A Cowboy's Kiss

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Luke stood several feet away, his gaze alternating between her and the box. “I’m…a little surprised.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

  “It’s not a matter of liking or not liking. But sorting through all that could take hours. Or days.”

  “How much do you charge per hour? It occurs to me we should have discussed that before I—”

  “We didn’t talk about it because I decided early on you couldn’t afford my hourly charge.”

  “You’re not doing it for free. I won’t accept that.”

  “I’m not doing it for free. But there’s no point in pretending you’re the same as every other client.”

  His gaze strayed to the box again and she bristled. “Then what are you going to charge me? I need to know.”

  “Nothing until your business is out of the woods.”

  “And when it is? Then what?”

  “We’ll decide together what my services were worth to you. Then we’ll set up a payment plan that’s not too arduous.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.”

  “I don’t plan to make it a habit, but setting my own fee structure is one of the benefits of being self-employed.” He glanced at the box again. “Is there any order to what’s in there?”

  “Of course! The oldest stuff is on the bottom.” Yeah, she was defensive. Not good.

  He massaged the back of his neck. “Judging from the water line on that box, the items on the bottom might not be viable anymore.”

  “I thought of that. I decided letting it sit and dry on its own was the best plan. If I tried taking things out, I might make it worse.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really.” She hated this. Hated it with the heat of a supernova. “I knew that once I started digging into that box, I’d have to do something with all of it.”

  “Like what?”

  She waved a hand in the air. “Organize it. File it. Computerize it.” Douse it with lighter fluid and throw a match on it.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I meant to. Each month I’d promise myself I’d take a Sunday afternoon and sort through everything. Then I’d come to the last Sunday of the month and put it off again.”

  “I see.”

  “Look, if this is too big a challenge for you, don’t feel you have to—”

  “I’m not intimidated.”

  “Well I am!”

  “I can see that. But I can help you. We’ll develop a system to get your paperwork under control.”

  “But you said it would take hours, maybe days. I can’t put that kind of demand on your time. It’s not fair.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, you’re not demanding anything, okay? Just the opposite. You’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “Only because—”

  “You’re embarrassed.”

  “Am not.” But the heat in her cheeks contradicted her.

  “It’s okay, Abigail. You’re not the first person to get overwhelmed by paperwork. Let me help. We can do this.”

  “How? If it could take days, you probably need a place to leave stacks of paper. This isn’t it.”

  “True. What about your apartment? Would that work?”

  “Uh, maybe.” Her apartment? That would bring the chaos up close and personal. She’d hoped to avoid that. It would also bring him into her private space. “If we use my apartment, we’d have to get that box up a steep flight of stairs and the bottom’s compromised.”

  “I hate when that happens.”

  She glanced at him. He was smiling. “You find this amusing?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “Well, I don’t.” She looked at the sagging napkin carton. She hadn’t paid quarterly taxes, either. If, on top of that, she sent in a return made up of guestimates, she could get audited. “What would happen if I took that box to the Feds? Would they be amused?”

  Laughter sparkled in his eyes. “I can’t say. But you’d have to reinforce it first.”

  “Definitely.” She met his gaze. “I’m thinking some of that fancy duct tape. The kind with peacock feathers on it.”

  “I’d go with the sock monkey design, but that’s just me.”

  She laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You’re right. This is effing hilarious.”

  “Told you.” He reached for his jacket and put it on. “Let’s get this disreputable box up to your apartment.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  At least he’d changed the mood. And Abigail hadn’t bailed on him.

  For the trip upstairs, Abigail put herself in charge of Delilah and the water bowl. He followed with the box. He shoved one arm under the soggy bottom and the other around the girth of the thing. Please hold, dammit.

  By some miracle, it did. At the top of the stairs, Abigail headed for the first door on the left. Good. The box might not make it the length of the hall. She didn’t use a key to get in, which surprised him.

  “You don’t lock your door?”

  “None of us do. Just the downstairs door. We like having access to each other’s rooms.”

  “So it’s like college.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Interesting.” He followed her into the apartment and didn’t bother to close the door. For all he knew she left it open. “Where should I put this?”

  “The table in my dining nook.” She flipped on lights as she moved through the apartment followed closely by Delilah. “I’ll get the candlesticks out of the way. You can use the couch and the coffee table as you take things out of the box.”

  He put the box on the table and surveyed the area. Neat and tidy, just like the bakery. A comfortable-looking couch, a few colorful throw pillows and a crocheted afghan over the back. Magazines in a basket, books stacked on a side table, a green plant of some kind on the coffee table. No clutter. Evidently shoving receipts into a shipping carton was an outlier in an otherwise organized life.

  Her living room was small but better than the postage stamp of an office downstairs. The dining table would be a good base of operations. “How do you feel about not having use of your living and dining room for a few days?”

  She answered him from the kitchen, where she’d gone with Delilah, probably to fill the pup’s water bowl. “It’s better than losing my business.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “Hey, guys!” Ingrid appeared in the open doorway, a loaded sack of groceries in each arm. “Looks like you moved the party up here.”

  “More room to sort things,” Luke said. “You need help with those?” Delilah joined him at the door, tail wagging.

  “Hi, doggie! I’m fine, Luke, but thanks. The relevant question is, do you two need anything?”

  Abigail came out of the kitchen. “I don’t think so, but thanks for offering.”

  “No problem. Just FYI, the wind just whipped up. When I got out of the car it was still, but now it’s blowing like a banshee out there.”

  “Appreciate the heads up.” Luke silently thanked Mother Nature for holding off on the wind until he’d carried the box from the bakery to the apartment.

  “You’re welcome. I doubt there will be any takeout delivery tonight but I bought a couple of frozen lasagna meals, the big size. You’re welcome to one if you’re going to work through dinner.”

  Abigail glanced at him. “Are you planning to?”

  Luke hadn’t gone that far in his thinking. Operating in this intimate space with Abigail might pose a challenge if they got cozy over a meal. “Probably not. For one thing, Delilah needs to be fed.”

  “I have some leftover chicken,” Abigail said. “She could have that.”

  “Thanks, but I really should take her home.”

  “All righty,” Ingrid said. “Let me know if that changes. Roxanne and I are baking the lasagna and watching The Magnificent Seven.” She glanced at Abigail. “Come by when you and Luke are finished for the night.”

  “I will. Save me some
.”

  “Sure thing. ‘Bye.” She turned and walked down the hall.

  “I can see how this would be fun, living here.” Luke gestured toward the door. “Should I close it? Or do you just leave it open?”

  She laughed. “That would be a little too much togetherness. You can close it.”

  “Okay.” The simple act of closing the door shouldn’t have affected him. It did. With the door closed he was truly alone with Abigail and all the possibilities that presented.

  Except she didn’t lock that door, did she? Ingrid and Roxanne felt free to walk in anytime they wanted to. Yet they might not if they knew he was here.

  Didn’t matter. He had one job—organizing the contents of that damned box. The sooner he got to it, the better. “I could make use of that coffee table. Do you mind if I move the plant?”

  “Not at all. I’ll put it in the kitchen.” She scooped it up and left.

  He took off his coat and laid it over the arm of the couch. Then he put his hat on top of it.

  “Want that coffee and a plate of cookies, now?”

  He turned. Abigail stood in the kitchen doorway smiling. His breath caught. For one wild moment, he was the guy living with her, the guy who had the right to share this space with her and follow her down the hall to the bedroom at the end of each day. Longing swept through him.

  Clearing his throat, he smiled back. “That would be terrific.”

  “Then I’ll put on the pot.” She returned to the pocket-sized kitchen.

  Whew. Almost hijacked by his fantasies. Rolling back his sleeves, he stepped over to the box and pulled out a stack of papers from the top. Delilah appeared at his side, and when he started toward the coffee table she tried to maneuver him toward the kitchen, instead.

  “Sorry, girl. I’m not going in there.” Small space, close quarters. Nope. “You’ll have to work on Abigail.”

  Delilah trotted away, and moments later Abigail called to him. “Luke, your dog’s herding me!”

  He smiled. “Tell her no.”

  “I’ve tried. She won’t listen.”

  “Oh.” Because he’d told her to go work on Abigail. He’d given her a direct command and she was determined to follow orders. “Be right there.” He put down the stack of papers and went as far as the kitchen doorway.

  Abigail stood with her hands on her hips. “I was planning to bring you a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies, but evidently I wasn’t doing it fast enough to suit her.”

  “I’ll just take it, then.” He stepped in far enough to grab his coffee. Next to it sat a plate piled with cookies. “Are those all for me?”

  “Not unless you can eat that many. I thought I’d sit at the table and we’d share.”

  “Great. Delilah will like that.” And he’d keep his attention firmly on the work. And put her to work, too, for that matter. He carried the plate into the dining nook.

  Abigail followed with her coffee and a couple of napkins. “Going through this box might be a relief, in a way.”

  “Like breaking off a bad relationship.”

  “Yeah, like that. This box and I have been involved in a very toxic relationship.”

  He put down his coffee. “Once we get everything out of it, we’ll put it in the dumpster.”

  “I’m in favor of a ritual burning, but I don’t have a safe place to do it.”

  “I do.” He reached in the box for another stack.

  “That’s right, you do! I could cut it up and burn it at your place. That would be awesome.”

  “Then plan on it.” And he couldn’t wait for that day, or evening, as the case might be. This situation was causing her stress and he wanted it over.

  He handed her the stack of papers. “I’m turning this stack over to you. Separate them out by date.”

  “I bet most of your clients have their paperwork organized.” Her voice had a touch of anxiety.

  “No worries. Once we set up a good filing system, yours will be, too.” He’d handled situations like hers before, although not quite this extreme. Putting her at ease was part of the job. “Sorting it out now is no big deal, though.”

  “Okay.” She started going through the stack while munching on a cookie.

  He should get busy, too. Instead he watched every bite of cookie disappear into her mouth. Her lush, kissable mouth.

  Enough. He focused on his work. Moments later, a soft whine broke his concentration. Delilah sat by the kitchen door looking expectant.

  Abigail glanced at the dog. “I think she’s hungry. What time do you usually feed her?”

  He checked the clock on her living room wall. “Sometime between now and six. Did you say you had some leftover chicken?”

  “I sure do!” She hopped up. “Come on, Delilah! Din-din!”

  The dog left without a backward glance in his direction. Abigail returned a few minutes later, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t eat until I told her it was okay.”

  He’d gotten so used to Delilah’s habit that he didn’t think about it anymore. “Someone trained her well.” Which didn’t match with the bare-bones flyer and lack of follow-up. The uncertainty in those contradictions kept gnawing at him.

  They worked steadily without talking. He did his best to concentrate, but Abigail kept making little noises of frustration as she sorted receipts—a fretful sigh, an impatient exhale, a murmured swear word. Signs of stress.

  He’d polished off more than half the plate of cookies, but as far as he could tell, she’d only had one. Instead of eating she was frowning, her full lips pressed together in a grim line. Time to quit so she could get her happy face back.

  He put his stack of unsorted papers back in the box. “That’s enough for tonight.”

  Lifting her head, she blinked. “But you said an hour and it’s only been—”

  “I know, but you’ve put in a long day. I’ll bet the job won’t be as tough after you’ve had some rest.”

  Relief brightened her expression. “I could keep going, but if you’re ready to quit, I won’t argue.”

  “Good. We’ll leave everything as is.” He shoved back his chair and stood. Delilah roused herself from where she’d been snoozing in the corner and sauntered over to stand beside him.

  “So I should just leave this here?” She gestured to the receipts she’d been sorting.

  “If they haven’t been sorted, they can go in the box for now.” He tucked them in on top.

  “That’s fine. I won’t touch anything.”

  That made him smile. She probably wouldn’t look at it, either. The job would take longer if they spaced it out over several days, but that was better than causing her major stress. “Are you up for spending another hour on it after our ride tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then Delilah and I will be on our—”

  “Let me fix you dinner.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to have lasagna with Ingrid and Roxanne?”

  “I can text them. Do you like spaghetti?”

  Delilah looked up at Luke and wagged her tail.

  “Looks like she’s eager to stay.” Coincidentally, so was he. “But since you’re asking, I love spaghetti.” He also loved seeing the light return to her eyes.

  “I made a big batch of sauce last weekend. I can have the meal on the table in no time. Fixing you dinner will make me feel better about…” She gestured toward the box. “What I’m putting you through.”

  “I promise it’s not a hardship, but dinner sounds great.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll start the spaghetti.”

  “I should take Delilah out before we eat, though. Where can I go?”

  “The alley beside the bakery would work.”

  “I’ve seen it.” Putting on his coat, hat and gloves, he took the leash from where he’d hung it on the front doorknob. “Come on, girl.” He patted his thigh.

  Delilah didn’t look excited about leaving the warm apartment or Abigail. She wandered over with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
/>   “You’ll thank me later, pup.” He clipped the leash to her collar. “Be back in a few.”

  Delilah followed him reluctantly out the door and down the stairs.

  “We’re not leaving, girl. Just taking a break.” Cold sliced through his jacket the minute he stepped outside. The wind Ingrid had mentioned had died down, but snow was falling and it had started to pile up.

  He’d need to head out after dinner, but sharing a meal with Abigail was the right thing to do. Her reaction to the box of unsorted receipts had taught him that he’d have to tread carefully as he untangled her snarled financial picture. She clearly hated paperwork, but felt terrible about the mess she’d created by avoiding it, too. In her mind, it probably looked like a no-win scenario.

  Walking fast, he led Delilah over to the alley. Smart dog that she was, she took care of business in a hurry and they quickly retraced their path.

  Warmth and the scent of spaghetti sauce greeted him as he stepped into the entry and locked the door. Climbing the stairs and entering Abigail’s fragrant apartment pushed all his happy buttons. She probably had a yummy dessert somewhere in that kitchen, too.

  He recited Kendra’s advice under his breath as he hung up Delilah’s leash. Follow your instincts. Shedding his hat and jacket, he walked toward the kitchen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thank God Luke had decided to take a break. Abigail drained the spaghetti and took pasta bowls out of the cupboard. No two ways about it, working on the receipts was an icky experience, a reminder of her shameful negligence.

  But as the kitchen filled with the aroma of her favorite spaghetti sauce and Luke walked back into the apartment with Delilah, her mood took a huge swing upward. She might be lousy at bookkeeping, but she was terrific at feeding people.

  “Smells great!” He appeared in the kitchen, his cheeks pink from the cold, his faithful dog right behind him. “What can I do?”

  Just stand there and look gorgeous. “Could you make sure the box won’t be in the way while we eat? Maybe move it to one side or something.”

  “I’m on it.” He started out of the kitchen and Delilah followed. “By the way, it’s snowing.”

  “Uh-oh. Are you worried about driving home?”