No Accounting for Cowboys

by Leah Braemel

  “Then we’ll have to agree to disagree.” She gestured to Cam. “He said he saved your life.”

  He grinned. “Actually he said he saved my ass from getting into more trouble.”

  “And a fine one it is.” She dropped her gaze over him in a similar perusal he’d given her from the stage. Damned if it didn’t give him a semi. Here was a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it.

  “I haven’t seen yours yet, but I suspect I should be sayin’ ‘right back atcha, darlin.’” Shit, Cam was heading toward the stage. He needed to make this fast. “So you from Joshua Falls?”

  “Conceived here, and lived here since I was seven.” Those fathomless eyes examined him again. “Why? You got somethin’ in mind, JT?”

  “I was fixin’ to ask you out.”

  “You’re pretty confident that I’d say yes.”

  “I am if something’s worth going after.” Damn, Hunter was tuning up his fiddle. “Listen, I know a good place where they do a helluva good steak and even better ribs. Local too.” He winked. Everyone knew Slick’s was the best place in the county. “Maybe we could hook up again some night?”

  A smile teased her lips. “Maybe.”

  Both her smile and her answer raised his hopes. Reluctantly, he slid from the booth but stayed beside it. There was no way he was going to let this opportunity slip away. “So how about I call you tomorrow night? Once you know your schedule. Of course, that means I’d need to know your number.”

  “Or you could give me your number and I could phone you if I feel like it.” She skimmed a finger down his arm. “Although I suspect I already know your number. 1-800-Horndog?”

  He couldn’t stop his smile from spreading across his lips. Hot damn, he liked her. He wrote his number on a napkin and pressed it into her hand. “You planning on using it or tossing that in the trash as you leave?”

  She tucked it into her pocket and smiled—one that shot straight through his chest before beelining down to his cock. “Guess you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  She slid out from the booth and tucked her helmet beneath her arm. “It was nice meeting you, Just Trouble.”

  Oh man, it was just as he’d suspected, her skin tight black leather pants clung to a sexy curved ass. He slid from the booth. “Let me walk you out. Make sure you get to your bike safely.”

  “You know, there are those who would say your offer makes you a potential predator and I should turn you down.” Her head tilted and she eyed him. If he’d been farther away, he wouldn’t have seen the slight tilt of her lips telling him she was teasing him.

  “For offering to keep any of these jerks from following you out and harassing you where no one could see? My momma calls that good manners and she’d hit me up the back of my head if I didn’t offer to walk you out.” He held out his arm anyway.

  She hooked her wrist in his elbow. “I’m on to you, you know. You’re just using me as a shield against your groupies.”

  Did she not see the guys glowering his way? “Busted.”

  “JT! Where you going?” Cam called over the microphone as they approached the door. All heads swiveled toward them, along with a few cameras. Damn it, he should have refused to sing. “We’re not done here. We’ve got two more sets to sing.”

  He waved off Cam’s frantic shout, and returned it with one of his own. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Even though the sun had set since he’d first arrived, the pavement radiated heat as he walked her across the parking lot. Or maybe that was just the heat between them, because he sensed they’d be making some flames if they did get together.

  “This is me.” She stopped in front of a sweet black and chrome motorcycle parked out by the road. “And no comments about doing some comparison shopping regarding power between my legs.”

  You are so busted. He barked a laugh, unable to stop the blood from rushing into his face. “I wasn’t going there.”

  “You were thinking it though.” Even in the dim parking lot light, laughter lit up her eyes. She trailed a finger down his face. “I like you. Keep your phone handy, Just Trouble.”

  Yeehaw. “Nice to have met you, Paige.” He held up his cell. It was a gamble, but he had a feeling it might pay off. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  He waited as she put on her helmet and straddled the bike. Impressed at the noise of the blend of torque and power when she revved the engine, he stepped back and watched as the night swallowed up her bike.

  “Hey, loverboy,” Slick snarled from the doorway. “Git yer ass back in here. I ain’t paying you to moon over some woman. I’m payin’ you so the lovesick losers’ll buy more drinks when they realize they can’t have you.”

  “I’m comin’.” And hopefully he’d be coming back this weekend to sit with a very special fan.

  Chapter Two

  Monday morning, Paige eased her motorcycle onto the private road and beneath a reasonably plain wooden gate standard throughout most of the farms in the area, though this one had a more elaborate tooled Bull’s Hollow Ranch on the overhead board. Anticipation shimmered through her. Though she’d driven past the infamous ranch numerous times, she’d never dared set foot on it. Maybe because of the “trespassers will be electrocuted” signs posted at regular intervals.

  Other than the knowledge she was now on Grady land, nothing looked different. There were the same fields with scrub and brush at the edges, dozens of cattle clustered beneath the few trees along the boundary seeking shelter from the already blazing July sun. What was she expecting? Eighteenth century cowboys riding the range with shotguns in their hands? Or maybe gold-plated fences?

  Just as Reba’s note had described, the main work yard was not far from the gate. Several buildings ringed the square yard—a single wide trailer similar to one used on construction sites flanked the road. To her left was an enormous metal barn, stacks of shiny barbed wire piled along the wall, and combines and rakes parked in a row beside it. On the opposite end was another barn with a roof extending over an area at least as big as the building itself, equipment hanging on the walls. Two foals chased each other in the pasture beyond, their mothers keeping a careful eye on both gangly legged youngsters.

  She parked her bike between two big-ass, dual-wheeled, white pick-ups, both adorned with the Bull’s Hollow brand logo. An older man, his straw hat bent up on one side as if it had been sat on, ambled out of the smaller wooden building. Suspicion filling his expression and a streak of grease on his chin, he beelined to her. “Can I help you?”

  Her laptop case tucked beneath her arm, she nodded. “I’m Paige Reynolds. I’m here to see Ben Grady. He’s expecting me.”

  He eyed her card with a deep-lined frown. “I’ll let the boss know you’re here.”

  As he let himself into the trailer, Paige peered around to make sure no one was looking, then lifted up on her toes and peeked in the back of the truck. From the bag of cattle feed, the shovel and other paraphernalia it was a working truck, not just a rich guy’s symbolic penis.

  As she dug through her pocketbook, searching for her business card—her fingers stroked the napkin she’d tucked in her wallet. Of all the guys she’d met recently—not that there’d been many—JT seemed promising. She’d liked his good manners, especially how he’d not ogled the waitress in front of her. And he’d actually sounded intelligent once he dropped the good-ol’-boy drawl—something she suspected he used as a shield to strangers. If she’d stayed much longer, she might have invited him back to her place, or maybe even followed him to his. She’d already made the decision to phone him once she was done here—if things went well, it would be a reward, if they didn’t, well, a long bout of sweaty sex would help work off any disappointment.

  A dog yapped—the only warning before two men on horseback rode into the yard. Sheesh, they
looked like they rode straight off a movie set—or some cowboy calendar shoot. From their cowboy hats—one brown felt, one weathered straw—down to their chaps. One blond, one dark haired, both tanned. Both eyeing her with that same degree of suspicion.

  Three dogs—two border collies and a blue heeler with two different colored eyes—danced beside the horses. The blond directed his horse to stand in front of her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Ben Grady.” She gestured toward the trailer. “One of the other hands is calling him now.”

  The lips that had been clamped together tilted up in amusement when a radio on his hip squawked, “Hey boss, there’s some biker chick at the yard claiming you’re expecting her. You want me to send her away?”

  “Ah, I guess I’ve found him.”

  “You guess right.” Blondie pulled the device from its holder and keyed the mike. “It’s okay, Joe. I got her.” A full-fledged grin spread across his face though to his credit his eyes stayed on her face. “What can I do for you?”

  She held out her card. “I’m Paige Reynolds. I’m the accountant from Kligman and Tuckett.”

  He swung out of the saddle with the ease of a man who had been riding since before he could walk. Standing, he was at least five inches taller than her. Sandy blond hair, with a hint of curl, it stuck out from beneath his dun-colored hat. From the shadows of the brim, his bright blue eyes were sharp and assessing. There was something familiar about him, like she’d met him before, but she couldn’t place where. He took the card she was still holding out and scanned it, his thumb running along the shorter edge. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

  “I made better time than I’d expected.” She’d deliberately arrived early as a way to throw them off. Sometimes surprise paid off and people revealed things they hadn’t intended.

  “Uh huh.” He finally glanced at the ranch hand who had called him. “Hey, Joe? Can you take care of Rusher for me?”

  “Sure thing, boss.” The ranch hand hurried over and took the reins to his bay.

  “You get that quad running yet?”

  “No. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve before we have to haul it to town though.” Giving a nod to his boss, Joe led Ben’s horse beneath the overhang by the barn.

  Ben hitched a thumb toward his dark-haired companion. “This is Gabe Larson. He’s part owner of the spread.”

  So this was the long lost bastard son. Jet black hair, brown eyes as dark as chestnuts—equally as intense as his half-brother’s. Both around the same height—not towering over her, but each had to be six feet. Even the set of their jaw was the same. But the lips were different—Ben’s slightly thinner, Gabe’s more curvy. The eyebrow shape was different, too, Gabe’s brows straighter. She wondered what resemblance they had to the third brother.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Ben added, “You’ll meet my other brother in a bit. He’s waiting for us up at the main office.”

  “Main office? This isn’t it?”

  Ben shook his head. “This is the workin’ office for the cattle. The financial files are kept up at the house. It’ll be more comfortable for you. It’s got a more reliable internet connection too—you try and work here and you’ll have to move the desk to the middle of the yard to get a decent connection. For now let’s get out of this heat. Gabe, you want to join us?”

  “Yeah, let me just tie up Paint here.”

  Paige followed him up the creaky wooden steps into the trailer office. A wall of super-heated air blasted her until sweat beaded everywhere, trickling down the curve of her back and gathering in places it shouldn’t be. Thank heavens she wouldn’t be working in this oven.

  “Damn it! It’s as hot as Hades in here.” Ben went over to the AC unit in the wall and checked the setting, checked the plug, then pounded on it a couple times. “Well, sh—oot. It’s on the fritz again.”

  Instead of a swanky office she’d been prepared to find the Grady boys using, she was greeted with an ancient wooden desk, with a bare bulb overhead. A corkboard hung on the wall over the desk, covered in hand written notes, and dozens of colorful sticky notes. Notebooks and papers covered the desk. Ribbons and trophies from various fairs were strung across the back wall. A framed photo of a pretty red head nestled beneath Ben’s arm hung on the wall beside the corkboard. It was a real working office. Not what she’d expected to find for the privileged Grady boys.

  Gabe kicked his boots on the doorsill and stepped inside a moment later. He swore, then banged on the AC unit exactly the same way as Ben had. “Damn thing needs replacing.”

  “I’ll add it to the list, but it won’t be a priority unfortunately.” Ben settled into the old wooden chair, its wood arm rests worn smooth from years of use.

  “All right, I guess you already know we strongly suspect our last bookkeeper of diddling the books. And given that her brother was the accountant on record, we’re wondering if he was in on it. We’re arranging for an audit but there have been some delays,” he slid a glance at his half brother, “so there’s no start date yet. In the meantime, we need to get the books in order and keep ’em that way.”

  Paige nodded. “No problem. We emailed your lawyer that I’ll need a list of all your employees and their information. Full names, and any nicknames they may have. Social security numbers, addresses, everything the IRS would require. I’m also going to need all your personal banking information, all your receipts, your past tax filings, lists of all the companies you do business with. Basically I’ll need access to all your paperwork and access to your current bookkeeping system.”

  “The paperwork’s all up at the house. As for what system we use...”

  A blush crept up his neck. “My grandma used to keep them all on paper before Bonnie took over, and Ma’s been doing the books since we fired Bonnie, so I don’t think it’s anything too complicated. I think maybe she used Excel?”

  Bill was going to be rubbing his hands in glee when Paige submitted her hours. “I’ll figure it out and switch everything to a better program.”

  “Let’s head up there now before we all melt, shall we?”

  No argument from her. Once they were outside, and the temperature had dropped from thermonuclear melt-your-skin-off-your-bones to a more standard egg-frying-pavement, Paige headed for her bike. The dark-haired brother eyed her bike with bold-faced jealousy. “Sweet ride. Jake would be jealous.”

  “Jake?” It couldn’t be the same Jake. Could it?

  “Ben’s brother.” A shadow flickered behind his eyes. “My half brother.” Ah, yes, adjusting to the new relationship would be bizarre. The shadow disappeared as he shrugged it off. “Jake’s into bikes. Drives his momma crazy with worry.”

  Ben huffed. “Gabe here’s the reason Jake’s into those death machines. Convinced him to buy a used one back in high school. And then dared him to try doing jumps on the damned thing. Jake ended up with a concussion and a broken arm.”

  He headed for the ginormous white dually. “D’you want to follow me up to the Monstrosity on your bike or d’you want to hitch a ride with me in the truck?”

  “The Monstrosity?”

  Ben grimaced. “It’s the main house up on the ridge. It used to be my grandparents’ place, only Ma lives there now.”

  Ah, the mansion the locals called Agnes’ Folly. With its rough-hewn stone exterior of solid wall and few small windows, from the main road four miles away it resembled a European castle that would stand up to a bomb. Or an EF5 tornado. When she’d been driven by it as a child, she’d often imagined a princess being kept within its walls, trapped like Rapunzel, held hostage at the whim of an evil King or Queen. Especially with her father telling her tales of how the evil Grady family had dammed up all their rivers during the depression and starved the downstream farmers of their rightful water sources then snatched up the land when the
farmers went bankrupt. That he thought so little of it, too, surprised her. “It’s probably best if I drive myself.”

  “Okay.” He gave her the directions to the mansion’s gate, and recited the code. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t give that number to anyone else.”

  “Of course.”

  Once he was in his truck, he rolled down the window and leaned his arm on the edge. “Gabe, aren’t you comin’ with us?”

  “Nah. You take Miss Paige up to the house by yourself. I want to check on Miree then go see how the hands are doing with stackin’ those bales we rolled the other day.”

  The other man’s answer caused a frown to furrow his forehead. “Ma won’t say anything to you while we’re around, you know.”

  “I know. I just have other stuff to do.” He touched the brim of his hat in that old fashioned way. “Nice meeting you, Miss Paige.”

  She followed Ben back to the main road, past fields of cattle, one of hay, another of cotton. They’d driven two and a half miles before his signal light flicked on and he pulled beneath a massive wrought iron gate complete with electronic keypad barring entrance to a casual driver. Holy Hannah, no plain wooden gates for the Gradys, the blacksmith who’d created it must have spent a year or more on the intricate work.

  The Monstrosity was no less intimidating up close. The outside had been landscaped into squares and rectangles, each featuring a variety of cacti and succulents around stone or steel works of modern art, the largest a life-sized bison made out of recycled cogs and gears.

  Inside it was brighter, airier than she’d expected, thanks to the double height ceiling in the main hall, white paint, white tile and skylights.

  Ben tossed his keys in a bowl in front of a bronze statue that she suspected was an authentic Remington.