was bursting at the seams. Of course, the living situation would improve once the cabin was renovated and one of the outbuildings was converted into two small apartments for the household staff.
Sabrina didn’t know about the other two women, but she was really looking forward to the move.
As a child, she and her family had been forced to live with various relatives and she’d grown to hate feeling like a charity case. All she wanted was to have a home of her own, a place no one could ever take away from her, but she would be content with what she had now and do her best to create a stable environment for her nephew.
She plumped her pillow for the umpteenth time in the last hour or so, then rolled to the side of the bed and glanced across the room to where Joey slept. She was able to see his blanketed form without having to turn on the light, which meant morning had arrived, so she climbed from bed.
Before heading to the bathroom, she stopped at the window, drew open the white eyelet curtains and peered out at the grassy pasture where several horses grazed, then over to the big white barn. Near the double doors, some of the hired hands had begun to gather.
The Rocking C wasn’t anything like the home she’d imagined having in the city, but Joey seemed to like it here, which was all that really mattered.
She let the curtains fall back into place and made her way to the shower. She was glad her room had a private bathroom she only had to share with Joey. She turned on the spigot, waiting until the water was the right temperature, then stepped inside. When she was done, she wrapped a towel around her and blowdried her hair. Then she dressed in a pair of khaki slacks, a neatly pressed white cotton blouse and a black sweater.
Just months ago, she’d dreamed of living in the city and wearing business suits to work—a dream she would have to put on hold until Joey was older.
Still, she’d tried to dress the part of a professional on her first day at the Rocking C by wearing a skirt and blazer.
“Well, now, don’t you look nice,” Granny had said. “But dressing up all fancy isn’t necessary around here.”
Sabrina had glanced down at her outfit, then at the elderly woman who’d hired her. “I suppose this is a bit over the top for a bookkeeping position at a ranch, but I wanted to let you know I take this job seriously.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But you’ll be a lot more comfortable around here in denim and flannel.”
Sabrina hadn’t been able to go that far, so slacks and blouses had been a compromise. And even though Granny had purchased several pairs of jeans and some feminine-cut T-shirts as a surprise, Sabrina hadn’t been able to wear them. Not for work.
Now ready to face the day, she took one last peek at her nephew, then quietly let herself out of the bedroom and started down the hall. The rich aroma of freshbrewed coffee wafted through the sprawling, fivebedroom ranch house, letting her know she wasn’t the first one up and moving about. A cupboard door opened and closed in the kitchen, suggesting that Connie had started to prepare breakfast. Sabrina wondered if the new cook had any idea there would be two more joining them for the morning meal—Jared and Matthew.
She supposed it didn’t matter. Connie tried hard, and although her meals weren’t anything to shout about, she usually prepared enough to feed an army.
Sabrina wasn’t much of a breakfast eater herself, especially when she’d had a midnight snack. But last night she’d only had two cookies. If Jared hadn’t shown up, she might have gone back for more, but she hadn’t wanted to leave her room.
Before she could get three steps down the hall, she heard papers being shuffled in the dark-paneled, masculine office and stiffened. She’d become somewhat territorial about the room in which she worked. With Edna’s permission, she’d spent the better part of two days arranging the furniture and setting up a filing system that suited her.
More paper shuffled and a drawer slid open.
Was Edna looking for something she’d misplaced again?
As Sabrina approached the open doorway, she spotted Jared seated at the desk, rifling through one of the drawers. Several open files lay across the scarred oak desktop.
“Looking for something?” she asked.
The rugged rancher glanced up. For one fleeting moment, he donned the expression of a boy who’d been caught with his hand in the church offering plate, but he quickly doused it.
Straightening, he leaned back in the seat, the leather and springs creaking from the shift in his weight. “Nope. Nothing in particular.”
In that case, he’d been snooping, which she didn’t appreciate one bit.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “The office was a mess when I came to work, so I’ve organized it. I know exactly where everything is and can put my hands on it instantly. So if you ever decide what it is you need, just let me know. I’d be glad to get it for you.”
His gaze traveled the length of her and back, as though he was trying to assess her—body and soul. A glimmer of masculine interest flashed in his eyes, and it was all she could do to remain ramrod straight. Calm. In control. She was determined to keep her pulse rate steady and her temper on an even keel.
“It’s obvious that you’ve made a lot of changes,” he said. “Granny used to file things in piles and stacks.”
“I can’t work like that.”
“Ah, so you’re a control freak.”
She tensed. Over the years, she’d taken some ribbing because of her need to take charge of her life, but she couldn’t help it. “I prefer to think of myself as organized.”
He rocked back in the chair, causing it to strain and groan. “Where did you meet Grant Whitaker?”
Sabrina didn’t like the idea of being interrogated and had the urge to tell Jared where he could get off. But she’d worked hard in college, choosing to bypass student loans and financial aid for reasons of her own, and didn’t want him or anyone else to think of her as a charity case. Not anymore.
“I was majoring in accounting at the University of Houston and met Mr. Whitaker while applying for a job in his office. He wasn’t hiring, but suggested I call Mrs. Clayton, since she’d recently told him she was looking for a bookkeeper. I needed the job, and she needed me. It’s as simple as that.” She strode toward the desk. “While I don’t usually waste my time speaking to rude, obnoxious people, you’re my employer’s son, so I’m trying to be polite. But I don’t owe you anything, Mr. Clayton. Least of all an explanation.”
A grin tugged at his lips, and a hint of—amusement? Admiration?—lit the gold flecks in his eyes. “I thought accountants were supposed to be mild-mannered. You’ve got a little spunk.”
A part of her felt compelled to thank him, but she kept quiet.
“I suppose I’ve been…snappy,” he admitted, “so I apologize. But there are a lot of people living here, all of them strangers, and I just want to make sure no one is taking advantage of Granny.”
“Your mother strikes me as being a good judge of character.”
“She always used
