Blackwolf's Redemption

“Yes,” she said. “I can type.”

He nodded again. “There’s a job opening for a typist. Well, a secretary.”

“A personal assistant,” she said sweetly, because she couldn’t help herself.

He snorted. “This is not a job that involves arranging flowers or planning parties. It’s for a woman who can do some typing. Some shorthand. Brew coffee, run errands, you know the routine.”

She certainly did. When she’d studied business, older women in the department had talked about the days when men automatically assumed those functions were strictly sex-related. But she could survive stereotyping for a few weeks, because, surely, it wouldn’t take longer than that to get her head around what had happened, save a little money and plan a way out.

“Can you do those things?”

“I don’t take shorthand.” Did anyone, in her world? “But I can handle the rest of it.”

“Fine.”

He turned the key. The Silverado gave a sexy growl and he shifted into Reverse, laid his arm over the seat back, peered behind them and began backing toward the main road. His hand brushed her shoulder; an electric tingle sizzled through her. She caught her breath. The sooner she got this job, got a room in town, got away from Jesse Blackwolf, the better.

Say something, she told herself, say something about the job, about the world, just say something that takes your mind off him.

“Where’s this job located?”

“Outside town.”

Outside town. How would she get back and forth to work? She wasn’t going to ask.

“What’s it pay?”

He glanced at her, then at the road. “Enough.”

“Enough? Enough?” Sienna glared at him. “What’s that mean? I’ll have to find a room, buy food, buy clothes….”

“One-twenty a week.”

The amount was surely a joke—or was that what a secretary was expected to live on in the seventies?

Sienna lifted her chin. “No way.”

“One-thirty. Plus room and board.”

“You mean, I’m going to live where I work?”

“Yeah.” His tone turned sarcastic. “Unless you’d prefer to drive there in the car you don’t own.”

“Very amusing.” She folded her arms. “What kind of business is it?”

Jesse shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that. Ranching, mostly, with some other stuff tossed in.”

Was she paranoid along with everything else, or was he being evasive? “What other stuff?”

“Jeez.” He huffed out a breath as he tapped his horn and cut around a truck towing a horse trailer. “Stuff. Finance.”

“Excel, you mean?”

That won her another glance. “I don’t know if you’d call this guy one who excels at finance, but he’s done okay.”

“No. I didn’t mean does he excel at it, I meant does he use Ex…” She sighed. “Never mind.”

“So, you can handle the numbers part? Keep a ledger?”

Not without a computer and software, but why tell him that?

“I’m good at on-the-job learning,” she said airily. “What’s my boss’s name?”

“His name is Jesse Blackwolf,” Jesse said, and made a sharp right through the gate that led onto Blackwolf Ranch.

“What?” Sienna sat up straight. “Forget it! I am not living here, sleeping here, working here—working for you.”

“You got any better ideas, I’m ready to hear them.”

“I want a job in town.”

“Sure.” He gave a lazy, infuriating laugh. “Only one little problem, baby. There are no jobs in town.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby.’ And there must be jobs. Small towns always need waitstaff.”

“Waitstaff,” he said, and chuckled. “You mean waiters and waitresses? Well, yes. But Bozeman gets more than its share of skiers, hikers, whatever. They take those jobs faster than you can say ‘Thank you, Jesse, for finding me a job.’ If you were ever going to say ‘thanks,’ that is.”

“I… You…” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. He was right. She was lucky he was willing to hire her. All she’d have to do was make sure he knew it was a business arrangement.

She told him that, in precisely those words, as he pulled up in front of the house.

“This is strictly business,” she said coldly, “and don’t you forget it.”

She was out of the truck before he could say anything. He thought about going after her as she flounced toward the porch, of taking her in his arms and showing her that what was between them was business, all right. Unfinished business.