“I’m sure I can work it out.”
His eyes hold mine for a second, speculatively, like he’s trying to see something I usually keep hidden. I make sure to keep my face passive, revealing nothing. I’ve had a lot of practice with that. One wrong look at Christopher could set him off, so I’m careful out of habit.
“Reagan seems to think so; she reckons you’re over-qualified for the job. So why come all this way, Beth?”
The way he says my name sends a warm breath down my spine. Not a shiver—I know the difference. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end though, but in a way that I like. I tamp down on the feeling. “Why not?” I say with a careless shrug, like any other twenty-five-year-old woman might shrug to signal she’s footloose and fancy free. No one here needs to know the truth.
No one here needs to know I’m a widow.
That I was married to a man who took out his anger on me.
That I fell in love with someone who didn’t exist, who was a lie, designed to trap me.
“It’s a long way from New York.”
“That was part of the appeal.”
“Because you want to be in an episode of Yellowstone?”
My lip twists into an approximation of a smile. “Something like that.”
His lip furrows. “Ranch life isn’t something you just stroll into.”
“I’m not planning to.” I try to resist the impact of his words, the way they make me doubt myself. It’s not hard. If you live with someone who tells you, all the time, that you’re not goodat anything, it really starts to take hold. I draw in a deep breath. “I’m here to keep your books, not go throw a rope around a horse, or whatever.”
I’m suddenly tired. Wearier than I can say. Three months of playing the part of the grieving widow, protecting the awful truth of Christopher’s abuse even after his death, has taken its toll. “If you show me where the office is, I’ll get started.”
His eyes narrow thoughtfully but before he can respond, the door slams and I jump halfway out of my skin. I feel Cole’s eyes linger on me and wish I’d been able to disguise the reaction, but my nerves are permanently frayed. Another AI cowboy strides in. He’s got darker hair and darker eyes but the same square jaw, chiseled cheekbones and broad shoulders.
“Hey bro,” he says, whacking Cole hard on the shoulder, his eyes trained on me. “I didn’t know you were entertaining or I woulda knocked.”
Cole throws him a sidelong glance. “Beth, this buffoon is my brother Beau. This is Beth—Reagan’s replacement.”
Beau makes a show of looking me up and down. “Not from where I’m standing,” he says, chewing on something on the side of his jaw, so a deep dimple digs into his stubbled cheek. He comes around the counter and I have to take a deep breath to stop from stepping backwards, from putting space between us.
I’m safe. I’m safe.
But he’s so big, just like Cole—strange that Cole’s presence is sort of reassuring, despite his size. Maybe because Reagan spent so long extolling his virtues, I feel a little like I know and like him already.
Beau holds out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he says in what I’m pretty sure is an exaggerated drawl.
I hesitate a few seconds before lifting my hand to his, letting him shake it, and then quickly pulling it away, putting it behind my back, feeling like I might crack under the intense scrutiny of these two ridiculously handsome men.
I realize he’s waiting for me to say something. “Um, yes. You too.”
His grin only widens. “You don’t sound too sure about that, now, but that’s only ‘cause you don’t know me yet. How ‘bout we work on that later today?”
My eyes widen. Is he…flirting with me? I toy with my necklace, before I can hear Christopher’s voice telling me tostop fidgeting.My heart is in my throat though—like it always is when Christopher’s voice floods my brain.
Maybe Cole sees the color drain from my face because when he next speaks, it sounds like a growl. “Leave her alone, man. She just got here.”
Beau winks at me. “Reckon she can speak for herself, don’t you?”
Cole stares down his brother though, and I realize there’s something about Cole that Beau yields to. Strength, authority or the fact he’s older, I’m not sure, but Beau shrugs, shoots me another grin then moves over to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup.
“So, where you from, Beth?”
“New York,” I say, a little softly, then, louder, “Manhattan.”