No Accounting for Cowboys

by Leah Braemel

  “Come on in. The office is in the back wing.”

  She picked up her laptop case and followed him, trying not to be too conspicuous as she soaked in the house. She’d been in big houses before, houses others considered mansions but none so open, so modern, even though this was at least fifty years old. Her boots echoed off the white marble floor as they passed the living room. Her breath caught. It stretched out for a good half length of the house, the ceiling soaring high above the second story. A ribbon of clerestory windows neatly placed beneath the ceiling on the east side caught the light but not the heat of the sun. A cantilevered balcony guarded by a wrought iron railing with the Bull’s Hollow brand interspersed on its rungs ran the length of the floor overlooking the living room and the rooms beyond.

  The back wall—the side no one could view from the highway—was entirely glass. Beyond was a glittering blue infinity pool, so it looked like the water poured over the edge into the lake in the valley beyond.

  Her feet stumbled to a stop. The photos she’d found on the internet didn’t give credit to the lake’s actual size. Dear God, it was as big as Lake Arlington, and they owned every single drop. No wonder the farmers downstream were complaining about how their crops were failing for lack of water while the Gradys had so much at their disposal.

  Ben stopped too, looking over his shoulder at her. “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s lighter inside than I’d expected.”

  Ben grunted agreement. “It’s fine if you like living in a freaking museum.”

  “You don’t like it?” The place didn’t have a museum feel to it, despite the expensive piece of art. It felt like a home. Comfortable, welcoming.

  He shrugged. “I like the original homestead—give me a veranda I can sit and rock on, regular windows I can open. Wood and plaster and lathe walls instead of this damned cold stone everywhere. A place a body can feel comfortable and not like they’re living in a fu-reaking museum.” He turned a corner into...holy crap, the kitchen was a work of art.

  Vintage gray cabinets had been set beneath another ribbon of windows, a matching gray swirled through the white marble counters, reflecting in the stainless steel refrigerator and vent hood. Understated but oh so classy.

  “The coffee machine’s in here. Sink, microwave, whatever else you need.” He continued down a narrower corridor, the decorating changed to a more industrial feel. Obviously this was the working section of the house. He stopped at the fourth door and pushed it open. “Here’s the office.”

  She stopped short at the sight of a familiar figure sitting at the white modular desk.

  His eyebrows arched high, JT Larson let his feet thump to the floor, a slow grin spreading across his face. His gaze slowly ranged down her, setting her body aflame each time the path lingered.

  “Hell, darlin’, I was expecting you to phone, not show up in person. Welcome to Bull’s Hollow.”

  * * *

  Well, didn’t this just make the day perfect. And here he’d been thinking about her too. She must have done some type of reverse look-up on his number or something...oh shit! What if she called him by his stage name? His body tensing, he surreptitiously kept an eye on Ben as he placed himself between Paige and his brother. “How you doin’, Paige? I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Jake Grady.” He stressed the last name. Please don’t call me Larson.

  Ben leaned a shoulder against the door, his mouth pulled into a frown. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “We met at a bar in Joshua Falls Friday night. I gave Paige my number.” Though if she’d stuck around for the rest of the night, he might have gone home with her if she’d asked. Hell, he’d have done her in the parking lot if she’d let him. “I was hoping you’d call. Showin’ up is a surprise, but I’ll take it.”

  “She’s not here for you, doofus. She’s our new accountant,” Ben supplied sharply. “And I thought you told me you were going to visit Gram Friday night.”

  “Because Cam and the guys had a gig there.” He shot a glance at Paige, hoping she’d catch his “Please don’t tell him I was singing too” plea. “You know, how you support friends when they ask you to?”

  The way Gabe used to support him.

  Her brows drew together and she spoke slowly, “Yeah, the band put on a hell of a show, didn’t they?”

  “Sure did. Maybe we could go there again on the weekend. Eat some ribs.” Go out in the parking lot and fool around. Come home and let me eat you.

  Ben had a “what the fuck are you up to” expression. Either that or “don’t fuck up more.” “You gonna move out of the way so she can sit down?”

  “Sh—oot. Yeah. Sorry.” He spun the chair away from the desk. “Take a seat.”

  After shooting Jake another suspicious glance, Ben pulled open the top layer of the lateral file cabinet. “The receipts and everything for last year you should need are in here.”

  After placing her helmet on the far end of the desk, Paige shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of the chair. As she did, she deliberately skimmed her fingers along Jake’s forearm, as if she knew what he’d been thinking. Her touch still sparked along his skin as she sat in the chair and crossed her feet at the ankle. Then she looked up at him and pursed her lips at him. A secret kiss that got his cock hard in an instant.

  “Your lawyer said you suspect your old bookkeeper of skimming from the accounts. Have you found any proof so far?”

  How the hell could she be so sexy and yet so focused?

  Her hair had been pulled back into a single braid so the pink tips didn’t stand out the way they did when her hair was loose. Her make-up was lighter—a more business-like look he supposed she’d been going for. But the neutral lipstick was just as sexy as the darker red she’d been wearing the night before.

  A lacy cotton top, with a different colored lace of her camisole peeked out from the V in her cleavage, tempted him. Black leather pants. And good strong black boots. Not as hot as the knee-high shit kickers she’d been wearing Friday night but still freaking sexy.

  “Ma’s gone through Bonnie’s books and flagged a couple things, but then this came in yesterday.” Ben withdrew a sheet from a pile in the corner and handed it to her. “This is our annual property tax bill. It says we’re a year overdue. Ma checked our records last night—looks like Bonnie entered it as being paid. There’s a withdrawal from our account, but if it didn’t get paid, it looks like we may have just found concrete proof that she had been stealin’ from us.”

  Paige took the paper. “Next question—will you be claiming whatever she’s stolen to your insurance? Because if you do, they’ll be wanting the sheriff to get involved. Or have you already started that process?”

  “We haven’t. Yet. I guess it depends on how much she’s stolen.”

  “Okay. You said you were still working out the details about an auditor. Are you needing recommendations, because I’m certain K&T can come up with a list of reputable auditors.”

  Ben frowned. “Gabe’s lawyer has asked for a say in the decision but she hasn’t gotten back to us with her approval of our first choice.”

  Jake started, his silent planning of how to get her out on a date, and into his bed interrupted. Why hadn’t Ben told him about Gabe—either having a lawyer of his own or about the request about the auditors?

  “In the meantime, Ma has been doing what she could—cutting the checks and paying the bills as they came in,” Ben added. “But she doesn’t understand the system Bonnie’s been using so I’m not sure how much she’ll be able to help.”

  “As I said earlier, I’ll also need access to all of the ranch’s bank accounts, as well as your personal bank accounts, joint or otherwise of any owner or family member.”

  Even though Randy had warned them, it still chaffed that he’d have to give over that information to pe
rfect strangers. “Why do you need our personal accounts? Bonnie didn’t have access to them.”

  “It’s part of the preparation for the auditors. They’ll be asking for the information anyway.” Her voice had turned cool. Professional. Detached. “It’s best to have everything available so we don’t slow them down. Besides, your half-brother’s lawyer has specifically requested we make sure you haven’t pierced the corporate veil.”

  Even though Randy had explained that the auditors would be snooping in his private finances to ensure they hadn’t been using ranch funds for personal expenses, the idea that they would see the deposits from his singing gigs made Jake twitchy.

  “If I have any questions, which of you should I contact? And what’s the best way? Email? Phone?”

  “You can text or phone either one of us.” Ben scratched his cell phone number and email address, followed by Jake’s information on the back of a ranch business card. “You may not always get straight through on the phone though—there are a lot of dead spots on the spread. If you really need to reach us, use the radio. Jake can show you how to work it in a bit.”

  Jake didn’t miss the raised eyebrow as she read over his phone number—the same one he’d given her the night before.

  Missing the exchange, Ben pointed to the unit sitting on the credenza. “The paperwork’s all here, and this year’s Excel file is stored right on the desktop.”

  Jake leaned over her shoulder and typed in the password. He didn’t straighten immediately, instead taking the opportunity to smell her—a spicy soap, though he had no idea what actual spice it was, mixed with gasoline. Combustible.

  What a fucking perfect description of what could happen once she started digging into their accounts.

  Ben’s phone buzzed and he checked it with a grimace. “I gotta go. Jake, could I have a word with you? I’ll send him right back to you so he can show you around.”

  She waved a hand toward the door. “Take your time. I want to take a look at these spreadsheets.”

  Jake followed Ben to the kitchen where Ben folded his arms and tilted his head, making Jake squirm like a bug under a microscope. Gramps used to give him the same “you’re guilty” look—he’d hated it then too.

  “You fuck her already?”

  “No. Thanks for thinking I’m such a man-whore. I just met her—talked to her for a few minutes and that was it. And you might be careful around her before implying that she’s the type to have a one-night stand given your history.” While Ben had been tight-lipped about the nature of the sex tape of him and Allie having a threesome with Ben’s former best friend, Jake had read his grandfather’s diary to know all the sordid details.

  “Are you planning on asking her out?”

  “You got a problem with it if I do?” Did he admit that he already had? In order to avoid meeting Ben’s gaze, he grabbed a coffee disc from the holder and placed it into the machine, then positioned a travel mug beneath it.

  “Nope. But if I said I did, you’d ask her just to bug me, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not ten anymore.”

  “Okay, then is there anything I need to know about your personal banking, or Ma’s? Did Ma siphon off any money when she learned about Gabe?”

  Shit. He had no idea what their mother might have done. She’d destroyed their father’s will, so what might have stopped her from squirreling money away that she saw as hers—or theirs—too. “If she did, she didn’t tell me.”

  Ben frowned. “Okay. I’ll talk to her next time I see her and see if she’ll tell me the truth.”

  “She said she’d be back around ten. She had to run...” To the bank. Shit. “She won’t be long.”

  “Okay, I’ll text her and ask her to find me before she heads back here. Oh by the way, Randy phoned. The lab who did our DNA tests screwed up and he wants us both to have them done again, but at a lab in Denton this time. I’ll email you the address.”

  He shook his head. “What a waste of time. We know Gabe’s Pop’s son.”

  “Yeah, but that’s what we pay Randy for—to make sure all the legalities are covered. Make sure you get it done this week, will you? “ Ben grabbed the coffee Jake had made and stuck a lid on it. “Gabe talkin’ to you yet?”

  “In single syllables.” Not that he blamed Gabe for being pissed. “As in Fuck and Off.”

  “You gotta work things out with him if we’re gonna make a go of this.”

  “I apologized to him.” Not that it made a bit of difference to Gabe. “But what was I supposed to do? I thought Ma would get put in jail for burning Pop’s will. Are you telling me you wouldn’t have kept it secret too?”

  Ben blew out a breath. “I don’t know what I would have done. Talk about being between a rock and a fucking bigger rock.”

  Jake’s shoulders slumped. “Wow. Never expected to hear you say that.”

  The travel mug in his hands, Ben stopped at the door. “What?”

  “That you’re not sure what you would have done, or that you would have done anything differently.”

  “We’ll never know now, will we?” He shook his head. “I don’t have time for this conversation. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Jake stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before turning back to grab his mug. “That bastard took my coffee.”

  * * *

  Paige stared at the computer screen. JT Larson was really Jake Grady. Why hadn’t he told her his real name? Then again, the stage name was probably a good precaution against stalkers.

  But why did the first guy who’d attracted her in a while have to be a client? Would she have played things differently last night if she’d known his real name? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Had he specifically sought her out because she was their accountant? Aw damn it, he’d admitted he’d seen her with Reba...no wait. Reba had said she’d met with the Grady lawyer—their previous lawyer—not the Gradys themselves. Maybe it was a coincidence he’d chosen to sit with her.

  Before she could decide how to feel about his deception, Jake reappeared in the doorway, two coffee mugs in his hands. He held out one. “I wasn’t trying to hide who I was last night. I mean the Larson/Grady thing.”

  “It’s okay. It’s probably safer for your family if you don’t use your real name.” For the band too—there were probably lots of local folk who would heckle them if they knew he was a Grady. It’s not like they were the most popular people in the county.

  “Look, I know it’s going to sound weird, but I need to ask you not to mention to Ben about me singing in the band.” He settled in the wing chair between her desk and the file cabinets and stretched out his legs. Man, they were long, and the denim clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin. A skin her palms itched to touch.

  “Why?” Why was it so hard to keep her eyes off the tuft of chest hair sticking out from the V of his shirt? Or to ignore the scent of fresh cut hay that clung to him?

  His right knee jumped, and he rubbed the arms of his chair as if he were debating how to answer. “Because Ben doesn’t know that I sing. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Sort of like how you haven’t told Dad about your tattoo? “He’s your brother. How can he not know already?”

  He sighed. “Ben thinks I sound worse than a bull frog who’s swallowed a hornet’s nest and that I’m wasting my time singing and playing the guitar when I have more important things to do. We may be equal partners in the ranch, but I’ll always be his under-achieving younger brother.”

  Huh, and here she thought Ben was down-to-earth. “Then your brother’s a jackass.” Oops, not good to insult your client like that. “I wasn’t exaggerating the other night. You’ve got a good voice.”

  “He’s not all bad. But his life is the ranch. To him singing at a bar is a waste of time.”

  As she’d said, jackass. “You hav
e to have a life outside of work. Especially when you live it twenty-four/seven. Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “Not Ben.” He stared into his coffee mug for a long moment, swirling the dregs. When he met her gaze again, there was a forlornness in his eyes that reminded her of a look she’d seen in a mirror when she’d been taken away from her mother. “Can I trust you not to say anything?”

  “You can trust me. If you want me to keep it a secret, I will, because it’s not my secret to tell. Think of it as an accountant/client confidentiality privilege. Like with an attorney. I’m not sure the law would see it that way, but I can keep my mouth shut.”

  He nodded. As if he’d dropped a shield, a lightness crept into his tone. “So I guess I’d better get you set up here.”

  He pointed to the Excel file icon among two dozen other icons on the desktop screen. Showed her where the printer paper was stored. Explained how to work the router if the net went down, which, according to him, was often. He ended with, “If you have any problems, it’s probably easiest to ask Momma if she’s around.”

  “Maybe I should meet her now and introduce myself.”

  “She does a lot of runnin’ around these days. Church groups, women’s groups, a book club. Driving into Dallas to check on our grandmother—I think she likes to keep busy now Pop’s gone.”

  The frenetic energy faded from his body as his gaze fixed on a framed photograph she hadn’t noticed before. A young couple, a blond man who looked a lot like Ben, and a young woman who didn’t look any older than Paige was now, each holding two boys, one blond who looked about six, standing proud with his father’s hand on his shoulder, while a curly-haired toddler who could only be Jake squirmed in his mother’s arms. Both boys wore plaid shirts and blue jeans and cowboy boots. Where Ben was already wearing a pristine cowboy hat, Jake’s hat was battered and dusty and captured forever in midair as it tumbled to the ground.

  She traced the youngest boy’s curls. His hair had darkened and no longer twisted wildly in ringlets but it had maintained much of the curl. “You look a lot like your mom.” They had the same chin, the same shape of their eyes. Her mouth curled up and she chuckled. “Not meaning to imply that you look like a woman. Just that you have the same facial bone structure.”