is past due. What would you like me to tell him when I call him back?”
Liam didn’t seem to be judging. He simply waited, expression open and neutral.
“I’m sure the invoice is here somewhere,” Gentry said, with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t realize it hadn’t been paid before Marissa quit. So, um, if you could look for that and pay the balance—” He opened a small lockbox and held out a credit card. “—that’d be great.”
Liam’s eyes rounded at the plastic in his hand. “Maybe you should leave that in your grandfather’s care until I locate the invoice and need to make the call.”
Gentry understood Liam’s reticence. He did. Liam was a stranger. Gentry didn’t know him from Adam, and he’d just offered him a credit card. Liam’s reaction was reassuring. Gentry set the card down on a nearby stack.
“I appreciate that, but I’m basically handing you all my worldly goods as it is. There are checks and bank statements floating around here, and I’m giving you carte blanche, so having the actual plastic makes no lick of difference if you wanted to fleece me.”
Dismay and horror crossed Liam’s handsome face. “That’s not—no. I would never.”
Gentry chuckled. “No, I know. I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I’m just sayin’.”
Gentry’s cell phone buzzed from his pocket, and he glanced at the screen. “Hang on— Hey, Cisco, what’s up?
“Yeah, okay. On my way.” Gentry’s stomach clenched as he shoved his phone in his pocket. Horse troubles. “Listen, I have to go. Whatever progress you can make here will be greatly appreciated, so have fun. If you find the Carson Hay invoice, call and make the payment. If you don’t find it, pay it anyway. I think it’s for somewhere between $1,500 and $2,000. If he says it’s more than that, then tell him we’ll pay $2,000 until we locate the invoice, which is also in my email somewhere. I’ll try to find it today.
“Other than that, you can ask Pops anything. If he doesn’t know, make a list. I’ll be home by six for dinner. You were great with Cassidy, so keep that up. And to answer your earlier question—just take messages. My days are too fluid for calendars.”
Liam slid a hand down the strap of his messenger bag still slung across his body. “I can do all that.”
“Then I’m out of here—and thanks. I appreciate your help.”
Gentry snagged the blue Lowe’s hat from the desk, snugged it on his head, and was out the door.
* * * * *
Liam followed Gentry’s exit with his eyes. He was a sucker for a hot guy wearing a backward ball cap. Liam was a sucker for dark hair, dark eyes, and facial hair. He was a sucker for men who were big and tall and filled out their clothing.
He absolutely could not develop any sort of feelings for Gentry.
Liam was here for a week, and he was here to do a job. Volunteering to clean Gentry’s office was bad enough, but the clutter would have driven him up a wall. His various anxieties didn’t need any extra fuel.
And that was another thing. Even if Gentry were interested in men—which it’d been Liam’s experience that men who looked like Gentry and owned ranches of any kind were never interested in other men—he wouldn’t be interested in a queer who was a hair’s breadth away from a breakdown at any given moment.
Being so far away from all that was familiar and soothing didn’t help at all, but he needed his job. If for no other reason than the expansive health benefits.
Right. He was here to do a job. Number one, to write an article about the day in the life of a rancher. Number two, to sort the rancher’s office. Writing the article wasn’t a problem at all. He had no doubt that the senior Mr. Winchester could provide more than enough information and anecdotes to make Liam’s article effortless. Cleaning Gentry’s office would take a few hours, which meant he’d have a lot of time on his hands.
May as well get to work.
Within three hours, he had all the stacks sorted into new piles. He located the Carson Hay invoice, called Mr. Cassidy, and paid the bill. There was a stack of other invoices he believed needed paying as well. He hoped that Marissa had a good reason for up and quitting the way she had and leaving this place in such bad shape.
He started inspecting the file cabinet to file some of this paperwork away. The drawers were a mess too, so maybe he ought to get permission to reorganize the files.
“Well, my goodness, aren’t you efficient?”
Liam smiled at Mr. Winchester leaning in the doorway. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Before I became a journalist, I was a personal assistant.” Not a lie. Except, of course, he wasn’t a real journalist. And he was still actually a personal assistant, not only to Mr. Peters, but now to Gentry. “I’m happy to help your grandson out.
“While I work on the filing, Mr. Winchester, why don’t you tell me about the early days of the ranch?”
Mr. Winchester’s eyes lit up like the theater marquee down the street from Liam’s apartment at dusk. “Don’t mind if I do. But only if you call me Pops.”
Liam’s insides warmed, and he smiled. “It’s a deal, Pops.”
Pops reminded him of both the father and the grandfather on that super old show he used to watch, The Waltons. He was fun and lovable like the grandfather, wise and a bit curmudgeonly at times like the father. Father figures Liam had grown up without.
Half an hour later, everything that needed to be filed had been filed, and he was hanging on every word of Pops’s tale about cattle rustlers when Gentry returned.
“Well, this looks cozy,” he said, smiling and dropping a hand to Pops’s shoulder. Pops reached up a slightly gnarled hand and patted Gentry’s.
The action sparked a longing in Liam. That easy touch, the everyday affection from both men—men—toward one another was…was wow. He saw it on television, but rarely in real life. He almost hadn’t believed that sort of warmth between men existed. His one boyfriend, Cody, hadn’t been affectionate, and they’d only touched during sex. Those weren’t the best memories either. Well, they were tainted more than anything. Liam pushed them away and glanced at his phone.
“You’re home early.” The clock read only a bit after five.
“Despite the rather chaotic start to the day, things smoothed out and my last appointment was rescheduled. Sooo…here I am.” With a flick of a middle finger, Gentry popped the blue Lowe’s ball cap from his head, caught the hat by its brim, and looped it on a hook between the worn rainbow-colored DuPont hat and a bright green hat with M&Ms printed on the fabric and appliqué letter patches across the front. There were another half a dozen similar caps hanging on the wall above the open doorway.
“Those aren’t baseball teams,” Liam said. He’d glanced at them often enough throughout the day. “And they’re not farm chemicals—well, except maybe DuPont, but not designed like that. Also, they’re not snapbacks.”
Gentry chuckled. “You ever heard of NASCAR?”
Liam nodded. “Racing. Cars taking a million left turns?”
Gentry laughed outright, Pops grinned. Liam’s mood lifted. Gentry’s laugh came from his belly, deep and rich, and the sound was wonderful. There hadn’t been a lot of laughter in Liam’s life. His mom was no-nonsense. His gram had been downright dour until the day she died. Liam’s own laughter was usually sitcom driven. Genuine laughter could be addictive.
“You got it.” Gentry’s gaze skimmed the office, his dark eyebrows arching over widened eyes once again. “Did you really go through all that paperwork?”
Liam wasn’t sure if he should be insulted. “Well, yes. The mess looked a lot worse than it was. I found the Carson Hay invoice and got that paid. And I found a handful of other things I’m uncertain about.” He placed a hand on the short stack. “If you have time to go through them with me, I can take care of anything else tomorrow.”
“Sure, yeah.” Gentry flipped through the papers quickly and frowned. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to log into some of these accounts to find out. Hey, listen—I appreciate this. I know you’re here to write an article, not manage my front office, but—” He pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly.
Pops rose and trundled out of sight. “Gonna use the little boy’s room and then get dinner going.”
“I’ve already offered,” said Liam, tracking Pops’s progress, a quiet warmth settling in his chest. He turned to Gentry. “Whatever you need. Pops has been a fount of information already about the history of the ranch, so I’ve got a lot to get started with. I’ll do that tonight when I get back to the Bluebonnet Inn and sort my thoughts.”
“Hey, why don’t you stay here?” Gentry asked and blinked as if surprised he’d made the offer, and then shrugged.
“What?” Liam asked, taken aback.
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