A DISTRACTION HE DOESN’T NEED!

Archer Boone’s whole life revolves around his work at his family’s ranch and horse refuge. Animals are just so much less complicated than people. But he needs to get the refuge’s financial paperwork in order so he can secure his funding. When Eden Caraway arrives to work on his books, Archer can’t afford to be distracted by the beautiful single mom and her two adorable daughters.

Eden Caraway is really Eden Monroe, and she is determined to earn her father’s respect. So if he wants to pull funding from Archer Boone’s horse refuge, she’ll make it happen. But Eden is falling for Archer, and she dreams of staying at Boone Ranch. How can she reveal her real reason for being there and risk losing her heart?

Miss Caraway’s eyes widened. “I appreciate your concern, Dr. Boone—”

“Good,” he said. “Let me make this clear. Unless I am with them, your daughters need to stay away from the horses. Especially Fester. Is that understood?”

She blinked but didn’t say a word. Ivy was frowning, tears welling up in her big eyes.

“He mad, Momma?” Ivy whispered.

“No, Ivy. He wants to keep you safe.” Eden’s voice was soft and soothing.

Archer didn’t miss the lethal glare Eden shot his way before she headed back to the minivan.

Her anger wasn’t important. He was her boss—his place, his rules. He glanced at Eden. Ivy stared back at him over her mother’s shoulder. Her golden curls danced on the breeze, her huge hazel eyes unblinking. He sighed. Ivy waved, her tiny fingers splayed wide even as her chin quivered. He was a jerk. But he’d never meant to make the little girl cry. A little girl who kept waving.

So he waved back.

Her smile was so bright, he had no choice but to smile in return.

A Cowboy to Call Daddy

Sasha Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SASHA SUMMERS grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance and travel. Whether it’s an easy-on-the-eyes cowboy or a hero of truly mythic proportions, Sasha falls a little in love with each and every one of her heroes. She frequently gets lost with her characters in the worlds she creates, forgetting those everyday tasks like laundry and dishes. Luckily, her four brilliant children and hero-inspiring hubby are super understanding and helpful.

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

After a leisurely drive admiring wildflower-laden fields, open pastures, and acres of cattle and horses, Eden’s morning took a sharp U-turn back into Sucksville. Only this time she wasn’t trapped at work, she was stuck in unknown territory. Boone Ranch Refuge was far off the beaten track, smack-dab in the middle of the Texas Hill Country. Things had been looking up when she turned off the two-lane county road and driven through the impressive wood and stone archway that assured her she’d reached Boone Ranch.

Her sudden flare of nerves wasn’t surprising. She had a lot to do and a limited time to do it. And this time, she was determined to earn her father’s respect. Did she wish there was another way? Yes, definitely. Her mother’s support of Boone Ranch Refuge had been unwavering. And on paper, the work done here was worth funding. But her father insisted things weren’t as on the up-and-up as they seemed. So Eden was here—without her father’s blessing—to look deeper, review every scrap of paper, bill, invoice and ledger. Her father might believe that his word was enough to sway the board’s opinion, but Eden knew better. Before she left, she’d make sure her father and the board were satisfied.

Logically, she needed to start at the refuge. But dropping in on a grantee for a surprise audit was a first. Normally, she’d give her applicants a checklist of what she needed and time to get everything in order. But this was different. She had a job to do and not much time to do it. The infamously prickly Dr. Boone would have to deal with the inconvenience. Still, she suspected he wouldn’t be pleased. But dealing with Dr. Boone would be worth it if she left with information that made her father happy.

The sun poured into her small black rental car, so she kicked up the air-conditioning and drove on, bouncing over a cattle guard. The farther she drove, the more removed from the real world she felt. Ambling cows and a herd of red-and-white goats dotted the sprawling pastureland. It was peaceful and quiet, soothing to her frazzled nerves. She bounced across another cattle guard and dodged a wild-eyed roadrunner.

But her drive was cut short when the car’s engine sputtered. She coasted to a stop, staring at the dash. No lights. No beeping. No clicks. And no air-conditioning. Just dead. She opened the door, the heat immediately stifling in the small car, and sat there hoping something miraculous would happen. Like the car starting. She closed her eyes, rested her head on the headrest and tried to think.

But when she opened her eyes, she screamed, pressing herself back into the car seat to avoid the massive black horse that had shoved its head inside the tiny car, putting them eye to eye. And scaring the crap out of her.

Her scream made the horse skitter back, knocking its head on the door frame, sliding on the red dirt and sending rocks flying in its wake.

She pried her fingers off the steering wheel and covered her face. What was wrong with her? It was a horse. A horse. On a horse refuge.

Her fingers sought out the three turquoise stones on her braided leather bracelet. Three stones, three words. Take a breath. Krista, her counselor, said it was a centering phrase. Take a breath. Sometimes—like now—Eden substituted her own words. Keep it together.

Yes, having an immobile car was inconvenient. And her dead cell phone, which she’d been charging in the car, was no help. But she wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type. Was she thrilled about the two-plus-mile trek ahead of her? No. Not at all. She was irritated and hot, but none of this was earth-shattering.

That included an excessively inquisitive animal. She glanced out the door at the giant black horse. A horse that was already too close again, its thickly fringed eyes focused on her.

She met the animal’s unwavering gaze. “Would you please back up?”

The horse didn’t move.

She took a deep breath and slowly climbed out of the car.

The horse flicked its ears in her direction, the head rose, big brown eyes blinked. She stood, her back pressed against the hot metal of her car, and waited. But the horse didn’t move, so she did. And scraped her ankle against the side of a cactus.

“Damn it.” She pulled her leg back, stooping to examine the spot. Two sharp needles stuck out of her pale skin. Her sweat-slick fingers made pulling the thorns free a challenge. One she cursed through. By the time she was needle free, her skin stung. “Damn it.”

The horse snorted, loudly.

“My skin’s not as tough as yours,” she muttered, glaring at the glossy black face. You’re talking to a horse. Upside, it couldn’t argue, yell or demean her. Best conversation of her day so far. “It’s been a shit day,” she added, because there was no one to reprimand her for her unladylike language. Even stranded and overheated, there was something freeing about not having someone looking over her shoulder, criticizing her every word and deed.

She’d barely finished her morning cup of tea when she’d had her first fight of the day with her father. He resented her reminder to take his meds and avoid stress. Next, a fight with her brother about what the word deadline meant—a suggested timeline, Greg’s take, or an actual due date and cutoff, Eden’s perspective. His frustration toward her over his misunderstanding never failed to amaze her. But Greg always found a way to make everything her fault. By the time she’d hurried home to hand the girls off to her ex-husband, Clark, she was ready to cry. Considering how distracted and impatient Clark had been, Eden’s concern over her daughters’ first multi-night visit with their father escalated. And the girls...

She swallowed. Thinking about her baby girls right now wasn’t smart. They were with their father. For all his failings as a husband, he was trying to be a good father. But Eden knew the only reason she wasn’t hyperventilating over the separation was because Clara, her wonder nanny, was with them. Eden didn’t know how she’d ever survive without the older woman—not with the hours she kept and the stress she shouldered.

Stress. She could deal with stress. It was a constant in her life. Like now. Stuck here. Alone. With a black horse staring at her, invading her personal space—almost nose to nose.

“Is this some sort of horse greeting?” she asked, trying not to flinch as the horse sniffed her head and chest. It’s just a horse. Granted, it was a huge black horse, but what’s the worst it could do?

The horse made a strange sound, shaking its head and flipping its long, matted mane before clacking its teeth together.

What did that mean? Should she be worried?

No, she wasn’t going to worry. If she ignored it, it would leave her alone. She hoped.

She shaded her eyes and peered down the dirt-and-rock road. Since she hadn’t seen a car or truck in the last twenty minutes, she might as well start walking. She tugged her wheeled computer bag from the backseat and tucked her almost-empty water bottle into the side pocket. She had no other luggage. Because the last fight she’d had this morning was with the airline. For reasons unknown, they’d sent her suitcase to Arizona. But they’d happily offered to deliver it to the Lodge, the bed-and-breakfast housed on Boone Ranch where she’d be staying, as soon as it was located.

The cloudless blue sky was endless—no hint of any reprieve from the late-August afternoon heat. She twisted her hair, clipping it high on the back of her head, and set off down the red dirt road, dragging her wheeled briefcase behind her. She was not going to acknowledge the big black horse following directly behind her.

Take a breath.

Keep it together.

It was hot. Her black jacket, black pencil skirt and heels were soaking up the heat like a well-wrung sponge. She tugged off her blazer and tucked it over the strap of her wheeled briefcase. Her white camisole was much cooler. She could only hope her SPF 35 sunscreen would save her from getting too burned.

It was rugged country, with rock outcrops, twisted oaks, brightly colored wildflowers and needle-heavy cacti. But it was gorgeous in a wild, untamed way. The chirp of songbirds, the whir and hiss of the cicadas, and the rhythmic clip-clop of her traveling companion’s hooves offered a complementary soundscape.

Her heel caught between two rocks, so she paused, tugging her shoe free. What she wouldn’t give for her tennis shoes right about now. The horse, however, didn’t stop. When she had her shoe back on and she was on two feet again, the horse...hugged her. His massive head rested on her shoulder, offering her what she could only consider an embrace—minus the arms.

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you? Let’s keep going.”

The horse swished its tangled black tail, brown eyes fixed on her and ears perked up.

Eden set off again, stopping only when her shoes were too full of rocks or dirt to walk comfortably. And every time she stopped, so did the horse.

By 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, her eyes narrowing slightly before she asked, “Would you be so kind as to inform me of the particulars, Dr. Boone?”

He ran a hand over his face. “The short version? One of the refuge’s largest benefactors sent me a review letter. We’ve never been under review before, so I suspect this is bad. Especially since Mr. Monroe isn’t a fan of my work or my family.” He broke off, shaking his head.

“You know him? Mr. Monroe?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. His wife.” He sighed. Chitchat could wait. “Without her support, I’m concerned we’ll lose funding from the Monroe Foundation. But I’m not giving up.” He glanced out the window, the sights and sounds of the only place he’d ever belonged easing some of the pressure on his chest. “You have one week to straighten out the financials my last bookkeeper neglected for who knows how long.”

She stared at him for a long time. So long, Archer wondered if she was about to bolt. “When did the bookkeeper leave?” she asked, her face revealing nothing.

“Nine months ago. The four temps I’ve been through weren’t a good fit. I’m not easy to work with, I’ll tell you now. And I don’t like relying on strangers, but I don’t have a choice. I know this is a job for you. But this is my life’s work and I’m asking for your help.” He leveled her with his most piercing gaze. “Are you able to do that?”

Her light hazel eyes never wavered from his, as if she was considering her options. The longer she remained silent, the more anxious he became.

She nodded, her eyes shifting from him to the boxes. “Eden.” She didn’t extend her hand. He didn’t offer his. “Eden...Caraway.”

“Archer Boone.”

She didn’t strike him as the temp type. If anything, she was more the uptight CEO type he forced himself to associate with at benefits and fund-raisers. She radiated money. Nice clothing. Perfume. She fiddled with a shiny turquoise-and-silver bracelet on her slim wrist. Everything about her was...elegant. But why would a wealthy woman take a temp job? On a nonprofit horse refuge?

He didn’t care. At all.

Whatever her story, whatever her situation, it didn’t matter.

The letter from Jason Monroe’s office had been an unexpected shock. The last eighteen months, his entire family had succumbed to a frenzy of weddings and babies. He was the only brother left standing. No wife. No kids. No interest. His legacy was Boone Ranch Refuge. He was proud of his work and knew the next generation, nieces and nephews, would carry it on. As long as he had funding.

He frowned.

The Monroe Foundation was a big component of that funding. That was what mattered. Making sure he didn’t lose their support. Books and receipts sat boxed and forgotten, needing to be sorted and cataloged, every cent accounted for. He didn’t envy the job Miss Caraway was facing. But it was her job. As long as all the i’s were dotted and t’s were crossed, Miss Caraway could dress and look and smell however she wanted. Convincing Mr. Monroe and his board of trustees that the refuge needed funding was all he cared about.

“There’s coffee in the cabinet in the break room. Pot’s there.” He nodded in the general vicinity of the small room, anxious to see to the new horses.

“I’m fine.” She moved around the table, set her briefcase down and opened the paper box, peering inside.

“Need anything?” He hesitated, feeling the need to smooth things over. She hadn’t run for the hills, always a good sign. He could stay on his best behavior—something that didn’t come easily to him—if it kept her here until things were ready for Monroe. Yes, her being pretty was damn inconvenient, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He’d keep her busy here, poring over paperwork and away from roving eyes. She’d be here a week. Ten days tops.

She glanced at him, the slightest narrowing in her eyes unnerving. “My car broke down, inside the main entrance. Past the second cattle guard.”

“You walked?” He glanced at her feet. Heels. She was in heels. And a slim-fitting skirt. Her white shirt was thin, the skin of her upper arms and chest pink from the sun. His gaze returned to her face. She’d walked all that way and she had yet to complain. And surprisingly, she knew what a cattle guard was. Maybe they’d get along fine.

“I walked. Your big black horse followed me.” Her tone was clipped.

“Fester?” Damn it. The horse was more trouble than he was worth. “Did he bite you?”

She shook her head.

Which was a relief. But unusual. “Fester bites everyone.” Everyone.

Her expression grew more rigid. “He didn’t bite me.”

He frowned. “That’s good.” That horse was a riddle Archer couldn’t crack.

“You don’t seem pleased.” One brow rose.

He didn’t appreciate her implication. He was relieved. The last thing he needed was a lawsuit over a horse bite. “I assure you, Miss Caraway, it is a relief.” No lawsuit and no reason to further delay getting down to work. As far as he was concerned, she could make up for the lost days by working through the weekend. But they could talk about that this evening, after she’d put in a full day’s worth of work. “I’ll let you get to work.”

She nodded, glancing out the window. She froze, her features coming to life. A deep crease formed between her finely arched brows, her full lips parting in a silent gasp.

He followed her gaze to the four horses in the pen outside. “We’ll do the best we can to heal their bodies and their spirits. It never fails to amaze me how resilient animals are.” It never failed to inspire him, either.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Drought conditions in West Texas are bad. Drought meant no grass and dry water tanks.” He shook his head. “They’re all that’s left of a wild herd. We wrangled ’em up and brought ’em here before it was too late. It’s what we do here, help out when no one else will.”

Her wide hazel eyes focused on the horses. His work could be ugly, revealing the cruelty that existed in the world in a hard-to-take, in-your-face way. Her expression shifted, revealing a mix of pain, sadness and despair. It was a logical reaction. But he looked at the horses and saw hope. They were here, alive, safe, protected. He’d take care of them.

She was staring at him then. And something sparked in the depths of her eyes, something that held his attention. Her voice was low, husky, as she said, “Where will they go?”

“We find them homes. There are just as many folks willing to welcome them into their families as there are those who treat them badly or turn them out.” He didn’t mean to stare back at her, but looking away was a physical impossibility.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

He cleared his throat once, then again. “I’ll check in later,” he murmured, nodding in her general direction before heading outside. He turned, almost running into the door frame as he hurried from the office. He knew he had work to do, but right now, he needed to clear his head.

Heat slammed into him as he pushed through the front door. He stopped, resting his hands on the porch railing, and sucked in a deep breath. The song of the mockingbird, the whinny of the horses and the whisper of the hot wind slowly eased the off-kilter sensations agitating his stomach.

She was there for one reason and one reason only. He needed her to make him look good on paper. She was the accounting expert. He was the horse expert. And until she managed to get everything whipped into shape, until Mr. Monroe arrived and he’d acquired the extra funding, the only interesting thing about Miss Caraway was her work ethic. Because there was a lot of work to be done and not much time to do it.

Chapter Two

Eden flipped through her file on Dr. Archer Boone and the Boone Ranch Refuge. After four hours of sorting receipts—and making a slight dent—she deserved a rest. She was just as impressed as she’d been the first time she’d read his file. Renowned veterinarian and animal behaviorist. Studied internationally, devoted to environmentally friendly and ecologically minded practices. Graduated early. Went on to get several specialty certifications. But horses were his true gift. Clearly, the man was passionate about his work.

She respected that. And already well versed with his résumé, she expected that. She hadn’t expected him to be so abrupt. Intense. Or condescending. Of course, he didn’t know who she was—that would impact the way he treated her. Not yet.

The biggest surprise was how ruggedly attractive he was. Eden found him exceptionally handsome. More than once she’d found herself watching him out the window in the tiny makeshift office. He had a presence, one that made an impact. And watching him made a few things immediately clear.

Archer Boone did not like people. At all. Sitting in her lumpy office chair several hundred feet away she could hear the snap to his words and impatience in his voice when speaking to the men who worked there.

But everything about Dr. Archer Boone changed when he was working with his horses. He went from rigid and tense, impatient and frustrated, to fluid and graceful. She couldn’t hear him, but there was no denying he spoke to the animals. Their ears pricked toward him, their gazes riveted. They seemed almost mesmerized by him. It was no wonder. He cared about them. Deeply. And the horses knew it.

“Are you the new bookkeeper?” A tall woman stood in the door. Jeans, worn brown boots, a sun-faded checkered blouse and a straw hat hung around her neck by a cord. “You don’t look like you’re ready to run. Yet.” She had a nice smile. And vibrant blue eyes.

“Should I be?” She tried to look nonchalant as she pulled another file on top of the one she’d been reading. A temp would not have a file on her employer.

Eden glanced at her, but the other woman just shrugged.

“Sorting papers isn’t the most exciting way to pass the time, but I have no complaints.” Eden was cool, her heels were off, and she’d refilled her bottle with cold water and washed the dust and sweat from her hands, face and neck. Considering the way her day had started, sitting here sorting receipts in uninterrupted quiet was a welcome relief.

“The last four he brought out here did. I’m not sure it was the paperwork. Or if it was my darling brother and his...way with words.” She pushed off the door frame and stuck out her hand. “I’m Renata Boone—the sister.”

“Eden. Eden Caraway,” she murmured, shaking Renata’s hand. It wasn’t a complete lie. Her married name had been Caraway—which she’d dropped as soon as the divorce was done. But after what Dr. Boone had said, she couldn’t admit she was a Monroe.

Oddly, she had no knowledge of the review letter Archer Boone received. Odd, because she was the one who sent the review letters. Alarm bells were ringing. Why hadn’t her father told her about it?

But the alarm bells weren’t new. They’d started ringing when he’d been so eager to send her off on her “long-overdue vacation.” Her father was a workaholic. He didn’t do vacations, not in the traditional sense. Vacations always mixed business with pleasure, turning a Mediterranean cruise into the ultimate networking opportunity. That was why she was here, changing her reservations from the Palm Springs spa he’d booked to an extended stay in Stonewall Crossing. She would show him she was capable and indispensable and worthy of respect.

“The savior,” Renata tacked on. “You might not know it, but you’re important. Archer’s freaking out over the dreaded Monroe visit, worrying they’ll decide his request for funding will be denied—even though they’ve never denied him. I say he’s being paranoid. He says it’s a feeling.”

Renata’s blasé delivery was almost callous, but Eden stayed quiet. Renata’s words hit a little too close to home for her liking. Her father had all but said those very words. He’d made up his mind that the Boone Ranch Refuge no longer needed the funding, that it was time to give other worthy nonprofits a chance. And even though going against something her mother had been so passionate about was hard, Eden knew this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. If she helped her father pull funding here, maybe he’d finally see her as the asset she was. Please, God. Getting out of bed already feeling like she’d failed was mentally exhausting.

The tension headache she thought was gone began to pulse slowly at the base of her skull.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother.” Renata frowned. “And I support him one hundred percent. But I worry over how consumed he gets by this place sometimes. He holds on so tight. This review thing has turned him into high-stress, grumpier-than-ever Archer. Which makes for miserable family dinners.”

She glanced out the window at Archer Boone. He was nose to nose with a skin-and-bones red horse. The horse was blowing into his hands, looking exhausted—defeated.

“Surely the refuge doesn’t rely on the Monroes for all its funding?” Eden asked, needing to ease the guilt choking her. She knew the answer: the refuge received funding from a variety of places. The real question was: Why was Monroe funding so important? “It doesn’t make sense for a nonprofit to rely on one source of support. Or for a foundation to agree to be a sole funding source, for that matter.”

Renata perched on the edge of the beat-up table. “It’s the whole tradition thing. Mrs. Monroe only visited twice, but she cared about this place, my father, my family and the people who live here. She’d talked about starting an endowment but then... Well, Mrs. Monroe’s death was tragic and unexpected.” Renata glanced out the window at her brother.

Eden was reeling. Her mother had visited—been actively involved in—the refuge? She’d cared about this place, enough to form an endowment? She swallowed, still processing. “Is there a reason Monroe would pull funding?” she asked, hoping Renata might shed more insight.

Renata shrugged. “Not on paper, no. Archer’s work is hard to argue with. I have my suspicions, though.”

Eden waited, wiping her palms on her skirt. “Suspicions?” Why was she encouraging the woman? She should ignore her and pretend that the pile of invoices in front of her was riveting. But she waited, holding her breath, to hear what Renata Boone had to add.

Renata smiled. “Chalk it up to being the only girl in a house of men, but I think it’s a personal thing. Am I assuming a lot here? Yes, yes I am. But my mother had hinted that things weren’t good between Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, that Mr. Monroe and my father had a falling-out, that she’d stayed here to clear her head. Maybe now that his wife is gone, he wants to remove painful reminders?” She shook her head. “I could be way off. I’ve never met the man. He could be great and one hundred percent behind Archer, just like his wife was. For all we know, Archer is sweating over nothing.”

Eden tapped her pencil on the pile of papers in front of her. She and her mother had been close, sharing secrets and dreams. But Eden hadn’t known any of this. Her mother had come here to clear her head? When? Had her parents fought over the refuge? Her death had robbed them all of closure and healing. Where there had been happiness and merriment, now there was only anger and resentment. Her baby girls would never know the beauty of their grandmother’s smile or her infectious laugh. It had been three years since her passing but sometimes Eden missed her so much, the pain was inescapable.

“Sorry. Too many television movies or epic family novels. You should have stopped me before I went overboard.” She shook her head. “I should have said the name Monroe puts Archer on the defensive and left it at that.” She laughed, her blue eyes inspecting Eden closely. “I’m thinking you’re not a country girl?” Renata asked, reminding Eden where she was and what she was doing here.

“No, I’m not.” Eden shook her head. What the hell was she doing? She had a plan, one that didn’t need to get muddied by the unfounded speculation of a stranger. But Renata’s words eased some of Eden’s guilt over lying. Being Eden Caraway would make her job easier. And that was why she was here, period—to find justification to pull funding from Boone Ranch Refuge.

Renata seemed to be waiting for additional information—

“Renata?” Disapproval colored Archer’s tone. Not as sharp as when he was speaking to his employees, but definitely not welcoming. “She’s working. You’re interrupting.”

Archer seemed incapable of speaking to a human without condescension. But somehow, Renata didn’t let it get to her.

“You caught me.” Renata stood, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I had to see the new recruit. People are talking, bets are being made, big brother.”

Archer’s blue eyes were glacial.

“Bets?” Eden asked, watching their interaction with interest. “What sort of bets?”

Renata glanced back and forth between them, smiling. “How long it’ll be before he chases you off.”

Archer continued to stare down his sister. “Is it too much to ask for a little professionalism, Renata?”

It was easy to empathize with him. His sister had come in and shared far too much information with her—a complete stranger. It was hard working with family. Even harder if one of them gets all chummy with the new employee, undermining authority. She knew exactly how that felt. Her brother, Greg, had tirelessly pursued Loretta, her first assistant. And once they’d gotten close, it hadn’t been pleasant.

She took in the pinched look around Archer’s blue eyes, the tightness bracketing his mouth, the posture that was anything but relaxed. Something about his stance resonated with her—a defensiveness, a vulnerability.

“Try?” One word, an order—and a plea. When he wasn’t being rude, he had a very nice voice.

Eden slid her reading glasses on, using them to shield her inspection of the man. The man on paper was so different from the man in front of her. The man on paper was well-researched fact, and countless achievements. An academic with years of fieldwork and expertise. The man in front of her was broad and thick. Muscled yet lean, appearing more inclined to do the labor than study or research. Clearly he was capable of both. Which was something new. The men in her life were more likely to pick up a phone and call a repairman instead of picking up a hammer and making the repair themselves.

“Fine.” Renata laughed. “I admit it, I heard about Fester and my curiosity was piqued.”

Archer’s blue eyes slammed into hers. He had piercing eyes that were...unnerving.

Hopefully he’d missed her thorough head-to-toe inspection. “What?” Her voice was tight and wary.

Archer shook his head, once.

“He didn’t even try to bite you?” Renata was watching her just as closely.

Eden glanced back and forth between them. “He followed me.” She shrugged. “And when I stopped, he’d push me forward with his nose.” Whether or not that was relevant, she didn’t know. Fester had seemed interested in her well-being. And after the initial fear had subsided, she’d appreciated his companionship.

“That’s all?” Renata asked.

“He...he clicked his teeth at me,” she mumbled.

Archer ran a hand over his face. “Clicked his teeth?”

“He did?” Renata’s surprise was obvious.

She nodded. Clearly it meant something. “Is that bad?”

Archer crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. The silence, and Archer’s unflinching gaze, had her shifting in her chair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. I lied. Well, not where the horse was concerned, so why did she feel guilty?

“What did you do?” Archer’s voice was surprisingly soft. “When he clicked at you.”

“I...I talked to him.” She stared at the yellow invoice on the table.

“Talked to him?”

She glanced up at him. He seemed lost, working through some foreign concept or equation. When his gaze met hers again, his hostility was gone. But there was something equally unnerving in its place. Something warm and vibrant and heavy. She stared blindly at the papers in front of her.

Renata laughed. “I told you he’s a woman’s horse, Archer.”

“No,” Archer argued. “You’re a woman. He bit you.”

“Then maybe Fester has a crush.” Renata tapped the table. “Which means you, Miss Caraway, just got yourself a horse.”

Eden looked up then, startled. “Me?” That was the last thing she needed—more responsibility. Between her work, her family and her kids, she was shouldering enough. “No, thank you.”

“She’s teasing, Miss Caraway.” Archer was using that soothing tone again, and it was having an odd effect on her.

“I am. You’ll get used to it,” Renata agreed. “But now I have to run. Fisher and Kylee are finally going on a date and Tandy and I have twin duty. Can’t be late. Knowing Fisher, he’ll use it as an excuse to cancel—again. I know our brother so well.”

Eden saw Archer’s eye-roll, heard his mumbled, “It might help that you’re his twin.” She smiled before she could stop herself.

“You’re probably right. You could come with me? Help with diaper duty and bath time?”

Archer’s eyebrow arched sharply.

“Oh, come on Archer, if you could pretend your nephews were horses, you might actually like them—”

“I like them,” Archer interrupted.

“I know.” Renata pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You love us all, even if we drive you crazy.” She waved at Eden. “Nice to meet you, Eden.”

“You, too,” she answered.

Archer stayed where he was, his gaze sweeping the room. “Progress?”

“I think so.” She patted the four stacks she’d made, color-tabbed and neatly clipped, with accounting tapes affixed to the front.

“It’s almost eight.” He glanced at her.

“It is?” She looked around. No clock. “I had no idea.”

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“The Lodge.” She met his gaze. “Since there is no time to waste, it made sense to stay close.”

“I can drive you.” It wasn’t an offer, it was a statement. Considering she had no way to get there, there was no point in arguing with him. Even if something deep inside her chest protested.

“Thank you,” she said, collecting her things—sliding his file between two packets—and tucking it all back into her briefcase.

He nodded, his expression rigid, and studied her. And while his gaze made her feel wobbly and unsteady, she had no idea how to read Dr. Archer Boone.

* * *

ARCHER HELD THE door open for her. She was limping as she stepped out onto the front porch. “You hurt?”

“Didn’t have the best hiking shoes.” She stopped at the edge of the porch, gripped the porch rail and took a deep breath. “It’s cool. I hadn’t expected that.”

Her hair was slipping from the clip on the back of her head; one long strand blew in the breeze. He cleared his throat, that peculiar tightening pressing in on him again. “Where is home for you?” He knew nothing about this woman except he was paying her very well for her time and expertise. And that he seemed to be allergic to her—perhaps it was her perfume? Whatever it was, his throat seemed to tighten whenever he was close to her.

“Houston,” she said. “Crisp evenings are a rarity.”

“Clear night,” he said, looking up. With the sun almost gone, the navy and black bled into the pale horizon. Overhead, the sky was already sparkling. Among the chirp of the crickets, the who-who of an owl rang out. “Hear that?” he asked.

She looked at him, eyebrow cocked in question.

“An owl.” He nodded into the dark but watched her.

She closed her eyes, perfectly still. She was listening, a line forming between her brows and her lips parting.

Eden Caraway was...odd. In his experience, women talked. Too much. But Eden didn’t volunteer information or reveal what she was thinking. She was reserved in a way that unnerved him. Her features were controlled, her voice neutral, yet she didn’t shy away from eye contact. But now, the slight flicker, some hint of an unchecked response, piqued his interest.

Her smile was disconcerting. It grew, erasing the furrow from her brow and bringing her to life. When her eyes opened, met his, his throat grew tight and his lungs empty.

“I hear it.” She stared out into the dark, leaning forward on the rail. When she looked up, she gasped. “So many stars.” Her whisper was so faint he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. She brushed past him, descending the stairs to stand and stare up at the night sky overhead.

He frowned, forcing his attention elsewhere. It was late and he was tired. His curiosity was solely because she was new—nothing more. The fact that she was here to help ensure his success most likely played a part in it, as well. He didn’t like relying on others. His motto, If You Want Something Done Right, Do It Yourself, served him well in life. But he had to put some trust in this unusual woman. Perhaps the fact that she was so attractive was the problem.

He cleared his throat.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. His cousin Toben was already making plans to show the temp a good time with a cowboy. He glanced at Miss Caraway...Eden, hoping she wasn’t interested in having a good time with his cousin—or any man, for that matter. He needed her undivided attention and time.

“Is that Fester?” Eden asked, pointing.

Sure enough, Fester was at the fence, head up, ears pricked forward, nickering sweetly—at Eden. He glanced at the woman, then the horse. “He’s talking to you.”

She looked at him. “How do you know?”

“Animals communicate just as clearly as people,” he said. “More so. There’s not as much room for misinterpretation. A horse nickers, he’s saying ‘Come talk to me.’ He snorts or blows, he’s excited—”

“What if he...if he sort of...” She glanced at him. “Hugged me?”

Archer looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I...I caught my shoe between a couple of rocks so I stopped to free it... He stepped close so his chin was on the back of my shoulder and leaned his head against mine.” She used her hand and arm to clarify as she was talking.

“He did?” Archer sighed, pleased and frustrated at the same time.

She nodded.

“And he followed you back? Behind you?” he asked.

She nodded again. “It might sound strange, but I think he was watching over me.”

“Not strange,” Archer argued. “Intuitive. He was watching over you.”

Fester kept up the nickering, tossing his head a little.

“May I?” she asked.

Archer nodded, walking down the fence line to turn on a few lights. He hung back, curious to see the exchange between Fester and the only human the horse had acknowledged favorably.

“Should I do anything?” She glanced back at him, hesitating.

“No,” Archer said. “There’s a fence between you. He just wants you close.”

“Do you?” she asked Fester, her voice soft and calm—not high-pitched or affected but inviting and warm.

Fester stretched his head out, and Eden stepped closer.

Archer was in shock. Not only did Fester clearly adore the woman, Eden seemed to understand exactly what Fester needed. She didn’t reach for him, she simply stood and let the horse nicker and blow against her chest and neck. She didn’t try to touch his nose or rub the horse’s face. She might not realize that was significant, but he did. A person didn’t like a stranger touching their face. Neither did most horses. Somehow, Eden Caraway understood that.

“Hi,” she said softly. “Thank you for walking me here.”

Archer draped his arm on the top rail of the wooden fence, resting his chin. What the hell? Maybe Renata was right? Maybe Fester recognized something in Eden that brought him pleasure. Whatever it was, it made him happy to see Fester so content. This was what he wanted for all the horses that came through the refuge. A sense of comfort and belonging.

The shrill chirp of a cell phone split the night. Fester jerked his head back, his chin clipping the side of Eden’s head as the horse startled.

“Are you okay?” Archer asked, instantly at her side.

“I’m fine.” She was rubbing her head. “It’s not his fault.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “It spooked me, too.”

He liked the way she defended Fester. “We should probably get you some ice. Just in case.”

“I’m fine,” she argued, waving him away before she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “Yes?” she answered.

Archer stared at her. She’d dismissed him.

“When did this happen?” There was no sign of the calm and controlled Eden Caraway now. “He just left?” Her tone was razor-edged as she stalked the length of the fence. “I can’t... Oh, Clara.”

He saw her shoulders droop. Saw Fester clop down the fence line to nicker at her.

“No, of course. We’ll make it work. I’ll book the first flight out tomorrow. Give them kisses for me, Clara.” She hung up the phone, leaning her head against Fester’s broad nose without thought.

“There a problem?” he asked, bracing himself. He’d do whatever he could to make her stay. He needed her help.

“No.” She collected herself, her posture stiffening and her voice deadpan once more. “No problem at all. I do, however, need to get to the Lodge. I have some personal business to attend to.”

Archer nodded. “Nothing that will interfere with your work, I hope?” If he sounded callous, it wasn’t intentional.

She shook her head, not bothering to make eye contact as she brushed past him. “Not at all.”

He sighed, relief washing over him. She was staying, and he would be ready to convince Mr. Monroe that his continued support of the refuge was essential for expansion. “I’ll take you to the Lodge,” he said, the weight of his deadline easing for the first time since he’d received Monroe’s letter.

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