Her Favorite Maverick

by Christine Rimmer

  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 le
ather 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.

  Chapter Three

  “My parents used to be so different,” Sarah began.

  Logan thought of Flo Turner the day before, coming out of her husband’s office with her shirt untucked, her hair sticking out on one side and a smile of complete satisfaction on her flushed face. “How so?”

  “When I was growing up, they were both so gloomy, always bleak and determined.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “As an IRS audit,” she sneered. “They got married because they ‘had to.’” She air-quoted that. “Because I was on the way. And they stayed married out of a sense of duty—they actually used to say that, how they stayed together because it was their duty. They were so noble. I couldn’t wait to get out of that house, to live my own life, make things happen, get out in the big world and have everything. Success. True love. A great marriage. Kids. And a whole lot of fun. But somehow, once I was on my own, there just wasn’t enough time for fun, you know?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really not sure. I guess, because the way they raised me did rub off on me at least a little. I was driven, a straight-A student. I got a scholarship to Northwestern and my parents covered everything the scholarship didn’t. I had a full ride and was driven to get through college fast and get on with my life.” She’d studied like crazy, she said, and spent all her free time building her résumé.

  To get a head start on her accounting career, she began interning in her sophomore year. She’d crammed six years of college and work experience into four and passed the CPA exam at the very young age of twenty-two. By then, she was already working at Chicago’s top accounting firm.

  And up until then, she’d never had a serious boyfriend.

  “I met Tuck Evans not long after I got my CPA license. He was so charming. He also had a good job and claimed to be crazy for me. He was my first and only love—or so I thought.” They’d moved in together.

  But two years later, Tuck was perfectly happy with the status quo. “He said he saw no reason for us to get married. He said that we had it all without the ring. To teach him a lesson, I moved out and waited for him to come crawling back to me.” She fell silent.

  He prompted, “And?”

  “Didn’t happen. Finally, I called him. He was sweet and good-natured as ever, saying how right I was to end it. Really, he said, it wasn’t working out and we both knew it.” She glared up at Logan defiantly. “I was such an idiot.”

  “No, you weren’t. Tuck wasn’t good enough for you. He did you a favor.”

  Sarah glared harder. Logan could see her sharp brain working, trying to find something objectionable about what he’d just said. She wanted a fight.

  He wasn’t going to give her one. “Go on,” he said gently.

  She blew out a breath—and continued. “The day after I called Tuck and he said how glad he was that he and I were over, I headed off for a big conference in Denver. When a handsome bachelor came on to me at the conference, I decided a rebound fling was just what I needed.”

  “This handsome bachelor got a name?”

  “Mercer Smalls. Does it matter?”

  “No,” he said honestly. “You’re right. His name doesn’t matter.” Except that Mercer Smalls was a ridiculous name for a man. But whatever the guy’s name had been, Logan would have disliked him on principle. Not that he was actually in any position to judge. He’d enjoyed more than one fling himself. Way more. And a lot of one-night hookups, too.

  “I spent the three nights of the conference with Mercer,” she said. “When we parted, he promised to call, but he didn’t.”

  “Good riddance.” Logan kept his tone mild, but he had to grit his teeth to do it.

  Sarah sighed. “I was philosophical about it. Those three nights with Mercer helped me realize that flings just aren’t for me. I knew I wouldn’t be doing that again.” She fell silent.

  He realized that he was maybe a little like her first boyfriend, Tuck. And like the guy at the conference, too. Out for a good time, not looking for anything too serious. She was making it painfully clear that having a fling with a guy wasn’t for her—that right now, she didn’t want a guy at all.

  He should back off, walk away.

  But the thing was, she really got to him. And he would do right by her, damn it. She needed fun—all the fun she’d never had yet. She needed a man who knew how to treat a woman like a queen. It might not be forever, but when it ended, she would be glad for what they’d shared. He could make certain of that, at least.

  And the silence between them had stretched out too long.

  He guessed. “Mercer Smalls is Sophia’s father?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t believe it when I found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t like we hadn’t used protection. We had. But the stick turned blue anyway.”

  “Does Mercer know?”

  “Of course. I knew the city he lived in and the name of his firm, so I reached out to him. I didn’t imagine he would go down on one knee or even that he might be the guy for me, but a man has a right to know when he’s going to be a father.”

  “He absolutely does,” Logan agreed. A man deserved to know about his child, to be a part of his kid’s life—even if the man was a player named Mercer Smalls who’d said he would call and never did.

  “But as it turned out,” she said, “Mercer wasn’t a bachelor, after all. He was married with children and wanted nothing to do with me or the baby I was going to have. I couldn’t believe it,” she muttered, her eyes full of shadows, her gaze far away. “My rebound f
ling was a cheating husband who denied his unborn child outright. He just wanted to sign off all responsibility for the baby and be left alone.”

  He thought of Sophia, with her goofy little grin and her baby sounds that seemed like real words to him. Mercer Smalls was ten kinds of douchebucket. And a damn fool, to boot. “You gave him what he asked for?”

  “You bet I did. His loss, the schmuck.”

  “I’m guessing this is the part where you swore off men forever?”

  “How did you know?” She troweled on the irony. “I decided I would forget men and love and all that. I would be a successful single mom—and, Logan, I tried. I really did.”

  But fighting her way up the corporate ladder in the big city wasn’t compatible with tackling motherhood solo on a tight budget. “The cost of day care for an infant was through the roof and I just couldn’t keep up the pace at work.”

  In the end, she’d accepted the inevitable and moved home to Rust Creek Falls. “It’s great, it really is—or it should be.” She swiped another tear away. “I’ve got this cute, cozy cottage my parents own and a job in the family business. I can take Sophia with me to work whenever I need to. I mean, things could be so much worse. My baby is the light of my life and my parents are here to help and support me. Right?”

  He nodded on cue and then prompted, “But?”

  “Well, you’ve heard about Homer Gilmore, haven’t you?” At his puzzled frown, she grinned through her tears. “Nobody’s told you about Homer?”

  When he shook his head, she launched into this story about a local eccentric who made moonshine that had everyone doing crazy stuff. A few years ago, at a wedding on the Fourth of July, Homer had spiked the wedding punch. People had danced in fountains, gotten in a whole bunch of crazy fights—and had sex. A lot of sex. So much sex that nine months after that wedding, Rust Creek Falls had actually experienced a baby boom.

  “My point being,” she said, “that sometimes I wonder if my mom and dad have somehow drunk the Homer Gilmore moonshine. I mean, you’ve been to the office. You’ve witnessed firsthand how they are now. Their marriage of grim duty has turned into something completely different. My mother and father have fallen in love.”