Читать книгу Texas Miracle - Mae Nunn, Gwen Ford Faulkenberry - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

MCCARTHY TEMPLE SAT behind his mahogany desk and frowned over his glasses at the three stacks of unfinished paperwork. He straightened each one to make his desk tidier. It was fortunate his brothers got their tax documents to him early, as he requested, because their taxes were becoming more and more complicated to complete.

This was a good thing, of course. Joiner, who was the next oldest after Mac, was carving out a successful business with his wife, Stella. They owned Star Stables, which provided hippotherapy to special needs clients. There they also bred Joiner’s polo stallion, Pistol, a horse that seemed to be made of money. The business owned by McCarthy’s baby brother, Hunt, and his wife was also booming. As the famous Cowboy Chef, Hunt attracted more visitors every year to Temple Territory, their five-star resort. Hunt’s twin, Cullen, had the easiest taxes of the group. He was a university professor, and didn’t make much money. However, since his marriage to a sweet lady with three girls, his taxes had become more unpredictable, just like his life.

Mac pressed a button on his office phone.

“Yes, sir?”

“Ella, I’m going to work through lunch today. Will you hold all my calls?”

“Of course, sir. Can I bring you some fresh coffee?”

“That would be great.”

A few minutes later, a birdlike woman with short white hair and kind blue eyes appeared at his desk with a steaming cup. She placed it on a coaster shaped like a star and emblazoned with the words Lone Star Accounting, McCarthy Temple, CPA.

“Thank you, Ella.”

She nodded. “You’re welcome, sir.” Ella smiled at Mac, revealing perfect white teeth. Her skin was the color of peaches and cream, and her starched dress was tailored and classy, just like her matching jewelry.

His heart warmed at the sight of his longtime assistant, who had become something of a mother figure in the time they’d worked together. “You’re really leaving me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I am, in two weeks.” She averted her eyes. “I have to.”

“Ella, really, what are Alaskan cruises and grandchildren compared to working here?”

Her eyes crinkled in the corners. “I will miss you, sir, but I am ready. I am getting too old for this.”

Mac laughed. She was a mere seventy-three and sharper than a tack. “Ella, we both know you could run this place. And besides, you make a mean cup of coffee.”

“It is simple to make coffee with your fancy machine. I’ll be glad to teach your new assistant if you ever hire one.” She tapped on her gold Timex watch. “Time is ticking, sir.”

“I know, I know. I guess I am in denial.” Mac removed his glasses and set them on the desk, then reached for his coffee. “But you have to admit we haven’t had any good applicants.”

“Don’t forget you have an interview at two today.”

“Oh, I’m glad you reminded me. I’d forgotten.” Mac set down his coffee. “That’s only two hours.”

Ella nodded and turned to leave. He heard her short heels clicking on the polished wood floor as she made her way back to the front desk. It was a comforting sound. Truth be told, Mac didn’t want to interview anyone else, didn’t want things to change. He was perfectly happy with Ella.

* * *

THE TIME FLEW by as it often did when Mac immersed himself in numbers. There was nothing more fun than working with them, making them add up, solving problems that were black-and-white and coming to clear solutions. Numbers were his sweet spot. He was deep in the middle of Star Stables’ health insurance billing when Ella appeared at the door with a file.

“Just thought you might want to look over this. She should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Mac reluctantly set aside Joiner’s taxes and leaned back in his leather chair, propping his dark brown Ariats up on his desk. He opened the file Ella had given him to try to quickly familiarize himself with the applicant’s information. He wanted to ask good questions and get the information he needed. Ah, yes. Now he remembered whom he was interviewing and why. She was a hometown girl. And smart. Both of these things were valuable to Mac’s way of thinking.

Jacqueline Aimes had been a scrawny kid who’d gone to school in Kilgore, graduating with Joiner’s high school class. Her résumé said she graduated from college with a degree in communications and a minor in interdisciplinary studies. Probably way overqualified for a front-desk job. But like so many others he knew with those sorts of degrees, she was likely having a hard time finding a job.

If she was really good, he’d be willing to pay her enough to make it worth her while. Mac didn’t like turnover. After all, Ella had been with him since he opened his business. He really hated to see her go, which was maybe why he’d been so reluctant to replace her. But it was coming down to the wire, and tax season was upon them.

The phone on his desk lit up.

“Yes, Ella?”

“Miss Aimes is here to see you, sir.”

“Bring her on back.”

Ella appeared shortly in the doorway with a woman who looked like a model, and a barely suppressed smug expression.

“Holy cow, you are not the Jacqueline Aimes I remember!” Mac stood behind his desk and reached out his hand to shake the one that was offered. Her long fingers were warm, and she gripped his hand firmly. Color rose in her high cheekbones. “Have a seat!” He motioned to the chair across from him and sat back down.

Mac looked at Ella, who lingered in the doorway, eyebrows raised, a small smile on her face. She was obviously amused. Then he asked Jacqueline, “Would you care for some coffee?”

“I’d take some water, if you don’t mind.”

Ella exited and soon returned with a bottle of Evian.

“Thank you,” Jacqueline said.

“That will be all, Ella,” Mac said. She flashed him a mischievous look as she turned in the doorway, clacking her little bird feet as she headed back to her station.

The woman in front of him was a grown-up, filled-out version of the Jacqueline he remembered. Long dark hair hung in waves to the middle of her back. She wore little makeup, but huge eyes the color of dark-roasted coffee were defined by long, sweeping eyelashes. She wore an amethyst-colored swingy, flutter-sleeve dress with cascading ruffles at the neck, waist and back in a light-as-air feathery print. This was paired simply with amber-colored Covington boots and a leather wrap bracelet with sterling silver beads and semiprecious stones.

Jacqueline sat up straight on the edge of her seat and looked at Mac in a way that unnerved him, though he couldn’t say why. She had a penetrating gaze that seemed to see past the surface and into his soul. Was she bored? Mac didn’t know. But when she took a swallow of her water, he felt a stirring he hadn’t experienced in longer than he cared to remember. You are being ridiculous. Get it together! He shook his head as if to clear it and straightened his glasses. He picked up her résumé and searched it for something brilliant to say.

“Tell me a little bit about yourself, Jacqueline.”

“Well, after I graduated from high school here, I went to college in Arkansas.”

“I saw that on your résumé. Why Arkansas?”

“I was offered a scholarship at the University of Central Arkansas through their Honors Program.” Here she assumed a voice like Marlon Brando’s in The Godfather. “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Mac chuckled, glad to feel more at ease. “Excellent. Did you like it there?”

“I did, very much. Like I wrote in my résumé, I earned my degree in communications and a minor in interdisciplinary studies. It was actually the Honors College at UCA that connected me with an international child-welfare organization called KARIS, where I’ve been working up till now.”

“Tell me about that.”

“I got a grant when I was a student to travel abroad. I did some extensive travel, first in Europe and then the Middle East. I wrote a big paper about my experiences, which I presented at the Honors College when I returned. My focus was on education for children—and specifically girls—in a hostile culture. Right out of college I accepted a lower-level position with KARIS, and have worked my way up to my current position, which, as you can see in my résumé, is chief of communications for the Middle East.”

“What prompted you to come back to Kilgore?” Mac couldn’t possibly imagine.

“We were evacuated. The situation in Afghanistan is just too dangerous right now. I am still doing some work for KARIS online, but it’s uncertain when we will be able to return.” Jacqueline looked down, brushing a few rogue hairs out of her eyes. “When I returned to the States, I went to my parents’ on the Atlantic Coast. They work for a foundation to protect wild horses there. They still own some acreage in Kilgore and asked me to come here and try to sell it for them—so here I am. When I saw your ad, I thought maybe I could make some extra money to support myself while I’m spending time in Kilgore.”

Mac set her résumé down on his desk and leaned forward. “That’s a pretty colorful story, Jacqueline. Frankly, I’m kind of amazed.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Why are you amazed?”

“Well, for one thing, you’ve been around the world. When I was younger, I went to Mexico on vacation with my parents and took a hunting trip to Canada with my dad and brothers, but that’s about the extent of my travel experience outside the United States.”

“Yes, but as I remember, you have roots here. A reason to stay put. I have no roots anywhere, never did. I guess you could call me a citizen of the world.” The way she said it sounded less glamorous than it did wistful, even a little sad.

“But, do you think you will be happy here?” Mac looked into her eyes as he asked the question, then glanced away. “I’m not looking for a temporary relationship. I need someone who is going to stay.”

Jacqueline fiddled with her hands and then clasped them in her lap. “I have no intentions of staying here permanently. That’s the honest answer. But I don’t know when, or even if, my job with KARIS will open back up.”

“To be honest, I need someone to start yesterday,” Mac said. “Ella wanted to be done by the end of the year—she’s had mercy on me by sticking around two extra weeks. But I haven’t gotten any applicants who seemed to fit. You’re definitely qualified—overqualified. I’m concerned it won’t be a fit for you, either.”

There was a long pause while they each studied the other.

“I’m good with numbers.” Jacqueline bounced a little on the edge of her seat.

“Really?”

“Yes. My ACT score was thirty-one in math. I just prefer words.”

Mac cringed. “Why? Why in the world?”

“Words have so many possibilities. I like to ‘dwell in possibility,’ like Emily Dickinson wrote. But I can also work with certainty, when I have to.” She grinned at him.

“Now I remember why you and Joiner were friends.” Mac snorted, thinking of his brother’s love of literature. “Emily Dickinson indeed.”

“I wonder if we could try it out. You said you need someone now. And I need a job. It might not work out, but it might turn out to be a great fit for both of us. We’ll never know unless we try.”

Clearly, she was good with small talk, which would be a plus with customers. Her computer skills were fine. An assistant who was good with numbers would be a big change from Ella, and Mac was pretty sure she could handle the coffee. As an added bonus, she was drop-dead gorgeous.

The only negative was she probably wouldn’t want to stay very long, and he’d have to go through the process of hiring all over again. But Mac was running low on other options. He shook her hand. “All right, Jacqueline. Let’s give it a try.”