Fancy Pants (Only In Gooding Book #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

wrong, Pancake. Some things a man doesn’t ask. This is one of them. Fuller is too honorable to saddle me with his dirty work.” Fuller Johnson had ministered to Tim when his life was in ruins, but Tim knew the man wouldn’t ever call in the favor. He added, “I’d do just about anything for Fuller. He knows it, too, but he’d lay down and die before he’d consider asking me to reform that boy—even if he is a relation. He wouldn’t ask, but I’m stepping up to the task.”
    “Oh, I’ve known Fuller more’n long ’nuff to be shore he’d never ask. Fact of the matter is, we both know he’s too long in the tooth to handle the duty. That rheumatiz in his back and hands makes him too slow to do what needs doing anyplace but at that desk.”
    “He owns most of the ranch,” Creighton clipped as he scanned the landscape with a mixture of awe and admiration.
    “No one challenges that. He’s a great man. Fact still stands that you own a fair part and you do the bossin’. Just look—it’s the middle of calving season, and he up and went to Abilene. That says it all.”
    Giving him an unyielding gaze, Tim said, “You’ve got work to do.”
    Pancake walked off and teased over his shoulder, “So do you. Oh, boy, so do you, and I don’t envy you one lick of it!”

    Sydney headed toward the two-story white clapboard ranch house. Wisdom dictated she leave those rough men and establish her place in the household, but pride demanded she do so with decorum. She refused to let the bossy one’s cold disapproval bother her. Nothing was going to ruin her adventure.
    And what an adventure this was turning into! She looked about and smiled. The ranch seemed to possess miles of verdant land with fresh spring grass for numerous grazing cows. A fair number of wobbly legged calves stuck close by their mamas and bawled if they were hungry. Birdsong filled the air, and clumps of colorful wildflowers dotted the landscape. Living in such surroundings shouldn’t prove to be a hardship at all.
    The weight of the valise pulled on her shoulder and arm. The servants here needed to be taught manners. They didn’t introduce themselves and not a one saw to her luggage. That last man needed to be set straight on a few issues.
    Mama always said even the best staff slacked off when the master is gone. From the topnotch condition of the grounds, the place must normally be run admirably. Uncle Fuller’s not here now. Likely, that’s the cause of their apathetic ways. Well—all but that surly one .
    Sydney fought the temptation to glance back to make sure she hadn’t imagined the black-haired man. She’d almost gotten a crick in her neck from looking up at him. The dust on his rugged blue denim pants proved he was a man who worked hard for his living. He smelled as if he’d been working hard, too. An acrid mixture of sweat and leather clung to him. At least he’d not offered her his hand to shake—though Sydney couldn’t be sure whether he knew not to be so forward with his betters or if he’d been ashamed of how filthy he was.
    Realization streaked through her. It wouldn’t occur to that man to be ashamed of looking and smelling as he did; he was proud of it. It had earned him the others’ respect and obedience. A smile tugged at her lips. Being male was . . . unique. Fun, even.
    Sydney angled toward the house and managed to peek at him one last time. Even from this distance, he looked capable of doing everything Buffalo Bill did in the dime novels.
    Her boots clomped up each of the wooden steps of the porch. Off to the side, a four-foot-long swing hung from chains. Sydney imagined sitting there reading and enjoying a glass of lemonade. After her travels, she’d finally arrived and could divest herself of these miserable boots, order Velma to bring her something to quench her thirst, and—
    “C’mon in!” an unseen woman hollered before Sydney reached the screen door.
    A short, heavy woman in a blue calico apron lumbered up.