taking a moment look into my eyes. His presence did funny things to my body, lighting a spark within me.
Clint reached out and took my hand, holding it in his own.
“It really is the least I can do,” he repeated. “I broke my word to you, I let you down. I’m truly sorry about tonight.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I said. “I wondered if you’d gotten in some kind of accident.”
The tall rancher shook his head. “No, just being a fool.” He smiled down at me. “You look absolutley gorgeous,” he said. “It is a cryin’ shame that I won’t be able to show you off tonight, but it’s my own fault.”
I smiled back at him. “Thanks, but I’m still mad at you. I got all dressed up and everything.”
He nodded. “I understand. Let’s get back up to the house and get you fed.”
It seems like he knew a thing or two about pacifying an angry woman - food, compliments, and regretful apologies. It wouldn’t mean a lot if he did it again, though.
As we walked the worn path up to the large house, I finally asked what was driving me crazy. “What had you so distracted that you forgot about coming out for three hours?”
It was hard to see his face in the dim light, but his sigh was pretty clear.
“Like I said, I sat down to check one number, but what was in the computer couldn’t have been right, so I had to hunt down the paper I’d started with a while back, and then I realized that I’d put it in wrong, so I had to re-enter all the numbers. I still don’t have the blasted count of how much I’ve spent on hay for tax time,” he finished.
“So, paperwork, not your strongest point?” I asked.
“I hate it,” he said. “Worst part of running a ranch.”
“Why do you do it? Most of the ranchers I’ve dealt with have at least one person to take care of that for them,” I pointed out.
We’d reached the porch, he stepped ahead of me to open the door.
“My father always taught me that you can’t cheat yourself, but anyone else can cheat you if you don’t know what you’re doing. A rancher who doesn’t know how to do all of this himself is at the mercy of every shark with a certificate,” he said.
It sounded like a direct quote from his father.
“Well, if it’s this much of a struggle for you,” I said, trailing off as I walked into the kitchen and he gestured me to a stool on the other side of the island in the kitchen.
“I get someone to check it for me,” Clint said. “By the time tax season comes around, I’ve wrestled the figures into control, and they rarely find mistakes. It’s just a headache to keep up with.”
“Enough of a headache to keep you working through your date,” I pointed out.
I wasn’t ready to let that go.
The next morning, I woke up in Clint’s comfortable guest room. I rolled out of bed and stood at the back window in my pajamas, pulling aside the cheerful white curtain and eying the landscape for a moment before returning to my overnight bag and getting dressed.
I’d forgotten to pack hair ties, so when I emerged from the bedroom, I was in jeans and a patterned t-shirt, with my hair down and falling around my shoulders. I’d kicked off my sandals under the table as we sat up talking, and hadn’t retrieved them before heading to bed.
Clint was entirely forgiven for his lapse. The companionable evening we’d shared over good steak and cups of strong coffee was better than going out to some fancy restaurant and being interrupted by a stranger every few minutes.
We’d talked for three hours and were both yawning by the time we stumbled into bed.
As I walked into the kitchen, I saw that the dishes from last night had been cleared away.
On end of the table where we had been sitting was a vase full of fresh wildflowers, a plate of food and a glass, and a note.
Crossing to them, I picked up the note
Clint reached out and took my hand, holding it in his own.
“It really is the least I can do,” he repeated. “I broke my word to you, I let you down. I’m truly sorry about tonight.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I said. “I wondered if you’d gotten in some kind of accident.”
The tall rancher shook his head. “No, just being a fool.” He smiled down at me. “You look absolutley gorgeous,” he said. “It is a cryin’ shame that I won’t be able to show you off tonight, but it’s my own fault.”
I smiled back at him. “Thanks, but I’m still mad at you. I got all dressed up and everything.”
He nodded. “I understand. Let’s get back up to the house and get you fed.”
It seems like he knew a thing or two about pacifying an angry woman - food, compliments, and regretful apologies. It wouldn’t mean a lot if he did it again, though.
As we walked the worn path up to the large house, I finally asked what was driving me crazy. “What had you so distracted that you forgot about coming out for three hours?”
It was hard to see his face in the dim light, but his sigh was pretty clear.
“Like I said, I sat down to check one number, but what was in the computer couldn’t have been right, so I had to hunt down the paper I’d started with a while back, and then I realized that I’d put it in wrong, so I had to re-enter all the numbers. I still don’t have the blasted count of how much I’ve spent on hay for tax time,” he finished.
“So, paperwork, not your strongest point?” I asked.
“I hate it,” he said. “Worst part of running a ranch.”
“Why do you do it? Most of the ranchers I’ve dealt with have at least one person to take care of that for them,” I pointed out.
We’d reached the porch, he stepped ahead of me to open the door.
“My father always taught me that you can’t cheat yourself, but anyone else can cheat you if you don’t know what you’re doing. A rancher who doesn’t know how to do all of this himself is at the mercy of every shark with a certificate,” he said.
It sounded like a direct quote from his father.
“Well, if it’s this much of a struggle for you,” I said, trailing off as I walked into the kitchen and he gestured me to a stool on the other side of the island in the kitchen.
“I get someone to check it for me,” Clint said. “By the time tax season comes around, I’ve wrestled the figures into control, and they rarely find mistakes. It’s just a headache to keep up with.”
“Enough of a headache to keep you working through your date,” I pointed out.
I wasn’t ready to let that go.
The next morning, I woke up in Clint’s comfortable guest room. I rolled out of bed and stood at the back window in my pajamas, pulling aside the cheerful white curtain and eying the landscape for a moment before returning to my overnight bag and getting dressed.
I’d forgotten to pack hair ties, so when I emerged from the bedroom, I was in jeans and a patterned t-shirt, with my hair down and falling around my shoulders. I’d kicked off my sandals under the table as we sat up talking, and hadn’t retrieved them before heading to bed.
Clint was entirely forgiven for his lapse. The companionable evening we’d shared over good steak and cups of strong coffee was better than going out to some fancy restaurant and being interrupted by a stranger every few minutes.
We’d talked for three hours and were both yawning by the time we stumbled into bed.
As I walked into the kitchen, I saw that the dishes from last night had been cleared away.
On end of the table where we had been sitting was a vase full of fresh wildflowers, a plate of food and a glass, and a note.
Crossing to them, I picked up the note
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