The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride (Return to Brighton Valley) (5 page)

“Oh, I’m not a chef. That’s just what I made the kids for breakfast. And I always bring in something for... Well, when I have extras, I bring them in. Anyway, I work here part-time. I’ve been doing some bookkeeping and customer service and basically helping out wherever I can.”

“No kids with you today?” Clay looked behind her toward the front of the store.

She crossed her arms, the movement causing the fabric of her green blouse to tug and pop a button out of the hole, revealing a glimpse of her yellow bra.

Apparently she didn’t realize what she was flashing, and he didn’t think he ought to be the one to point it out. So he looked back to Don, who continued to shuffle through the papers on his desk, studying each one carefully.

Clay had already gone through those same papers last night and knew for a fact that they were all outdated memos, not a single one relevant. He turned back to Megan.

When she caught him looking at her, she quickly smiled again.

Yep, she was covering for her boss, all right. But covering
what
exactly? The fact that he’d been neglecting his work? Or was there more to it than that?

“Coffee?” she asked.

He must have looked as if he needed it, because she proceeded to pour two cups, even though he had his mouth full and hadn’t been able to answer.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

He nodded, and she added two packets of sugar. Then she scooped out two spoonfuls of nondairy creamer and mixed it in, too. After giving it a little stir, she handed the cup to him.

The other coffee she left black, keeping it for herself. He was surprised someone who cooked so many treats didn’t seem to enjoy sweet things herself.

“How’s the burrito?” she asked. “Is it still warm?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s perfect.” And it really was. Clay took another bite and followed it up with a sip of coffee.

No one had ever taken an interest in what he ate or how it tasted. He’d grown up cooking for himself and his mom, who’d rarely cared if the grilled cheese sandwich he’d made them was burned or if the frozen chicken pot pie wasn’t cooked all the way through.

But here was Megan, a complete stranger, looking at him as though her single mission in life was to make sure that everything he put in his mouth was just right.

When she raised her own cup to her lips, he chanced a second peek at her green blouse, which had popped another button, allowing him to catch a better glimpse of that yellow lace bra and even a flash of skin.

Get a grip.
He was no longer a teenager on hormone overload. Besides, she was an
employee.
And as if that weren’t enough, she also had kids, and Clay never dated women with children.

That was it! He needed to talk about mom things with her.

“So, uh, how’s the little hacker this morning? Is his split lip healing?”

His question wiped the smile, one that had been a little more genuine than forced, right off her face.

Shouldn’t he have brought that up? He had no idea what else to talk to her about, so asking her about her kids seemed like neutral territory.

She gave a little shrug, which caused the fabric of her blouse to tug at the unbuttoned gap. “Tyler? He’s at home with a very, very long list of chores to finish before I check on him at noon.”

“You didn’t have to leave him at home.” Clay looked at the waiting repairs that Don didn’t seem in any hurry to get to. “We could’ve found some things for him to do around here.”

Actually, Clay was pretty sure his legal department wouldn’t be okay with having a twelve-year-old in the shop working on repairs. But they were so backed up, and the kid could certainly do some of the easier things.

“Are you kidding?” Megan laughed—a real one, complete with a genuine, bright-eyed smile, the sight and sound of which warmed Clay in a way the coffee never could. “Working in here with the computers would have been a reward for Tyler, not a punishment.”

The teenage geek inside Clay felt a tug of sympathy for the boy. And the grown man felt a tug of something entirely different for the boy’s pretty mother.

“Speaking of work,” Clay said, trying to shake both unwelcome feelings and renew his focus. “Should we get started?”

Megan’s real smile faded, but she managed to paste the fake one back in place. “Of course. Where do you want to begin?”

“Why don’t we get the new accounting program loaded up and running so we can start entering last year’s fiscal reports? Once we have that established, we can input this year’s billings and receivables onto the spreadsheet. That way we can see where we stand.”

“Sounds good.”

As Clay carried his coffee cup, which was now almost empty, toward Don’s desk and the main office computer, Megan whirled her petite frame in front of him and pointed to an empty desk that he could have sworn wasn’t there last night. “Where did that come from?”

“I set it up for you this morning.” She force-smiled again and Clay couldn’t help wondering if many people fell for that overdone grin. But he wasn’t going to comment on it. Yet.

He looked at the freshly wiped-down work surface that must have been buried under a pile of unfiled paperwork last night. Now the desk held only a jar of recently sharpened pencils, a blank notepad and a fresh daisy in a small ceramic vase.

“I’ll need the master computer to upload the program.” He looked back at Mr. Carpenter’s desk. “Isn’t that it?”

“Um, it used to be. But I figured we should just start a new program with a fresh computer.” She gestured toward a wall of refurbished PCs for sale. “We can make use of one of these.”

Her fake smile, some home-baked goods, a clean apartment and a spiffy new desk complete with a flower must be part of some smoke-and-mirrors routine to keep him from seeing the big picture.

“But won’t Don need access to the master computer on his desk?” Clay asked.

“I’m sure he’d rather have it over here where it won’t get in his way. He’s been a little, uh, overwhelmed lately with his wife being sick and all. He’s really busy with other stuff, so why don’t you and I take care of it and not bother him with the little details.”

But that’s the guy’s job,
Clay wanted to yell loud enough for the manager to hear despite the headphones.

Don Carpenter was being
paid
to be bothered with the little details. Yet before Clay could argue, Megan placed the muffin on his new desk and began to pull down one of the old PCs from the shelf. She might know her way around a mixing bowl, but clearly she knew nothing about computers. The new Geekon500 sitting in the box on the lower shelf would be best suited for the master computer.

He stopped her. “While you file away some of those documents over there, I’ll set up the computer.”

She hesitated, then moved to the back of the room, picking up loose papers and putting them into stacks.

As Clay bit into the tempting peach muffin she’d left on his desk, he had to agree with something Sally the waitress had told him yesterday. Megan
was
heaven in the kitchen. And after seeing her moving around his bedroom yesterday, he thought she looked as if she could be heaven in there, as well.

There he went again. What was he thinking? He had a strict no-dating-in-the-workplace policy. And he wasn’t about to break his own rule now, despite the fact that last night he’d ended up downloading the entire Fleetwood Mac
Greatest Hits
album onto his personal laptop as he sorted through the office, thinking about the sway of Megan’s hips while listening to the music.

She wasn’t his type of woman. And even if computer geeks like him, rather than star athletes, actually were her type of man, it wouldn’t be fair to get too close to her. After all, he still might need to fire her, although not for embezzlement, as he’d originally thought he might have to—or for incompetence, which he’d now begun to doubt.

GeekMart and Zorba the Geek hired only corporate-minded employees, which the gorgeous mom clearly was not.

Trouble was, something about Megan had gotten under Clay’s skin, something that had him thinking about small-town life, about holding hands at the movies on a Friday night and stopping by the local ice-cream shop afterward for a banana split.

And Clay’s new life had blasted light-years away from a world like that. In fact, he was eager to zip out of here and back to the city as quickly as he could.

But something told him he’d have to give Megan Adams one hell of a severance package so he could once again leave town without a backward glance.

Chapter Five

M
egan had no idea how many times she’d looked up from the stack of papers on her desk. It wasn’t even lunchtime, but her frustration level was growing by the minute.

The prices and totals she could handle just fine, but as usual, the letters swam before her eyes and jumped around the page until that old familiar ache knotted at her temples.

You can do it, Meggie. Just concentrate.

Her mom’s advice might have worked back when she was in elementary school, but how was she supposed to concentrate with the sexy corporate accountant sitting just a few feet away from her?

She refused to glance over at Peyton again and instead tried to focus on the invoice in front of her.

Just because reading doesn’t come easily for you doesn’t mean you’re not a smart girl. Look at how well you can do other things.

It never seemed to matter how many times her mom reminded her how quickly she could add a column of numbers or how often Gram had praised her ability to memorize recipes and quickly convert cups to pints and quarts; Megan had always felt like a confused first grader when it came to reading. And while she’d finally learned to compensate for the disability by the time she’d graduated from high school, she still struggled with the notations on the invoices, especially when written in Don’s illegible scrawl.

To make matters worse, she couldn’t find the missing paperwork that Don had managed to leave in various places all over the shop—or figure out his weird filing system, even though he’d tried to explain it to her. But once she did, she’d be able to sort everything in a way that made sense to her.

She knew a computerized accounting system— especially in a store that repaired and sold computers!—was the ideal solution. But that would require her to learn an entirely new way of doing things, which might not be easy. However, if someone with a little patience took the time to go over the instructions, she knew she would catch on.

Trouble was, Peyton Johnson was here to do just that, but he was the last person in the world she wanted to sit next to her and point out anything, especially the intricacies of the digital age.

Maybe if he taught the new program to Tyler, then her son could show her. But presenting that idea to the corporate accountant was sure to go over like sprigs of poison oak in a pair of long johns, which meant she was back to square one.

So she took another shot at deciphering Don’s notation on the invoice she’d been reading. The machine in question was a laptop, but she had no idea who’d even brought it in, let alone what brand it was or the reason it needed to be repaired. And she hated to ask Don to look the paper over while Peyton was here because she hated to point out yet one more reason they were so behind the times.

In her frustration, she risked another glance at the man seated across from her.

Peyton had almost perfect posture as he typed diligently away on the keyboard in front of him. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, revealing a smattering of hair on his well-muscled forearms.

She studied his strong tan fingers moving across the plastic letters and numbers, wondering if she was more envious of his ability to quickly and effortlessly type out the words or if she was merely jealous of the keyboard’s luck in being the recipient of such smooth and solid strokes.

As his right hand reached for the mouse, she shifted in her desk chair and imagined him reaching for her....

Oh, for Pete’s sake. What was wrong with her? She might have been without a man for longer than she cared to ponder, but she wasn’t interested in doing anything to change that. At least, not unless she found someone who was more interested in sharing an emotional relationship before a physical one—no matter how hot and heavy it promised to be.

She had two kids, a shattered happily-ever-after dream and a barely recovering FICO score to remind her that all sex and swagger made for bad husbands.

Too bad she hadn’t listened more closely to Gram, who’d warned her to stay away from the boys who raced to scoop up the overly ripe fruit off the ground rather than wait for the perfect peach to ripen before climbing up into the tree to pick it at just the right time.

However, if she kept sitting here staring at Peyton and letting the tingle in her feminine core continue, she’d be in danger of letting her ripe peach fall directly into his lap.

“You know,” Megan said, pushing her chair away from her desk, “I’m going to run to Caroline’s and pick up some lunch. Anyone want me to bring something back?”

Don, who was still wearing his headphones while fixing one of the computers that had been brought in for repair, appeared to be oblivious to her announcement, which had rung out a little louder than she’d planned. But Peyton studied her in awe.

Or had her voice and sudden movement merely startled the man?

“Sure. You can pick up something for me.” Peyton reached into his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it to her.

“What would you like?” she asked.

“Surprise me.” His trust, at least when it came to his meal order, took her aback. And she found it difficult to break away from his gaze, which seemed to wrap around her, tethering her in place.

Finally noticing the activity around him, Don took off his headphones. “What’s going on?”

“Lunchtime,” Megan said. “Want me to pick up something at the diner for you?”

“Actually, I’m starving. But I promised Cindy I’d go home and make her some lunch. I think I’ll whip up my cheesy broccoli soup. She hasn’t been able to keep much down after her chemo rounds, and that ought to sit well. But go ahead and pick up something for Mr. Johnson. The two of you can eat while you mind the shop for me.”

Knowing about Cindy’s lactose intolerance, Megan doubted Don’s wife would want his soup, but her boss was out the door before she could comment about the sick woman’s dietary issues.

It was just as well, though. Don was so distracted that having him away from the office would be one less stress for her to worry about today.

Megan turned back to Peyton and pasted on her best cheerleader smile, feeling a bit too much like a beauty-pageant contestant professing her wish for world peace. She’d have to watch that, though. She’d been trying so hard to put on a happy face ever since his arrival that she feared her jaws would lock.

His presence had also brought on a chronically spiked heart rate, especially when he looked at her, as he was now....

What was he looking at? Not her eyes.

She followed his gaze down to her chest, where her blouse had come unbuttoned and now gaped open.

Oh, for goodness’ sake. She turned her back, quickly righting her wardrobe malfunction and putting herself back together.

She crossed her arms before facing him, making sure the buttons hadn’t popped open again. As she turned, she snuck a glance at him and caught him grinning. She frowned, and he averted his gaze to the keyboard.

Good. Now they were both uneasy. And he surely was because each time she’d stolen a peek at him earlier, he’d been typing away without the need to look at the keys. And now he was concentrating on each letter as though every little tap of his fingers were a life-or-death matter.

And maybe it was, for she feared Peyton Johnson would be the death of her—or at least of the Brighton Valley store. Earlier this morning, she’d come across a report Don had meant to send into the corporate office and, apparently, had neglected to. She wasn’t an accountant, but it was clear to her that the store was struggling to stay afloat—something Peyton would figure out on his own, if he hadn’t done so already.

She felt as though she was sitting on some kind of powder keg. How was she ever going to get through the next few hours, let alone the next couple of days, without all heck breaking loose?

As Peyton typed, she grabbed her purse and took her leave, glad to put some space between them, if only for a few minutes. The break would also provide her some time to check on Tyler. She couldn’t very well drive out to the farm, especially with Don gone, and she didn’t want to call him while Peyton could hear her doing so.

But first she’d get her breathing a little more under control. Maybe she ought to walk around the block several times and cool down before she headed into the diner.

Sally was a smart woman and the last thing Megan needed was for the well-meaning waitress to think that there was a potential romance brewing. There was no telling what Sally would do or say if she thought Megan was getting all sorts of flustered over some hunky visitor from the city.

And if truth be told, she
was
getting flustered. The man was too darn handsome for his own good. And if they were forced to work alone together the rest of the afternoon, and the button on her blouse popped open again, ripe peaches could start falling all over the shop.

* * *

After a brisk walk, during which she’d called home, Megan slipped her cell phone into her pants pocket. It had been a long time since she’d found herself attracted to a man, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it—especially since Peyton Johnson was the last man in the world she needed to find attractive.

He wasn’t from Brighton Valley, which was where she’d set down permanent roots. And he would be moving on soon, which she really ought to be thankful for since he could cause both her and Don to lose their jobs.

Trouble was, on top of the problems at work, she had enough to juggle these days, what with keeping up the family homestead for her mom and stepdad while they were traveling and running her side business venture of making and selling jams and preserves.

Then there were the ongoing single-mom worries of trying to raise a daughter with learning disabilities and a son who was not only being bullied at school but who’d reached adolescence and was no longer as happy and as forthcoming as he’d once been.

But now that she’d gotten outdoors and away from the hunky accountant, she was thinking a bit more clearly and feeling more in control.

The phone call to Tyler had certainly helped. He’d assured her that he’d picked at least two crates of plums from the tree—and that he hadn’t fallen off the ladder while doing so. He’d also promised her that he’d stayed off the computer and that he’d completed his long list of chores. He should be okay by himself until she got home after picking up Lisa from school.

So now all she had to do was finish her shift at the store, which required working with Peyton for another couple of hours.

She just hoped that bringing in lunch would be enough of a distraction to get them through the next hour or two before Don returned to the shop, which meant she had to be alone with the hunky corporate accountant for only another two hours—tops.

“I’ll take two tuna salads and two unsweetened iced teas, to go,” she told Sally.

“Oh, honey. Don doesn’t ever order our tuna salad. Says we don’t use enough mayo.” Sally had a pencil tucked behind her ear, but she never seemed to need it when writing down an order for the locals. She’d been working for Caroline for so long that she knew everyone’s preferences by heart. “I swear that man could be a poster child for the risks of high cholesterol. He has the worst diet. And with poor Cindy going through all that chemo business, Don’s little heart must be working overtime with all the stress and what not. Maybe you should just get him the grilled chicken breast.”

“Oh, it’s not for Don. He went home to make Cindy’s lunch.”

“Not the cheesy broccoli soup again, I hope?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Sally tsked. “I’ve told Don a hundred times that he’d do better to open up a bag of chips and try to pass off that greasy stuff as dip at his Rice University tailgating party. Poor Cindy’s sensitive tummy can’t handle something that heavy and spicy. I’ll have Armando run her over a cup of the chicken-and-rice soup we made fresh today.”

Megan looked at the busboy Sally was nodding at and was reminded of why she loved small-town life. All the neighbors looked after each other. They might know everyone’s business and gossip from time to time, but they pulled together to take care of their own.

“So who’s the other tuna salad for? That eye candy those bigwigs at Zorba’s sent over to help y’all out?”

“You mean Mr. Johnson?” If Megan were going to concede that Peyton was any type of candy—for the eyes or otherwise—he’d be those deceptive little chocolate truffles. They might look pretty and chocolaty on the outside, but when you bit into them, gooey cherry cordial gel shot out all over the place.

No, those kinds of candies, sweet and yummy as they might look, could make a real mess of things.

“Of course I mean Mr. Johnson,” Sally said. “You don’t have any other handsome hunks working over there, do you?”

“No, it’s just that I see him in a more professional light since I’m his coworker.” Maybe if Megan could convince Sally that she hadn’t noticed Peyton’s physical attributes, she could convince herself, as well.

“Oh, honey, you got to open your horizons a bit more. You’ve been divorced a long time, and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with sampling a taste of the different types of sugar out there.”

Uh-oh. Was that another candy reference? Megan wanted to tell Sally that she didn’t have the time or the inclination to end up with a cavity, thank you very much, but luckily, Mayor Mendez came in.

He greeted Megan. “I was just going to stop by the shop on my way back to city hall after lunch. I dropped off my wife’s computer last week, and I was wondering if it was repaired yet.”

Probably not. And if he came in, she’d offer him a cookie to appease him. But that probably wouldn’t work nearly as well as the sale that was going on, the one Peyton had told Riley about.

“I’ll check on your wife’s computer as soon as I return to the shop,” Megan said. “But if it’s not ready, Zorba’s is running an awesome special. Peyton Johnson, one of the corporate reps, is there now, and he can tell you all about it. Apparently you can get a new Geekon Blast for a hundred dollars.”

“No kidding? That’s hard to believe.”

“I felt the same way, but I spoke to a woman named Zoe at the Houston office, and she verified that price. I’m not sure how long the sale will last, but it certainly can’t be very long.”