Miller Brothers in Love Page 8

  Which she totally hadn’t been, of course.

  She mentally sorted through her choices, sparse as they were. For the past three days, she’d held her tongue. She’d thought that actions spoke louder than words, and she still believed that. But that long-held belief aside, she probably needed to face the facts: It was within the realm of possibility that a few words of explanation could go a long ways.

  Orrrrr…they could do nothing at all.

  But dammit all, she had to try. Then, at least, she wouldn’t be playing the “What if?” game with herself for the next month.

  Just as she was talking herself into talking, the rear end of her Honda appeared between the swipes of the wipers. Wow. She’d been so close to making it to the pavement. Another 50 yards, and she would’ve been long gone from the Miller farm.

  Well, this was her sign – she had to talk now, before they got involved with the process of trying to pull the car out of the ditch. That would be chaotic and before she knew it, they’d have her car out of the ditch and Stetson would still not be talking to her and nothing would’ve changed. It was do-or-die time.

  She opened up her mouth to speak.

  “I’m going to have to pull you out backward,” Stetson said flatly, cutting her off at the pass. Her mouth snapped shut. There was no emotion in his voice, as if he were reading a grocery list to a brick wall. “There’s really no point of driving up to the road and turning around because you’re going to have to do the same thing once we pull you out, so we might as well both do that once your car is back on the road.”

  “Okay,” she said softly. Don’t chicken out, don’t chicken out. Tell him what’s going—

  “You stay here outta the rain while I get everything hooked up and then you can get in your car and steer while I pull.”

  “I need to tell you something!” she blurted out, before he could say anything else. Talking to Stetson Byron Miller was stupidly difficult to do, she was starting to realize.

  “Yes?” Flat. Distant. He stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact.

  “I know what you heard today sounded bad.”

  “Yeah, it sounded pretty damn bad.” Taking his hand off the door handle, he turned towards her. His hard features were cast only in the light of the dashboard. She took a deep breath. She just had to get through this.

  “I know you’re not in the mood to believe me, but I need to tell you anyway: I don’t want to take your farm away. My job is to come out here, look at your books, and see if there’s a way for you to get caught up with the bank. That can range from selling equipment to selling a small piece of land to maybe even finding a different market for your crops that pays a higher amount. The possibilities are endless, and I’m here to help you work through those possibilities together. I’m not here to simply foreclose.”

  He was just staring at her. No emotion. Nothing at all. She wondered hysterically for a moment if she’d been inadvertently assigned to the first case of true artificial intelligence. Of course, a robot would’ve acted a lot more rationally over the past few days.

  “Look, you can be 100% sure of that!” she exclaimed, inspiration striking. “If I was just going to recommend foreclosure, then why even audit your books, right? The bank could’ve just foreclosed and spared the expense of sending me out here. I get my hourly wage plus my hotel and a per diem every day that I’m out on an audit. It’s expensive to do this. The bank doesn’t have to send me, but they choose to, because they want to find a way for you to keep your farm.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me if that sounds slightly insane,” Stetson said sarcastically, the first emotion peeking through since they’d started this conversation. “Why not just take the farm? It’d make you a pretty penny on the auction block.”

  “Yes, that’s true. If we can find a buyer who has deep enough pockets to buy an operation like this. Not everyone has millions of dollars laying around to buy a new farm. Hell, you wouldn’t be able to buy this farm if you were starting out today. You only own it because you inherited it from your father.”

  “You do wonders for a man’s pride, you know that?”

  Jennifer chose to ignore that comment. “Also, you want to know where banks make their money? Interest. If they auction this farm off to the highest bidder, that bidder will be paying cash. They won’t be borrowing from Intermountain. Which is a nice little pile of cash right now, but long-term, the bank makes a lot more money from a customer through interest.”

  “So why are you discussing foreclosure with some random guy on the phone?” he challenged her.

  “That ‘random guy’ happens to be my boss. He…he doesn’t always see the world the same way I do.” She shrugged, her turn to stare out the front windshield, the methodical swishing of the wipers and pattering of the rain the only sound in the cab.

  She could do this. She would do this.

  “Look. Here’s the truth: The bank only looks at the overall closure rate on our cases when deciding whether we were successful or not – in other words, whether my boss gets his Christmas bonus this year. That means the sooner we make it through a case and move onto the next, the more cases we can make it through in a year, and the better my boss looks. Even though the bank wants me to find a way for farmers and ranchers to be able to keep their property, my boss…not so much. He just wants me in, out, and on my way. A misalignment of incentives, honestly.”

  She paused for a moment to debate whether or not she should tell him everything – that even for her boss, he was being unreasonably pushy and demanding that she wrap things up quickly; that this particular case seemed strangely personal to Greg for reasons she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

  But before she could decide whether that was a good idea or would just feed into Stetson’s paranoia about the bank being out to get him, he spoke.

  “So, you’re looking for a way for me to keep my farm?”

  “Yes,” she said with conviction.

  “Okay,” Stetson said, slapping the steering wheel lightly. “Let’s get your car out of the mud.”

  Jennifer sat there, stunned, as she watched him hop out of the truck into the rain. Did he actually believe her? Or was he simply done listening to her “excuses”? Was he just trying to get through this so he could send her away?

  What the hell does “okay” mean? Argh! I will never understand men.

  Chapter 24

  Jennifer

  Jennifer was laughing as she burst through the front door of the farmhouse, shaking and stamping the water off onto the entryway tile. Carmelita came hurrying in to see what the commotion was all about, and stuttered to a halt when she spotted Jennifer.

  “Did you get your car out of the mud?” she asked, her eyebrows wrinkling with concern as she took in Jenn’s appearance.

  Which even Jennifer had to admit was a bit on the dirty side. Still unable to control her giggles as she shucked the oversized raincoat off her shoulders, Jennifer looked at the housekeeper.

  “Nope, it’s still stuck,” she said cheerfully.

  “Where is Stetson?”

  “He went ‘round the back of the house. He said you’d be mad if he came through the front door.” Jennifer barely got the words out before another round of laughter overtook her.

  Carmelita was completely confused.

  “What is so funny about going out in the rain? And why would I care what door he comes in?”

  “Because of the mess,” Stetson said, emerging from the back of the house.

  Carmelita turned and Jennifer’s laughter stopped abruptly. Stetson was wearing just a pair of jeans, slung low on his hips. Jennifer’s mouth instantly went dry.

  “Why are you half naked?” Carmelita demanded. “Nobody wants to see you like that.”

  Speak for yourself, lady.

  He was even better looking without a shirt on than Jennifer would’ve guessed. He wasn’t a gym rat, with weirdly bulging muscles all over his body, but rather, long, sleek muscles that danced over his
body like trails of pleasure that Jennifer would love to follow.

  But shouldn’t. Totally, absolutely shouldn’t.

  Her eyes snapped to the floor instead and she kept her gaze glued there as Stetson protested, “I figured you’d want a half-naked Stetson over a muddy one.”

  Carmelita harrumphed, and Jennifer bit back her laughter. She’d only been at the Miller Farm for three days, and she already knew that this was Carmelita’s way of admitting he was right, without actually saying it out loud. She might be sweet and loving, but she also had as much pride as her adopted son.

  They were quite the pair, really.

  “How did you become so dirty?” Carmelita asked, clearly wanting to change the topic back to the one she cared about. “You even have mud in your hair!”

  Jennifer couldn’t help it – she had to look up again. Sure enough, there were streaks of mud on him where his careless swipes with a towel had missed, along with one large chunk on his chiseled cheekbone. Jennifer’s giggles returned at the housekeeper’s outraged tone of voice.

  “He fell,” Jennifer managed to choke out through her laughter.

  “Yeah, I fell and slid down the side of the road into the borrow pit,” he admitted with a wry grin. “My jeans, coat, and even my shirt are covered in mud. You should see the inside of my truck!” Which was when the craziness of the situation hit him as well, and he began to laugh, deep and rusty, as if he’d long ago forgotten how to.

  At first, Jennifer had been horrified as she’d watched from the safety and oh-so-wonderful dryness of the truck cab as his feet had lost traction, and he’d slid down the side of the road on his ass, landing with a splash in the water running down the ditch.

  But when he’d struggled to his feet and began trying to make his way back up the short incline, she’d begun to laugh. He’d been reduced to crawling on all fours up the rain-softened ditch bank that kept giving way under his weight. By the time he’d gotten back up on the road, he was completely covered in mud from head to toe, back and front. He’d looked like some bizarre mud monster from an eight-year-old boy’s dream.

  “I am happy you did not cover my clean floor in mud,” Carmelita sniffed. “Now, go put some clothes on while I find something for Jennifer to wear while I wash her clothes.” Before she left, she turned back and caught Jennifer’s eye. She was smiling, her face glowing with warmth and happiness.

  It suddenly struck Jenn that there had been little reason to laugh in the Miller household for a very long time. She wondered when it was that Carmelita had last seen Stetson laugh.

  Probably years.

  As the housekeeper’s footsteps faded away, Jennifer began twisting her hair, squeezing out a small stream of water onto the tile floor. She shouldn’t have jumped out of the cab – standing on the side of the road and watching Stetson climb the ditch bank hadn’t exactly helped him get up to the top any faster, and had only meant that in the end, she was as soaked as he was – but it’d been instinctual. Watching him struggle from the cab of the truck would’ve been cheating.

  And really, after her hike through the rain back to the Miller farmhouse in the first place, she’d gotten plenty soaked on her own. Her second bath just sealed the deal.

  Lifting her head, she froze. Stetson had crossed the room to stand in front of her – he was entirely too quiet for her sanity – and she realized with a stab of panic that they were alone. Her, him, and his very delicious chest. She had a hard time tearing her eyes away from his abs. She wanted to run her fingers up his chest and…

  Her face grew red and she snapped her eyes up to his. She had to keep eye contact with him.

  Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down…

  “We’ll get your car out tomorrow,” Stetson said in his low, gravelly voice that sent shivers down her spine. Or maybe it was the cold clothes and wet hair. It was hard to tell at this point. “I might have to use a tractor,” he continued, oblivious to her internal distress. Unlike her, he didn’t seem to be the least bit affected by their proximity. Or his half-naked state of being. “I don’t know what Carmelita is making for dinner, but I’m sure there’ll be enough for an army. You okay with staying here tonight?”

  She couldn’t speak. Words were a thing, and they should totally be used, but she couldn’t remember how.

  Her eyes locked on to his lips. They looked soft. She focused on the small wrinkles and the line of his upper lip that rose and fell. His mouth reminded her of the outline of the distant mountain range outside.

  The chunk of mud on his cheek was driving her crazy. She wanted to reach up and pluck it off but she didn’t dare cross that line. Well, cross it again.

  And spend the night under the same roof as this gorgeous man? Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She was pretty sure it was going to be a sleepless night of staring at the ceiling for her.

  Finally, she managed to nod her head. She was quite proud of herself for being able to do that, really.

  “Good. I’m gonna go take a shower – I’m sure I missed some mud somewhere. Carmelita won’t let me near the table like this,” he said and walked away, the W’s on the back pockets of his jeans bouncing up and down hypnotically as he went.

  She could be the one to wash the mud from his hair and cheek. She could run her fingers through his hair and across his chiseled cheekbone…

  I wonder how literal he was being when he said the jeans were the only clothing in the laundry room.

  She felt her face warm in spite of the cold rainwater that still covered her.

  Chapter 25

  Stetson

  Stetson pulled back the chair for Jennifer, and then sat down kitty-corner from her, the light from the elk horn chandelier overhead dancing in her dark locks. A platter of steaming steak strips, a plate of homemade tortillas, and all of the fixin’s were spread out in front of them. A batch of homemade salsa, just made yesterday, was sitting proudly between them. Carmelita had been sure to inform them of its freshness, before disappearing.

  “Is she coming back?” Jennifer asked as he began to dish up the taco ingredients. She was looking around, as if expecting Carmelita to jump out from behind the china hutch or something. Stetson’s mouth quirked up at the corners at the idea.

  “She usually eats dinner with me, but tonight, she said she had some errands to run.” Stetson was pretty damn sure the “errand” she had to run was, “Hide from Jennifer and Stetson so they could fall in love,” but he was not about to tell Jennifer that. Carmelita had never pulled this disappearing act when he’d brought Michelle home, that was for damn sure. There had been a few times when Carmelita had practically guarded the homestead, trying to run Michelle off before she even dared to come down the gravel driveway.

  Stetson only hoped that Carma had packed up some of this spread to take back to her cottage, so she didn’t have to cook dinner twice tonight. That didn’t seem awfully fair, especially after how he’d treated her the last couple of days. He winced at the recollection.

  “Are you okay?” Jennifer’s soft voice broke into his thoughts, and he jerked, sending her a smile before he even really registered her words.

  “Oh yeah, just…thinking about what a long day this has been.” Which was about as close to the truth as he was willing to admit. Before Jennifer could bring everything up all over again and really rub in how wrong he’d been, he hurried on. “I’ve been meaning to ask you – you said that you quit the nursing profession because of Paul? Or was it Greg?”

  “Paul. Greg is my boss at the bank.”

  “Right. Because Paul cheated on you with other nurses.”

  She bobbed her head as she took a bite of the taco, her eyes drifting shut as she made a sound of pure pleasure. The sound sent a bolt of lust straight to Stetson’s dick, and he shifted in his chair, trying to remember how to breathe. And talk. They were talking. About something.

  Her tongue darted out, snagging an errant piece of cilantro off her lip, and Stetson almost let out a groan of hi
s own. She was going to be the death of him.

  “Well, you…he…it’s just…”

  Finally, her eyes opened and she looked over at him, her brow creased with confusion. “Yes?” she asked. She probably thought he was having a stroke.

  A stroke caused by lust. Was that a thing? It totally seemed like it was a thing.

  He shifted again in his suddenly uncomfortable chair. “Why switch professions?” he got out in a rush. He cleared his throat and continued on. “I understand not wanting to work with Paul anymore. But why not just go work for a different doctor’s office? Or hospital? Why become an accountant? It seems pretty drastic.” Of course, Stetson was born a farmer, raised a farmer, and someday, would die a farmer. The idea of letting someone else dictate which profession he worked in seemed…bizarre to him.

  “Hmmm…” She licked her fingers on her right hand, cleaning off the juice from the tasty tacos. She was not helping with his sanity levels, that was for damn sure.

  “You know, it’s funny because in retrospect, that’s such a good point. Honestly, I was pretty young, and was only a peon in the medical world. I was pulling 18-hour days and overnight shifts and wasn’t getting paid much, in comparison to the workload, but I’d had this idea that I just had to push through, Paul would become a doctor, and then I could afford to go to school to become an RN. That would have meant a significant pay increase for me. Instead, I’d worked my fingers to the bone, all to support a guy who actually thought I’d buy the excuse that he was teaching Lizzie ‘mouth to mouth resuscitation’ when I found them in bed together. Do I look that stupid to you?” She let out a snort of laughter that had Stetson grinning, despite the seriousness of the topic. He had a sudden urge to rearrange the guy’s face, and he hadn’t even met him.