More Than a Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 3)

by Sarah Mayberry

  Garret looked around the kitchen, patently unimpressed. “Well, I am not a fan.”

  “Not big enough for you?” she asked, poker-faced.

  “Yes, that’s exactly my problem with this place. It’s not big enough.” He shot her an amused look as he forked up a mouthful of fried rice.

  They were both silent for a moment as they concentrated on their food, and Sierra tried to think of something suitably small-talky to say.

  “How’s Jesse doing?” Garret asked, beating her to it. “I keep seeing his name in the sports section. Seems like he’s going pretty well on the rodeo circuit?”

  “He’s doing great, thanks. Managed to avoid breaking anything this season. And it looks like he’s heading to Vegas for the finals.”

  “I guess he must be riding against that woman who’s joined the circuit? I forget her name, but I was reading about her in a magazine a few months ago. Looks like she’s shaking things up a bit.”

  “Funny you should mention CJ,” Sierra said, smiling as she pictured her brother’s badass girlfriend. “She and Jesse are seeing each other.”

  “Yeah? Even though they’re competitors?” Garret looked intrigued by the notion.

  “It works for them. A little too well. They should come with an adult content warning.”

  He laughed, then focused on his food again. It was now her turn to offer a conversational gambit, but her brain remained stubbornly blank.

  “How’s everything going with Tate Transport?” she finally asked. Lame, but safe, she figured.

  He took a long pull from his beer before answering. “Well, the polite version is that things are going great. The truth is that it kinda sucks, and today was a nightmare.”

  She wasn’t expecting such brutal honesty, and she blinked. “Oh.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear all my bullshit. Help yourself to another beer if you’d like one.”

  His cheekbones were pink, and she guessed he was regretting his moment of candor.

  “Is this a being-thrown-in-the-deep-end thing, or a leaving-your-whole-life-behind thing, or is something else going on?” she asked.

  “None of those things, although I guess they all factor into it a little.” He flicked her an assessing look. “Fair warning—you’re going to regret opening Pandora’s box here. Brace yourself for a gut-spill.”

  “Spill away. Happy to be of service. Sometimes just getting fresh air on something gives you a new take on situations.”

  Garret pushed his empty bowl away and swiveled to face her more fully.

  “Okay, a little backstory for context. When my father started Tate Transport, one of his first drivers was a guy called Ron Gibson, and over the years he’s worked his way up to general manager. Dad’s right-hand man, essentially.”

  Sierra nodded. “I know Ron. I’ve copiloted with Jack when he’s been on board.”

  “So you know he’s like family. He’s always been on the scene. He and Dad are thick as thieves. I was hoping I’d be able to lean on the guy while I got up to speed, but right from the get-go Ron’s been encouraging me to step back and let him run things and just concentrate on Dad.”

  Sierra frowned. “You think he resents you parachuting into your father’s role when you haven’t been involved in the business?”

  “Hell, yeah. I was hoping I could win him around, prove I had no plans to mess with his role, but today we had a run-in and he pretty much blew everything up. Told me exactly what he thinks of me, stormed out of the building.”

  She stared at him, imagining Ron raging his way through an office building. “Wow. That must have freaked everybody out.”

  “Just a little.” He rubbed the back of his neck as though remembering his day was giving him a headache.

  “So what happens now?”

  “He’s out,” Garret said, and she could see it gave him no pleasure to make the pronouncement. “I can’t afford to have someone working against me in such a senior role. Even if he used to be Dad’s number-one guy.”

  “No wonder your day sucked,” Sierra said.

  He gave a rueful laugh. “Yeah. That was just my morning, by the way.”

  Without saying another word, Sierra stood and went to the fridge. When she returned she put a fresh beer in front of him. “You’ve earned that.”

  “Thanks.”

  She watched as he took the cap off with an economical twist of his hand, the muscles in his forearms flexing briefly. He was in pretty good shape for a guy who worked in an office, she couldn’t help noticing.

  “There’s this thing I do sometimes when my life isn’t going to plan,” she said as she resumed her seat. She gave him a dry look. “Prepare yourself for some homespun wisdom. We’ve reached the inspirational part of the evening.”

  “Thank god. I need a little inspiration in my life right now.”

  “What I do is make a pragmatic assessment of how long things are going to suck for. A week, two weeks, a month. Then I remind myself that I have survived a lot worse. Hey, presto, perspective,” she said.

  He nodded, mulling over her strategy. “What if my best assessment of how long things are going to suck is longer than a month?”

  He was joking, but she could see the worry behind his eyes.

  “Well, then you’re going to need a shit snorkel,” she said.

  His chest lifted as he huffed out as surprised laugh. “A shit snorkel. Interesting. Please elaborate.”

  “Everyone has their own version of the shit snorkel. For some people it’s reading their favorite books. For others it’s running for miles on end. For others it’s this stuff.” She indicated his beer. “You gotta have something to help you wade through the crappola. Bonus points if it’s not self-destructive. So on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t have this.”

  She took his beer away from him.

  “Hey. Give that back,” he said.

  She pretended to think about it before sliding it his way again.

  “Thank you,” he said dryly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He smiled at her, his golden-brown eyes warmly appreciative, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Then she realized it was far too quiet in the kitchen, probably because they were too busy smiling at each other.

  She was pretty sure that sharing meaningful eye contact with her new boss while they were also sharing his enormous luxury home for the night was probably not the smartest move she could make right now.

  Clearing her throat, she slid off her stool. “Do you have any idea when you want to fly out tomorrow?”

  “Probably the usual time.”

  “Okay. I’ll make sure we’re ready to roll,” she said as she stacked the bowls, keen to find some busy work to dispel the tension.

  “Leave those. You cooked, the least I can do is tackle the dishes.”

  “I have no idea where the dishwasher is, anyway,” she admitted, glancing around the space.

  He stood, moving closer to take the bowls from her. He was taller than her, a rarity, and she felt a frisson of awareness as his broad shoulders filled her vision. Then he was turning away from her and pulling down a cupboard door that was actually a cover for the dishwasher.

  “Like magic, it appears,” he said. “Because god forbid there be kitchen appliances on show in the kitchen.”

  “So gross,” she said. “Don’t even talk about it. I can’t even.”

  He didn’t laugh this time, but she could still tell he was amused. He bent to put the bowls on the lower rack of the dishwasher and Sierra gave in to the impulse to sneak a quick peek at his butt.

  She knew it was wrong, especially after the smiling-at-each-other-too-long moment, but she felt a strong compulsion to find out if his ass was as good as the rest of him.

  And the answer to that burning question was yes, it very definitely was. Taut and muscular and showcased beautifully by his tailored pants.

  She would bet he looked nothing short of amazing in a pair of jeans. />
  And even better naked.

  Okay, missy. That’s enough of that foolishness.

  Sierra averted her eyes before she could get busted and took a couple of good, long steps backward. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  She didn’t wait for him to reply, pivoting on her boot heel and hustling out of the kitchen as though the seat of her pants was on fire.

  She made her way to the west wing, thrown off balance for the second time today. When she’d arrived here this afternoon, the conspicuous wealth on display had led her to recalibrate her take on Garret and conclude they couldn’t possibly have anything in common. It had been a welcome realization, because it had given her yet another bulwark against the unwanted and inappropriate attraction she felt toward him.

  But he’d just spent the last half hour proving how relatable and approachable he was. He’d given her a glimpse into his world and what he was dealing with and had shown himself to be both humble and down to earth.

  In short, he’d just destroyed most of her defenses and good intentions without even trying, and she’d responded by getting lost staring into his eyes while smiling like a goofball.

  So much for all her good intentions and them being different species who had nothing in common.

  Chapter Six

  Garret moved around the kitchen, tidying away the containers from their takeout meal. Then he grabbed his beer and briefcase and made his way to the study. He set down his beer on a side table, then toed off his shoes and dropped into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

  For a moment he let his head fall back against the soft leather and closed his eyes. Fuck, he was tired. And wound up. He wasn’t sure how the two states could coexist at the same time, but he was living proof it was possible.

  You’re going to need a shit snorkel.

  He smiled as he remembered Sierra’s pragmatic words. She was funny as well as smart and gorgeous.

  She looked different with her hair down too. Less sporty and ready-for-anything and more approachable. And those eyes . . . Those eyes were something else. All the Carmodys had green eyes, but on Sierra they were particularly striking. When she smiled they seemed to glow, and when she laughed—

  Please do not fucking do this, you tool.

  He opened his eyes, letting go of the memory of Sierra laughing with him in the kitchen. The asshole in his head was right—he needed to rein it in and maintain the line.

  No more looking into Sierra Carmody’s eyes and trying to make her laugh. That shit was stopping right now.

  This very second.

  He reached for the beer and swallowed a long, cold mouthful. Then he dug into his briefcase and pulled out his laptop. There were multiple emails from his lawyer, David, outlining the procedure for exiting Ron from the business. There were also emails from the various department heads, confirming their availability for the one-on-one meetings he’d asked for tomorrow morning.

  One benefit of Ron ejecting himself from the general manager’s chair was that Garret no longer needed to tiptoe around the other man’s sensibilities, hence the invitation for the executive team to brief him directly about their areas of responsibility.

  A silver lining, at last.

  By the time he was done reviewing his lawyer’s advice, it was nearly ten. Aware he had another long day ahead tomorrow, he shut down the computer, then padded through the silent house. He’d had the choice of six guest bedrooms on the main floor, and he’d chosen the most modest one. Which really wasn’t saying much.

  A king-sized four-poster bed sat against the wall, positioned to take advantage of the view out over the lake. A walk-in closet opened to the left of the bed, and there was a lavish marble bathroom to the right. Garret stripped to his boxer-briefs and went into the marble echo chamber to brush his teeth.

  For some reason he thought of Sierra as he stared at himself in the mirror, toothbrush in hand. It was strange to think that last week they’d barely been acquaintances, yet today they’d shared a meal and were now about to spend the night sleeping under the same roof.

  For a split second he allowed himself to picture her upstairs, getting ready for bed. An image of long, bare legs and smooth skin filled his head, and he shut it down hard.

  Nope, he just wasn’t going there.

  Bending, he spat out toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, then flicked off the light and went to bed.

  *

  He had a crappy night, but all his nights were crappy lately. He was simply too wired to relax enough. The alarm on his phone went off at six and by six thirty he was driving away from the lake house, back toward the city center.

  Mandy had beaten him in yet again, and he gave her an appreciative smile as she set a cup of coffee on his desk.

  “Mandy, when the dust has settled, remind me to make sure we’re paying you what you’re worth,” he said.

  “I’m very happy with my salary package, Mr. Tate,” she said firmly.

  One happy employee. He decided to count it as a win.

  By midday he’d had one-on-one meetings with all but a couple of his senior managers and was feeling easier about what Ron’s removal would mean for the business. He’d been impressed with the team, and they’d left him feeling confident he wouldn’t need to hold their hands until a new general manager could be appointed.

  The upward trend of his day stalled when he met with Theo, the sales manager, after lunch and received the missing financial report. It only took a moment for Garret to spot the gaping hole in the data.

  “That’s why I wanted to give this to you myself,” Theo said, reading his reaction. “The missing piece of the pie is the executive account that Ron controlled. I don’t have any detail on it.”

  Garret did some rapid math in his head. “That’s a five-hundred-thousand-dollar piece of pie we’re talking about.”

  “Yep. My understanding is that it was supposed to cover business dinners, junkets for account managers, incentives, that sort of thing. But I don’t really know the details,” Theo said.

  “And my father was fully aware of this?” Garret asked.

  “He and Ron set it up together,” Theo said.

  Then he broke eye contact to look down at his shoes, his throat bobbing nervously, and Garret’s heart sank.

  Shit.

  No wonder Ron had been so reluctant to hand over all the financial reports.

  “Thanks, Theo. You’re around today if I’ve got any more questions, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Theo said, then he practically raced out of the office, clearly relieved to have completed an onerous task.

  Garret stared at the printout in front of him. Five hundred thousand was a lot of money to spend on dinners and incentives. Although maybe that depended on what a person called an incentive.

  His mouth was dry as he picked up his phone and hit the button to connect with Mandy.

  “Could you send Brianna in, please?” he asked.

  Brianna arrived minutes later, pale but composed.

  “We need to talk about the executive account,” Garret said.

  “I don’t know anything about it. Ron handled all of that.” She said it quickly, as though she’d had her answer prepared already.

  “All right. I’ll need you to forward any documentation relating to it to Mandy, please. Immediately,” Garret said.

  “I don’t have access to any of that. Ron kept it all on his laptop. He did that with all the sensitive information.”

  “Then I’d like to see Ron’s laptop, please.”

  All the color leached from Brianna’s face. “I—I don’t have it. Yesterday, before Mandy asked me to come see you, Ron called and asked me to bring me some things from his office down to the garage. He said he’d forgotten them.”

  Garret closed his eyes briefly. “You took him his laptop.”

  “And some folders from the bottom drawer of his desk.” Brianna’s voice trembled with anxiety.

  “Any idea what was in those files?” Garret asked.


  She shook her head, her eyes glassy with tears.

  A maximum of five minutes had passed between Ron storming from the building and Brianna arriving in his office to talk yesterday. Nowhere near long enough for Brianna to have collected Ron’s things and taken them down to the parking garage and still be back in time to talk to Garret. Which meant she’d done so after he’d told her Ron was no longer an employee of Tate Transport and that she was to report any communication with Ron to himself or Mandy.

  He should have sent her home on the spot, given she’d worked for Ron for so long. In his defense, he hadn’t known about the so-called executive account at that time, and he’d taken steps to ensure Ron didn’t have access to the office physically or virtually.

  Still, he felt stupid. An increasingly familiar sensation.

  He really needed to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking if Ron backed his laptop up?” Garret asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  He considered her for a beat, long enough for her to shift uncomfortably in her seat.

  “Anything more you’d like to say?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Okay. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask the security people to review the surveillance footage for the parking garage from yesterday and check the time stamps. If it shows what I think it’s going to show, I’ll be asking you to clear out your desk. Under supervision.”

  Brianna swallowed audibly, then her chin came up. “You don’t need to check the security footage. And I’m more than happy to clear out my desk. I don’t want to stay here without Ron.”

  “Nice to know you’re loyal to someone,” he said.

  She stood, her blue eyes condemning. “Ron was right—you’re going to ruin everything your father worked so hard for.”

  He picked up the phone and buzzed Sabrina in human resources. “I’m going to need you to supervise Brianna’s departure from the building.”

  There was a small pause. “I’m on my way.”

  Garret shut the office door after the two women had left. Then he ran his fingers through his hair and yanked his tie loose.