by Cindy Stark
She pulled the notebook from beneath the pile and opened it. Messy handwriting filled many pages listing amounts owed, when he’d paid them, and money received. From her best guess, it looked to be an antiquated system of managing his business, and a poor one at that. He hadn’t updated his entries in over a month.
The more she dug, the more she realized he needed help more than even Lydia knew. The man needed a business assistant as much as he needed a maid and a cook. Maybe even more so. If he was worried about finances, the money he’d fork over in late fees would only make things worse.
She stumbled upon the infamous envelope from the I.R.S. and paused. Should she? After a moment’s hesitation, she threw caution to the wind and slid the letter from the logo-marked envelope and opened it.
The letter detailed the amount of money he owed for the remainder of the previous year’s taxes and interest on the unpaid amount. The hefty penalty they’d slapped on top of it would be salt to his already burdensome wounds. She thought again about mentioning to Jesse to ask the government to waive penalties. Only problem was, she’d have to figure out a way to broach the subject without letting him know she’d snooped.
A sound like an exploding atomic bomb brought her out of the chair in an instant. She lost a firm hold on the papers on her lap, and the middle part of the stack flew out and littered the floor. A bright flash of lightning lit the room, followed by another deep rumble.
Scattered below, lay all the evidence of her snooping. Panic rose from her chest and spread outward in sickening ripples.
“Shit.” She fell to her knees and quickly gathered the papers. There was no way she’d ever get them back in the same order. Part of her would like to believe he was so busy he wouldn’t remember, but she couldn’t take that chance. If she didn’t say something and he figured it out, their newly-formed trust would be lying in pieces on the ground like the contents of his desk.
With the stack of papers firmly in hand again, she stood. Her only hope would be to pretend she’d come into his office to clean. If he complained about an invasion of his privacy, she’d apologize and promise not to do it again.
Mind made up, she set to sorting and organizing his desk like she’d wanted to do all along. When she’d gathered all the outstanding invoices, she checked them against his handwritten, half-assed ledger and separated the paid ones from the unpaid. Other invoices she sorted by due date.
She itched to write to the I.R.S. on his behalf, too, explain his circumstances, and ask them to waive his penalty fees. It was just a letter, after all. But she couldn’t bring herself to go that far.
Several hours later, she basked in what she had accomplished. The rain had lessened considerably, and apparently, it had never gotten bad enough to send Jesse home. She couldn’t say she would have minded if it had. But she also knew, he needed those hours to stay ahead of things.
Dinner was good, but lonely, and the wolves howling out on the ridge echoed the pang of loneliness in her heart. She contemplated her isolation over dinner, contemplated her self-imposed incarceration in Jesse’s house.
No, she didn’t intend to stroll brazenly through town, but maybe a few moments on the porch, soaking up the cool air would do wonders for her spirit.
With her decision made, she pulled one of Jesse’s oversized denim jackets from a coat hanger near the front door. The now-familiar smell of his aftershave surrounded her as she slipped her arms through the sleeves, and the scent teased her the same as his dark eyes always did. What would it be like to have him hold her? To have him kiss her?
She wrapped it tightly against her, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. She shouldn’t think of those things, but she seemed helpless to stop.
With no one to see, she stayed like that for several moments, letting his essence surround her, loving the comfort it brought. She would never tell anyone of this moment, never confess she wished she’d married a man like Jesse. Her life was a culmination of her past decisions, and if she’d picked the wrong man, she could blame only herself. Didn’t matter that loneliness and desperation had driven her to it. She should have been stronger then, like she had to be stronger now.
And she would. She was.
With determination burning in her heart, she turned off the porch light and slipped out into the quiet of the night.
Cool, rain-washed air infused her lungs and chilled her cheeks. The rain had stopped, and most of the clouds had moved on, leaving only a few puffs to dance in the heavens with the full moon. She claimed a spot on the porch swing and once again tightened his coat around her.
She emptied her lungs along with a huge amount of anxiety she’d carried for the past couple of weeks. Relaxing her shoulders, she tilted her face toward the sky and breathed. A cool breeze wafted over her face, chipping away at a thick layer of emotional pain.
She opened her palms to the fresh energy and then used her feet to move the swing. Back and forth, the swing creaked, breaking the silence of the pristine night and lulling her into tranquility. Her spirit found the peace it desperately sought, and she bathed herself in the experience.
An unwanted, niggling voice pushed to the front and reminded her that this home wasn’t hers, and as much as she might like to stay, she couldn’t forever. Life would eventually crowd in. Even though Jesse had said he’d never fall in love again, she highly doubted a handsome man with this incredible ranch would escape the ladies forever.
At some point, someone would push through his pain and reach the man beyond. Someone would steal his heart, and he would want to marry her. Scarlett didn’t have to bet to know she’d be on the losing end when that time came.
She needed to prepare for it now.
If she was single, she’d make a go of it, but she wasn’t, and she likely never would be. Filing for divorce would be dangerous. It might give Hank the opportunity to find her again, and she simply couldn’t risk it. Not now and possibly not ever. She couldn’t know if there would ever be a point when she wouldn’t be vulnerable to him.
Instead, she’d be grateful for what she had, and she’d shutdown any feelings beyond friendship that popped up. Jesse was incredibly handsome. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to him? He was kind, generous, hard-working and…well, everything she should have held out for the first time around.
He was also her friend, and she’d remind herself of that fact every time one of those constant twinges urged her to get closer to him. He deserved a woman without her baggage, one who could love him whole-heartedly.
The sound of a whirring engine brought her eyes open wide, and she dug her heels into the wooden porch to stop the swing. Not a truck or a car. Too quiet. It had to be Jesse returning on his four-wheeler.
The sound grew closer, and she spotted the small headlight bouncing across the fields toward her. A few minutes later, Jesse drove it into the barn, and then shortly after that, she spotted him coming toward the porch. Her pulse increased with each step he took, and she realized she’d waited for this moment all day.
Not good.
She’d have to do something about that before she actually did fall in love with him.
Chapter Eleven
Miserable stinkin’ weather.
Jesse grumbled beneath his breath as he headed for the front porch. Lights in the house burned, but Scarlett had forgotten to leave the porch light on for him. Stupid to feel bad about that, but he did. He liked to think she thought of him. But she’d probably gotten busy with other things, and he had no doubt she had plenty of stuff to occupy her mind besides him.
He’d had a long, damn day riding in on-again, off-again drizzling rain. He’d hoped the thick of the storm that had seen fit to dump buckets on him earlier would have used all its energy and fizzled out, but no. It had lessened, but the rain hadn’t given up all day. The squish of his boots was proof of that.
He would have called it a day after the downpour, but tomorrow was supposed to be worse, and he wanted to finish fixing the section of fence that Merle an
d BJ had started before that set in. In all honesty, he would have preferred snow. The temps were colder for sure, but a good coat would keep him warm, and his boots and four-wheeler wouldn’t sink into the relentless mud.
“Hey.”
The sound of Scarlett’s soft and sensual voice scared the ever-lovin’ shit right out of him. He stumbled to a halt and then cursed under his breath as he studied the shadows, searching for her. “Jesus, woman. Give a guy a heads-up.”
“Sorry.” She followed with a small laugh. “I didn’t know how to let you know I was here without scaring you.”
He climbed the stairs and, with the help of the moon, spotted her on the porch swing, huddled sweetly in one of his jackets. Something about the sight of her left him off balance. In a good way, he supposed. “Guess I should pay better attention.”
She tilted her face upward to meet his gaze, and a sharp jolt of attraction arrowed through him. He needed to nip that in the bud, and fast.
“I bet you’re cold and wet,” she said.
He hesitated and then couldn’t resist claiming the space next to her. A minute ago, he would have given anything to be inside where it was warm, but apparently, she was worth the discomfort. “That’s the understatement of the year. I had a rain poncho, so I’m not completely drenched, but it damn sure feels like it.”
He froze when she lifted her fingers to his shoulder and drew them down his bicep. Though he wore a Sherpa-lined denim coat, he swore her touch burned right through it.
“Feels pretty dry to me,” she said softly.
“Yeah?” Without considering consequences, he grabbed her hand and laid it palm down on his thigh. “Not so much here, though.”
She inhaled a quick breath that fanned the flame sputtering inside him. He jerked his hand away so fast someone might think he’d touched a hot branding iron. She removed hers almost as quickly.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.” At least not about what he should have been.
“It’s okay. And you’re right. You’re soaked.”
“You ain’t seen the half of it, sweetheart.” He cringed at the term of endearment he’d used and then plundered ahead to cover it up. “You can’t see it in the dark, but my boots are covered in mud and so are the bottom half of my pants. Not to mention, I’m bone-tired. So, what do you say we take this conversation inside, so I can clean up and eat.”
He stood and pushed open the front door, flooding the porch with light. She grabbed his hand before he could enter and tugged him around. “Wait a minute, cowboy. If you go in like that, you’re going to track mud all through the house.”
“My house,” he answered. If he didn’t care about mud, why should she?
She moved between him and the door. “But you’re not the one cleaning it up.”
He was half-tempted to pick her up and move her aside. “What do you want me to do, strip right here?” He took another step forward thinking she’d move, but she held up her hand. The fact that this wisp of a woman, who’d seemed so wounded, now challenged him was the best entertainment he’d had all week.
“Yes, please.”
“Seriously? It’s freezing out here.”
Their gazes locked in a battle of wills, and he waited for her to cave. When she didn’t, he smirked and shrugged out of his coat. She took it with a nod of approval.
Fine. If she insisted on doing it her way, he’d give her exactly what she’d asked for. He jerked his muddy boots off and set them to the side. His soaked socks came next, and he took more pleasure than he should have when they landed with a wet slap on the palm of her hand. She rolled her eyes but kept them.
Straightening, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt, removed it, and held it out to her. Something primal stirred inside him. It was hard enough to keep thinking of her as a sister while he was clothed. Her forcing him to strip churned all kinds of inappropriate ideas.
Eager for her reaction, he pulled the soft gray t-shirt over his head. Brisk air surrounded his bare torso, bringing forth a round of goose bumps.
She gave him a once-over, heating him far faster than a roaring fire could. A second later, she blinked and quickly looked away. Unfortunately, that one little act was like lighting a firecracker in a box full of dynamite. If he’d thought she saw him as nothing more than an employer and a landlord, he’d been dead wrong. The expression on her face confirmed that she wasn’t anymore immune to him than he was to her.
Which meant she’d knowingly played with fire, and that thought fueled his next actions.
Still staring at her, he popped the button on his jeans and slid down the zipper. She glanced again, her eyes growing wide before she shifted her gaze inside the house. He grinned. If she hadn’t been so insistent, he wouldn’t enjoy teasing her like he was.
He wrangled out of the dirty, wet jeans and added them to the pile she held. The second he finished, she hurried inside and headed straight for the laundry room next to the kitchen.
He allowed himself a small chuckle as he entered and closed the door. Yeah, he knew he’d probably gone too far, but she’d asked for it, demanding he strip in the frigid air. He was well aware of the kind of mess he made when he came in the house like that, but he would have been careful. Not to mention, he would have taken off his boots first, which created the majority of the issues. He wasn’t a complete imbecile.
Grumbles quickly replaced his short-lived glee as he made his way to the bathroom and straight into a hot shower. He would have preferred to eat first, but since he was nearly naked, what would be the point? Besides, the hot water would feel good on his aching shoulders and neck.
Ten minutes later, he donned warm flannel pants that had been folded neatly in his drawer and then pulled on his favorite grey Henley that he’d worn so much the edges of the sleeves were tattered. Dressed and feeling slightly refreshed, he headed for the kitchen.
A single light over the kitchen table was all that illuminated the room. A bowl of chili, a basket of cornbread muffins, and the milk jug waited for him, but Scarlett did not.
“Well, shit,” he hissed as he sat down and found the bowl still warm.
Apparently, she intended to make it clear that she’d still do her job, but after his little stunt, she didn’t care for his company that evening. Who could blame her?
He lifted a spoon and dug in.
By the time his belly was full, his conscience had smacked him up one side and down the other. The lady had done an excellent job taking care of him. That he’d even consider making it harder on her nominated him for jerk of the year.
Seriously, she’d had enough shit in her life. She didn’t need more from him.
He owed her a huge apology.
Chapter Twelve
Jesse dished up a couple of bowls of rocky road ice cream, Scarlett’s favorite, not his, and headed upstairs. He bumped her closed door with his elbow and waited. A few seconds passed. He feared she wouldn’t open it, but then she did.
She’d changed into blue flannel pants and a dark blue tank top. Her hair, usually restrained by a hair tie, now danced over her bare shoulders. He’d thought she looked beautiful earlier, but this more relaxed version called to him.
Her gaze darted from his face to the ice cream and back, but she didn’t speak.
“Peace offering.” He held out a bowl.
“What for?” she asked, but he could tell by the hurt look in her eyes that she knew.
“For being a jerk.” He pushed the bowl into her hand. “Can I come in?”
She barely lifted a shoulder before she let it drop, but she did step aside. He moved into the room, surprised by how different it felt with her living there. What was once a deserted, quiet place, now pulsed with life and a sweet warmth.
His jacket that she’d worn earlier sat draped across the back of the chair near the window, and he smiled thinking of how good she’d looked wearing it. Of how he’d always think about her when he wore it from here on out.
He claimed the chair,
while she perched on the bottom of her bed, not far from him. He didn’t like being at odds with her, didn’t like knowing he’d contributed to her unhappiness. “I’m sorry. I was cold and hungry, and not my most pleasant self.”
She hesitated for a long moment as though wondering if she dared to speak. She dug into her ice cream and scooped a spoonful before she met his gaze again. “Note to self. Feed the big, bad wolf first, or expect him to growl.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t growl.”
She arched a brow.
Either way. “I really am sorry. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
She glanced downward and slowly exhaled. “But it was,” she said in a quiet voice. “Consciously tracking dirt into the house I clean says that what you do is more important than what I do. Or maybe just that you think you are more important than me.”
Her point of view hit home. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw as he digested her words. “Yeah. You’re right. Not that I meant it that way,” he quickly added. “But you’re right. I’ll try to be more considerate and to keep my messes to a minimum.”
A small smile danced at the edge of her lips, and she looked up from beneath her lashes. “Thank you.”
Her reaction blew warmth back into his heart, and he lifted a scoop of ice cream to his lips. Cool and creamy, it melted on his tongue. “This isn’t half bad,” he said, surprised at how much he liked it. Rocky Road had never made it on his top twenty favorites list.
“Told ya.” She smiled again and ate another spoonful.
“No need to get smug,” he chided.
Her expression froze for a moment, but then warmed into another smile. If her husband was anything like Lydia had described, Jesse supposed it would be natural for her to be wary of any negative reaction. He was grateful she'd handled his assholery so well.