A Cowboy To Call Daddy. Sasha Summers
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the time she reached the refuge, she was overheated, dripping sweat and thoroughly exhausted. But even dehydration and throbbing feet didn’t diminish the fact that Boone Ranch Refuge was impressive. Too bad her phone wasn’t working; she could take a few pictures of the place her father was hell-bent on closing down. A place her mother had always championed.
Something large and solid bumped her between the shoulders, almost knocking her off her feet. She glanced back at the horse, tentatively rubbing her hand along its thick neck. “I’m assuming that’s home.” She kept her voice low, the same soothing tone she used when her daughters were sick or upset.
The horse snorted, pushing his nose into her chest.
“I’m going, I’m going.” She smiled at the horse before hobbling forward, her briefcase bouncing along, rattling loudly.
When she walked under the arched Boone Ranch Refuge sign, she breathed a sigh of relief. First order of business, kicking off her shoes. The sooner, the better.
Several men formed a sea of cowboy hats. They stopped to stare at her as she headed toward the steps of the building with the small sign that read Refuge Office and Education Center. A building she hoped would house a bathroom. And ice-cold air-conditioning. And a comfy chair.
“You’ve got a shadow,” one of the cowboys said, hurrying to take the handle of her bag. “Let me help.” He smiled, pushing his hat back on his forehead.
“I’ve got it, thanks.” She glanced back, the black horse still tracking her. “He’s determined.”
“He been following you for long?” the man asked, his megawatt smile a little too phony for her. Clark had a similar smile. She’d never fall for that again.
“My car broke down past the second cattle guard. He’s been with me ever since.”
“He pulled a Houdini this morning—doesn’t like being fenced in. Always seems to find his way home around dinnertime.” He laughed, shaking his head. He was very handsome. “Count yourself lucky. Fester’s been known to bite the hand that feeds him more than once.”
She glanced at the horse, grateful Fester deemed her un-bite-able. Maybe the horse didn’t like megawatt smiles, either. She fanned herself, hot, tired and out of patience. “I’m looking for Dr. Archer Boone?”
“Well, that’s a shame. I’m his cousin, Toben Boone.” His demeanor grew a little too friendly for her liking. So she leveled him with her most professional—and most icy—stare. His eyebrows kicked high on his forehead, but his smile didn’t dim. “Fair warning. Fester might be on his best behavior, but my cousin’s in one hell of a bad mood.” He shrugged, calling out, “Archer, there’s someone to see you.”
She didn’t miss the head-to-toe sweep Toben Boone gave her. Or the way it ratcheted up her irritation. Please, God, don’t let Archer Boone be anything like his cousin.
The glass door opened slowly. A tall man with sandy blond hair stepped onto the porch, his attention riveted on the papers he held. This was the Dr. Archer Boone? With all the degrees, special certifications, awards and recommendations? He looked...like a cowboy. Jeans, plaid shirt, boots. Younger than she’d thought. Fit. And strikingly handsome.
His pale blue eyes barely looked her way, the slightly confused and disinterested expression a stark contrast to Toben’s openly appreciative assessment.
She waited.
Archer looked up, his gaze narrowing. “There’s Fester.” He rested a hand on his hip, nodding at her horse companion. “Think you can put him in a pen that’ll hold him this time?”
She didn’t miss the “this time.” Or the way Toben Boone’s smile dimmed.
Archer looked at her again, as if only realizing there was someone else on the porch. His expression went from confused to openly hostile.
“You’re late.” Disapproval was clear in his voice. “Follow me.” He disappeared inside without another word.
She stared after the man, in shock. Late for what? No one knew she was coming.
“That’s Archer,” Toben said. “I’d tell you he’s a son of a bitch, but it’s not right to talk about family like that.” He winked at her. “Good luck.”
Eden stood on the porch, still gripping her briefcase. Her feet hurt, her ankle throbbed, and she was exhausted. And now she had to deal with Dr. Archer Boone, who was, apparently, an ass. She stiffened her spine and followed him inside. He might not know it yet, but she held the fate of his refuge in her hands. And she could be just as cold and condescending as he was.
* * *
IT TOOK EVERYTHING he had not to yell at the well-dressed young woman standing in his office doorway. But he wasn’t going to hide his frustration. She was the reason for it. “I don’t have a lot of time to get you situated.” He brushed past her into the hallway, heading toward the makeshift office he’d prepared for her.
Was she wearing perfume? Did she think wearing a suit and nice perfume would make up for being three days late?
“Dr. Boone—”
“No apologies necessary.” He headed down the hallway, opening the door next to his office. “Close quarters. This room is for storage but you should have everything you need to get the books in order.” What was her name again? The temp agency had sent an email with all of her information. Amber...Amber Larkin?
Miss Larkin followed him into the office, pausing inside the door. Her face was expressionless, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t thrilled with her work space. What did she expect? Some fancy office? He didn’t do fancy. If it wasn’t practical, he had no use for it. The small folding table, beat-up desk chair, lamp and handful of multicolored pens he’d placed in the Boone Ranch Refuge mug should be all she’d need. He frowned, opening the blinds to let in some natural light.
From where he stood, he could see the chutes, walker wheel and paddocks surrounding the refuge office. This morning’s arrivals, four horses so thin he could count their ribs, huddled together on the far side of the nearest pen. He needed to be out there, sorting them out and getting them settled. Not held up here with her.
“And the books?” Miss Larkin spoke up. “Where are the—”
“Right,” he interrupted again, lifting the two paper boxes full of receipts, invoices and check stubs onto the table. “It’s a mess.” He patted the top of the box with his hand.
She looked at the boxes, then leveled her unflinching gaze at him. “I can take it from here.”
Her cool dismissal caught him off guard. For the first time, he looked at her. He sighed, seeing a distraction for his employees—and his cousin. She was pretty. Not flashy, overly made-up or attention-grabbing. Naturally pretty. Feminine. Soft. With long blond hair tumbling from the knot on the back of her head.
Damn it.
If he had time, he’d call the agency again and ask them to send someone else. But they’d stopped returning his calls. And he didn’t have time to waste.
Her hazel eyes met his, unflinching. Almost irritated.
“Do you have any questions, Miss Larkin?”
“Miss Larkin?” she repeated.
He sighed. “You are Amber Larkin? Expected to be here three days ago? From Austin Clerical Temps? Or are you her replacement?”
She nodded, a slight crease forming between her brows.
“Apparently there’s been some sort of mix-up.” He’d never use Austin Clerical Temps again. “But if they’ve sent you, I’m sure you’re qualified. I’m under a tight deadline, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I need help.” He spoke quickly, rushing through the words. The faster he showed her around, the faster she’d get to work.
She hesitated,