Her Favourite Maverick

He gave her a long look, a look both considering and concerned, as though he was trying to decide whether to push her to confess what was bothering her or back off. She breathed a sigh of relief when he said, “Right this way.”

They went down a central hallway, past a big living room and a kitchen that could use a redo to an office at the back of the house.

By then, she’d pulled herself together. “You weren’t kidding.” She gave a low laugh as she approached the big mahogany desk that dominated the room, its surface piled with old ledgers, dusty CDs and floppies.

“Most of this is probably meaningless to us, I realize,” he said, setting her laptop on a side chair.

She put her tote down beside it. “Yeah, it’s doubtful I’ll need any of the records generated by the former owners.”

“If you don’t need them, we can just toss them out.”

“I might need them. I can’t say until I look through all the current records. And you might want to look through it all later. You might find out you own something you didn’t even know you bought.”

“Even the floppies? They would need converting just to read them, wouldn’t they?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to keep them for a while. If you decide at some point you want to go through them, we have a guy in Kalispell who will convert them for you.”

“That sounds really exciting.” He put on a dazed expression, even crossing his eyes. His playfulness made her grin and caused a flare of warmth in her belly. The man was way too appealing. But at least she was no longer about to cry and he’d stopped looking worried that she might have a meltdown right in front of him.

She said, “What I’ll need to set you up are your current records, including whatever you’ve got up till now of the Ambling A’s inventory, income and expenses.”

“Income?” He chuckled. “Not hardly. Not yet.”

“Well, okay then. Just your expenses and whatever inventory you have of machinery, equipment and livestock—including your best judgment of their value. I’ll need the documents you received from the title company when you closed the sale. I’ll put it all together using a basic accounting program that should be easy to keep current. That will be a few days to a week of work for me here at the ranch, if that’s all right?”

“Sounds good to me.” He had that look, like he was talking about a lot more than bookkeeping.

She pretended not to notice what a shameless flirt he was. “I’ll be in and out because I need to keep up with my other clients, too. But if I do the work here, I can come right to you with any questions I have about the records you’ve given me. We can clear up any issues on the spot.”

“Works for me.” He said it in a low rumble that stirred a bunch of butterflies to life in her belly.

She tried valiantly to keep a professional tone as she rattled off more suggestions. “After you’re all set up, you’ll need someone to post transactions regularly. I have a couple of local people who can do that. Or you can just put in the time every week or so and do it yourself. I suggest you reconcile the bank balance and the general ledger at least once a month.”

“Sure. And I’ll hire whoever you suggest. What about tax time?” he asked.

“I’ll be happy to do your taxes.”

“Good.” He arched an eyebrow and teased, “How ’bout an audit?”

She laughed. “Very funny. You know I can’t audit my own work.”

“Damn. Busted.” He tipped his head to the side, his gaze lazy and warm. It felt so good just to have him looking at her, to be staring right back at him, thinking all kinds of naughty thoughts as she went through her stock suggestions for keeping accounts in order.

Really, this was getting out of control. They were more or less having sex with their eyes. If she didn’t watch out, she would do something crazy, like throw herself into his arms and beg him to kiss her.

Uh-uh. It needed to stop.

“I should get to work,” she said.

“Right.” He pointed at the piled-high desk. “I think everything you need is there, including that big manila folder jammed with receipts, the inventory lists and the packet from the title company. You can tell the current stuff by the lack of dust.”

“Okay, then.” She moved behind the desk and pushed the records she would be using to one side. That left the piles of ledgers and old disks.

He got the message. “You need space to work.”

“Do you have another desk you want me to use? A table works fine, too.”

“The desk is yours for as long as you need it. I’ll box up the old records, get them out of your way.”

There were empty boxes waiting against one wall. Together, they started putting the ledgers in one box and piling the old disks in another.

She’d straightened from the boxes and was turning to the desk to grab another handful of disks when she spotted Max leaning in the open doorway to the back hall. He looked like some old-time gunslinger in black jeans, black boots, a white shirt and a black Western-cut jacket.

“The lovely Sarah,” the older man said. “What a surprise.” Something in his tone made her uneasy, some faint edge of...what? Mistrust? Disapproval?

But why?

“Hi, Max.” She gave him a big smile.

He didn’t smile back or even give her a nod, but turned to Logan as though she wasn’t even there. “Give me a few minutes?”

“Can’t it wait? Sarah and I were just—”

“Go.” Sarah faked an offhand tone. She felt completely dismissed by Max and that had her emotions seesawing again the way they had in the front all. There was absolutely no reason she should care if Logan’s dad didn’t like her. But she did care. There was a clutch in her throat and a burning behind her eyes as her totally inappropriate tears threatened to rise again. She waved Logan off. “Talk to your dad. I’ll finish clearing the desk and get to work.”

* * *

Impatient to return to his favorite accountant, Logan reluctantly followed Max out to the back porch.

The old man leaned on one of the posts that framed the steps down to the yard. He stared out at the ragged clumps of wild bunchgrass that extended to the back fence. Like too many fences on the property, it needed repair.

Logan braced a shoulder against the other post. “Okay, Dad. What’s so important we have to deal with it right this second?”

Max’s gaze remained on the backyard. He took a long count of ten to answer. “I can see now why you suddenly decided we needed to get the books in order.”

Why deny it? “You know I like Sarah. It shouldn’t be a surprise—and we do need someone to set up a system to keep track of everything.”

“You’ve got a fancy business degree. You can do all that yourself.”

“Dad, I didn’t come to Montana to take up bookkeeping. Sarah is equipped to do it fast and efficiently.”

Max slanted him a narrow look. “Maybe you don’t trust your old dad. You think you need a professional to tell you that everything’s on the up-and-up.”

Logan snorted out a dry laugh. “Oh, come on. I wouldn’t have signed on for this if I thought you were up to something you shouldn’t be. Still, it never hurts to have a professional putting a good system in place, keeping everyone honest.”

“So you’re telling me she’s only here for her bookkeeping skills? You’ve got absolutely no interest in those big amber eyes and that pretty smile?”

This conversation was a complete waste of time—time he could be spending with the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. “I’m thirty-three years old,” Logan said flatly, “long past the age I have to run my personal choices by you. I’ll date who I want to date.” At least, I will if I can somehow convince Sarah to give me a shot.

“A woman with a child, Logan. It’s a bad idea. If it doesn’t work out, the kids are always the ones who suffer.”

Logan had had about enough. He straightened from the porch post and turned to face his father directly. “What is it with you all of a sudden? Are you talking about Sheila?” Sheila was his mother. She’d left them when Logan was seven. It had taken him several years to accept that she was no mother to him in any way that mattered. Even saying her name made a bitter taste in his mouth. Max shot him a bleak glance, but then, without a word, he turned and stared off toward the fence again.

“You dragged me out here,” Logan prodded. “Talk. I’m listening.”

But Max only waved a dismissive hand and continued to stare at nothing. Fed up with him, Logan went back in the house.

When he entered the office, Sarah glanced up sharply from behind the desk. He didn’t like the look on her face, a tense look, kind of teary-eyed, a look a lot like the one she’d had in the front hall earlier.

He pushed the door shut behind him. If Max had more to say, he could damn well knock. “What’s wrong?”

She had her laptop open and the big packet of sale documents spread out in front of her. Shutting the laptop, she rose. “You know what? I should go.” She swiftly lined up the stack of papers and closed the packet. “I know of a perfectly good bookkeeper in Kalispell. I’ll text you his number.”

“Sarah.”

She didn’t answer, just scooped up her laptop and took a step out from behind the desk. Logan stopped her by blocking her path, causing her to clutch the laptop to her chest and stare up at him defiantly. “Excuse me, please.”

“Sarah.”

She hitched up her pretty chin. “You are in my way.”

“What’s the matter?” It took everything he had not to touch her, not to grab her good and tight in his arms. “Talk to me.”

Her soft lips trembled. “It’s, um, quite obvious that your dad doesn’t want me here.”

“It’s not about you, not really.”

“Of course you would say that.”

“Look. Sometimes I don’t think he knows what he wants. He gets these wild ideas, that’s all. You can’t take him seriously. Bottom line, we need the accounts in order and that means we need you.”

“But I just don’t understand. It’s like he thinks I’m after you or something, trying to trap you into—I don’t know, putting a ring on my finger, I guess. And I’m not. I swear I’m not. I’ve got no interest in marriage. I don’t want to trap anyone.” She stared up at him through eyes swimming in barely held-back tears, so earnest, so very sincere. “Especially not, um, you.”

He tried to tease her. “You know, if you keep talking that way, you’re bound to hurt my feelings. I’m a very sensitive guy.” And he did dare to touch her then. Clasping her shoulders, he held her gaze.

“I...oh, Logan.” She looked absolutely miserable and he should probably just let her go. But he held on.

What was it that she did to him? He didn’t get it. He felt like ten kinds of selfish jerk to be putting her through this. But still, he just stood there, hands holding her slim shoulders, keeping her in place.

Finally, she spoke again. “See, the thing is, it hasn’t worked out for me, to get involved with a man. So I promised myself I wouldn’t. Not for years. Maybe never. And then you show up and, well, frankly, Logan, you really tempt me.”

This was bad news? “Excellent.”

“No. No, it’s not. It’s not excellent in the least. All it does is confuse me to feel this way about you. I don’t need it, all this confusion. I’m already overworked and exhausted. The last thing I need is a sexy cowboy in the mix.”

“Hold on,” he said tenderly. “So then, what you’re saying is you think I’m tempting and sexy?”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “That is so not the point.”

“Maybe not. But you can’t blame me for being pleased to hear how you feel.” He wanted to kiss her, just pull her close and put his mouth on hers. But he wasn’t sure how she would react to that. She seemed really upset and he didn’t want to make her any more so.

“It’s all too much, don’t you get it?” she cried. “I’m just plain on overload.” And then, as if to illustrate her point, a single tear got away from her. It slipped over the dam of her lower eyelid and traced a gleaming trail down her cheek.

“Sarah. Damn it.” He let her go, but only so he could get his hands on the laptop she clutched so tightly. When he tried to take it, she resisted. “It’s okay,” he coaxed. “Come on, now. Let go.” And she did. When she gave in and released it, he plunked it down on the desk and took her shoulders again. “Sarah, don’t cry.”

Another tear escaped. And another after that. “Too late,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Aw, Sarah...” He pulled her close and she let him, collapsing against him, her soft arms sliding around his waist.

For a too-short span of perfect seconds, she clung to him. He breathed in the clean scent of her silky hair, wondered what she’d done to him, hoped that whatever it was, she would never stop.

But then she looked up again, her eyes wet and so sad, a tear dripping off the end of her pretty nose.

“Here,” he said. “Sit down.” He pushed her gently back into the old leather desk chair and looked around for a tissue. There weren’t any.

She sniffled. “Give me my tote, please.” He went around the desk to grab it from the chair where she’d left it and handed it to her. She pulled out a travel pack of tissues, took one and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m a mess,” she said.

“No.” A hank of her hair had escaped from her ponytail. Gently, he guided it back behind the shell of her ear. Retreating, but only a little, he hitched a leg up on the corner of the desk. “You’re tired and overworked. And completely gorgeous.”

She gave a little snort-sniffle at that. “Yeah, right.”

He put up a hand, like a witness about to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. “You’re gorgeous,” he said again. “And I mean that sincerely.”

She started to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m just so tired, you know? Tired of working nonstop and trying to be a decent mom to Sophia and really not doing either all that well. I don’t get it, I really don’t. How did everything go so wrong?”

He leaned closer. “What went wrong? Sarah, come on. Tell me. I need to know everything that’s bothering you.”

She scoffed. “Why?”

“So I can try to make it better.” He actually meant that, he realized as he said it. He wanted to be with her—for as long as it lasted. And during that time, he wanted to be good for her. When they parted, he wanted her to remember him as a good guy who had treated her well.

She shook her head slowly. “If you keep pushing, I’m just going to go ahead and unload it all on you. My whole life story, all the ways I messed up. It will be a lot. It will be a really bad case of extreme oversharing and you will wish you’d never asked.”

“No, I won’t.”

She scoffed. “Yes, you will. Believe me. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Uh-uh. For you to talk to me about what made you cry is exactly what I want.” And he did want it. He really did. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

She stared at him, considering. “You’re sure?”

“I am. Talk to me, please.”

“Logan, I—”

He stopped her with a shake of his head. “Tell me.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him. And then, at last, she let it all out.

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