McKettricks of Texas: Tate Read Online Free PDF

favorite blouse, which had either fallen or been pulled from the clothesline.
    Seeing her, the pups dropped the blouse in the grass—the lawn was in need of mowing, as usual—and yipped in gleefully innocent greeting. Libby didn’t have the heart to scold them, and they wouldn’t have understood anyway.
    With a sigh, she retrieved the blouse from the ground and stayed bent long enough to acknowledge each of the happy-eyed renegades with a pat on the head. “You,” she said sweetly, “are very, very bad dogs.”
    They were ecstatic at the news. A matched set, they both had golden coats and floppy ears and big feet. While Hildie looked on, nonplussed, they barked with joy and took a frenzied run around the yard, knocking over the recycling bin in the process.
    Hildie finally rose from her nest under the oak, stretched and ambled slowly toward her mistress.
    Libby leaned to ruffle Hildie’s ears and whisper, “Hang in there, sweet girl. With any luck at all, those two will be living the high life out on the Silver Spur by tomorrow night.”
    Hildie’s gaze was liquid with adoration as she looked up at Libby, panting and swinging her plume of a tail.
    “Suppertime,” Libby announced, to all and sundry,straightening again. She led the way to the back door, the three dogs trailing along behind her, single file, Hildie in the lead.
    The blouse proved unsalvageable. Libby flinched a little, tossing it into the rag bag. The blue fabric had flattered her, accentuating the color of her eyes and giving her golden brown hair some sparkle.
    Easy come, easy go, she thought philosophically, although, in truth, nothing in her life had ever been easy.
    The litany unrolled in her head.
    She’d paid $50 for that blouse, on sale.
    The economy had taken a downturn and her business reflected that.
    Marva was back, and she was more demanding every day.
    And as if all that weren’t enough, Libby had two dogs in dire need of good homes—she simply couldn’t afford to keep them—and she’d already pitched the pair to practically every other suitable candidate in Blue River with no luck. Jimmy-Roy Holter was eager to take them, but he wanted to name them Killer and Ripper, plus he lived in a camper behind his mother’s house, surrounded by junked cars, and had bred pit bulls to sell out of the back of his truck, along a busy stretch of highway, until an animal protection group in Austin had forced him to close down the operation.
    Libby washed her hands at the sink, rubbed her work-chafed hands down the thighs of her blue jeans since she was out of paper towels and all the cloth ones were in the wash.
    No, as far as placing the pups in a good home was concerned, Tate McKettrick was her only hope. She’d have to deal with him.
    Damn her lousy-assed luck.

CHAPTER TWO
    B Y THE TIME they got to the ranch, Audrey and Ava were streaked pale orange from the smoothie spills and had developed dispositions too reminiscent of their mother’s for Tate’s comfort. The minute he brought the truck to a stop alongside the barn, they were out of their buckles and car seats and hitting the ground like storm troopers on a mission, pretty much set on pitching a catfight, right there in the dirt.
    Tate stepped between them before the small fists started flying and loudly cleared his throat. The eldest of three brothers, he’d had some practice at keeping the peace—though he’d been an instigator now and again himself. “One punch,” he warned, “ just one, and nobody rides horseback or uses the pool for the whole time you’re here.”
    “What about kicks?” Audrey demanded, knuckles resting on her nonexistent hips. “Is kicking allowed?”
    Tate bit back a grin. “Kicks are as bad as punches,” he said. “Equal punishment.”
    Both girls looked deflated—he guessed they had that McKettrick penchant for a good brawl. If their features and coloring hadn’t told the story, he’d have known they were his just by their tempers.
    “Let’s