The Cowboy's Pride and Joy

He walked back into his study and heard her footsteps on the floor as she followed.

Jake took a seat behind his desk and waited for her to sit down opposite him. When she did, she handed over the envelope and as he opened it to take the sheaf of papers out, she looked around the room, her gaze finally settling on the window behind him and the view so beautifully displayed.

“How do you get any work done?” she wondered absently. “If it were me, I’d be staring out that window all the time.”

“One reason why it’s behind me,” he said as he flipped through the pages. Deliberately, he avoided looking at either the view or her.

“Sure, but you still know it’s there.”

He knew she was there, too, and that knowledge was far more distracting than even the sweeping view of the mountains that he loved. Jake picked up a pen and held on to it with a grip that should have been tight enough to shatter the steel barrel. What was it about this woman that was getting to him so completely and so quickly?

She stood up to move around the room, and Jake lifted his gaze just enough to see her. He zeroed in on her as she paused to examine the paintings hanging on the walls, the books in the bookcases and even the photographs on the mantel over the hearth where a fire burned against the chill of the day.

When she turned back to face him, his gaze dropped to the papers on his desk.

“This house is really amazing,” she said. “You’ve got those same braces in here—the beams or whatever, that are made to look like tree trunks.”

That had him smiling. Those support beams were a favorite of his. It had felt like bringing the forest inside the house, though the builder hadn’t been thrilled with the extra work it had required.

Giving up on the illusion of examining the papers, he looked up at her and watched as she continued her inspection of his study. It was a big room, with plenty of heavy, dark brown leather furniture, and rugs in muted colors dotted the wood floors. Jake spent a lot of his time in here, so he’d wanted it to be comfortable.

“It’s a big house for one man,” she said softly.

“I like a lot of space.”

“I can see that. But it would be a little creepy for me to have this big a house and be all by myself.”

“Creepy how?” Intrigued in spite of himself, he leaned back in his chair and watched her.

She threw him a smile over her shoulder as she bent lower to inspect the books on the bookshelf. His gaze settled on the curve of her behind in that faded, worn, soft denim and a flash of heat shot through him with the swiftness of a lightning bolt.

“I’d always be expecting someone to break in,” she said.

Frowning, he tore his gaze from her butt. “This isn’t Boston.”

“Oh, it’s really not.” She straightened, walked the perimeter of the room slowly and finally sat down opposite him again in one of two matching leather chairs. Resting her elbows on the arms of the chair, she folded her hands across her middle, tipped her head to one side and said, “Your mother really wants you back in Boston, you know.”

“Yeah,” he said, a reluctant smile curving his mouth. “She really hasn’t kept that a big secret.”

“She talks about you a lot. I think she misses you.”

A ping of guilt stabbed at him, but he fought it down. Guilt didn’t fix anything. Didn’t change anything. Frowning now, Jake asked, “You’re her personal assistant, right?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“Aren’t assistants supposed to be sworn to secrecy and discretion?”

She shrugged. “You’re her son, and it’s not like you don’t already know everything I’m saying.”

True. But he didn’t enjoy having someone remind him that his mother missed him. He knew she did. But he saw her and his sister, Beth, and her family whenever they visited the ranch. That was enough. Jake wouldn’t go back to the city again if he could help it. The closest he wanted to come to a city was downtown Kalispell, and that was only when he couldn’t avoid it.

“So why are you so anti-Boston?” she asked quietly.

His gaze narrowed on her. “I know my mom didn’t put you up to that question.”

“No, that’s just me. Being curious.”

“Polite word for nosy.”

“Guilty. You don’t have to answer.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“But you will,” she countered with an easy smile as she sat back more comfortably in the chair.