Accounting for Love - A Long Valley Romance: Country Western Romance Novel

by Wright, Erin

  “Yes and no. Yes, every business has the chance to make a bad bet, but if you make cars, the factory does not shut down if there is not enough rain or if there is too much rain. The weather is always out of your control. The demand for your product is very unpredictable. Today, the wheat may sell for a lot of money, and tomorrow you would not be able to give it away. When was the last time you saw the price of a car fall?”

  “Never, I guess,” Jennifer said thoughtfully.

  “Everything on the farm is a bet. As the years go by, and a farmer wins more and more bets, they have pride in winning those bets. Eventually, another generation comes along and takes over. Then the son worries even more about his bets, because if the son loses in a big way, then he has also lost every bet that his father had won.”

  “But…” Jennifer didn’t know how to say this politely, so she just plunged ahead. “Why doesn’t Stetson believe me when I say I’m here to help? I don’t want to cause him to lose his bet. I don’t want to cause him to lose his farm.”

  “Because no bank has ever come here and then left. Every bank takes the farm. You may be different than the others, and I hope you are, but if Stetson does not win this bet, he will lose every bet his father ever won, and he will lose every bet his grandfather and great-grandfather ever won. That is a lot for a young man to lose.”

  Jennifer pondered Carmelita’s words for a moment before thanking her for breakfast. Taking her coffee back to the office, she felt her resolve strengthen.

  Actions speak louder than words, right? So I’ll just have to show him.

  Chapter 8

  Stetson ran to the truck. He had to get out of that house and go somewhere not occupied by a certain Jennifer…

  Up until that moment, it had not occurred to him that he didn’t know her full name. He was certain that she would have said it yesterday, but in his rudeness, he had cut her off.

  I would really like to know her full name. No. No, I shouldn’t. It’s best that I don’t know too much. She’s come, and she’s probably going to take my farm with her when she goes.

  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he refocused on driving. The truck slid a little to the side as he pressed on the gas pedal to get up the small hill that the barn sat on. He enjoyed the little thrill that came with losing just a little bit of control of the big machine.

  For the second day in a row, he ended up in the barn, staring at the old tractor. Slowly, he walked a circle around the ancient machine, trying to decide what part of the restoration he wanted to work on today. Yesterday had been scattered, like his thoughts. Finally deciding he should focus on one task, he looked at the alternator on the workbench. He had taken the part off the tractor yesterday just before Declan had arrived.

  Might as well start there. Pick up where I left off.

  Leaving the house quickly this morning had been a product of that woman, Jennifer What’s-Her-Name from the bank. As he worked on the rusted engine part, he mulled the conflict over in his head.

  Yesterday, it’d been easy to hate Jennifer. She was from the bank and the bank wanted to foreclose on his farm. They wanted to take away everything that four generations of Millers had worked for. Jennifer was the person who represented the bank, so he should hate her. Easy equation.

  But on the other hand…what did she have to gain personally from taking the farm? This was her job and that was it. She didn’t get to keep the farm herself if the bank took it away, so what was in it for her? And, why be a goddamned asshole to her?

  Shit! It was hard to look at the situation in a totally logical, totally rational way. Couldn’t he just hate her, act like an asshole and push her away? Didn’t she deserve it anyway, for daring to work for an entity like the bank? Hell, he didn’t choose her job for her. She kinda brought this on herself.

  Right?

  Wrong.

  His shoulders slumped. He knew better. Carmelita was right: His parents wouldn’t have allowed him to act that way. It was embarrassing as hell to have to apologize like he was a 12-year-old boy. Then he remembered her smile and…it took the edge off the memory a little, anyway.

  Then she showed up this morning dressed like a dream. A sexy dream. A sexy-as-hell dream. He’d held the door for her because it was both the polite thing to do and because it’d allowed him to walk in behind her.

  Which made him realize something else: He had been so wrapped up in running the farm and taking care of Dad that he hadn’t noticed a woman, or gone looking for a woman to notice, in more than two years. Shocked, Stetson recounted the time.

  From the time Dad was diagnosed to his passing was just about 18 months. It’s been just about a year since the funeral. Damn! Two-and-a-half years, I’ve been head-down, work-my-ass-off at this farm.

  The thought that it’d been nearly three years since he’d been out to a bar or town social where he could spend time with a woman made Stetson worry that maybe he was losing his interest in females. Maybe, God forbid, he was turning into a eunuch.

  But then he remembered those green eyes and that black skirt…He shifted uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight jeans.

  Well, nice to know I’m still alive.

  Still trying to figure out if she was his brand of attractive or not, following her into the house had settled the debate.

  Yes, she was attractive and yes, she was his brand of attractive. He’d already decided yesterday that given any other set of circumstances, he’d chase a woman like Jennifer over the river and through the woods. Every time he thought about this woman from the bank in those terms though, something nagged at the back of his mind.

  Still trying to free the part from a bracket that held it in place, he tried to get his conscious mind to grab hold of that distant nagging and bring it to the front and center of his thoughts. His hands worked on their own as he searched for the words to explain what it was about Jennifer that continued to bother him.

  “I don’t trust her,” he said out loud and startled himself at the sound.

  And that was it. He didn’t trust her. Why didn’t he trust her?

  “She’s from the bank and has no reason to be honest with you,” he said aloud.

  She also has no reason to lie. If I am fucked and the bank has to take the farm, they can do it without deceit.

  “Maybe she’s telling the truth when she says she wants to find a way for me to keep the farm,” he told to the tractor, as if expecting the tractor to talk back.

  Not surprisingly, it did not.

  “Have you ever met anyone from the city who wasn’t a liar?” Stetson asked the question to the empty room. He felt the anger welling up inside of him. That anger carried hurt and pain upward with it.

  You’ve only really known one person from the city and she lied.

  “They just don’t think or act like we do,” he muttered, the anger pushing at him all over again. Michelle had been everything he’d thought he wanted in a wife. She was smart and funny. She liked his family and claimed she wanted the country life.

  It wasn’t until he’d been standing in the church with the entire town watching for more than a half hour that he realized that she didn’t want the country life, or him.

  If he was really going to be honest with himself, that was his problem with Jennifer. He didn’t know her well enough to decide if she was even someone he wanted to date. She was a woman from the city who drove a fancy car and wore sexy high heels and cocked her head to the side when she was listening and bit her lip when she was thinking and her brilliant green eyes sparkled when she laughed…

  Dammit. Sexy woman plus city was a combination that had hurt him before in a way he’d never thought possible. He’d be a damn fool to try it again.

  Still ruminating on the fairness of judging this woman from the bank by the same standards he applied to his former fiancée, Stetson struggled to loosen the last bolt holding the part in place.

  He put a little extra weight behind it, and the bolt gave way suddenly. He was pushing so har
d, he couldn’t stop the instant release of momentum and his hand, with the metal wrench inside his fist, crashed into the side of the alternator’s casing.

  “Dammit son-of-a-bitch shit!” he yelled. He knew before he even looked at his knuckles that he was bleeding.

  Grabbing a clean rag off the workbench, Stetson smeared and dabbed at the blood enough to get a look at the injury. A thick line of red topped each of his four knuckles. The flesh was curled back, each slice filling with blood.

  He flexed his hand. It hurt, but at least it didn’t feel like the bones were broken. Wrapping the rag around his hand, more to keep from spreading blood all over the place than to actually stop the flow, he hopped in the truck and headed to the house, wheels spinning on the muddy road.

  Stetson thought he knew where the first-aid kit was located. He checked the pantry in the kitchen, where Carmelita usually kept it, but searching through the cluttered space with only one hand, he couldn’t find it.

  “Carmelita!” he shouted. “Carmelita, where’s the damn first-aid kit?”

  No response.

  “CARMELITA!!”

  Still nothing.

  “Goddamn it,” Stetson cursed, both out of frustration and the knowledge that swearing would bring her out of the woodwork faster than anything.

  He opened his mouth to yell again, but was interrupted.

  “She went to town. Are you okay?”

  He turned around to see Jennifer standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

  “I’m fine. I just need a damn Band-Aid!” he barked. The words were coming out much harsher than he knew they should, but they were out now and he was in no mood to apologize to Jennifer. Again.

  New rule - one apology per person per day. He opened up his mouth to announce this to her …and then decided against it.

  Dammit, she was turning him into an idiot.

  Jennifer stared at him impassively for a long moment and then finally said, “I don’t know where the first-aid kit is, but let me take a look. Maybe I can help.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll check the bathroom,” he mumbled, too embarrassed to look her in the eye.

  Stetson turned to leave, but something about the way Jennifer was standing made him stop. He looked back at her but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his feet.

  Stetson looked down, only then noticing that there was a small splatter of blood on the floor. He was bleeding badly enough to have soaked through the rag.

  Carmelita is really going to kill me if I don’t get that cleaned up before she gets back.

  “Where is Carmelita?” Stetson asked and then cleared his throat, relieved that he didn’t sound quite as angry. There was something about this woman that made him yell before he even realized it was happening.

  Damn city-slicker women anyway.

  “She said she needed to run to town. Let me see that,” Jennifer said, reaching toward him. “Stop flinching. I went to college for two years to be a nurse. I kinda know what I’m doing.”

  “Kinda?” Stetson repeated doubtfully, slowly stretching his hand toward hers.

  “It’s a long story that I might actually tell you someday, but right now, I think we should stop the bleeding,” Jennifer said with a smile that did not fully hide her concern. “Come over here to the sink. That way Carmelita won’t kill us both for making a mess.”

  His hand hurt like hell, he was bleeding all over the place, and he didn’t want to like this woman from the bank, but her concern for Carmelita made something inside of him soften. His mind flashed quickly back to his former fiancée. She and Carmelita had never really gotten along. She was always upset with Stetson because he followed the older woman’s directions. “It’s your house, not hers,” his fiancée would argue. She’d never understood Carmelita’s role in his life.

  Jennifer’s concern over upsetting Carmelita was…nice.

  Perhaps not all city girls think alike.

  He shook the thought off. He had to pull his head out of his ass.

  Standing next to the sink, Jennifer gingerly removed the rag from his hand. Stetson tried to pay attention to his hand, but his mind kept drifting to the warm spot on his hip where she was leaning into him.

  Having a nurse isn’t so bad. I wonder if I could play doctor sometime.

  The playful thought quickly died as the rag fell away. Maybe he’d cut himself worse than he’d thought. Looking down at his knuckles, he saw a steady flow of blood. No wonder the rag was soaked through.

  “Nice work,” Jennifer commented drily while turning his hand side to side so she could get a good look. “Stay here. Hold this on there, apply pressure, and for God’s sake, stay over the sink!”

  Taking the new rag and pressing it to his hand, Stetson craned his neck to watch her. She went back to the pantry and rummaged inside the shelf-lined closet. Bending over just a bit, she reached to the very back of the bottom shelf and retrieved the first-aid kit. He gulped as his eyes followed the curve of her ass.

  That ass is better than CPR. The stray thought of admiration pushed away the pain in his hand for a moment.

  She straightened, and he whipped his head around, innocently looking out the window until she came back. He only barely kept himself from whistling.

  With the supplies in the kit, she was able to stop his bleeding fairly quickly.

  “I think—” she said.

  “I think—” he started.

  They laughed for just a moment, and he stared down at her, his breath catching in his throat. God, she was beautiful.

  “I was just going to say that I don’t think it needs stitches, but you need to keep it clean,” she blurted out, all in one breath.

  “If you say so, Nurse Jennifer.”

  She grinned up at him for just a moment before continuing her work of ripping surgical tape and smoothing the ends down, and then she bent over and kissed the back of his hand just beyond the edge of the wrapping.

  As soon as she’d done it, she lurched upright.

  “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, blushing. “I just…I don’t…I…”

  “Every ouchy should get a kiss better,” he said, mercifully cutting off her sputtering. “Thank you.”

  For a moment that stretched into eternity, they looked at each other. Jennifer’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. He stared at the flash of the pink tongue, wanting—

  Stetson knew an invitation when he saw one. He felt himself slowly leaning toward her. He watched as her head tilted slightly to one side. His head tilted to the other side on its own. The distance between them had not seemed so large when they were just talking, but for some reason, closing the gap was taking an eternity.

  The crushing sound of tires on gravel shattered the moment. Carmelita was back.

  Like two teenagers caught necking, they sprang back from each other. They frantically set to work cleaning up the blood from the sink and floor.

  Stetson wondered if his enthusiasm for the cleaning task was caused by his fear of Carmelita’s reaction or just the need to do something other than kiss Jennifer.

  Not, he noted to himself, that he’d actually managed to kiss Jennifer. Which was for the best, right?

  His clumsy one-handed efforts to clean up the mess were actually making things worse.

  Why do I always hurt my dominant hand? I’m going to be worthless until this heals.

  Giving up on what amounted to spreading the blood around rather than wiping it up, he gave Jennifer a look of question and apology. She nodded, seeming to understand the message, and Stetson stood up quickly, heading outside to help Carmelita pack in the groceries as best as he could.

  He explained about the rusty bolt and cutting his hand. Stetson hoped that the story and Carmelita’s maternal concern would delay the formidable housekeeper long enough for Jennifer to clean up the majority of the mess. He was very careful to leave out the part where he’d seriously considered chucking Jennifer up onto the kitchen counter, peeling off her nylons, and kissing his way up her
gorgeous legs…

  To express his gratitude, of course. Gratitude. That’s all it was. He was grateful for her help with his hand. Kissing and removing clothing and sucking on toes was a perfectly fine way of expressing gratitude.

  Right?

  As he headed back into the house, weighted down with grocery bags, he realized that he would also have to show his appreciation for her willingness to clean up while he ran interference with Carmelita.

  That is, if that’s what did happen. He wasn’t 100% sure Jennifer had gotten the full message from the look he’d given her. Had she understood, or was she angry with him for leaving her with the dirty work? He juggled the bags, being careful to favor his right hand, and finally got the door open into the kitchen. Carmelita was right behind him, but he sneaked a glance at Jennifer as soon as he cleared the door. She gave him a thumbs-up and a smile that lasted just long enough to let him know she’d gotten the blood cleaned up in time.

  She had gotten the message.

  Stetson set the food on the counter and braced himself against the granite top. Never in a million years had he ever expected to feel what he was feeling right now. All of his life, he’d longed for someone who he could communicate with, without words. A best friend who understood him in a way no one else ever could. He sure as shootin’ didn’t have that with his brothers; if he’d given that look to Wyatt, it would have been a signal to tattle on Stetson.

  In the brief second he allowed himself to process their exchange, Stetson felt his whole body warm. It was like sinking slowly into a hot bath. His chest felt like it was swelling. It was…nice.

  It was terrifying.

  As soon as he could politely leave, he bolted from the house, and the temptation.

  Chapter 9

  Jennifer floated through the rest of the day, buoyed by the brief moment. She was slightly embarrassed by kissing his hand (or “ouchy,” as he’d laughingly called it), but the embarrassment didn’t last long because of his sweet acceptance of the gesture.