Accounting for Love - A Long Valley Romance: Country Western Romance Novel

by Wright, Erin

  “I don’t know what Greg’s problem is, but I really have to find some way for Stetson to stay there. That guy’s had a lot to overcome. I can see why he didn’t want to deal with the books.”

  “Stop that. You know you have to keep a professional distance.”

  “Why does this job have to be so adversarial? It doesn’t always have to us against them.”

  The “other side” of her argument was about to make a point when she was interrupted by the chiming of her phone, indicating she had a text message.

  Looking at the screen, the message was from Paul, her ex. The preview on the screen said “I know this is…”

  What the hell does he want?

  Pressing her thumb to the button, she unlocked the phone. Keeping one eye on the road, she glanced at the full message now open on the phone. Deciding the message was too long to safely read while driving, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

  Looking back at the road, she was surprised to realize that she was already at the edge of the little town. It seemed like a much longer drive this morning going out there. She took a few moments to admire the quaint brick buildings and the stone monument in the center of the street with the flowers planted around the base. Oh wow, a single stoplight. At least traffic wouldn’t be a problem with this audit.

  Eventually, she found the little hotel. The low buildings lined a central parking lot. The Drop-Inn sign jutted out over the sidewalk and under the name, a smaller sign proclaimed “Color TV.”

  The hardest part of checking in was waking the little old lady in the rocking chair behind the counter. Once Margaret shook off the sleepiness though, checking in was a simple matter of signing the guestbook. Jennifer was surprised when Margaret used an attachment on her iPhone to charge Jennifer’s company credit card.

  “We may be a bit rundown, dear, but we’re not completely cut-off,” Margaret said in response to the look on Jennifer’s face. The cloud of blue hair bobbed up and down with Margaret’s emphatic nod for emphasis.

  “Th-hank you,” Jennifer stuttered, smiling politely as she accepted the key. An honest-to-goodness key with a heavy metal fob, the number “6” inscribed on it. She couldn’t remember the last time a hotel gave her a real room key. Maybe never.

  “I hear you’re doing some accounting out at the Miller place.”

  “Oh, uh yeah,” Jennifer stumbled, not sure how much this lady already knew, or how she knew it. Were all small towns like this? Jennifer wasn’t sure if this was creepy or charming.

  “Well, you set that boy straight. He’s a damned hard worker, but I don’t think he’s very good at keeping the books. He’d much rather be out driving a tractor than running an adding machine,” Margaret said before wandering back to her television.

  Obviously the “You’re here to take his farm away” part hadn't been passed onto Margaret, thank God.

  Jennifer found the room easily enough. With only one floor and 15 rooms total, it wasn’t that hard. The room was so close to the office, she decided to just pack her stuff into the room instead of re-parking the car.

  Within a few minutes, she was set up. The room was nothing to get excited about. The threadbare carpet was brown and suspiciously stained a darker brown in a couple of places. The queen-sized bed was just a bed and that was the best that could be said about it. Overall, it was a place to sleep. For a town this size, that’s really all anyone could expect.

  Sitting on the end of the bed, she unlocked her phone. She’d intended to check the signal strength and possibly Google the location of a restaurant.

  Instead, the phone opened to the text message from Paul. Shit. She’d forgotten she’d even received it.

  I now this must be hard for u

  Im sorry ur so confused about what happened

  Im willing to giv u a second chance to work this out

  U have to understand that as a dr i have to work closely with nurses other doctors & patients that r female.

  Ur jealousie is a prob but im willing to let you come back as long as ur working to control that jealousie.

  Jennifer read the message twice; it took her that long to decipher what he wrote. She could feel her face becoming hot. This was the last thing she needed to deal with today.

  Jennifer typed a quick response, “Screw you.” She hit send and closed the messaging app.

  The cell signal was decent and within a few moments, she’d looked up the name and address of the only cafe in town.

  Betty’s was only a couple blocks away. The short drive to the restaurant was long enough for her stomach to growl once. It’d been a long time since lunch.

  Ahhh…lunch. Jennifer sighed just thinking about it. It had been another event filled with Carmelita’s style and charm. She’d served Jennifer a ham sandwich, which sounded so ordinary, but the sandwich was heavenly. The ham had been cut from the bone and the thick bread had been sliced off a freshly-baked white homemade loaf. Being a wheat bread kind of girl, she was amazed to find that, like the coffee, there were things she was missing by living in the city.

  Despite the generous helpings served up by Carmelita though, lunch was a long time ago and even a home-cooked lunch only goes so far.

  She pulled into a parking spot, shifted her car into park and was about to turn the key to kill the engine when she looked up. Betty’s was dark. The sign on the door proudly proclaimed, “Open for Breakfast and Lunch.”

  Her stomach growled again. The sound matched her thought.

  “Shiiitttttttt,” she said as she backed the car out onto the street. She paused for a moment and then began retracing her path. Driving to the hotel, Jennifer stopped in the office to ask if there were any other restaurants in town.

  “Betty’s is the best place in town for breakfast and lunch,” Margaret said sweetly. “But if you want to eat out for dinner, you have to drive to Franklin.”

  “How far is that?” she asked, groaning inwardly.

  “It’s about a half hour.”

  Jennifer looked at her phone. It was almost 7 p.m. She hadn’t planned on having to commute for an hour just to get food.

  “Is there any other place around here that sells food?” she asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

  “You could probably find something over at Frank’s. It’s on the main road outta town on the left.”

  “Thanks,” Jennifer said, turning to leave.

  Frank’s was not gourmet food unless you’re a horse. The full name of the business was actually “Frank’s Feed & Fuel,” where they sold bags of alfalfa pellets next to bags of potato chips. Jennifer settled on a thing called a “torrtaco,” a “fun size” bag of tortilla chips, and a bottle of generic brand orange juice.

  Returning to her room, she didn’t even try to lie to herself about dinner. There was no way to get excited about a torrtaco, whatever the hell that was, that looked old enough to vote, and there was certainly nothing fun about the “fun sized” bag of greasy chips.

  While there wasn’t a microwave in the hotel room, there was a TV tray. Setting up the rickety tray at the end of the bed, Jennifer flipped through the 12 channels the color television managed to pull in. Reruns, informercials, and preachers. With a sigh, she switched off the set and returned to her newest hobby - talking to herself.

  “I hope Carmelita is serving sandwiches again tomorrow. Maybe I can ask for two. Anything has to beat this feast.”

  Maybe Stetson will join us for lunch tomorrow.

  Don’t do this to yourself.

  But he’s handsome. And rugged! And strong! I’ve never seen a man with such a dark tan.

  Stop it!

  Why is it so bad? He’s very good looking and strong and his eyes are so blue. I could get used to looking at him.

  Knock it off.

  Why?! I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by perfectly manicured men. It would be nice to know that if the faucet starts to leak or a tire goes flat, I don’t have to go online to find a service. Wouldn’t it be lovely to kno
w that there was someone in my life who I could depend on?

  He’s a client, and one that you may have to disappoint very soon.

  It’s okay to fantasize just a little.

  Again, her personal debate was interrupted by the buzzing of the text message alert on her phone.

  It was Paul, finally responding to her two-word answer.

  Screw me? Who the hell do u think u r

  i give u a second chance and u say screw me

  Well screw u. im the best thing thats ever happened to u

  u know that and so does everyone else

  im serious this time

  im giving u 1 chance 4 u to come back to me and we can figure out ur issues but im not waiting around 4ever

  Jennifer stared at the message for a long time. She was shocked and appalled by Paul’s attitude. She’d left him. After nearly five years together, he’s the one that threw it all away by sleeping with that nurse-trainee, and he was willing to take her back? What an asshole.

  And how the bloody hell did this man graduate from med school?! His messages before had never been this unintelligible. She wasn’t sure if he was drunk, or if he’d always conned one of his nurses into texting for him. Either way, it was amazing to her how quickly she was losing any sense of respect for him.

  She typed another quick reply.

  “Don’t wait at all,” she wrote, pressing send with a little more force than necessary.

  Tossing her phone on the bed, she decided a shower was in order.

  I hope they have decent water pressure.

  Chapter 7

  The alarm on her phone went off at 6:30 a.m. Blurry eyed, she managed to turn off the annoying sound. Swinging her legs off the bed, she planted her feet on the scratchy carpet, patting herself on the back for remembering to set the alarm at all. Last night, she’d fallen asleep almost instantly after the shower, only barely managing to set the alarm before her eyes closed.

  But, she was determined to keep her promise to start at exactly 8:00 a.m. While brushing her teeth, she also decided that she was going to see how Stetson truly felt about her. She needed to know if he thought of her as only the enemy, or if there was a small chance that he felt more than he was letting on.

  Pulling the tight black top out of her suitcase, she pulled it over her head and rearranged the plunging neckline with the ruffled edge so that it showed off her generous cleavage. Then she pulled and tugged her way into the black nylons, knowing the extra support would make her butt seem just that much firmer. Next, it was her favorite black pencil skirt and a pair of black four-inch heels. She topped it off with a black jacket that hugged her curves.

  The plan was simple: This totally black outfit walked the finest of lines between professional and unprofessional. It should, if Stetson was at all interested, get a reaction out of him. Well, other than the cold hatred she’d already managed to evoke. Taking one last look in the mirror, she acknowledged the immaturity of her plan.

  You don’t even know what you’d do if he did like you, but still, you put on The Skirt with The Heels. The Seduction Outfit. What are you - 15?

  Deciding to ignore her inner nagging voice, Jennifer checked her phone, proud that she’d left enough time to make it to the farm to start at 8 a.m. She also noticed that she’d forgotten to plug the phone in last night. Shit. Oh well, she could plug it in at the farm. She snagged her charger from where it hung from the outlet, unused. She must have been even more tired last night than she’d realized. She threw the charger in her bag.

  Stepping out of the room, her heart sank a little. It was raining. Not a hard rain, but enough to throw a wrench into her plan. By the looks of the parking lot, it’d been raining all night. Knowing that she could only be punctual if the conditions were perfect (and this rain meant it was anything but), Jennifer had no choice but to keep moving.

  The drive on the paved road was okay; the car handled the wet conditions well enough. She turned onto the gravel drive that led to the farmhouse with only a couple minutes to spare.

  The loose gravel and the muddy conditions were against her though. She had to slow down to keep the car on the road. When she finally came to a stop in front of Stetson’s house, her phone read 8:03 a.m.

  He was standing on the front porch, cowboy hat in place, coffee cup in hand, looking for all the world as if he had been up for hours, merely waiting for the lazy city girl to show up so he could get on with his day.

  Goddamned country back lane, muddy road…

  Grumbling, Jennifer swung her leg out of the car…and planted a shiny shoe in a puddle. She felt the cold water run over the top of the shoe and puddle inside. The cold water surrounded her foot before she could pull it back out of the muck.

  Cursing the mud and rain even harder (and grateful Carmelita couldn’t hear her colorful language), she looked up at the man standing on the front porch. He was smirking. She considered throwing her sodden, muddy, stiletto shoe at him.

  I knew this was a bad idea! Stupid me just had to know: Does he think I’m sexy?

  Of course, with this rain pouring down, she was quickly going to resemble a drowned rat if she didn’t hurry into the house, which, last time she checked, drowned rat didn’t register on the Sexy List. Deciding she was just going to have take her lumps, she grabbed her computer bag and got out of the car. Trying to act confident, she placed both feet in the puddle as she stepped out.

  Well, at least they match.

  The few yards from the car to the house were tough to negotiate. Her spiky heels punctured the soft ground, so she had to scurry on tip-toes across the muddy yard. Somehow, she made it to the steps without falling on her ass. Grabbing the short handrail, she climbed the two steps, finally making under the cover of the front porch roof. She looked down at her ruined shoes and then over at Stetson.

  The sparkle in his eyes and the slightly upturned corner of his mouth made her heart thump out of time, just once.

  Holding his coffee cup that proudly proclaimed, “This Ain’t My First Rodeo” in one hand, he sipped at it while holding his other arm up in front of his face to ostentatiously check his watch.

  “You almost made it,” he said as he lowered the cup from his lips, his eyes dancing with merriment above his watch.

  “Yeah, well, I tried,” Jennifer grumbled. She shifted from foot to foot, miserable and cold and wet. This was not how she’d envisioned the morning going.

  “We didn’t have a fancy city car in mind when we built the driveway, so I think we can overlook it for today,” Stetson said and then held the front door open for her.

  Just inside the door, she kicked off the soaked shoes. Jennifer mourned the loss of the look the high heels would’ve given to her calves, but also knew that wet, muddy four-inch high heels would a) guarantee a broken neck on the slick hardwood floor and b) even if she’d managed to walk without killing herself, she wouldn’t want to face Carmelita’s wrath.

  As she walked down the hallway to the office, she could feel Stetson’s eyes following her. She smiled to herself.

  Okay, so maybe this morning hasn’t been so bad after all. Hmm…this probably wasn’t a fair test though. A man would have to be dead not to notice what this skirt does for my ass, even without the high heels.

  It is nice to know he’s alive!

  Yes, she was most definitely smirking. Apparently, the 15-year-old girl in her was alive and kicking.

  He didn’t follow her into the office, and he didn’t ask about the audit, so she settled down to what would be the first day of “real” work. She gathered her hair again and with practiced efficiency, her drenched ponytail was in place.

  After about an hour of entering figures into her computer, Carmelita came in with a cup of coffee. Jennifer smiled at the older woman, grateful for the fuel. Before she could thank her for the drink, her stomach growled loudly.

  “Would you like something for breakfast?” Carmelita asked, looking a little concerned.

  “Oh, no thank you. I am not
much of a breakfast person,” Jennifer lied. “And, Mr. Miller was very clear about that yesterday.”

  “I make the rules about who eats in this house and my rule is if you are hungry and in this house, you eat,” Carmelita said conspiratorially. “Besides I don’t think Mr. Miller will mind as much today as he did yesterday. Come,” Carmelita ordered and turned back down the hall without looking to see if her instructions were being followed.

  He may not mind as much today as he did yesterday.

  The thought made Jennifer smile as she trailed after the housekeeper.

  “Can I ask you something, Carmelita?”

  “I think you just did, but you may ask me something else. I may not know, but you can ask.”

  “Why does Stetson not believe me when I tell him I’m here to see if there’s a way to pay the debt?”

  Carmelita puttered about the kitchen, not answering. Jennifer could tell by the look on the woman’s face that she was trying to think of a way to answer the question. Slipping a plate of eggs in front of Jennifer, Carmelita started to speak as she buttered two slices of heavenly homemade white bread.

  “You do not understand about farming,” Carmelita started tentatively. “Banks do not understand how farms work. To the bank, it is a business. You put money in, a crop grows, you sell the crop and more money comes out in the end than went in the beginning.”

  Jennifer nodded, the silky warm yolk of the egg warming her soul as much as it filled her empty stomach.

  “The thing you do not understand is that farming is less like a business and more like betting. There are so many things a farmer cannot control that when they put money in at the beginning of the year, they are betting that every little thing will go right.”

  “But that’s the way that it is with every business,” Jennifer said, confused.