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.
Chapter Two
Eden flipped through her file on Dr. Archer Boone and the Boone Ranch Refuge. After four hours of sorting receipts—and making a slight dent—she deserved a rest. She was just as impressed as she’d been the first time she’d read his file. Renowned veterinarian and animal behaviorist. Studied internationally, devoted to environmentally friendly and ecologically minded practices. Graduated early. Went on to get several specialty certifications. But horses were his true gift. Clearly, the man was passionate about his work.
She respected that. And already well versed with his résumé, she expected that. She hadn’t expected him to be so abrupt. Intense. Or condescending. Of course, he didn’t know who she was—that would impact the way he treated her. Not yet.
The biggest surprise was how ruggedly attractive he was. Eden found him exceptionally handsome. More than once she’d found herself watching him out the window in the tiny makeshift office. He had a presence, one that made an impact. And watching him made a few things immediately clear.
Archer Boone did not like people. At all. Sitting in her lumpy office chair several hundred feet away she could hear the snap to his words and impatience in his voice when speaking to the men who worked there.
But everything about Dr. Archer Boone changed when he was working with his horses. He went from rigid and tense, impatient and frustrated, to fluid and graceful. She couldn’t hear him, but there was no denying he spoke to the animals. Their ears pricked toward him, their gazes riveted. They seemed almost mesmerized by him. It was no wonder. He cared about them. Deeply. And the horses knew it.
“Are you the new bookkeeper?” A tall woman stood in the door. Jeans, worn brown boots, a sun-faded checkered blouse and a straw hat hung around her neck by a cord. “You don’t look like you’re ready to run. Yet.” She had a nice smile. And vibrant blue eyes.
“Should I be?” She tried to look nonchalant as she pulled another file on top of the one she’d been reading. A temp would not have a file on her employer.
Eden glanced at her, but the other woman just shrugged.
“Sorting papers isn’t the most exciting way to pass the time, but I have no complaints.” Eden was cool, her heels were off, and she’d refilled her bottle with cold water and washed the dust and sweat from her hands, face and neck. Considering the way her day had started, sitting here sorting receipts in uninterrupted quiet was a welcome relief.
“The last four he brought out here did. I’m not sure it was the paperwork. Or if it was my darling brother and his...way with words.” She pushed off the door frame and stuck out her hand. “I’m Renata Boone—the sister.”
“Eden. Eden Caraway,” she murmured, shaking Renata’s hand. It wasn’t a complete lie. Her married name had been Caraway—which she’d dropped as soon as the divorce was done. But after what Dr. Boone had said, she couldn’t admit she was a Monroe.
Oddly, she had no knowledge of the review letter Archer Boone received. Odd, because she was the one who sent the review letters. Alarm bells were ringing. Why hadn’t her father told her about it?
But the alarm bells weren’t new. They’d started ringing when he’d been so eager to send her off on her “long-overdue vacation.” Her father was a workaholic. He didn’t do vacations, not in the traditional sense. Vacations always mixed business with pleasure, turning a Mediterranean cruise into the ultimate networking opportunity. That was why she was here, changing her reservations from the Palm Springs spa he’d booked to an extended stay in Stonewall Crossing. She would show him she was capable and indispensable and worthy of respect.
“The savior,” Renata tacked on. “You might not know it, but you’re important. Archer’s freaking out over the dreaded Monroe visit, worrying they’ll decide his request for funding will be denied—even though they’ve never denied him. I say he’s being paranoid. He says it’s a feeling.”
Renata’s blasé delivery was almost callous, but Eden stayed quiet. Renata’s words hit a little too close to home for her liking. Her father had all but said those very words. He’d made up his mind that the Boone Ranch Refuge no longer needed the funding, that it was time to give other worthy nonprofits a chance. And even though going against something her mother had been so passionate about was hard, Eden knew this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. If she helped her father pull funding here, maybe he’d finally see her as the asset she was. Please, God. Getting out of bed already feeling like she’d failed was mentally exhausting.
The tension headache she thought was gone began to pulse slowly at the base of her skull.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother.” Renata frowned. “And I support him one hundred percent. But I worry over how consumed he gets by this place sometimes. He holds on so
tight. This review thing has turned him into high-stress, grumpier-than-ever Archer. Which makes for miserable family dinners.”
She glanced out the window at Archer Boone. He was nose to nose with a skin-and-bones red horse. The horse was blowing into his hands, looking exhausted—defeated.
“Surely the refuge doesn’t rely on the Monroes for all its funding?” Eden asked, needing to ease the guilt choking her. She knew the answer: the refuge received funding from a variety of places. The real question was: Why was Monroe funding so important? “It doesn’t make sense for a nonprofit to rely on one source of support. Or for a foundation to agree to be a sole funding source, for that matter.”
Renata perched on the edge of the beat-up table. “It’s the whole tradition thing. Mrs. Monroe only visited twice, but she cared about this place, my father, my family and the people who live here. She’d talked about starting an endowment but then... Well, Mrs. Monroe’s death was tragic and unexpected.” Renata glanced out the window at her brother.
Eden was reeling. Her mother had visited—been actively involved in—the refuge? She’d cared about this place, enough to form an endowment? She swallowed, still processing. “Is there a reason Monroe would pull funding?” she asked, hoping Renata might shed more insight.
Renata shrugged. “Not on paper, no. Archer’s work is hard to argue with. I have my suspicions, though.”
Eden waited, wiping her palms on her skirt. “Suspicions?” Why was she encouraging the woman? She should ignore her and pretend that the pile of invoices in front of her was riveting. But she waited, holding her breath, to hear what Renata Boone had to add.
Renata smiled. “Chalk it up to being the only girl in a house of men, but I think it’s a personal thing. Am I assuming a lot here? Yes, yes I am. But my mother had hinted that things weren’t good between Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, that Mr. Monroe and my father had a falling-out, that she’d stayed here to clear her head. Maybe now that his wife is gone, he wants to remove painful reminders?” She shook her head. “I could be way off. I’ve never met the man. He could be great and one hundred percent behind Archer, just like his wife was. For all we know, Archer is sweating over nothing.”
A Cowboy to Call Daddy Page 2
