The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride (Return to Brighton Valley) (2 page)

The truth was, the shop desperately needed his help. But they didn’t need him reporting back to corporate and getting her and her boss fired.

When Don Carpenter first hired Megan to help out in the store a few months back, the job had been a godsend. And despite the fact that she knew very little about computers—and not much more about bookkeeping—it hadn’t taken long for her to realize the store was in big trouble.

Don was a wonderful older man, a kindhearted boss and a loving husband, but she feared that his worry about his wife had caused him to become scattered lately. He’d also been so busy looking after her and taking her to appointments that he’d gotten behind on his work. And to top it all off, he was intent upon doing things the “old way” and had been resistant to converting to a new, electronic accounting system.

Megan tried to do what she could to help, but the store was going under, and she wasn’t sure if she could turn things around on her own. Sadly, poor Don couldn’t afford to lose his job right now, especially with his wife still undergoing chemotherapy. So Megan had brought in Tyler to assist him with some of the easier repair work. And while her twelve-year-old son had been helpful at times, he was also causing her more stress lately.

She glanced at the sulky boy hunched into the front seat beside her. His lip was split, and he hadn’t said a word since she’d blasted into his principal’s office and exchanged some heated words with the woman—and with Conner Doyle’s parents.

She hated being a tattletale or fighting Tyler’s battles for him, but it was unfair for her son to get suspended for retaliating the only way he knew how.

Conner had been picking on Tyler ever since they’d moved to Brighton Valley last summer, and the bullying had only gotten worse. She’d sensed a change in her son during the school year. The sweet, fun-loving boy had grown quieter each day, withdrawing into books and technology and other solitary activities. It concerned her because it was something she couldn’t relate to, and she feared losing the connection they’d always had.

She stole another glance at Tyler, noting his red hair, his thin frame. In many ways, he’d taken after her side of the family in looks. She had no idea where he’d inherited his amazing intellect. She’d never been a great student, and her ex-husband, Todd Redding, who’d been athletic and quick on his feet, had excelled far better on the football field than he had in the classroom.

To make matters worse—and no doubt compounding what Tyler might be going through now—Todd had never wanted much to do with his nonathletic, bookish son, even before he’d abandoned the family. And that was one reason Megan had taken back her maiden name when they were divorced. Another was to distance herself from the terrible financial situation Todd had left her in.

When she stopped at the intersection near the town square, she reached over and tousled her son’s red hair. “I love you no matter what, Ty. And I want you to know that when you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’ll be here to listen.”

He didn’t respond, yet he didn’t move away from her caressing hand, either.

She pulled her old Civic into the parking spot in the back alley behind Zorba’s and shut off the ignition, her thoughts still desperately groping for a solution. And while she wasn’t sure what to do to help her son, she couldn’t very well leave Mr. Johnson alone to poke around the store more than she already had. But she’d had no other choice. Had he not been there, she would have locked up and left an “out to lunch” sign on the front door.

Megan glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, wishing she had some lip gloss and mascara.

And why was that? She hadn’t gone out of her way to look attractive for anyone since before her divorce. Of course, there’d never been any extra money for frivolities like makeup or new clothes. Besides, the last thing she needed was for a man to show any interest in her.

So why was she now so concerned with how she looked for Mr. Big-Shot Accountant?

“Did Mr. Carpenter leave that MacBook for me to adjust?” Tyler asked as he hopped out of the car and headed toward the back entrance.

Oh, no! She’d forgotten to tell Tyler that Mr. Johnson was here. And for that reason, he couldn’t do any more of the repairs—at least, not during business hours.

She unlatched her seat belt and hustled out of the car, trying to intercept the boy before he made it inside.

“Whoa,” Tyler said before she could stop him. “Who are you?”

Mr. Johnson, who’d been seated at Don Carpenter’s desk, spun the chair toward the door as they entered.

Had he gotten better-looking while she’d been gone? Or had she just been too distracted on the phone to notice that his eyes were an amazing shade of blue, that he had a square-cut jaw, that his lips were full and sensuous?

“I’m Peyton Johnson.” He stood and extended his hand to Tyler. “I work for Zorba the Geek.”

While Megan hadn’t paid too much attention to his facial features before, she definitely noted them now, especially the way his blue eyes narrowed in on her as he said, “And now will somebody be so kind as to tell me who you two are?”

Oh, no. Hadn’t she introduced herself when he’d arrived? Her memory replayed the sequence of events between when he’d entered the shop and when she’d dashed out. As the conversation, at least most of it, played back to her, she could have sworn she’d told him her name. But maybe she hadn’t.

“I’m so sorry. I’m Megan Adams. I help Mr. Carpenter here in the back office. This is my son, Tyler. He got in trouble at school today, and I’m afraid dealing with all of that made me a little flustered. I’m not normally like this.”

Peyton’s intent stare sent a nervous flutter through her, threatening to scatter her thoughts to the winds, so she averted her eyes from his face, her gaze slipping down to the open black collar that exposed a sliver of dark chest hair.

“So,” Mr. Johnson said, reining in her thoughts from the slight sexual diversion they’d taken, “what exactly do you do here at Zorba the Geek? Are you a computer tech?”

“Ha!” Laughter came from the boy behind her, but before she could turn and shush him, he added, “Mom wouldn’t know a gigabyte from an integrated circuit.”

Peyton’s brows rose, and he looked over Megan’s head, which wasn’t all that hard for him to do, since she stood only five foot two. “And you do?”

“Of course I do. Take this Geekon hard drive right here.” Tyler pointed to one of the black boxes disassembled on an empty workstation against the wall. “This model uses a digital integrated circuit.” He went on to talk about logic gates and signals and values of ones and zeroes, all of which went over Megan’s head. “See, all the Geekon series use digital ICs.”

“What do you think of the Geekon series?” Peyton asked the usually quiet boy, who hadn’t said more than three sentences to her all week.

Tyler perked up and launched into a full discourse on the uses of microprocessors and transistors and everything else that caused Megan to tune him out.

“So basically,” Tyler said, “straight out of the box, Geekon computers are the best you can buy. But they’re not the best that can be made.”

“
Tyler,
Mr. Johnson works for Zorba the Geek, which is part of Geekon Enterprises,
remember?
” Megan left the rest unsaid, hoping that her normally introverted son knew better than to insult the product that was responsible for providing her paycheck.

The boy lovingly patted the black hard drive on the table. “Then I’m sure Mr. Johnson would want to see what I can do with this baby to make it run even better.”

Oh, jeez.

“You know what, Tyler? I certainly would like to see that. But I’m here from the accounting department. Maybe when I get finished here, I can call some buddies who run the manufacturing department and set you up with someone who designs this stuff for a living.”

“Sweet!”

Well, at least one person was excited about Mr. Johnson being there.

When Peyton returned to Mr. Carpenter’s desk, he looked at it as if he wanted to pick up the whole thing, mounds of paperwork and all, and throw it in the Dumpster out back.

Shoot. Who could blame him? Whenever Megan tried to tackle the piles of old invoices that had been stacked up months before she’d even started working here, she felt like tossing it all out herself. She didn’t even know where to start sorting out the jumbled mess.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Peyton said.

Great, he was an accountant
and
a mind reader.

“Things have gotten a wee bit backed up since Mrs. Carpenter got sick,” she admitted.

Of course, in a matter of days—maybe even hours—Mr. Johnson was going to figure it out on his own. But in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to try and make the corporate lapdog see that they were all doing their best and that none of them should lose their jobs.

“Do you have a game plan for how long you’ll be in town?” she asked, hoping he’d say it would be for only a few hours.

“As long as it takes. The corporate office got me a room at the Night Owl.”

The motel was right off the highway and near the Stagecoach Inn, a local honky-tonk. Neither seemed to be the kind of place that would appeal to a man like Peyton Johnson, although that was mere speculation on her part—and quite frankly, it was none of her business or her concern.

“Too bad you can’t stay in the apartment upstairs,” Tyler said. “It would make it a lot closer for you.”

The boy’s suggestion took the wind right out of her, making it impossible to respond, let alone object.

“It’s got a bed and stuff up there,” Tyler added. “And it’s also got a TV and a kitchen.”

“Is it vacant?” Peyton asked.

“Yeah,” Tyler said.

Megan’s stomach tightened. How did she go about keeping the boy quiet? “The company has made arrangements for Mr. Johnson to stay at a motel, Tyler. I’m sure they’ve already made a deposit. And if not, there’s probably a cancellation fee. Besides, there’s not much to do in downtown Brighton Valley in the evenings. But at the Night Owl, he’d be so much closer to Wexler and all the bigger-city amenities he’s probably used to.”

She offered a smile, hoping she’d squelched her son’s impromptu suggestion before Peyton got any ideas. It was bad enough that he was going to be spending the next day or so looking over their old accounting system and seeing how bad things had gotten. But having him spending nights here, too?

“You know,” Peyton said, “I think I’ll give the office a call. It would be a lot more convenient to just stay here. And if I can get my job done sooner, I’ll be saving the company money in the long run. They’ll surely see the savings there.”

As Peyton pulled out his cell phone and prepared to dial, Megan’s heart sank. She’d hoped that she could lock him out of the shop each evening, knowing that she’d be present whenever he uncovered the problems facing the store—and that she could explain and maybe soften the blow.

But how could she do that if he had access to the office when she wasn’t around to protect Mr. Carpenter?

She wanted to snatch the cell phone out of his hands, but she’d been raised better than that. So she stood there pretending to smile gamely, feeling absolutely powerless and at her wit’s end as she shot a glance at the one man who had the ability to turn her life upside down once again.

It had taken her three long years after the divorce to put her life back to rights again, and she was finally seeing some light at the end of a very dark financial tunnel. Then in walked Peyton Johnson, who had the ability to jerk the rug out from under her and shake up all she’d fought so hard to build.

But she was up for the challenge. There was no way she’d stand by and let another man dash her dreams again without putting up a fight.

Chapter Two

C
lay pulled out his cell and called Zoe, his executive assistant, who knew where he was and what he was up to.

“This is Peyton Johnson. I’m at the Brighton Valley store, and it’s come to my attention that there’s an apartment over the shop. I’m not sure how that will pencil out for the corporate bean counters, but it would sure be more convenient if I could just stay there. That motel you reserved for me is clear across town.”

“You own the building,” Zoe told Clay. “I don’t have to clear anything—”

“You’ve got that right, ma’am. So would you mind checking into that for me?”

“I...uh...” Zoe paused. “So this phone call is just for show?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And all I’m really supposed to do is listen while you speak?”

“That would be the case. Yes.”

“Very clever. I’ll have to add an extra line to my job description. The executive assistant must be bilingual in both English and in reading the boss’s cryptic telephone conversations.”

“Something tells me that could come in handy, especially while I’m in Brighton Valley.”

“Then I’m on it. Looks like you’re in luck, Clay— I mean Peyton. I can assure you, or rather everyone at the Brighton Valley store, that corporate will approve of anything you suggest.”

“It certainly would be in their best interests to do so.” Clay smiled. “Thanks, Zoe. Then I’ll just wait for you to check into that. How soon do you think you can call back?”

“Would five minutes be a believable response time?”

“That works for me.”

“All right, then. You got it, boss. Clock is ticking.”

Before Clay could hang up, he spotted Megan pushing her son away from the computer workstation and shoving the worn green backpack into his arms. Then she pointed at the counter in the front of the shop.

Clay placed the cell phone back in his pocket as she muttered something that sounded like, “Not while he’s here, you’re not.”

Tyler looked at Clay, then shuffled his thin-framed adolescent body in the direction his mother was pointing.

So what wasn’t Megan allowing her son to do while “Peyton Johnson”—or rather, a corporate rep—was here?

When Clay glanced at Megan, she flashed a smile at him. It was a pleasant smile, but it seemed a bit forced.

What made her so uneasy?

“Why don’t I show you around the shop?” she asked.

Clay didn’t need a tour. He’d had the run of the place since he was sixteen. He was also the owner of the building. But, of course, he couldn’t let on about that.

“Sure. Let’s get started.” The sooner he got this mess squared away, the sooner he could get the heck out of Brighton Valley. And this time, he’d leave it behind for good.

“You saw the front desk when you came in,” she said. “We also have our refurbished computers and some new Geekon models for sale up there. We don’t really keep a lot of cash in the store, just enough to make change for the customers. We take credit cards, too, but you probably won’t be dealing with any of that.”

She must have forgotten that he would have had to deal with all of that if a customer had actually come into the shop when she’d abandoned him to get her son an hour ago. But before either of them could comment, the bell on the door jangled, and an actual customer did walk in.

Or stomped in was more like it, a laptop tucked under his arm, a grimace on his face. “Where’s Don? He was supposed to have fixed this darn computer, and I waited nigh on three weeks for it. He finally called me yesterday and told me I could pick it up, so I did. But the fool thing still isn’t working right.”

Riley McLaughlin, a rather crotchety fellow who’d bought the refurbished machine from Ralph back when Clay used to work here, set the outdated laptop on the counter. “This is the third trip to town I’ve had to make, and I still can’t get online or send an email. How can you folks run a business if a customer can’t get any satisfaction?”

“Don isn’t here right now,” Megan said, “but if you want to leave the laptop here, I’ll have him take another look at it.”

“And then what?” Riley clucked his tongue. “I’ll have to wait another three weeks to get it back?”

“I promise to make sure he looks at it as soon as he gets into the shop. It’ll be a high priority.” Megan reached under the counter and pulled out the plate of cookies. “Here, try one of my snickerdoodles. I made them this morning.”

Riley knit his bushy gray brows together, then glanced at the sweet treats, grumbling as he did. Yet he took one of them and bit into it.

“Let me take a look at that for you,” Clay said. “But in the meantime, we just happen to have one of the new Geekon laptops here. Why don’t you take it home and give it a try. The corporate office is offering a special deal on this particular model, and there’s a ten-day free trial period.”

Riley, who was chomping away on Megan’s cookie, turned and studied Clay.

For a moment, Clay feared the guy might have recognized him. That is, until Riley asked, “Who are you?”

“Peyton Johnson. I work out of the Houston office.”

Riley’s scowl faded, and he let out a little humph. “I always did like free trials. But how much do those new laptops cost?”

“From what I understand, if you like the product and are willing to talk up Zorba the Geek, as well as Geekon computers, you can buy it for a a hundred dollars.” Clay reached for the box on the shelf that contained a new Geekon Blast, knowing that price was an unheard of bargain—even for a fellow who was as close to his nickels as Riley was. And it would certainly work a lot better at placating an angry customer than a couple of cookies—no matter how good they were.

At that moment, Clay’s smartphone rang—no doubt Zoe calling him back as requested—so he pulled it from his pocket to take the call.

“Are you sure about that discount and offer?” Megan whispered to him before he could answer the phone. “You must be mistaken. A hundred dollars is a ninety-percent savings off the retail price.”

He lifted his ringing cell. “Do you want to ask the Houston office about that promotional sale?”

She studied him, those pretty brown eyes darting back and forth as if trying to assess his honesty.

Clay tossed her a crooked grin, then answered the call. “Peyton Johnson.”

“Hey, boss. This is your wake-up call—or rather, your apartment’s-in-the-bag call.”

“Nice. Thanks, Zoe. And while I have you on the phone, can you please talk to Megan, who works here at the Brighton Valley store? I told her all about that hundred-dollar special that the marketing department is running on the Geekon Blast laptop. And she didn’t believe me.” He handed his phone to Megan, confident Zoe would assure her that she could believe anything Clay—or rather, “Peyton”—had told her, even though Zoe had no knowledge of the phony sale he’d just concocted for Riley’s benefit.

As Megan reached for Clay’s cell, her fingers brushed his, sparking a warm, feathery rush of heat up his arm. For a moment, their gazes met, and he realized she’d felt something, too.

Then she averted her gaze and spoke into the phone. “Hello?” She listened for a moment or two, then said, “Okay. It’s just that it sounded way too good to be true, if you know what I mean. Goodness, if those things only cost a hundred dollars, I’d like one, too.”

Again she listened to whatever Zoe was telling her. Then she nodded and handed the phone back to Clay. After thanking Zoe, he ended the call.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“I guess so. She said you were in that last marketing meeting, and that you’re never wrong when it comes to sales and special prices. So she said I could rest assured that the offer was spot-on.”

Clay tossed her a grin.

Megan added, “She also said that she’d like one of the Geekon Blast models, too. Her nephew is having a birthday next week and would love a laptop. She’s thrilled to know that she can afford to buy him one—thanks to that special price.”

“Smart gal, that Zoe. She’s always been one to jump on a good deal.” Clay would have to tell his executive assistant not to spread the word about the sale. And that it was a onetime deal that would last only until the end of the day.

“So what do you say?” Clay asked, turning back to Riley. “Will you leave your old laptop with me and take this new baby for a test run?”

“You got a deal,” Riley said. Then he took the box off the counter, tucked it under his arm and headed out the door.

“I guess a new laptop worked even better at sweetening his mood than my cookies did,” Megan said.

“How many customer complaints do you get these days?” Clay asked.

She bit down on her bottom lip. “A few, I guess. Mostly because Don has gotten a little backlogged.”

Clay suspected that was an understatement. But he’d find out the truth soon enough.

“Come on,” she said, “I’ll finish giving you that tour of the shop.”

She led him back to the work area, which was three times the size of the front part of the store. Yet it seemed a lot smaller than Clay remembered. Maybe that was because it wasn’t just the shelves that were stacked with various new and used computers and laptops. The floors were so cluttered with machines that they’d had to make walkways to get around them.

“This is where Don works,” Megan said, indicating the old desk Ralph Weston used to keep as clean as a whistle. Only now the stacks of paper and other stuff made it impossible to see the once-glossy wood grain Ralph used to polish every Saturday afternoon.

Clay followed along as she talked and pointed, but each time she moved or brushed past him, her lavender scent taunted him, causing him to lose focus on what she was saying.

But it certainly didn’t cause him to lose his focus on the way her jeans hugged every inch of her curvy bottom—unlike that willowy, reed-thin model he’d dated last. To be honest, he actually found Megan’s womanly figure more appealing.

She grabbed a stack of papers off a ledger and shoved them into a bin on top of one of the old green filing cabinets. “I’m in the process of developing a new invoice system that will be easier to manage.”

He knew he should be paying a lot more attention to what she was saying and pointing out, even though not a stick of furniture or shelf or cabinet had changed in the ten-plus years since he’d worked here. But he couldn’t stop wanting to know more about her.

And less about the new system she’d been trying to explain.

“And that’s about the size of it,” she said as she ended her small circling tour at the foot of the stairway that led to the second floor. “And up there is the apartment Tyler was talking about, although I suspect you’d be much more comfortable at the Night Owl. Like I said, it’s closer to Wexler. And it’s right by the Stagecoach Inn, in case you wanted to grab some beers or go dancing or something after work.”

“Is that an invitation?” The minute the words rolled off his tongue, he could have kicked himself.

Why in the hell had he asked her that? He’d grown accustomed to women hitting on him, but even a former geek knew Megan was just being friendly and not flirting. Yet the longer he’d watched her bouncing around the store giving him a peppy, upbeat tour, like one of the cheerleaders back at Washington High in Wexler, the more he’d found himself slipping into nerd mode.

“Oh, no. I don’t go out on...” A blush spread up the neckline of her shirt, and she averted her sexy brown eyes. “I mean, I don’t go out dancing or anything like that. I’m a mom. I have Tyler and Lisa and... That reminds me.” She paused and glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but since I don’t normally work on Wednesdays, I don’t have a sitter lined up today. So I have to pick up my daughter. Do you mind watching the store for me again?”

Before, he could answer, the beautiful redhead was out the door like a shot. Just like she’d done the first time he’d seen her.

Clay looked at the stairs leading up to the apartment and wished her tour had continued to the intimate living space above.

Maybe her running out was for the best, because he had no business allowing himself to be distracted. His time in Brighton Valley was limited, and he didn’t plan to stay any longer than absolutely necessary.

Hopefully, Don Carpenter would be back soon, because Clay didn’t know how he was going to be able to work with the woman without a chaperone.

At the sound of a pencil tapping, he realized they hadn’t even been alone now. Megan’s son was sitting at the front counter staring at the computers lining the wall instead of writing in his school workbook.

So not only had she left him to look after the store, now she’d left him to babysit her son, too.

Megan Adams might be sexy as hell, but she had to be the most irresponsible employee he’d ever had. And he had a feeling she’d be the first one at the Brighton Valley store that he’d have to let go.

* * *

Peyton Johnson couldn’t have come at a worse time. And he probably couldn’t be any more annoyed at Megan than he was now.

When she’d grabbed her purse a second time and practically run from the shop yet again, he’d merely gaped at her. But she’d had a pretty good idea of what he’d been thinking.

Still, with Don away from the shop, what other option did she have? She couldn’t very well leave her second grader at school.

As she turned into the alley that ran behind the shops lining Main Street, Megan glanced into the rearview mirror and caught her daughter’s eye. “Lisa, change out of your cleats before we go inside and put on your shoes. You know how hard it is to get all that mud and grass out of the shop’s carpet.”

“Aw, Mom.” The seven-year-old insisted upon wearing her soccer uniform everywhere, even to school. “Then can I go barefoot? My coach said lots of athletes practice without shoes to toughen their feet up. And I want
my
feet to be tough.”

Megan hadn’t had a chance to vacuum the floor yet, and no telling what small screw or piece of wire might end up in her daughter’s foot. All she needed was for Mr. Johnson to think she was violating some safety regulation on top of everything else. “Never mind. Just stomp your shoes before we go inside.”

It was bad enough she had both her kids at work with her this afternoon, but with her mom and Ted on their dream vacation of a yearlong RV trip across America, Megan was left without many childcare options until summer camp started at the Wexler YMCA next week.