protected. He’d take care of them.
She was staring at him then. And something sparked in the depths of her eyes, something that held his attention. Her voice was low, husky, as she said, “Where will they go?”
“We find them homes. There are just as many folks willing to welcome them into their families as there are those who treat them badly or turn them out.” He didn’t mean to stare back at her, but looking away was a physical impossibility.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.
He cleared his throat once, then again. “I’ll check in later,” he murmured, nodding in her general direction before heading outside. He turned, almost running into the door frame as he hurried from the office. He knew he had work to do, but right now, he needed to clear his head.
Heat slammed into him as he pushed through the front door. He stopped, resting his hands on the porch railing, and sucked in a deep breath. The song of the mockingbird, the whinny of the horses and the whisper of the hot wind slowly eased the off-kilter sensations agitating his stomach.
She was there for one reason and one reason only. He needed her to make him look good on paper. She was the accounting expert. He was the horse expert. And until she managed to get everything whipped into shape, until Mr. Monroe arrived and he’d acquired the extra funding, the only interesting thing about Miss Caraway was her work ethic. Because there was a lot of work to be done and not much time to do it.
Eden flipped through her file on Dr. Archer Boone and the Boone Ranch Refuge. After four hours of sorting receipts—and making a slight dent—she deserved a rest. She was just as impressed as she’d been the first time she’d read his file. Renowned veterinarian and animal behaviorist. Studied internationally, devoted to environmentally friendly and ecologically minded practices. Graduated early. Went on to get several specialty certifications. But horses were his true gift. Clearly, the man was passionate about his work.
She respected that. And already well versed with his résumé, she expected that. She hadn’t expected him to be so abrupt. Intense. Or condescending. Of course, he didn’t know who she was—that would impact the way he treated her. Not yet.
The biggest surprise was how ruggedly attractive he was. Eden found him exceptionally handsome. More than once she’d found herself watching him out the window in the tiny makeshift office. He had a presence, one that made an impact. And watching him made a few things immediately clear.
Archer Boone did not like people. At all. Sitting in her lumpy office chair several hundred feet away she could hear the snap to his words and impatience in his voice when speaking to the men who worked there.
But everything about Dr. Archer Boone changed when he was working with his horses. He went from rigid and tense, impatient and frustrated, to fluid and graceful. She couldn’t hear him, but there was no denying he spoke to the animals. Their ears pricked toward him, their gazes riveted. They seemed almost mesmerized by him. It was no wonder. He cared about them. Deeply. And the horses knew it.
“Are you the new bookkeeper?” A tall woman stood in the door. Jeans, worn brown boots, a sun-faded checkered blouse and a straw hat hung around her neck by a cord. “You don’t look like you’re ready to run. Yet.” She had a nice smile. And vibrant blue eyes.
“Should I be?” She tried to look nonchalant as she pulled another file on top of the one she’d been reading. A temp would not have a file on her employer.
Eden glanced at her, but the other woman just shrugged.
“Sorting papers isn’t the most exciting way to pass the time, but I have no complaints.” Eden was cool, her heels were off, and she’d refilled her bottle with cold water and washed the dust and sweat from her hands, face and neck. Considering the way her day had started, sitting here sorting receipts in uninterrupted quiet was a welcome relief.
“The last four he brought out here did. I’m not sure it was the paperwork. Or if it was my darling brother and his...way with words.” She pushed off the door frame and stuck out her hand. “I’m Renata Boone—the sister.”
“Eden. Eden Caraway,” she murmured, shaking Renata’s hand. It wasn’t a complete lie. Her married name had been Caraway—which she’d dropped as soon as the divorce was done. But after what Dr. Boone had said, she couldn’t admit she was a Monroe.
Oddly, she had no knowledge of the review letter Archer Boone received. Odd, because she was the one who sent the review letters. Alarm bells were ringing. Why hadn’t her father told her about it?
But the alarm bells weren’t new. They’d started ringing when he’d been so eager to send her off on her “long-overdue vacation.” Her father was a workaholic. He didn’t do vacations, not in the traditional sense. Vacations always mixed business with pleasure, turning a Mediterranean cruise into the ultimate networking opportunity. That was why she was here, changing her reservations from the Palm Springs spa he’d booked to an extended stay in Stonewall Crossing. She would show him she was capable and indispensable and worthy of respect.
“The savior,” Renata tacked on. “You might not know it, but you’re important. Archer’s freaking out over the dreaded Monroe visit, worrying they’ll decide his request for funding will be denied—even though they’ve never denied him. I say he’s being paranoid. He says it’s a feeling.”
Renata’s blasé delivery was almost callous, but Eden stayed quiet. Renata’s words hit a little too close to home for her liking. Her father had all but said those very words. He’d made up his mind that the Boone Ranch Refuge no longer needed the funding, that it was time to give other worthy nonprofits a chance. And even though going against something her mother had been so passionate about was hard, Eden knew this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. If she helped her father pull funding here, maybe he’d finally see her as the asset she was. Please, God. Getting out of bed already feeling like she’d failed was mentally exhausting.
The tension headache she thought was gone began to pulse slowly at the base of her skull.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother.” Renata frowned. “And I support him one hundred percent. But I worry over how consumed he gets by this place sometimes. He holds on so tight. This review thing has turned him into high-stress, grumpier-than-ever Archer. Which makes for miserable family dinners.”
She glanced out the window at Archer Boone. He was nose to nose with a skin-and-bones red horse. The horse was blowing into his hands, looking exhausted—defeated.
“Surely the refuge doesn’t rely on the Monroes for all its funding?” Eden asked, needing to ease the guilt choking her. She knew the answer: the refuge received funding from a variety of places. The real question was: Why was Monroe funding so important? “It doesn’t make sense for a nonprofit to rely on one source of support. Or for a foundation to agree to be a sole funding source, for that matter.”
Renata perched on the edge of the beat-up table. “It’s the whole tradition thing. Mrs. Monroe only visited twice, but she cared about this place, my father, my family and the people who live here. She’d talked about starting an endowment but then... Well, Mrs. Monroe’s death was tragic and unexpected.” Renata glanced out the window at her brother.
Eden was reeling. Her mother had visited—been actively involved in—the refuge? She’d cared
