Hometown Hope: A Small Town Romance Anthology

by Zoe York

  She ignored the question until she found the white box, a giant red cross on the front, and emerged from the oversized closet triumphantly. “I used to be a nurse,” she said with a shrug. “It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure I remember how to bandage a hand.”

  “Nurse to banker, huh?”

  She turned on the cold water and ran it over his hand, trying to irrigate the wound. His slight intake of breath was the only indication that it hurt. Well, at least he isn’t a whiner.

  “Accountant,” she corrected him. “I ended up at the Intermountain Bank because they were the only ones hiring when I graduated, and I have a lot of student loans to pay off. College is expensive enough, without going through it twice.”

  She shut up. He didn’t want to hear her whine and complain about money. If she couldn’t find a way to help him, he’d lose the family farm.

  Which suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal than a few student loans, even if her debt was in the high five figures. There was a difference; even she could see that.

  “What made you switch careers?” he asked as she rummaged through the kit, looking for gauze and an ace wrap.

  She paused for just a moment in her hunt, trying to decide what to tell him, and then said lightly, “A guy. We…had a difference of opinion. He thought it was okay to cheat on me; I didn’t happen to agree.” She shot him an overly bright smile and began gently placing the gauze over the wound and then wrapping it up. “He was a doctor. I’d worked as a low-level nurse for years to put him through medical school, and when he graduated, he was supposed to work as a doctor to bring in income while I became an RN. I fulfilled my part of the bargain. I can’t say he did the same in return.”

  She looked up at Stetso–Mr. Miller with a fake smile. “It’s in the past. I don’t think about it much anymore.” Except when he starts texting me out of the blue and telling me that he’s willing to forgive me.

  She kept that part to herself.

  She looked down at the bandaged hand with a critical eye. Hmmmm…Not bad after taking a couple of years off.

  She looked up and realized that he too had been studying his hand and now their faces were close together and her heart was knocking against her ribcage and his eyes were flicking down towards her lips and she stopped breathing and…

  Gravel crunched outside, then the garage door opened with a creak and a groan. They sprung apart from each other, and Jennifer looked around the kitchen frantically. “I need to call my boss,” she announced, searching for her phone. Where had she put it down?

  Oh. Right. Out in the hallway. Where I saw Stetso–Mr. Miller come in from outside.

  “I better go find my phone, Mr. Miller. My boss was expecting a phone call a couple of hours ago.”

  “Stetson. Mr. Miller is my father.”

  She bit her lip, staring up at him – wayyyyy up at him since she hadn’t put her heels back on – and nodded. Once. “Stetson,” she said softly, and then ran out of the kitchen.

  She needed to call her boss, and she needed to stop drooling over handsome cowboys.

  She wasn’t sure which task was going to be harder.

  Chapter 14

  Stetson

  After he helped Carmelita bring the groceries in from the car and let her cluck and worry over his hand, Stetson headed out the back door and down the best sledding slope in the county during the winter. Since it was most assuredly not winter, the hill currently was slippery and muddy and nasty, but he headed down it anyway. He’d hidden away in the barn for long enough. It was time to go check fences and make sure that his cows were where they were supposed to be. He could only ignore that for so long, no matter how miserable it was to be out in a rainstorm.

  He got to the storage shed at the base of the hill and backed his four-wheeler out. As much as his friend Adam would hate to admit it, a four-wheeler was a farmer’s best friend, not a horse. A four-wheeler didn’t need to be fed or vaccinated or taken out for rides. It didn’t get lonely or break a leg in a hole, and it sure as shit didn’t get sick from being fed something less than premium hay.

  He started down his fence lines, getting off occasionally to open and close gates along the way, checking to make sure that the cows were where they were supposed to be, and the fences were where they were supposed to be, and the torrential rains hadn’t rearranged something important.

  The cows were huddled together in groups, miserable and wet in the pouring rain, but at least they weren’t busy trying to push fences over. That was always a plus.

  As Stetson continued into another pasture, the cold rain dripping down off his hat and down the collar of his jacket while the movement of the four-wheeler jostled his wounded hand, he forced himself to focus on that pain. If he focused on it, then maybe he wouldn’t think about the bright green eyes of an accountant, peering up at him over his bandaged hand.

  Anything to keep from thinking about that.

  Chapter 15

  Jennifer

  After quizzing the housekeeper on the best place to find food in town after two o’clock, Jennifer headed back to town with a happy sigh. All in all, not a bad day. She’d made it through the filing cabinets, matching expenses with the withdrawals from the checking account.

  Soon, she’d be tackling the truly important part: Finding assets to sell. If she could find something – preferably multiple somethings – to sell, then Stetson could make his yearly payment to the bank, and at least muddle his way through another year. Maybe with another year to right his ship, he could be back to making the yearly payments that the Miller family had never missed up to this point.

  Jennifer pulled up in front of the Shop ‘N Go grocery store and saw that it was open until nine at night. Why hadn’t Margaret directed her towards this place last night instead of an animal supply store?

  With a roll of her eyes at the complete lack of help from the older lady, Jennifer hit the aisles of the store, wandering up and down them with a tiny shopping cart. Even the owners of Shop ‘N Go didn’t expect her to buy much from their store and one look at the prices told her why. There were artisan specialty stores in Boise with more reasonable prices than the Shop ‘N Go had.

  But at least she wasn’t going to have to eat tortacos tonight, and for that, she was grateful.

  She picked out the makings of a salad – greens, shredded cooked chicken, nuts, and dressing – that would be easy to assemble in her motel room, and then made her way over to the wine aisle. Hmmm…not the largest selection in the world, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She finally picked out a white wine in a beautiful blue bottle that made her wish that decorating with empty wine bottles was a “thing,” paid the exorbitant bill at the front cash register, and tucked the receipt in her purse for safe keeping. She wasn’t sure which was more of a pain in the ass – going through someone else’s receipts in an audit, or keeping track of her own receipts to turn in for reimbursement at the end of an audit.

  After a mostly satisfying meal and a filling up of a plastic cup from the bathroom sink with wine – she’d forgotten to buy a wine glass while at the Shop ‘N Go, if they even carried such a thing – she settled down on the queen bed with a sigh. Finally, she could relax. She picked up her cell phone and hit Favorite 1 to call Bonnie.

  “There you are!” her friend answered with a laugh. “I was starting to think that the good people of Sawyer had kidnapped you and taken your phone away from you.”

  “Eh, it’s just been a busy few days.” Filled with mud, and handsome, surly cowboys, and sweet housekeepers. Jennifer was suddenly unsure how much she wanted to tell her best friend.

  Which was just weird, because she told Bonnie everything. You don’t go through all that she and Bonnie had, and keep secrets from each other afterward.

  “Sooooo…” Bonnie said, a teasing tone in her voice, “how handsome is the farmer?”

  Jennifer had known the question was coming. It was always Bonnie’s first question when Jennifer was doing an audit. It had beco
me a long-standing joke between them, because the answer was always easy to give: He’s 82 years old with more wrinkles than a linen shirt; or he’s 57 with a pot gut; or he and his wife have been married for longer than I’ve been alive.

  But even though she’d known the question was coming, she still didn’t have an answer at the ready. She sat there hesitantly for a minute, until Bonnie bust up laughing. “Oh! My! God!” she gasped. “You’re kidding me. This guy is actually cute? And single?”

  “Well, I haven’t asked him if he’s dating anyone,” Jennifer answered weakly.

  “Oh Jennifer!” Bonnie shouted, dissolving into laughter again. “You have to tell me all about him. How handsome is he?”

  Sexy as sin popped into Jennifer’s mind, but she pushed it away. “You know I can’t date a client, especially not one that I’m auditing,” she protested. “He’s just a little more handsome than normal, is all.”

  “Height,” Bonnie said, ignoring her protestations.

  “Six-foot-two, maybe? Six-foot-three? I don’t know. Even in my heels, he towers over me.”

  “Hair color.” It was an order, not a question. Jennifer thought about protesting again, but gave in, instead. It wasn’t because she wanted to talk about Stetson Miller, of course. It was just because she knew how stubborn Bonnie was, and knew that Bonnie would continue to push her if she refused to answer her questions. So it was just easier to give in.

  Nothing more than that.

  “Dark brown, but sun-bleached up on top. You can tell that he spends a lot of time outside. I bet he has one hell of a farmer’s tan.”

  “And yet, you were trying to give off the impression that you’ve hardly thought about him at all,” Bonnie said dryly.

  Jennifer had no ready response for that, so she just took another drink of her wine instead.

  “Name?”

  “Stetson Miller.”

  “Stetson? Like the cowboy hat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he wear the Stetson brand?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t pick out his clothes every morning!” Jennifer said, exasperated. “He wears Wranglers, I know that much. I haven’t studied the inside of his cowboy hat for brand names.”

  “And exactly what were you doing to figure out that he wears Wranglers?” Bonnie asked.

  “I saw the leather tag on his ass as he walked away–shit!” she finished when she realized that she was admitting to staring at her client’s ass.

  “Fascinating,” Bonnie said, and Jennifer stuck her tongue out. Bonnie couldn’t see her which rather ruined the effect, but Jennifer couldn’t help it.

  “Do I like you?” Jennifer grumbled. “I can’t remember right now.”

  “Yup!” Bonnie said cheerfully. “So, are you going to be able to help him save his farm?”

  “I don’t know,” Jennifer said forlornly. “I wish I knew. Because I don’t want to have to tell him that the Miller Family Farm that’s been in Miller hands since the 1800s is now owned by Intermountain Bank & Loan. That always sucks, but it’d suck especially bad this time. Not only for Stetson, but also his housekeeper. She’s been with the family since she was 19. She’s never lived anywhere else. They’d be homeless. I can’t…I hate my job, you know that? I really damn well hate it.”

  “I know,” Bonnie said quietly, serious for the first time in the conversation. “I’m not sure I could do what you do.”

  This job had never been something Jennifer loved with all of her heart and soul, but it was quickly descending into outright hatred and disgust. It was so far removed from what she’d originally set out to do, she felt like a failure.

  If she couldn’t help Stetson save his farm, she would hate herself even more, and right now, that was really saying something.

  Chapter 16

  Stetson

  He wasn’t going to do it. He went to bed the night before, firm in the conviction that he wasn’t going to be around when Jennifer-the-Accountant-Definitely-Not-a-Banker-Maybe-a-Thief showed up to work. She knew how to find his farm, so she could get to work without him being there to watch her do it.

  But, it was raining again – still? – this morning, having not stopped since the first drops began to fall early yesterday morning, so the mud was getting deeper and the gravel was getting more treacherous. She did drive a little Civic; it was possible that her car wouldn’t make it from town to farm without sliding into the borrow pit somewhere along the way. He should make sure that she made it to the farm safely before getting to work for the day. Right?

  Why? So you can be sure that she makes it safely to your father’s office and gets right to work stealing your family’s farm away from you?

  He grunted in frustration. No, his first instinct was absolutely correct. He shouldn’t be anywhere near the farmhouse when little Miss Boise showed up in her little Honda Civic car and her high heels and her skirts to invade his father’s office once again.

  Absolutely not.

  Which was why it was a surprise to no one at all, least of all Stetson, when he found himself on the long covered porch at 7:57 a.m., watching Jennifer pull up. Today’s coffee cup read, “You say ‘Raised in a barn’ like it’s a bad thing,” which seemed even more appropriate than usual.

  He watched as she carefully navigated around the large puddle that had been her nemesis the day before until she found a dry spot – relatively speaking, of course – to park. She got out and walked around the car, slinging her laptop bag over her shoulder as she went, and Stetson’s eyes followed her every movement, sweeping down her slim body, mouth going dry as he stared at her legs beneath the swish of her skirt.

  Unbidden, he opened the front door for her, no sarcastic remark to make today. She was on time, and they both knew it. She sent him a flustered smile as she passed, probably trying to figure out what his angle was.

  He left her to walk inside by herself, not following behind her so he could continue admiring her ass and legs, but instead forcing himself to do what he should’ve done earlier: Get to work. He still had more fence to ride, even if it was pouring down rain – maybe especially because it was pouring down rain – and staring at the legs and ass of the accountant here to steal his farm away from him wasn’t going to be how that happened.

  He forced himself to put his coffee cup down on the porch railing, walk down the front steps, and head for the storage shed again to retrieve his four-wheeler.

  He was a farmer, and farmers worked. They did not drool. Not even over the finest legs God ever did send to the earth.

  Chapter 17

  Jennifer

  Jennifer settled down in the Fainting Goat Chair and stared at the piles in front of her. She had gone through the costs of running the Miller Family Farm, and now was the time to start into the income pile. Not surprisingly, this pile of receipts was much smaller. Wasn’t that always how it went?

  Hmmm…she picked up a paid invoice for one of the swankiest restaurants in Boise. She looked at the bottom line of the invoice and let out a low whistle. Stetson had to be raising some pretty high-end cows if he was selling them at this price.

  “What?” he asked, his deep voice startling her out of her thoughts.

  And out of her chair. With a yelp, she tried to spin in the chair towards the office door but instead she found herself on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

  Again.

  He hurried to her side and helped her onto her feet as she brushed at her clothing.

  Again.

  “That chair is…temperamental,” Stetson said in way of apology as he stood back and let her try to straighten herself out. “My dad kept saying he was going to get a new chair someday, but he never did, and…well, I didn’t either.” He didn’t say anything else, and Jennifer wondered where that thought would’ve ended if he considered her to be a friend and someone he could talk to. She was pretty sure that there was more there than he was offering up.

  “I’m usually more careful in the Fainting Goat Chair, but you star
tled me,” she admitted with a little laugh, looking up, up, up at him.

  He really should stop eating Wheaties in the morning. She was pretty sure he’d already grown all that he should by this point.

  “Fainting Goat—” Stetson said with a startled snort of a laugh. “You know, that’s just about the perfect name for it.”

  They stopped and stared at each other for a minute. Jennifer was getting a crick in her neck, and had to keep herself from putting her high heels on and then continuing to talk to him. Or insisting that he sit in the chair.

  But she wasn’t about to admit weakness.

  Never admit weakness.

  “So why were you whistling?” Stetson asked, his dark brown eyes ensnaring hers. Trapping her. Making her feel like the most important person he’d ever talked to. Jennifer had the fleeting question of whether everyone felt that way around Stetson, and then dismissed the thought. She needed to concentrate.

  “Your cows,” she forced herself to say, focusing on his question. “That’s a damn fine price per pound that you’re selling at, especially on the hoof. Is the restaurant taking care of the butchering step?”

  He nodded. “They have a specialty butcher who hangs and cures and does everything the way the restaurant wants. A typical butcher wouldn’t be able to get it just right for them. There’s a reason why a T-bone steak is so damn expensive there.”

  “I…I don’t get it,” Jennifer admitted, and then swallowed hard.

  Saying something like that out loud – especially to Stetson of all people – burned her biscuit. Truth was, though, she was totally stumped and out of options. She had to ask questions because going in circles while staring at the books was doing her no good at all.