might try whiskey. It works for me.”
The hands that she’d tucked under her arms loosened, leaving him a glimpse of the gentle swell of her breasts.
Her white cotton gown had seen better days, but her body was damn near perfect. What he could see of it, anyway.
He pulled out a chair from the antique oak table, took a seat and studied her.
Early twenties. Just over five feet tall. High cheekbones, big eyes. Lips that were kissable in spite of the pretty pout she wore.
He wondered what her hard-luck story had been. “So how’d you meet Granny?”
She remained standing. “I was referred by Mr. Whitaker, and I came out to the ranch for an interview.”
Grant referred her? If so, that was interesting. Grant had been the one to pick up on the discrepancies in the account.
“I’d originally applied for work at his office,” she added, “but he’s cutting back on his workload. He knew Mrs. Clayton needed a bookkeeper, so he gave her a call.”
By the way she tried to cover herself, Jared suspected she was embarrassed to be standing before him in her nightgown, but apparently she was too proud to make excuses and flee.
And he was too ornery to give her a reason to leave.
Besides, he had some questions to ask her.
That is, until a young, sleepy voice sounded in the doorway of the kitchen. “Aunt Sabrina?”
The woman turned to where a small, dark-haired boy of about five or six stood, rubbing his eyes.
She crossed the distance between them, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “It’s okay, Joey. I’m sorry the men woke you. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I was worried ’bout you,” he said. “Worried you left me here and wouldn’t come back.”
She stooped, her gown pooling onto the kitchen floor. She wrapped her arms around the boy. “I’d never leave you, Joey. Not on purpose.”
“But my mommy…”
“I know, honey. But that wasn’t on purpose.”
Jared raked a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure what that was all about. But it sounded like the hint of a hard-luck story to him, and knowing Granny, she’d been more swayed by Sabrina’s tale of woe than her qualifications, resume or references.
“Come on,” Sabrina told the boy. “I’ll walk you back to the bedroom.”
As she ushered Joey through the doorway, her hair covered most of her back, swaying with her steps. But the thin material of her nightgown did little to hide her shapely hips.
Jared suspected she wasn’t aware that the light was playing a trick on her, baring a slight outline of the panties she wore. Something decent and conservative. A pair worthy of any churchgoing matron.
Yet on Sabrina, with her ebony hair flirting with the elastic waistband, they fit her bottom in a way that would tempt a saint. And Jared was far from saintly.
Especially when he was determined to uncover a liar and a thief.
Chapter Two
On most nights, when those dreaded bouts of insomnia struck, Sabrina would finally fall asleep just before dawn, only to find it hard to wake up when it was time to begin the next day.
But that wasn’t the case this morning.
After having had the liver scared out of her by Jared Clayton and his entourage last night, she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Of course, as much as she’d like to blame that on his unannounced arrival, it had been the tone of his voice and the implication in his words that had set her emotions on edge. He’d talked to her as though she were some kind of imposter or second-class citizen.
Standing in the kitchen, with his hands slapped onto his hips, golden-brown eyes narrowed with suspicion, square jaw lifted in challenge, he’d been a formidable opponent. And if he hadn’t struck such an intimidating pose, she might have found the blond-haired rancher handsome.
Okay. So she’d found him handsome anyway. That didn’t make him particularly appealing. Not to her. The kind of man she wanted for herself was caring and gentle, someone who pondered a situation before barking out commands or making rash judgments and snide comments.
Someone not at all like her employer’s oldest son.
Sabrina’s thoughts turned to the day she’d first arrived at the ranch. When Mrs. Clayton had given her a tour of the house, they’d stopped near the rustic stone fireplace in the spacious living room, where Sabrina had gravitated toward a hodgepodge of silver-framed photos gracing the mantel. When she had a family and a home of her own, she would display photographs, too.
One picture in particular piqued her curiosity, and she’d reached for the pewter frame of a young boy mounted on a black horse. His eyes fairly glistened with joy and a smile dimpled his cheeks.
“That’s Jared the day he went out with the men for the very first time,” the elderly woman had told Sabrina. “He was so proud. His early years had been spent in the city, so he had to learn to rope and ride first, but he was a natural. You would’ve thought he’d been born in a saddle.”
Grant Whitaker, the elderly CPA who’d passed Sabrina’s resume on to Mrs. Clayton, had mentioned something about the three boys the woman had adopted, all of whom had been down-and-out youngsters with nowhere else to go.
As Sabrina had studied the happy young boy in the photo, she’d been curious about his background. But since she’d always been one to keep her own…humble beginnings to herself, she didn’t prod for any more information than her employer wanted to share.
“Jared’s the oldest of my three sons,” Mrs. Clayton had said. “He’s grown up to be the kind of man a woman can depend upon. I suppose some would say he’s loyal to a fault.”
For a moment, Sabrina had wondered if the elderly woman had been trying her hand at matchmaking, but decided she was probably talking in a mother/son or family sense. Jared had certainly seemed to be looking out for his mother last night—if you could call a rabid dog protective.
Of course, he might have had good reason for being in a foul mood, like an abscessed tooth or a migraine headache. Still, try as she might, Sabrina couldn’t imagine that scowling, brash man to be the same smiling boy she’d seen in the picture on the mantel.
As Sabrina had returned the frame to its rightful place, Mrs. Clayton had added, “Jared’s a good boy. Of course, all my sons are.”
That hadn’t always been the case, though. From what Sabrina had heard in town, Edna “Granny” Clayton had opened her heart to people in need over the years, and no one had needed a home—or a firm hand—more than the three boys she’d adopted. Yet her generosity and kindness hadn’t stopped there.
In the past
