Читать книгу A Cowboy To Call Daddy - Sasha Summers - Страница 9
ОглавлениеAfter a leisurely drive admiring wildflower-laden fields, open pastures, and acres of cattle and horses, Eden’s morning took a sharp U-turn back into Sucksville. Only this time she wasn’t trapped at work, she was stuck in unknown territory. Boone Ranch Refuge was far off the beaten track, smack-dab in the middle of the Texas Hill Country. Things had been looking up when she turned off the two-lane county road and driven through the impressive wood and stone archway that assured her she’d reached Boone Ranch.
Her sudden flare of nerves wasn’t surprising. She had a lot to do and a limited time to do it. And this time, she was determined to earn her father’s respect. Did she wish there was another way? Yes, definitely. Her mother’s support of Boone Ranch Refuge had been unwavering. And on paper, the work done here was worth funding. But her father insisted things weren’t as on the up-and-up as they seemed. So Eden was here—without her father’s blessing—to look deeper, review every scrap of paper, bill, invoice and ledger. Her father might believe that his word was enough to sway the board’s opinion, but Eden knew better. Before she left, she’d make sure her father and the board were satisfied.
Logically, she needed to start at the refuge. But dropping in on a grantee for a surprise audit was a first. Normally, she’d give her applicants a checklist of what she needed and time to get everything in order. But this was different. She had a job to do and not much time to do it. The infamously prickly Dr. Boone would have to deal with the inconvenience. Still, she suspected he wouldn’t be pleased. But dealing with Dr. Boone would be worth it if she left with information that made her father happy.
The sun poured into her small black rental car, so she kicked up the air-conditioning and drove on, bouncing over a cattle guard. The farther she drove, the more removed from the real world she felt. Ambling cows and a herd of red-and-white goats dotted the sprawling pastureland. It was peaceful and quiet, soothing to her frazzled nerves. She bounced across another cattle guard and dodged a wild-eyed roadrunner.
But her drive was cut short when the car’s engine sputtered. She coasted to a stop, staring at the dash. No lights. No beeping. No clicks. And no air-conditioning. Just dead. She opened the door, the heat immediately stifling in the small car, and sat there hoping something miraculous would happen. Like the car starting. She closed her eyes, rested her head on the headrest and tried to think.
But when she opened her eyes, she screamed, pressing herself back into the car seat to avoid the massive black horse that had shoved its head inside the tiny car, putting them eye to eye. And scaring the crap out of her.
Her scream made the horse skitter back, knocking its head on the door frame, sliding on the red dirt and sending rocks flying in its wake.
She pried her fingers off the steering wheel and covered her face. What was wrong with her? It was a horse. A horse. On a horse refuge.
Her fingers sought out the three turquoise stones on her braided leather bracelet. Three stones, three words. Take a breath. Krista, her counselor, said it was a centering phrase. Take a breath. Sometimes—like now—Eden substituted her own words. Keep it together.
Yes, having an immobile car was inconvenient. And her dead cell phone, which she’d been charging in the car, was no help. But she wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type. Was she thrilled about the two-plus-mile trek ahead of her? No. Not at all. She was irritated and hot, but none of this was earth-shattering.
That included an excessively inquisitive animal. She glanced out the door at the giant black horse. A horse that was already too close again, its thickly fringed eyes focused on her.
She met the animal’s unwavering gaze. “Would you please back up?”
The horse didn’t move.
She took a deep breath and slowly climbed out of the car.
The horse flicked its ears in her direction, the head rose, big brown eyes blinked. She stood, her back pressed against the hot metal of her car, and waited. But the horse didn’t move, so she did. And scraped her ankle against the side of a cactus.
“Damn it.” She pulled her leg back, stooping to examine the spot. Two sharp needles stuck out of her pale skin. Her sweat-slick fingers made pulling the thorns free a challenge. One she cursed through. By the time she was needle free, her skin stung. “Damn it.”
The horse snorted, loudly.
“My skin’s not as tough as yours,” she muttered, glaring at the glossy black face. You’re talking to a horse. Upside, it couldn’t argue, yell or demean her. Best conversation of her day so far. “It’s been a shit day,” she added, because there was no one to reprimand her for her unladylike language. Even stranded and overheated, there was something freeing about not having someone looking over her shoulder, criticizing her every word and deed.
She’d barely finished her morning cup of tea when she’d had her first fight of the day with her father. He resented her reminder to take his meds and avoid stress. Next, a fight with her brother about what the word deadline meant—a suggested timeline, Greg’s take, or an actual due date and cutoff, Eden’s perspective. His frustration toward her over his misunderstanding never failed to amaze her. But Greg always found a way to make everything her fault. By the time she’d hurried home to hand the girls off to her ex-husband, Clark, she was ready to cry. Considering how distracted and impatient Clark had been, Eden’s concern over her daughters’ first multi-night visit with their father escalated. And the girls...
She swallowed. Thinking about her baby girls right now wasn’t smart. They were with their father. For all his failings as a husband, he was trying to be a good father. But Eden knew the only reason she wasn’t hyperventilating over the separation was because Clara, her wonder nanny, was with them. Eden didn’t know how she’d ever survive without the older woman—not with the hours she kept and the stress she shouldered.
Stress. She could deal with stress. It was a constant in her life. Like now. Stuck here. Alone. With a black horse staring at her, invading her personal space—almost nose to nose.
“Is this some sort of horse greeting?” she asked, trying not to flinch as the horse sniffed her head and chest. It’s just a horse. Granted, it was a huge black horse, but what’s the worst it could do?
The horse made a strange sound, shaking its head and flipping its long, matted mane before clacking its teeth together.
What did that mean? Should she be worried?
No, she wasn’t going to worry. If she ignored it, it would leave her alone. She hoped.
She shaded her eyes and peered down the dirt-and-rock road. Since she hadn’t seen a car or truck in the last twenty minutes, she might as well start walking. She tugged her wheeled computer bag from the backseat and tucked her almost-empty water bottle into the side pocket. She had no other luggage. Because the last fight she’d had this morning was with the airline. For reasons unknown, they’d sent her suitcase to Arizona. But they’d happily offered to deliver it to the Lodge, the bed-and-breakfast housed on Boone Ranch where she’d be staying, as soon as it was located.
The cloudless blue sky was endless—no hint of any reprieve from the late-August afternoon heat. She twisted her hair, clipping it high on the back of her head, and set off down the red dirt road, dragging her wheeled briefcase behind her. She was not going to acknowledge the big black horse following directly behind her.
Take a breath.
Keep it together.
It was hot. Her black jacket, black pencil skirt and heels were soaking up the heat like a well-wrung sponge. She tugged off her blazer and tucked it over the strap of her wheeled briefcase. Her white camisole was much cooler. She could only hope her SPF 35 sunscreen would save her from getting too burned.
It was rugged country, with rock outcrops, twisted oaks, brightly colored wildflowers and needle-heavy cacti. But it was gorgeous in a wild, untamed way. The chirp of songbirds, the whir and hiss of the cicadas, and the rhythmic clip-clop of her traveling companion’s hooves offered a complementary soundscape.
Her heel caught between two rocks, so she paused, tugging her shoe free. What she wouldn’t give for her tennis shoes right about now. The horse, however, didn’t stop. When she had her shoe back on and she was on two feet again, the horse...hugged her. His massive head rested on her shoulder, offering her what she could only consider an embrace—minus the arms.
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you? Let’s keep going.”
The horse swished its tangled black tail, brown eyes fixed on her and ears perked up.
Eden set off again, stopping only when her shoes were too full of rocks or dirt to walk comfortably. And every time she stopped, so did the horse.
By the time she reached the refuge, she was overheated, dripping sweat and thoroughly exhausted. But even dehydration and throbbing feet didn’t diminish the fact that Boone Ranch Refuge was impressive. Too bad her phone wasn’t working; she could take a few pictures of the place her father was hell-bent on closing down. A place her mother had always championed.
Something large and solid bumped her between the shoulders, almost knocking her off her feet. She glanced back at the horse, tentatively rubbing her hand along its thick neck. “I’m assuming that’s home.” She kept her voice low, the same soothing tone she used when her daughters were sick or upset.
The horse snorted, pushing his nose into her chest.
“I’m going, I’m going.” She smiled at the horse before hobbling forward, her briefcase bouncing along, rattling loudly.
When she walked under the arched Boone Ranch Refuge sign, she breathed a sigh of relief. First order of business, kicking off her shoes. The sooner, the better.
Several men formed a sea of cowboy hats. They stopped to stare at her as she headed toward the steps of the building with the small sign that read Refuge Office and Education Center. A building she hoped would house a bathroom. And ice-cold air-conditioning. And a comfy chair.
“You’ve got a shadow,” one of the cowboys said, hurrying to take the handle of her bag. “Let me help.” He smiled, pushing his hat back on his forehead.
“I’ve got it, thanks.” She glanced back, the black horse still tracking her. “He’s determined.”
“He been following you for long?” the man asked, his megawatt smile a little too phony for her. Clark had a similar smile. She’d never fall for that again.
“My car broke down past the second cattle guard. He’s been with me ever since.”
“He pulled a Houdini this morning—doesn’t like being fenced in. Always seems to find his way home around dinnertime.” He laughed, shaking his head. He was very handsome. “Count yourself lucky. Fester’s been known to bite the hand that feeds him more than once.”
She glanced at the horse, grateful Fester deemed her un-bite-able. Maybe the horse didn’t like megawatt smiles, either. She fanned herself, hot, tired and out of patience. “I’m looking for Dr. Archer Boone?”
“Well, that’s a shame. I’m his cousin, Toben Boone.” His demeanor grew a little too friendly for her liking. So she leveled him with her most professional—and most icy—stare. His eyebrows kicked high on his forehead, but his smile didn’t dim. “Fair warning. Fester might be on his best behavior, but my cousin’s in one hell of a bad mood.” He shrugged, calling out, “Archer, there’s someone to see you.”
She didn’t miss the head-to-toe sweep Toben Boone gave her. Or the way it ratcheted up her irritation. Please, God, don’t let Archer Boone be anything like his cousin.
The glass door opened slowly. A tall man with sandy blond hair stepped onto the porch, his attention riveted on the papers he held. This was the Dr. Archer Boone? With all the degrees, special certifications, awards and recommendations? He looked...like a cowboy. Jeans, plaid shirt, boots. Younger than she’d thought. Fit. And strikingly handsome.
His pale blue eyes barely looked her way, the slightly confused and disinterested expression a stark contrast to Toben’s openly appreciative assessment.
She waited.
Archer looked up, his gaze narrowing. “There’s Fester.” He rested a hand on his hip, nodding at her horse companion. “Think you can put him in a pen that’ll hold him this time?”
She didn’t miss the “this time.” Or the way Toben Boone’s smile dimmed.
Archer looked at her again, as if only realizing there was someone else on the porch. His expression went from confused to openly hostile.
“You’re late.” Disapproval was clear in his voice. “Follow me.” He disappeared inside without another word.
She stared after the man, in shock. Late for what? No one knew she was coming.
“That’s Archer,” Toben said. “I’d tell you he’s a son of a bitch, but it’s not right to talk about family like that.” He winked at her. “Good luck.”
Eden stood on the porch, still gripping her briefcase. Her feet hurt, her ankle throbbed, and she was exhausted. And now she had to deal with Dr. Archer Boone, who was, apparently, an ass. She stiffened her spine and followed him inside. He might not know it yet, but she held the fate of his refuge in her hands. And she could be just as cold and condescending as he was.
* * *
IT TOOK EVERYTHING he had not to yell at the well-dressed young woman standing in his office doorway. But he wasn’t going to hide his frustration. She was the reason for it. “I don’t have a lot of time to get you situated.” He brushed past her into the hallway, heading toward the makeshift office he’d prepared for her.
Was she wearing perfume? Did she think wearing a suit and nice perfume would make up for being three days late?
“Dr. Boone—”
“No apologies necessary.” He headed down the hallway, opening the door next to his office. “Close quarters. This room is for storage but you should have everything you need to get the books in order.” What was her name again? The temp agency had sent an email with all of her information. Amber...Amber Larkin?
Miss Larkin followed him into the office, pausing inside the door. Her face was expressionless, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t thrilled with her work space. What did she expect? Some fancy office? He didn’t do fancy. If it wasn’t practical, he had no use for it. The small folding table, beat-up desk chair, lamp and handful of multicolored pens he’d placed in the Boone Ranch Refuge mug should be all she’d need. He frowned, opening the blinds to let in some natural light.
From where he stood, he could see the chutes, walker wheel and paddocks surrounding the refuge office. This morning’s arrivals, four horses so thin he could count their ribs, huddled together on the far side of the nearest pen. He needed to be out there, sorting them out and getting them settled. Not held up here with her.
“And the books?” Miss Larkin spoke up. “Where are the—”
“Right,” he interrupted again, lifting the two paper boxes full of receipts, invoices and check stubs onto the table. “It’s a mess.” He patted the top of the box with his hand.
She looked at the boxes, then leveled her unflinching gaze at him. “I can take it from here.”
Her cool dismissal caught him off guard. For the first time, he looked at her. He sighed, seeing a distraction for his employees—and his cousin. She was pretty. Not flashy, overly made-up or attention-grabbing. Naturally pretty. Feminine. Soft. With long blond hair tumbling from the knot on the back of her head.
Damn it.
If he had time, he’d call the agency again and ask them to send someone else. But they’d stopped returning his calls. And he didn’t have time to waste.
Her hazel eyes met his, unflinching. Almost irritated.
“Do you have any questions, Miss Larkin?”
“Miss Larkin?” she repeated.
He sighed. “You are Amber Larkin? Expected to be here three days ago? From Austin Clerical Temps? Or are you her replacement?”
She nodded, a slight crease forming between her brows.
“Apparently there’s been some sort of mix-up.” He’d never use Austin Clerical Temps again. “But if they’ve sent you, I’m sure you’re qualified. I’m under a tight deadline, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I need help.” He spoke quickly, rushing through the words. The faster he showed her around, the faster she’d get to work.
She hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly before she asked, “Would you be so kind as to inform me of the particulars, Dr. Boone?”
He ran a hand over his face. “The short version? One of the refuge’s largest benefactors sent me a review letter. We’ve never been under review before, so I suspect this is bad. Especially since Mr. Monroe isn’t a fan of my work or my family.” He broke off, shaking his head.
“You know him? Mr. Monroe?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. His wife.” He sighed. Chitchat could wait. “Without her support, I’m concerned we’ll lose funding from the Monroe Foundation. But I’m not giving up.” He glanced out the window, the sights and sounds of the only place he’d ever belonged easing some of the pressure on his chest. “You have one week to straighten out the financials my last bookkeeper neglected for who knows how long.”
She stared at him for a long time. So long, Archer wondered if she was about to bolt. “When did the bookkeeper leave?” she asked, her face revealing nothing.
“Nine months ago. The four temps I’ve been through weren’t a good fit. I’m not easy to work with, I’ll tell you now. And I don’t like relying on strangers, but I don’t have a choice. I know this is a job for you. But this is my life’s work and I’m asking for your help.” He leveled her with his most piercing gaze. “Are you able to do that?”
Her light hazel eyes never wavered from his, as if she was considering her options. The longer she remained silent, the more anxious he became.
She nodded, her eyes shifting from him to the boxes. “Eden.” She didn’t extend her hand. He didn’t offer his. “Eden...Caraway.”
“Archer Boone.”
She didn’t strike him as the temp type. If anything, she was more the uptight CEO type he forced himself to associate with at benefits and fund-raisers. She radiated money. Nice clothing. Perfume. She fiddled with a shiny turquoise-and-silver bracelet on her slim wrist. Everything about her was...elegant. But why would a wealthy woman take a temp job? On a nonprofit horse refuge?
He didn’t care. At all.
Whatever her story, whatever her situation, it didn’t matter.
The letter from Jason Monroe’s office had been an unexpected shock. The last eighteen months, his entire family had succumbed to a frenzy of weddings and babies. He was the only brother left standing. No wife. No kids. No interest. His legacy was Boone Ranch Refuge. He was proud of his work and knew the next generation, nieces and nephews, would carry it on. As long as he had funding.
He frowned.
The Monroe Foundation was a big component of that funding. That was what mattered. Making sure he didn’t lose their support. Books and receipts sat boxed and forgotten, needing to be sorted and cataloged, every cent accounted for. He didn’t envy the job Miss Caraway was facing. But it was her job. As long as all the i’s were dotted and t’s were crossed, Miss Caraway could dress and look and smell however she wanted. Convincing Mr. Monroe and his board of trustees that the refuge needed funding was all he cared about.
“There’s coffee in the cabinet in the break room. Pot’s there.” He nodded in the general vicinity of the small room, anxious to see to the new horses.
“I’m fine.” She moved around the table, set her briefcase down and opened the paper box, peering inside.
“Need anything?” He hesitated, feeling the need to smooth things over. She hadn’t run for the hills, always a good sign. He could stay on his best behavior—something that didn’t come easily to him—if it kept her here until things were ready for Monroe. Yes, her being pretty was damn inconvenient, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He’d keep her busy here, poring over paperwork and away from roving eyes. She’d be here a week. Ten days tops.
She glanced at him, the slightest narrowing in her eyes unnerving. “My car broke down, inside the main entrance. Past the second cattle guard.”
“You walked?” He glanced at her feet. Heels. She was in heels. And a slim-fitting skirt. Her white shirt was thin, the skin of her upper arms and chest pink from the sun. His gaze returned to her face. She’d walked all that way and she had yet to complain. And surprisingly, she knew what a cattle guard was. Maybe they’d get along fine.
“I walked. Your big black horse followed me.” Her tone was clipped.
“Fester?” Damn it. The horse was more trouble than he was worth. “Did he bite you?”
She shook her head.
Which was a relief. But unusual. “Fester bites everyone.” Everyone.
Her expression grew more rigid. “He didn’t bite me.”
He frowned. “That’s good.” That horse was a riddle Archer couldn’t crack.
“You don’t seem pleased.” One brow rose.
He didn’t appreciate her implication. He was relieved. The last thing he needed was a lawsuit over a horse bite. “I assure you, Miss Caraway, it is a relief.” No lawsuit and no reason to further delay getting down to work. As far as he was concerned, she could make up for the lost days by working through the weekend. But they could talk about that this evening, after she’d put in a full day’s worth of work. “I’ll let you get to work.”
She nodded, glancing out the window. She froze, her features coming to life. A deep crease formed between her finely arched brows, her full lips parting in a silent gasp.
He followed her gaze to the four horses in the pen outside. “We’ll do the best we can to heal their bodies and their spirits. It never fails to amaze me how resilient animals are.” It never failed to inspire him, either.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Drought conditions in West Texas are bad. Drought meant no grass and dry water tanks.” He shook his head. “They’re all that’s left of a wild herd. We wrangled ’em up and brought ’em here before it was too late. It’s what we do here, help out when no one else will.”
Her wide hazel eyes focused on the horses. His work could be ugly, revealing the cruelty that existed in the world in a hard-to-take, in-your-face way. Her expression shifted, revealing a mix of pain, sadness and despair. It was a logical reaction. But he looked at the horses and saw hope. They were here, alive, safe, protected. He’d take care of them.
She was staring at him then. And something sparked in the depths of her eyes, something that held his attention. Her voice was low, husky, as she said, “Where will they go?”
“We find them homes. There are just as many folks willing to welcome them into their families as there are those who treat them badly or turn them out.” He didn’t mean to stare back at her, but looking away was a physical impossibility.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.
He cleared his throat once, then again. “I’ll check in later,” he murmured, nodding in her general direction before heading outside. He turned, almost running into the door frame as he hurried from the office. He knew he had work to do, but right now, he needed to clear his head.
Heat slammed into him as he pushed through the front door. He stopped, resting his hands on the porch railing, and sucked in a deep breath. The song of the mockingbird, the whinny of the horses and the whisper of the hot wind slowly eased the off-kilter sensations agitating his stomach.
She was there for one reason and one reason only. He needed her to make him look good on paper. She was the accounting expert. He was the horse expert. And until she managed to get everything whipped into shape, until Mr. Monroe arrived and he’d acquired the extra funding, the only interesting thing about Miss Caraway was her work ethic. Because there was a lot of work to be done and not much time to do it.
