Her Favourite Maverick. Christine Rimmer
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good bookkeeper in Kalispell. I’ll text you his number.”
“Sarah.”
She didn’t answer, just scooped up her laptop and took a step out from behind the desk. Logan stopped her by blocking her path, causing her to clutch the laptop to her chest and stare up at him defiantly. “Excuse me, please.”
“Sarah.”
She hitched up her pretty chin. “You are in my way.”
“What’s the matter?” It took everything he had not to touch her, not to grab her good and tight in his arms. “Talk to me.”
Her soft lips trembled. “It’s, um, quite obvious that your dad doesn’t want me here.”
“It’s not about you, not really.”
“Of course you would say that.”
“Look. Sometimes I don’t think he knows what he wants. He gets these wild ideas, that’s all. You can’t take him seriously. Bottom line, we need the accounts in order and that means we need you.”
“But I just don’t understand. It’s like he thinks I’m after you or something, trying to trap you into—I don’t know, putting a ring on my finger, I guess. And I’m not. I swear I’m not. I’ve got no interest in marriage. I don’t want to trap anyone.” She stared up at him through eyes swimming in barely held-back tears, so earnest, so very sincere. “Especially not, um, you.”
He tried to tease her. “You know, if you keep talking that way, you’re bound to hurt my feelings. I’m a very sensitive guy.” And he did dare to touch her then. Clasping her shoulders, he held her gaze.
“I...oh, Logan.” She looked absolutely miserable and he should probably just let her go. But he held on.
What was it that she did to him? He didn’t get it. He felt like ten kinds of selfish jerk to be putting her through this. But still, he just stood there, hands holding her slim shoulders, keeping her in place.
Finally, she spoke again. “See, the thing is, it hasn’t worked out for me, to get involved with a man. So I promised myself I wouldn’t. Not for years. Maybe never. And then you show up and, well, frankly, Logan, you really tempt me.”
This was bad news? “Excellent.”
“No. No, it’s not. It’s not excellent in the least. All it does is confuse me to feel this way about you. I don’t need it, all this confusion. I’m already overworked and exhausted. The last thing I need is a sexy cowboy in the mix.”
“Hold on,” he said tenderly. “So then, what you’re saying is you think I’m tempting and sexy?”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “That is so not the point.”
“Maybe not. But you can’t blame me for being pleased to hear how you feel.” He wanted to kiss her, just pull her close and put his mouth on hers. But he wasn’t sure how she would react to that. She seemed really upset and he didn’t want to make her any more so.
“It’s all too much, don’t you get it?” she cried. “I’m just plain on overload.” And then, as if to illustrate her point, a single tear got away from her. It slipped over the dam of her lower eyelid and traced a gleaming trail down her cheek.
“Sarah. Damn it.” He let her go, but only so he could get his hands on the laptop she clutched so tightly. When he tried to take it, she resisted. “It’s okay,” he coaxed. “Come on, now. Let go.” And she did. When she gave in and released it, he plunked it down on the desk and took her shoulders again. “Sarah, don’t cry.”
Another tear escaped. And another after that. “Too late,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Aw, Sarah...” He pulled her close and she let him, collapsing against him, her soft arms sliding around his waist.
For a too-short span of perfect seconds, she clung to him. He breathed in the clean scent of her silky hair, wondered what she’d done to him, hoped that whatever it was, she would never stop.
But then she looked up again, her eyes wet and so sad, a tear dripping off the end of her pretty nose.
“Here,” he said. “Sit down.” He pushed her gently back into the old leather desk chair and looked around for a tissue. There weren’t any.
She sniffled. “Give me my tote, please.” He went around the desk to grab it from the chair where she’d left it and handed it to her. She pulled out a travel pack of tissues, took one and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m a mess,” she said.
“No.” A hank of her hair had escaped from her ponytail. Gently, he guided it back behind the shell of her ear. Retreating, but only a little, he hitched a leg up on the corner of the desk. “You’re tired and overworked. And completely gorgeous.”
She gave a little snort-sniffle at that. “Yeah, right.”
He put up a hand, like a witness about to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. “You’re gorgeous,” he said again. “And I mean that sincerely.”
She started to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m just so tired, you know? Tired of working nonstop and trying to be a decent mom to Sophia and really not doing either all that well. I don’t get it, I really don’t. How did everything go so wrong?”
He leaned closer. “What went wrong? Sarah, come on. Tell me. I need to know everything that’s bothering you.”
She scoffed. “Why?”
“So I can try to make it better.” He actually meant that, he realized as he said it. He wanted to be with her—for as long as it lasted. And during that time, he wanted to be good for her. When they parted, he wanted her to remember him as a good guy who had treated her well.
She shook her head slowly. “If you keep pushing, I’m just going to go ahead and unload it all on you. My whole life story, all the ways I messed up. It will be a lot. It will be a really bad case of extreme oversharing and you will wish you’d never asked.”
“No, I won’t.”
She scoffed. “Yes, you will. Believe me. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Uh-uh. For you to talk to me about what made you cry is exactly what I want.” And he did want it. He really did. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
She stared at him, considering. “You’re sure?”
“I am. Talk to me, please.”
“Logan, I—”
He stopped her with a shake of his head. “Tell me.”
For a long moment, she just stared at him. And then, at last, she let it all out.
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