There was also the huge mess that was otherwise known as her father’s accounts. They were so jumbled up she knew it was going to take her days, if not longer, to untangle and straighten out. And then, of course, there were the accounts that were being emailed to her from Dallas. Accounts that she had insisted she could work on while away from the office.
Maybe she had taken on more than she was equipped to handle, Ena thought, staring at her father’s ledger. After all, she wasn’t exactly some sort of superheroine. She knew that.
But her pride wouldn’t allow her to let anything she had taken on slide. So she found a way to spend time on all of it. The days were for the ranch, the early mornings and late evenings were for the accounts she had told her firm she would look into. And the four and a half minutes that were leftover were for her father’s all but hopeless accounts.
That was what she was working on now, sitting in the den at her father’s old scarred desk, struggling to keep her eyes from closing and desperately trying to figure out an old entry she had come across.
It made less than no sense to her.
Ena sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose, trying to keep at bay a possible headache that was forming right between her eyes.
“Whatever made you think you could tackle math, Old Man?” she murmured, looking at the page she had open. “This would have made more sense if you’d let your horse handle the accounts.”
“You do realize that you need to get some sleep, right?”
Startled, she looked up. Mitch had come into the room. She hadn’t even heard him walk in. But then, she was getting used to that.
“What I need is to understand why my father thought he could handle the books and why in heaven’s name he didn’t just get someone to do it for him,” she said with a sigh. She fought a strong urge to toss the ledger across the room—or out the window.
“Could be that he was as stubborn as you are,” Mitch speculated.
She didn’t like being compared to her father. Ena raised her chin defensively. “At least I know my limits,” she told him.
Mitch perched on the edge of the old desk, looking down at her. “Do you?” he asked, amused.
Her eyes narrowed as she pinned him with a look. “Just what is it that you are insinuating, Parnell?” she asked.
“Not insinuating,” he responded. “I’m stating it blatantly. You’re trying to do too much and you’re looking to get yourself sick.”
Ena could feel her temper rising. “Not my intention,” she retorted.
“Maybe not,” Mitch allowed. “But that’s the end result. You’re trying to juggle too many things at once, and eventually, one of those things is going to fall and hit you right in the head.”
“Colorful,” she commented cryptically.
“Also true,” Mitch insisted. “Call it a day and go to bed,” he advised.
She felt really punchy at this point and it was making her cranky. “You’re not in charge of me, Parnell.”
“No, you’re right, I’m not. But that doesn’t mean that I want to stand by and watch you get sick—and if you keep on going like this, trying to do two and a half jobs, you just might. Your dad wanted you to work the ranch. He didn’t mean that you should go on doing your other job and also cleaning up his account books at the same time. I’m fairly sure of that,” Mitch added with just the slightest touch of sarcasm.
That only served to make Ena angrier. “That’s because he didn’t think I could do anything,” Ena said, remembering the way her father used to regard her.
“So now, by knocking yourself out this way, you’re going to show him, is that it?” Mitch asked.
“Of course not,” she snapped. When he continued to look at her with that “knowing” expression on his face, she had to struggle to hold on to her temper. “I can’t show him because he’s dead.”
“That’s right, he is,” Mitch agreed quietly, his eyes still on hers. “So killing yourself like this really serves no purpose.”
“Other than fulfilling the terms of the will, allowing me to continue to hold on to my job in Dallas, not to mention not losing the ranch to a bunch of bill collectors my father somehow either forgot to pay or just hoped would go away,” she said, her voice building with each word she said.
Mitch slid off the desk and came around to look over her shoulder at the ledger that was opened on the desk.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked her.
She felt hemmed in right now and scrubbed her hand over her face. “Well, it’s definitely not good.”
“Can you do anything about it?” Mitch couldn’t help thinking of all the people he worked with—people who were counting on the ranch continuing to operate so they could earn a living.
Ena pressed her lips together as she looked at the ledger entries—the ones she could make sense out of. “Depends on whether I can talk some people into granting the ranch extensions until we can get everything under control.” She shook her head, her eyes all but glazing over. “He really should have asked for help with all this.”
“Not in his nature,” Mitch told her. “You know that.”
“Yes, if I know anything, I know that,” she agreed. She leaned back against the chair, stretching her shoulders. Her eyes kept insisting on closing. “You’re right. I should go to bed.”
Finally! “Glad to hear that,” Mitch said.
“Just as soon as I get up enough strength,” she mumbled.
The next thing he knew, Ena had fallen asleep right in front of him, still sitting back in the chair.
Chapter Twelve
Mitch touched Ena’s arm. She didn’t react. She was sound asleep.
“Well, I guess strength isn’t going to be coming anytime soon. Looks like you just completely ran out of energy,” he observed, looking at Ena. And then he assessed the situation. “Well, you certainly can’t sleep in this chair. If you do, everything’s going to ache when you wake up in the morning. You won’t be any good to anyone then, least of all yourself.”
There was only one thing to do. He needed to get her into her bed.
As gently as possible, he slipped his arm under her legs. Getting a secure hold, he picked Ena up from the chair. She stirred and made a noise, but her eyes remained closed.
Mitch released the breath he was holding, and he started to walk slowly. Leaving the den, he headed for the stairs.
Ena stirred again. Mitch walked even slower, certain that she was going to wake up at any second. But instead, she curled up into him as if he were a living, breathing pillow.
You’re really making this hard, Ena, Mitch thought, doing his best not to allow the warmth he felt emanating from her body to infiltrate his. But it wasn’t easy, especially not when working so closely with her had brought back all his old feelings for her, all those carefully blocked-out desires.
It was harder now. He was no longer that awkward teen pining after someone he felt was out of his league. He had gained self-confidence since then and holding her in his arms like this just brought all those old sensations back to him.
Vividly.
“You really know how to get to a man,” he murmured to her under his breath.
Careful to take the stairs slowly because the last thing he wanted was to wake Ena, he moved up the steps cautiously, watching her face as he did so.
Midway up the stairs she sighed and seemed to curl into him even more, nestling her face against his chest. All sorts of stirrings were dancing about in the pit of his stomach.
Funny, he thought, after all this time, she was still the only one who could make him feel this way. Not that he was all that experienced. He wasn’t a womanizer by any means, but then he wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet, either. There had been women in his life, women from both his late mother’s world as well as his late father’s. There had been a mixture of both cultur
es.
But there had never been the woman.
He had just assumed that he wasn’t meant to feel that wild, heady, intoxicating excitement that a man experienced when the right woman crossed his path.
And then, suddenly here she was, the woman who somehow could raise his body temperature just by being, and here he was, carrying her up to her room.
To put her to bed and then just slip away, he silently reminded himself.
Clay Washburn, his best friend back when he and Clay had barely been teens, would have just shaken his head in despair.
He hadn’t thought about Clay in years. Not since the car accident had happened, the one that had robbed him of his teen confidante.
He thought of him now. Clay had been a ladies’ man, able to completely charm any woman who crossed his path within moments of the occurrence.
But although he thought of Clay fondly, he had never aspired to be anything like that himself. Being a ladies’ man just wasn’t his style. It required too much work, too much planning and he had never even had a desire to win a woman over.
Not until now.
Don’t go there, Mitch warned himself. She is not here to be seduced by you. She’s here so she can fulfill the terms of her father’s will. She’s not here to get to know you better.
Why couldn’t it be both? Mitch wondered suddenly. After all, there was no rule that said it couldn’t be both.
He was tired. That was why his mind was straying like this. He’d definitely be able to think more clearly in the morning, he promised himself, carefully shouldering open Ena’s bedroom door.
Still moving very slowly, Mitch stepped inside the room.
There was only a crescent moon out and it illuminated almost nothing. The bedroom was more or less totally in pitch-darkness.
Even though he’d left the door open when he walked in, Mitch made his way to the bed very carefully. He made sure to take incredibly small steps so he wouldn’t trip over anything or bump into something that would ultimately jar Ena awake.
So he stood inside the doorway for a second, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He wanted to be able to make out shapes that were in the room.
Once his vision had adjusted, Mitch made the rest of his way toward the bed. Reaching it, he very carefully laid Ena on top of the comforter.
A small bereft sort of sound seemed to escape from her lips and he froze.
Mitch debated covering her, then decided that he had pressed his luck too much as it was. If he tried to put the comforter over her, Ena could very well wind up waking.
“See you in the morning,” he told Ena softly as he began to retrace his steps and retreat from Ena’s bedroom.
“If you’re lucky.”
Mitch stopped dead and then slowly turned around. Was he hearing things, or had she suddenly woken up and spoken to him?
He had his answer when he finally looked at her face. Ena’s eyes were open and she was smiling directly at him.
“You’re awake,” he said needlessly.
Ena grinned, even though she really did look tired. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
Crossing back to her, he had one question. “When did you wake up?”
She looked a wee bit guilty as she said, “Just when you started going up the stairs.”
That didn’t make any sense to him. She was so independent—why would she have allowed him to carry her into her room if she was awake? “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was really, really tired and it felt really nice to be whisked off to my room like that. Besides, I was curious if you were going to try anything,” she told him, growing very sleepy again. Ena sighed as she curled up on the bed. “Nice to know that you’re a gentleman.”
“Yeah,” Mitch muttered. “Nice for one of us at least,” he said under his breath.
She heard him, but she was really too tired to call him out on it.
Besides, there was time enough to do that in the morning. After she got her rest...
Ena was asleep before she could even finish her thought.
* * *
The following morning the full significance of what had transpired the night before hit her. Mitch Parnell was the rarest of birds, an actual gentleman. He’d brought her up to her room, and even though he had thought she was asleep, he hadn’t attempted anything.
However, Ena couldn’t help thinking it meant he wasn’t remotely attracted to her. But even though it could be deemed as being self-centered on her part, she was fairly confident that he was attracted to her.
The thought made her smile.
Widely.
“Well, someone certainly looks happy this morning,” Felicity commented when Ena walked into the kitchen.
“I just got a really good night’s sleep,” Ena told the housekeeper. The latter was standing by the stove, looking like she was about to spring into action at any moment.
Hearing what Ena had just said, the housekeeper nodded her salt-and-pepper head.
“It is about time.” When Ena looked at her quizzically, the woman said, “I am not deaf. I hear you working and moving things around in your father’s den. I know you are working two jobs.”
“Three,” Ena corrected her. “But who’s counting?”
The housekeeper’s lips curved just the slightest bit. “You seem to be,” Felicity noted. “Otherwise you would not have corrected me.”
“Fair enough,” Ena allowed. She looked around again. “Where’s Mitch?”
“Mr. Mitch has already had his breakfast,” Felicity told her.
Ena hadn’t expected that. “Why didn’t he wake me up?” she asked.
“Because he didn’t want to,” Felicity said simply. “Mr. Mitch left strict orders not to wake you,” the housekeeper said, anticipating Ena’s next question. “But he also said to make sure you had breakfast when you did come down.”
“Where is he this morning?” Ena asked the woman.
Felicity gave her a stern look, as if she knew that her late boss’s daughter would dash out the moment she had that information. “Mr. Mitch said I could tell you only after you have had breakfast.”
Ena’s good mood was quickly evaporating. “Felicity, I’m not in the mood to play games.”
“Good, because I am not playing games,” the woman informed her. “I am listening to Mr. Mitch’s instructions,” Felicity declared with more than a touch of pride.
Ena’s eyes narrowed. She made one final attempt to get the woman to give up the information.
“You do know that I’m the one who pays your salary,” she reminded Felicity.
“What I know is that Mr. Mitch is concerned about you and what he said to me makes good sense.” Felicity looked at her sternly. “Now, the sooner you eat your breakfast, the sooner I can tell you where to find Mr. Mitch and the other men. Now, then,” she said, giving her a penetrating look, “what is it that you would like to have for breakfast?”
Ena sighed. She had a feeling that Felicity could go on like this all day until she surrendered—so she did. “Scrambled eggs.”
The housekeeper nodded, looking pleased. “Very good. Toast?”
Ena shrugged. “Sure, why not?” she said. Then she specified, “One slice.”
The housekeeper opened up the loaf of bread and deposited two slices into the toaster.
“Two is better,” the woman said with a finality that told Ena the matter wasn’t up for discussion. She was getting two slices and that was that. And then she asked, “Coffee? Orange juice?”
Ena wasn’t in the mood for either, but that wasn’t the way this game was played and she knew it, so she replied, “Whatever it takes for you to tell me where Parnell is.”
The housekeeper smiled with satisfaction. “Coffee and orange juice it is,” she declared, pleased that Ena had come arou
nd.
Moving quickly, it only took the woman less than five minutes to whip up the aforementioned breakfast and put it on a plate.
“You will chew this slowly,” the housekeeper told Ena as she set the plate of scrambled eggs and toast down in front of her. She eyed Ena and told her, “Foxing food down is bad for you.”
Caught off guard, Ena stared at the housekeeper for a long moment—and then a light suddenly went off in her head.
“You mean wolfing,” Ena corrected the older woman.
Felicity shrugged indifferently. “Fox, wolf, they are both small sneaky animals that like to eat on the move,” she said, eyeing Ena to get her point across. “You will eat what I have made sitting down and you will eat it slowly.”
There was no mistaking that the housekeeper had just issued an order.
Resigned, Ena did as the woman specified.
She fought a very strong urge to ask the housekeeper if she wanted her to chew each bite a certain amount of times. With her luck, the woman would answer in the affirmative and then pull a high number out of the air, making sure she followed through.
So Ena sat at the table and dutifully ate her breakfast.
Felicity’s voice droned on in the background, telling her something to the effect that she, Ena, was very lucky to have someone as thoughtful as Mr. Mitch looking after her.
And then Felicity dropped a bombshell.
“He looked after Mr. Bruce, too, when Mr. Bruce got sick,” she told Ena proudly.
“He did?” she asked. This was the first she had heard about this. Mitch had never mentioned doing this.
Felicity nodded. “He did,” she confirmed. “Looked after Mr. Bruce like a son. Better than a son,” she corrected. “I was here, of course, doing what I could to help out, but Mr. Bruce was too proud to accept my help. It was Mr. Mitch who took care of him, who helped him get dressed in the morning and into bed at night. Mr. Mitch made Mr. Bruce feel that he—Mr. Bruce—was doing him a favor by allowing him to help. He is a very good man, Mr. Mitch,” Felicity said with feeling.
Her Right-Hand Cowboy (Forever, Tx Series Book 21) Page 11