of him.
She said, “What I’ll need to set you up are your current records, including whatever you’ve got up till now of the Ambling A’s inventory, income and expenses.”
“Income?” He chuckled. “Not hardly. Not yet.”
“Well, okay then. Just your expenses and whatever inventory you have of machinery, equipment and livestock—including your best judgment of their value. I’ll need the documents you received from the title company when you closed the sale. I’ll put it all together using a basic accounting program that should be easy to keep current. That will be a few days to a week of work for me here at the ranch, if that’s all right?”
“Sounds good to me.” He had that look, like he was talking about a lot more than bookkeeping.
She pretended not to notice what a shameless flirt he was. “I’ll be in and out because I need to keep up with my other clients, too. But if I do the work here, I can come right to you with any questions I have about the records you’ve given me. We can clear up any issues on the spot.”
“Works for me.” He said it in a low rumble that stirred a bunch of butterflies to life in her belly.
She tried valiantly to keep a professional tone as she rattled off more suggestions. “After you’re all set up, you’ll need someone to post transactions regularly. I have a couple of local people who can do that. Or you can just put in the time every week or so and do it yourself. I suggest you reconcile the bank balance and the general ledger at least once a month.”
“Sure. And I’ll hire whoever you suggest. What about tax time?” he asked.
“I’ll be happy to do your taxes.”
“Good.” He arched an eyebrow and teased, “How ’bout an audit?”
She laughed. “Very funny. You know I can’t audit my own work.”
“Damn. Busted.” He tipped his head to the side, his gaze lazy and warm. It felt so good just to have him looking at her, to be staring right back at him, thinking all kinds of naughty thoughts as she went through her stock suggestions for keeping accounts in order.
Really, this was getting out of control. They were more or less having sex with their eyes. If she didn’t watch out, she would do something crazy, like throw herself into his arms and beg him to kiss her.
Uh-uh. It needed to stop.
“I should get to work,” she said.
“Right.” He pointed at the piled-high desk. “I think everything you need is there, including that big manila folder jammed with receipts, the inventory lists and the packet from the title company. You can tell the current stuff by the lack of dust.”
“Okay, then.” She moved behind the desk and pushed the records she would be using to one side. That left the piles of ledgers and old disks.
He got the message. “You need space to work.”
“Do you have another desk you want me to use? A table works fine, too.”
“The desk is yours for as long as you need it. I’ll box up the old records, get them out of your way.”
There were empty boxes waiting against one wall. Together, they started putting the ledgers in one box and piling the old disks in another.
She’d straightened from the boxes and was turning to the desk to grab another handful of disks when she spotted Max leaning in the open doorway to the back hall. He looked like some old-time gunslinger in black jeans, black boots, a white shirt and a black Western-cut jacket.
“The lovely Sarah,” the older man said. “What a surprise.” Something in his tone made her uneasy, some faint edge of...what? Mistrust? Disapproval?
But why?
“Hi, Max.” She gave him a big smile.
He didn’t smile back or even give her a nod, but turned to Logan as though she wasn’t even there. “Give me a few minutes?”
“Can’t it wait? Sarah and I were just—”
“Go.” Sarah faked an offhand tone. She felt completely dismissed by Max and that had her emotions seesawing again the way they had in the front all. There was absolutely no reason she should care if Logan’s dad didn’t like her. But she did care. There was a clutch in her throat and a burning behind her eyes as her totally inappropriate tears threatened to rise again. She waved Logan off. “Talk to your dad. I’ll finish clearing the desk and get to work.”
* * *
Impatient to return to his favorite accountant, Logan reluctantly followed Max out to the back porch.
The old man leaned on one of the posts that framed the steps down to the yard. He stared out at the ragged clumps of wild bunchgrass that extended to the back fence. Like too many fences on the property, it needed repair.
Logan braced a shoulder against the other post. “Okay, Dad. What’s so important we have to deal with it right this second?”
Max’s gaze remained on the backyard. He took a long count of ten to answer. “I can see now why you suddenly decided we needed to get the books in order.”
Why deny it? “You know I like Sarah. It shouldn’t be a surprise—and we do need someone to set up a system to keep track of everything.”
“You’ve got a fancy business degree. You can do all that yourself.”
“Dad, I didn’t come to Montana to take up bookkeeping. Sarah is equipped to do it fast and efficiently.”
Max slanted him a narrow look. “Maybe you don’t trust your old dad. You think you need a professional to tell you that everything’s on the up-and-up.”
Logan snorted out a dry laugh. “Oh, come on. I wouldn’t have signed on for this if I thought you were up to something you shouldn’t be. Still, it never hurts to have a professional putting a good system in place, keeping everyone honest.”
“So you’re telling me she’s only here for her bookkeeping skills? You’ve got absolutely no interest in those big amber eyes and that pretty smile?”
This conversation was a complete waste of time—time he could be spending with the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. “I’m thirty-three years old,” Logan said flatly, “long past the age I have to run my personal choices by you. I’ll date who I want to date.” At least, I will if I can somehow convince Sarah to give me a shot.
“A woman with a child, Logan. It’s a bad idea. If it doesn’t work out, the kids are always the ones who suffer.”
Logan had had about enough. He straightened from the porch post and turned to face his father directly. “What is it with you all of a sudden? Are you talking about Sheila?” Sheila was his mother. She’d left them when Logan was seven. It had taken him several years to accept that she was no mother to him in any way that mattered. Even saying her name made a bitter taste in his mouth. Max shot him a bleak glance, but then, without a word, he turned and stared off toward the fence again.
“You
