Second Chance Brides by Vickie Mcdonough Page B

had a perfect slant. Both men had almost the same hair and the exact same eye color, though Mark’s shorter dark blond hair had a curl that Garrett’s didn’t, tickling his collar in an enticing manner. He turned back to face her, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away. Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. She loved the color of his eyes—a cross between the light blue Texas sky and a robin’s egg—and they made her heart jump each time she looked into them. She might live a short life if that kept happening. Her heart could only take so much.
    Breaking from his gaze, she looked down at the ledgers. How could she be thinking such thoughts about the man who didn’t even want her here?
    He cleared his throat. “Let’s…uh, get back to work.” He opened the middle desk drawer on the right side, pulled out a stack of papers, then shut it with his leg. “These are the orders for supplies. See how Mr. Foster’s names is atop this one?”
    Shannon nodded and noted the order for wood.
    “This page shows Foster’s order for a wagonload of lumber. This column shows the type of wood, this one the quantity, then the length, and the price. You record each of those in the appropriate columns on the ledger. Pretty simple.”
    Simple enough, if her mind wasn’t befuddled by his nearness. His clean scent wafted around her every time he moved. She’d never known a man could smell so fresh. Even his clothing was spotless and wrinkle free.
    “Miss O’Neil, do you need to take a break?”
    “Nay, I’m…uh…beginning to understand. Perhaps if you’d permit me to record a few transactions, it would become clearer.”
    Mark nodded. He crossed the room, grabbed his brother’s chair, and hauled it next to hers. Shannon’s heart thudded like a dancer’s feet pounding out a fast-paced jig. How could she concentrate when he was so near?
    “All right. List Foster’s name in the first column.”
    She dipped the pen in the ink bottle and did as asked, taking heed to make her printing neat.
    “Now, see how he ordered different lengths and sizes of wood? Look across the top columns of the ledger and find the correct size of wood, then go across on Foster’s line and record the amount ordered. There are columns for the other things people most often order, but if you can’t find what you need, use the last column. There’s room to write in the item description, if you write small. Try to be neat, because this is our permanent record.”
    She nodded, but his emphasis on neatness made her hand shake. She hadn’t had call to write anything other than her name since coming to America. Pushing her fretful thoughts away, she recorded another entry. She dipped her pen into the bottle, and Mark heaved a boisterous sneeze. Shannon jumped. The bottle tipped sideways. Her hand shot toward it, but the ink spilled across the desk in a spreading pond.
    Mark muttered something she couldn’t make out and grabbed the ledger. “Bottom drawer. Ink blotters.”
    She tugged hard on the lowest drawer, pulled out a stack of blotting papers, and dabbed at the mess.
    “Don’t push on it.” Mark snatched a stack of papers off the pile. “You have to dab it, or you’ll press it into the wood.”
    Shannon sat back, feeling like the village eejit . She’d been here less than an hour and had already made a mess of things. Looking down to avoid Mark’s glare, she sucked in a gasp. The ink on her hands had stained her dress. How would she ever get it out?
    Mark threw the dirty blotters into the trash can. The pool of ink was gone, but a nasty stain marred his immaculate desk.
    He shoved his hands to his hips and stared at it. Finally, he looked up at her. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”
    He stormed out the back door, letting the screen slam. Shannon jumped. She wanted to flee back to her room at the boardinghouse, but she was stuck in Mark’s chair. Tears blurred her eyes, but she forced them away. If she swiped at them,