by Zoe York
She cleared her throat and plunged on. “I’ve seen your costs. I’ve seen your expenses. I’ve seen some of your income – I just got started on that part today, I’ll admit. But I see how you live. You should be able to make the yearly payment to the bank without breaking a sweat. But you have these huge transfers to your personal account, way more than your lifestyle here would demand. Do you have a bevy of prostitutes or mistresses tucked away somewhere, that you’re keeping in style?”
“A bevy of…” Stetson let out another snort of laughter. “I don’t have a bevy of prostitutes or mistresses or anyone else hidden away. Is that a typical expense that you find while auditing books?”
She glared up at him. He was laughing at her, and she wasn’t quite sure she appreciated that. “So, if it isn’t prostitutes or mistresses, what is it? A gambling problem?”
“Gambling…good Lord. You have a real high opinion of me, don’t you?”
This time, she added crossed arms to the glare. “I just met you three days ago. I don’t think I could have formed an opinion of you – good or bad – by this point.” Well, she had – that he was an overgrown ape with the manners of a caveman – but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She wasn’t going to let him score a point, even if it meant losing out on the chance to insult him.
Which really was too bad, honestly.
“My dad,” he said simply, and then shrugged.
She stared. He stared back. The clock ticked on the wall. A cow lowed in the distance.
“Your dad what?” Jennifer asked, breaking first. She hated giving in and actually asking him what he meant by his purposefully obtuse statement, but she also hated not knowing.
It was quite the predicament to be in.
“His cancer treatments,” Stetson said simply, as if it were obvious. “That’s what I spent all of the money on. The cows made me enough money to pay for his cancer treatments. My wheat, corn, and hay made me enough money to pay Carmelita, Christian, and my other employees, and cover the costs of my living expenses, scarce as they are, but that’s all the crops I raise. There was no crop left to sell that would bring in money to pay the bank.”
“Oh.” She blinked, her frustration with him slowly deflating as she put it together. Jennifer, you really stepped in it this time. “How long did your father have cancer?” she asked softly.
“Eighteen months. After the first round of chemo, he didn’t want to fight it anymore, but I…I pushed him.” His voice went flat and quiet, and his gaze skittered away from hers. “I wasn’t ready to lose him yet. I talked him into another round, and…I shouldn’t have. It was selfish of me. He was in a lot of pain.”
He was staring at the far wall over her shoulder as he talked, and she swallowed. Hard. She officially felt like an ass, which wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling.
“So why all of the crops?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards something less painful, which would include almost every topic on the planet at this point.
“Why all of what crops?” he repeated, confused. He was looking at her again, and she suddenly found herself wishing that he’d go back to staring at the wall. He was entirely too handsome for his own good.
Or hers.
“Usually, a rancher raises cows, or a farmer does hay or corn or potatoes or whatever. You do everything. It’s…unusual. I’ve been wondering about that for a couple of days now.”
“Honestly, I shouldn’t.” He shrugged. “Millers are row croppers. Beets, corn, whatever. If it grows in a straight line, that’s our cup of tea. I had a brilliant idea when I was a kid that I wanted to do cows. Wheat was boring, you know? Row after row, field after field…it wasn’t where my heart was. So when I was 17, I finally talked my dad into letting me buy a small herd of cows. He thought I’d lost my ever-lovin’ mind, but he let me do it anyway. I think he expected me to fail and get it out of my system and then go back to doing what Millers were supposed to do.”
He smiled a little, just a small twist of the lips. “Instead, I slowly grew the herd over time, and found a Boise restaurant to sell organic, specialty beef to, and then another restaurant, and…here we are. If Dad had gotten cancer a couple of years later, or if I hadn’t insisted that we do an extra round of treatment, I probably could’ve made my payment to the bank this year.” He shrugged again. “Live and learn, I suppose.”
His dark brown eyes were hooded with pain and Jennifer reached up without thinking about it to stroke his cheek. She shouldn’t have because he was a client and she was an employee of the bank and no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t forget that she may have to recommend foreclosure some day in the future, but none of that mattered in that moment, and her fingers touched his stubbled cheek anyway.
As soon as they did, her breath stopped and she stared, her body on fire from the touch and him and he stared back, unblinking…
And then he was gone, his boots echoing down the hallway as he hurried out of the house and away from her.
Away from the person who was probably going to have to ruin his life.
And she didn’t blame him one bit for running.
Chapter 18
Stetson
He was an idiot. There was no reason for him to tell her everything that he just did. Why did he say it? What was he thinking? She’d been standing there, so small and petite, her huge brilliant green eyes swallowing up her face as she’d bit her lip and looked up at him, and he’d felt, for a moment, that he could trust her. That she was on his team.
Which was ridiculous. She worked for the bank. She was here to steal his farm away.
Her soulful eyes burned through his memories, and he asked himself the question he hadn’t dared to allow himself to ask before – was he sure about that? If she really was here to steal his farm away, she sure was doing a bang-up job of pretending to care.
Of course, this had happened before. Not the part about the banker trying to steal his farm, of course, but the part where the woman pretended to care. All the way up until she didn’t show up at the altar.
That was a hell of a snow job. He still had no idea why Michelle did what she did. What had she been hoping to get out of it?
He figured he’d go to his grave, wondering that.
He looked around, realizing that he’d somehow ended up back in the barn, standing in front of Grandpa’s tractor again. Maybe some small part of his psyche knew that he should fix it so he could move on with his life. Maybe it was some sort of metaphor that only his subconscious understood.
He’d gone into the house to grab his rain slicker so he could do some repair work on a fence, which didn’t explain why he’d gone past the coat alcove and to the door of the office to retrieve it, considering it was in fact in the coat alcove, not the office.
He’d told himself that he just wanted to check up on her; see how she was doing. See if maybe she was searching through the trash cans after all. She wasn’t, dammit all – he could hate her so much easier if she had been – and then she’d let out that low whistle, and he’d had to know.
Well, now he knew: Jennifer knew what the price should be for beef on the hoof – which even he had to admit was impressive – and she had the most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen in his life. Like the color of new grass in the spring, pushing up through the mud and the snow to start life anew again.
He wasn’t entirely sure which piece of information was more dangerous, but he did know that combined together, it was a hell of a lethal combination.
And he couldn’t say he was exactly thrilled by that realization.
Chapter 19
Jennifer
Jennifer’s eyes flicked towards the bugling elk on the wall. 4:57…close enough. She’d been a good girl. She’d gotten lots done. She’d sorted through the last of the papers. She’d almost kissed a client.
Hmmm…maybe she’d leave that last part off her report.
She shoved her laptop into her bag and grabbed a stack of papers to work on in the h
otel room. She could work on them over dinner, while watching another rerun of Home Improvement. Would Wilson show his face on camera today? She should watch, just in case. Cramming the receipts into the pocket of the computer bag, she lifted the strap over her shoulder just as her phone began to buzz with “Working Overtime.” Dammit. Greg.
At first, the ring tone had been a joke, but now, it was a harbinger of doom. Dinner dates, weekend trips, even movies with friends, all died a swift but painful death when that ring tone played. She had to battle the urge to break her phone every time she heard it, even when it was on the radio.
As she scurried through the house to the front porch, she glanced down and realized that the battery icon was a dangerous red color. She’d forgotten to plug it in the night before after talking to Bonnie for hours, and had meant to plug it in at the Miller house but had forgotten again. Shit. Hopefully there was still enough battery left for this phone call. Her job probably wouldn’t survive her hanging up on her boss, low battery or not.
She swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call even before she was fully on the porch, dumping her computer bag on a rocking chair. “This is Jennifer Kendall,” she got out, trying to hide her breathlessness from her sprint through the house. The pattering of rain on the porch overhang was soothing. The mist drifted towards her and she shivered from the cold. She should put on her jacket, even if it was designed for looks, not warmth. It could only help.
“What the hell takes you so long to answer the damn phone?” Greg snarled, making no attempt to hide his mood.
“The reception is poor here,” she said, struggling into the jacket one arm at a time, trying not to drop her phone in the process. She was pretty sure that’d be almost as bad as hanging up on him. “I have to go outside to be able to hear you.”
“What have I told you about excuses? Now is really not the time. Are you done with the audit yet?”
“Of course I’m not done yet.” She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice, but she was pretty sure she was failing. She stared out across the fields, watching the white fence posts march endlessly into the distance. The craggy mountains opposite the farmhouse rose up in the sky, majestic and white-peaked even in July, edging the sides of the wide valley they embraced.
It truly is beautiful out in the country.
“I want this done as quickly as possible. I want options on my desk ASAP,” Greg said, pronouncing the acronym as ‘A-sap’ rather than spelling it out.
“I’m working as fast as I can,” Jennifer responded flatly, her attention on the beauty in front of her. Dark rain clouds hung low in the distance. There was a misty, ethereal quality to the farm, like she’d been dropped into another world. She watched as cows wandered along, giving out low, deep moooo’s to their calves that weren’t keeping pace.
“I don’t understand what the problem is. Why’s this taking so long?” he demanded.
“It’s only the third day I’ve been here, and I’d explain why it’s taking so long, but I’ve already heard your rant about excuses, so I think I’ll skip it today,” she said blithely, knowing that she’d taken a giant leap across the line, but not really giving a damn.
As her boss began another lecture about her obligations to the bank and being polite to her superiors, Jennifer heard the sound of Stetson’s truck rumbling down from the barn and Greg’s voice faded away completely.
She watched the truck come to a stop in front of the house.
Her heart skipped a beat.
At the very edge of her awareness, she could still hear Greg droning on and on. She refocused for a second to make sure her boss was still raving and not actually talking to her, but he sounded like he was just getting warmed up, so she went back to ignoring him.
Stetson slipped from the truck and, looking at her on the porch, he nodded once in acknowledgement before leaning back into the cab to gather something from the console. When his head reappeared, Jennifer’s breathing quickened. The brooding storm clouds behind him threw his handsome figure into greater contrast, perfectly framed by the wilderness of the area. He belonged here. She had to make sure he stayed here.
“Jennifer!” Greg’s voice leapt to the front of her attention.
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, scrambling for a way to cover her inattention. “Ummm…you broke up there at the end. What was that last part?”
She watched as Stetson grabbed something from the bed of the truck, his hair plastered to his head from the rain. She wanted to run her fingers through it and straighten it out.
“I saaaaiiiiiddddd…the board wants options.”
“I’m exploring that right now,” Jennifer said, dropping her head in exasperation. “I have to see what assets—”
“Let me be frank,” he cut in. “The board wants to know if foreclosure is an option.”
“Well, yes, foreclosure is always an option,” she replied at the same time she heard the sound of Stetson’s boot hitting the porch step.
Her head snapped up. He was not smiling. There was no way Stetson missed hearing that last sentence.
Shit, shit, shit, shittiest shit of all shits.
She was screwed. She watched him storm past her into the house, the phone call completely forgotten in that instant.
Greg was still talking but for once, she didn’t wait for him to stop.
“I got it, Greg,” she said, talking over whatever the hell he was saying. “I’ll get you and the board my recommendation as quickly as I can. I gotta go.”
Jennifer hit the red button, ending the call. She turned and watched the screen door, still bouncing against the door frame from being slammed by Stetson.
She had no idea how to talk her way out of this one.
Chapter 20
Stetson
He knew it. He’d been thrown off there for a minute by her bright green eyes and how adorably tiny she was, like a Barbie doll come to life, but it’d all been an act. He’d known better, but he’d let his dick convince him otherwise.
Never listen to his dick. If he ever chose to get a tattoo, that should be what it read. Dad would’ve told him that he was being a dick by tattooing that to his body, but then again, Dad up and died on him, so Stetson wasn’t real sure why he should care.
Abandoned, yet again, by someone who should’ve been there for him. His mom, his dad, Michelle, even his brothers…this farm was the only thing that was his, and here was this green-eyed asshole of a beauty, trying to take it away from him too.
Carmelita came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “What is wrong?” she asked, peering up at his stormy face.
“I don’t want to see her again,” he growled, taking a perverse pleasure in being snarly and grumpy and rude to Carmelita. He shouldn’t, but he liked it anyway. He was sick of being the good guy all the time. “If she ever comes back, she’d better do it when I’m not here. No food, no talking, nothing at all! She deserves nothing at all.” It was satisfying to say that twice, to really mean it. To rub it in.
Jennifer Kendall really did deserve nothing at all. Nothing except the worst in life.
“She is the enemy!” he shouted. The phrase he’d been telling himself for three days now slipped out, unbidden, but that didn’t make them any less true. She was the enemy. She pretended otherwise, but he knew better. He’d always known better, but with this last reminder…he wouldn’t forget this time.
Never forget.
Carmelita’s eyes widened but for once, he didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. He stormed into the family room, past his father’s recliner, and threw himself into his, turning on the TV and jacking up the sound until the walls were shaking.
Screw ‘em all. Screw the whole world.
Chapter 21
Jennifer
Okay, don’t panic. I can go in and explain the situation to him. He has to listen to me. He has to realize that foreclosure is a real possibility at this point. It doesn’t matter what I do or say, the possibility is
out there and I may not be able to stop it.
She took a step towards the front door and then stopped. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to a word she said. She should give him space and deal with him in the morning. Maybe with some time to cool off, he’d be willing to hear her out.
She turned back to leave and then realized that except for her nylons, she was barefoot. No wonder she was so cold. Tiptoeing back, she eased the screen door and front door open as quietly as she could and retrieved her heels from just inside the house, where she’d kicked them off that morning.
Carmelita was saying something, her voice so quiet that the words were indistinguishable.
Shoes in hand, Jennifer backed away slowly.
Stetson said something in reply, and then… “She deserves nothing at all,” Stetson yelled, his voice raw with hatred. “She is the enemy!”
Jennifer eased the doors shut, hastily slipped her shoes on, grabbed her bag from the rocking chair, and plunged into the rain. She practically threw herself into her car, mud and rain and tears mixing together into a soup of disaster and pain. Reaching into her bag, she rummaged around for her keys.
She had to get out of there. She had to go. She had to leave. Right now.
She found the keys. Fumbling, she finally got the right key in the ignition. Starting the car, she slammed the shifter into reverse and jammed her foot down.
Tears were already blurring her vision as she felt the wet gravel give way under the tires. Blindly, she slapped the shifter into drive and rocketed out of the farmyard.
“I am not the enemy!” she screamed, pounding the steering wheel.
The car slipped and then caught on the muddy road. Jennifer didn’t notice. She thought back to how she’d reached up and stroked his cheek. She’d listened to him talk about his father fighting cancer, and she’d felt for him. She’d bandaged his hand.
