Rode Hard, Put Up Wet: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 2)

But he hadn't done that. He was allowed to have private concerns, and evidently, this time, he did.

Now that she was alone, now that she was sitting in her office and waiting for something to happen—either for the day to end, so she could go home and have a good hot soak and wake the next morning and repeat the pattern until the project was done, or for someone to walk through the door with a problem.

Something that she could put her head towards. Work for her to do. But instead, she had as many irons in the fire right now as she could juggle and all her projects were going smoothly.

Which meant that, instead of what had felt like a routine for the past six month—namely running around like a chicken with its head chopped off—she was waiting around, and for the first time she felt on top of the job.

Which was giving her too much time. Too much time to question herself, too much time to ask questions she shouldn't even have thought about asking.

Like why she was there. Why was it so important to set an aggressive timing on a project that her father had worked for years to get done? Why, after five years, had she needed to get it all done in six months?

Why was she here at all? Did the factories mean anything to her? Was it the respect?

She shouldn't have been questioning any of it. She shouldn't have thought anything about it. She should have kept her head square on her shoulders and not thought about it too much. Too much thinking leads to big problems.

And yet she's trapped in the thoughts. Trapped and waiting for something to change. Something has to change. Eventually, something will come along. Something will tell her what she's doing wrong, what she's supposed to do to fix it.

But as much as she wants something—anything—to distract her from her thoughts and worries, nothing does. Brad doesn't suddenly walk through the door to fill her with righteous anger, and she can't bring herself to start making calls to figure out what the fuck is going on with him.

Phil doesn't call. He doesn't come inside. She'll see him tomorrow. They've already got dinner plans. There's no reason for him to call.

And in her office, the lights humming at just the right pitch to set her nerves on edge, her worries and her fears climbed down her throat until she didn't know which way was up and which way was down, until she looked down at the clock on her computer screen and realized that everyone must have left twenty minutes ago.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Moving forward with a sale is something that Philip Callahan knows well. It may have been a long time since he's done it, but to an extent, it's a lot like riding a bike. The basic rules don't change much or often.

Why the hell would they?

But there's something else to consider, in this case, and that is that when the check starts to clear, it will mean things that he's not ready

to deal with right now.

Once the ink dries on that contract, he's got to start seriously thinking about moving out of the ranch. He's got to start learning a new route home from town. He's got to start getting used to a whole new set of problems that need to be fixed around the ranch.

He's got to get used to a whole lot of things being different. Sara's not going to be right there any more. She'll be somewhere else. Somewhere respectful, no doubt.

With a hundred and fifty thousand, even after making sure that Randy's got no trouble, it won't be a special struggle to see that she's got a respectful and comfortable place to lay her down.

But some part of him isn't ready. Some part that knows that he can afford to put it off as long as he needs to. After all, the check will still be there tomorrow. The deal will still be there. And with plans already made to see her…

Even then, time passes. It passes slow when you want it to go slow, but when you want to savor every last drop of time before you have to leave the place you've been living since you got your own place, near twenty years, the sand can't stay in the hourglass fast enough.

She looks good this evening. Morgan's always looked good, every time he's seen her. She wakes up looking good. His throat feels tight, looking at her.

"Evening."

She smiles up at him, leaning over her desk. It's strange to see her in those clothes, ready to go out for the night, leaning over the desk in her office. She must have changed in the office, but even still…

"Hey, you." Her voice sounds nice, too. But still, no mention of the deal. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe it's what she wants. Neither one of them seems to have much intention of getting to the point, right or wrong.

"How was work?"

"Slow. You wouldn't think that I would have something to complain about when nothing's happening. And yet…"

"Sorry to hear that."

"Don't be."