Miller Brothers in Love

by Erin Wright

  Everyone knew that.

  “Great idea! I’m proud of you for thinking of that. Having someone else take over the books is just what you need to do.”

  Or that. Declan could always think it was a grand idea to invite a bookkeeper into their lives. Stetson barely kept from rolling his eyes. His brother had the most ridiculous ideas sometimes.

  “Hell,” Declan continued, “I might just go on up to the house and talk to him about coming over to my place and taking a look at my books. Do you—”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t bother her! Not ummm…not right now. Maybe later. But she has a lot to go through right now. Lots of…paper.” He waved his hand in the air vaguely.

  Shut

  the

  hell

  up

  Stetson gave Declan a weak smile.

  “She, eh?” Declan arched an eyebrow teasingly. “Is she a looker?”

  “Oh no. Ugly. Mole on her nose. A little hair sprouts out of it.”

  He had no idea where that came from. Or where any of this was coming from. He shouldn’t be lying to his brother. He knew that. He also couldn’t figure out how to tell him the truth.

  And wasn’t that just quite the pickle to find himself in.

  “Damn. Well, I better get to work. See you on Friday.” He walked out, his footsteps fading away, and then the creak and squeal of the barn door signaled his exit.

  Stetson’s shoulders dropped and he stared unseeingly at the tractor in front of him. He’d just screwed up, and he knew it. He shouldn’t have lied to Declan. His parents had raised him better than that.

  But to tell him the truth? That was unthinkable, too.

  With an angry growl at himself and the world in general, Stetson gathered up the rags he’d dirtied and carried them to his truck he’d left parked outside the night before. He’d drive the rags back up to the house and make sure that the banker wasn’t doing something she shouldn’t be. Like, snooping around the house, searching through trash cans or something, hoping to find incriminating evidence. Of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but dammit all, she had shifty eyes. He’d seen that this morning. He shouldn’t hide out in the barn any longer; he had to go protect his family’s legacy.

  Ummm…work in the barn any longer. Because he sure as hell wasn’t hiding.

  He was a man. Men didn’t hide from women.

  Chapter 6

  Jennifer

  Having finished the piles on the desk (and on top of the filing cabinet and in corners, lurking like monsters in a nightmare), Jennifer had moved on to the inside of the filing cabinet.

  It wasn’t a typical metal filing cabinet, but rather a beat-up wooden relic with rows of drawers, all neatly labeled in the same spiky handwriting that she’d found on a few papers scattered around. In contrast, most of the papers piled on the desk had been in a blocky handwriting, and Jennifer had spent the afternoon idly trying to figure out which handwriting was the father’s, and which one was the son.

  She pulled a cabinet drawer open and found file folders, neatly labeled by year, tabs marching through the drawer like soldiers, and instantly knew that this settled it – the son’s handwriting was the blocky one. All of the file folders in here had the spiky handwriting on it, and Jennifer was willing to bet next year’s salary on the fact that Stetson wouldn’t take the time to organize file folders if his life depended on it.

  So when the father was alive, he filed and organized, and then once he died and Stetson took over, all of that stopped? Not surprising. The man she’d met that morning didn’t give a rat’s ass about paperwork or bills or filing, of that she was sure. Of course he’d let his paperwork fall into disarray, and then blame the bank for the mess he’d found himself in.

  Men.

  She started to reach for the first file folder in the drawer when she glanced up at the elk clock on the wall, the bull’s head thrown back as it bugled to the world, a 2 on the tip of its nose. Huh. It’s almost five. If I get started in on another project, I’ll be here hours past when I should be, and God only knows, the bank doesn’t pay overtime. Plus, Mr. Miller was quite clear on my work schedule this morning.

  She shoved the drawer closed instead. She could get started on this phase of the excavation tomorrow morning. That would be soon enough. She began gathering up her laptop bag and notepad when her phone started singing out Working Overtime.

  With a groan, she grabbed her iPhone and swiped to answer. “This is Jennifer Kendall,” she said in her most professional tone of voice. It was how her boss wanted her to answer the phone, even though he damn well knew who she was.

  Just one of his many idiosyncrasies.

  “How shhhhsirifks ldislkds,” her boss’ voice chirped in her ear.

  “Hold on, Greg, let me get somewhere with better reception.” Jennifer hurried through the farmhouse and out onto the covered porch that stretched the length of the house.

  “Can you hear me now?” Jennifer asked, feeling distinctly like she was starring in a Verizon Wireless commercial even as she said it.

  “There you are. What took you so long?” Greg sounded annoyed, but then again, everything annoyed him.

  “Sorry, I’m way out in the sticks. The signal isn’t very good; I had to go outside.”

  “Whatever, just don’t leave me waiting like that again,” Greg huffed on the other end of the call. “Are you making progress?”

  “Yes?” she said, more of a question than a statement. “I mean, I got through the piles on the desk today. I’ll get to work on the filing cabi—”

  “I don’t need a play-by-play of your workday,” Greg said, cutting her off. “I just need to know if they have the money. The Millers. Are they going to bring their loan current?”

  “There’s only one Miller who still lives here, first of all, and second, I have no idea. Like I said, I haven’t even touched the filing cabinet yet and there’s a lot—”

  “I want results, not excuses!” Greg interrupted. Again. Jennifer bit down on the inside of her cheek. Hard. There were days…

  “Give me a few more days and I can give you more information,” she said politely but firmly.

  “I want a status report at noon tomorrow.” And with that, he hung up.

  Jennifer stared down at her phone in shock. Even for Greg, he was being inordinately pushy and difficult. He usually didn’t hound her for a status report on an audit until she’d been there for a few days. He’d been in the foreclosure department of the Intermountain West Bank & Loan for longer than she had. He knew what he was asking for was impossible, so why the bee up his bonnet?

  There was something not quite right here…

  She heard the rumble of a diesel engine and looked up to see Mr. Miller pull up in front of the house, giant tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and then he hopped out, leaning back in to grab something. Unbidden, her eyes followed his legs up to the curve of his ass, his Wranglers cupping it just so – damn, I can’t breathe – and then he straightened up, his hands full of…dirty laundry?

  He sauntered towards the house in that loose-hipped swagger that all cowboys seemed to naturally take on at birth, up the two steps and onto the covered porch. With a nod of greeting, he shoved the rags underneath his arm to free up a hand to get the screen and front door open, and then stood back, allowing her to pass by him and into the house.

  She headed back down to the office to grab her stuff, and she could swear she could feel his eyes on her ass every step of the way. Which was ridiculous, of course. He thought she was some awful creature, come to steal his farm from him. He certainly wasn’t checking her out.

  Just like she hadn’t been checking out his ass. She’d just been studying the fashion trends in Wrangler jeans.

  Which was a totally different thing.

  She finished shoving her stuff into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with a grunt at the weight. Someday, she was going to be able to afford a Mac laptop again, instead of these oversized bricks HP liked to call laptops.
<
br />   She headed out into the hallway, where she promptly slammed right into Mr. Miller, who’d been heading…well, somewhere else. And now his hand was on her elbow and he was standing in front of her and looking down at her and she couldn’t breathe again and…

  Chapter 7

  Stetson

  Jennifer crashed into him just as he was heading to the guest bathroom to clean up. Instinctively, he reached out to steady her, and then his hand dropped like he’d been burned.

  Don’t touch the enemy!

  He’d never felt so off balance in his life and he hated the feeling with a passion. He wasn’t about to show weakness in front of this woman though, so just as instinctive as steadying her had been, he now looked down at his watch theatrically. “It’s 5:05,” he informed the stupidly beautiful thief in front of him, who was sadly not in possession of a single mole, hairy or otherwise, on her nose. Damn the bad luck. “Didn’t I tell you to be gone by 5:00?”

  Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he was being an ass. But today seemed to be the day for saying things that he knew he shouldn’t, and regretting them even as the words were coming out.

  Well, at least the one thing he had going for him was consistency.

  Her brilliant green eyes snapped open in shock and just as she opened her mouth to tell him her thoughts – in great detail, no doubt – Carmelita’s voice thundered through the house. “Stetson Byron Miller!” she yelled, advancing towards them in the already crowded hallway. He tried shrinking up against the wall, but his cowboy-turned-chameleon act didn’t work any better the second time.

  “Your parents would be ashamed of you!” She poked him in the arm, glaring up at him, eyes flashing. He gulped. “You apologize to Ms. Jennifer—” She stopped and turned towards the thief in front of him. “What is your last name, dear?” she asked kindly, at total odds with the tone of voice she’d just been using with him.

  Stetson wanted to thump his head back against the wall. Didn’t Carmelita know that this woman was trying to ruin five generations of Miller farmers? Whose side was she on, anyway?!

  “Kendall,” the petite woman said politely, as if they were in a drawing room and being introduced over tea. Stetson glared down at her. She smiled angelically up at him.

  “You apologize to Ms. Jennifer Kendall right now!” the housekeeper bellowed, not missing a beat as she turned back towards him, arms akimbo.

  Stetson tried hard to stifle his groan. Voicing it would not help his case. “I apologize, Ms. Kendall, for my rudeness.” He wanted so badly to end that with, “I should be kind to those who are trying to destroy my life,” but somehow, through an inhuman act of self-restraint, he managed to swallow those words instead. He was rather proud of himself, really.

  Jennifer seemed to be waiting for him to finish, as if she could sense there was more that he wanted to say, but when he stayed quiet, she nodded once in acceptance. “I will be here at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning,” she informed him cooly.

  With that, she turned sideways and shuffled past him, heading for the front door. Stetson flattened himself against the wall again, but still, her body traced a sizzling hot line across his where they brushed against each other.

  Chapter 8

  Jennifer

  Jennifer drove down the long gravel pit Stetson apparently considered to be a driveway, heading back towards town. She’d blown through Sawyer on the way out to the Miller place that morning, but it was time to find her hotel – no, motel – room and some food. In that order.

  There was a huge, fancy hotel on the edge of town that Jennifer had first spotted online when making reservations for this audit, but the price per night…it was definitely geared towards tourists, not bank auditors. Greg would’ve laughed himself off his chair if she’d asked for a $250-per-night per diem for a hotel room.

  So Drop-Inn Motel it was.

  Please don’t let the whole room be decorated with bugling elk.

  She wasn’t sure how many more of them her fragile psyche could handle right about now. She sent the silent plea up to the heavens just as her phone buzzed in her bag. Keeping one eye on the gravel road as she fished around in her laptop bag, she finally snagged and pulled the vibrating phone out.

  Paul Limmer, iMessages informed her.

  Jennifer dropped her phone like she’d been scalded. Paul? Paul?!?!?!

  “You do realize we’re not dating anymore, right?” she said aloud, and then felt ridiculous for talking to herself. She could read his message in a minute and decide how to respond then. For now, she needed to concentrate on where she was going. She’d made it back to town surprisingly fast; the drive had felt much longer that morning. She looked around as she drove through the tiny town, smiling a little as she went. Quaint brick buildings lined Main Street, leading up to a stone monument in the town center, flowering petunias planted around the base. It was…adorable.

  She came to a stop at the only stoplight she’d spotted thus far and waited for it to turn green. Compared to Boise and the Treasure Valley area as a whole, it felt like a portal through time to drive down these streets. At least traffic wouldn’t be a problem with this audit. Honestly, no traffic and Carmelita’s cooking were about all this audit had going for it so far.

  She refused to admit that Mr. Miller’s good looks were another plus towards the audit. Now, if he had a personality to match those good looks…

  Eventually, she came upon the little motel, the low buildings lining a central parking lot. The Drop-Inn sign jutted out over the sidewalk and under the name, a smaller sign proclaiming “Color TV” creaked in the breeze, slowly swinging back and forth.

  Jennifer studied the motel with a critical eye. It was straddling that fine line between quaint and rundown, and was teetering dangerously towards the later.

  Please no elk decor, please no elk decor, Jennifer chanted to herself.

  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 forceful nod for emphasis.

  “Th-hank you,” Jennifer stuttered, smiling politely as she accepted the key. An honest-to-God 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,” the older woman continued, pinning Jennifer down with an inquiring stare.

  “Oh, uh yeah,” Jennifer stumbled, not sure how much this lady already knew, or how she knew it. Were all small towns like this? She 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 on to Margaret. Thank God for small favors.

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

  Within a few minutes, she was set up. The room was nothing to get excited about, although it was thankfully free of elk decor. Instead, there were prints of ducks on the wall. Jennifer stared at the faded pink and baby blue duck prints for a moment, not sure if they were really an improvement over elk or not. 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.

  Livin’ the life.

  Somehow, when she’d been working her way through college for a second time, this hadn’t exactly been what she thought she’d get as her prize at the end. On the other hand, there were a lot of aspects of her life that had turned out wonderfully, so she shouldn’t complain too much.

  Just because she shouldn’t didn’t mean she didn’t want to, though…

  With a groan, she kicked off her conservative pumps and plopped down on the bed. Now that she’d gotten checked in, she needed to find a place to eat and then call Bonnie and commiserate. Bonnie’s job was just as awful as hers, so they had lots to commiserate about.

  And really, what were best friends for?

  Jennifer grabbed her phone and swiped to open so she could do a Google search for a restaurant, when iMessages opened instead, Paul’s message in front of her, demanding to be taken care of.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She’d been happy to forget all about the text message and live in ignorance, thankyouverymuch, but now that it was open, she ought to just deal with it and move on. Her eyes flicked down the long message once, twice, and then she started at the top again, reading more slowly this time. Surely this isn’t right…

  I know this is 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.

  He was willing to forgive her?!

  Her thumbs hovered over the messaging app as she debated what to say, finally typing, “You’re drunk. Stop texting me,” and hit send.