The Cowboy and the Pencil-Pusher

Table of Contents

Blurb:

Copyright (c) 2016 by S.C. Wynne

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

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Blurb:

Paul Smith prefers his calculator to people. People are annoying and demanding, but numbers will never let you down. He works tirelessly for his dad’s mortgage firm, foreclosing when it makes financial sense, and not losing any sleep over it either. Paul’s dad has always been a demanding taskmaster. But when he has a major health scare, he sees the error of his ways. He decides he wants to change to a more benevolent business model. After having decades of harsh business practices drilled into him, Paul is not a fan of his dad’s new idea.

Cort Callahan lives and has worked on his granddad’s ranch most of his life. But times are hard and they’ve fallen behind on their mortgage. When Paul’s dad decides he wants to offer them a way out of debt, if they’ll just go along with his unorthodox idea of turning the spread into a dude ranch, it’s hard to tell who thinks it’s a worse idea: Paul or Cort.

But when Cort and his granddad take the deal, Paul is forced to work closely with Cort. The two men are surprised to realize they share an intense attraction that only grows stronger the more they’re around each other.

The problem is Paul has spent his life trusting numbers and calculations. No matter how much he wants Cort, when he looks at how different they are from each other, the two of them just don’t add up.

Copyright (c) 2016 by S.C. Wynne

The Cowboy and the Pencil-Pusher

October 26, 2016

Edited by Sandra Depukat (One Love Editing)

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from S.C. Wynne at www.sc-wynne.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

"Oh, crap." My Louis Vuitton ankle boots were planted smack in the middle of a pile of horse manure.

Literally. Benji snorted.

I lifted my leg and attempted to shake the gunk off. That’s disgusting.

What were you thinking wearing those to a ranch? He shook his head, and the grin on his face did little to calm my irritation.

They’re the only boots I own. My voice was testy as I dragged my shoe across the gravel, trying to scrape off what was still stuck to my footwear. You’re supposed to wear boots to a place like this.

You should have stayed in the car. Benji rolled his eyes. I told you I could handle this. He eyed my calf-length cashmere coat with a smirk. You look like you walked off a menswear photoshoot.

Shut up.

I’m just sayin’…

You’ve been here twice already and nothing has improved. If I want to get something done, obviously I have to do it myself, I growled as I swung around, intent on continuing on my way. The words had barely left my lips when I slammed into another person with a loud oof. The force of the collision sent me wobbling toward a metal fence face-first, but instead of crashing into the structure, someone grabbed me. Strong fingers sank into my bare skin, and my nose ended up buried in the muscled chest of another person.

Woah, you okay? There was a definite twang in the husky voice that muttered next to my ear.

Speechless, I held on to the bulging bicep of whoever had saved me from smashing into the railing. Looking up, I found myself staring into the clearest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen. They reminded me of the Perito Moreno glacier I’d seen on my vacation in Argentina last summer.

Did I hurt you? The guy wore a black cowboy hat and stared at me as if I were a china doll that had taken a tumble off a bookshelf. His voice was deep, masculine, and it sent a strange shiver through me. After his initial questions, he politely brushed off my shoulders and then stared in unblinking silence.

I pushed away and cleared my throat, feeling embarrassed. I’m fine. He continued to stare. Thank you.

No problemo.

I didn’t see you. I straightened my tie, my cheeks hot. I stepped in something and it distracted me.

He twisted his lips as he stared at my boots. Huh. He wrinkled his brow. Those aren’t exactly ranchworthy.

Oh, not you too. My tone was brusque. Rest assured; these are boots. The description was quite clear in the catalog.

He cocked one smooth brow.

Benji cleared his throat. Hey again, Cort. He gestured toward me as he addressed the cowboy. This is Paul Smith. Remember I said he might join me one of these days?

Howdy. Cort shook Benji’s hand and then held his palm out to me.

I hesitated and I swear his lips twitched.

I don’t bite, he said softly.

I assumed as much. I clasped his rough hand in mine, and he held on longer than I expected before finally letting go. I ignored the flutter in my stomach at his touch.

Snap out of it. Jesus, you have met good-looking men before.

What’s going on today? Benji stood on his tiptoes, scanning the sea of people huddled around the corrals. You guys having a party?

We’re having a mini rodeo for the employees and their families. Just for fun. Cort studied me with a curious expression as he answered Benji.

Sounds expensive. I held his gaze.

I wouldn’t know. I don’t handle the finances, Cort said.

Is Marty in the trailer? Benji spoke casually.

Cort’s gaze sharpened. He’s not feeling too great today.

Benji hesitated. Oh, um… He glanced at me. Maybe we should come back another time.

I scowled. Nonsense. How sick can this Marty be that he can’t spare us a few minutes? I met Cort’s gaze, and his mouth hardened.

My grandfather isn’t a young man. Is there something I can help you with?

Not if you don’t handle the finances. I turned to Benji. You’ve been talking to Marty, right? Marty Callahan?

I’ve tried. Benji looked at Cort under his brow. He’s never available.

I sighed and met Cort’s cool stare. Look, I know this is awkward, but we need to talk to your grandfather about some important business matters.

What’s there to talk about? Cort took his hat off and ran his fingers through his dark hair with a gruff laugh. Things are tough right now, and we’re doing the best we can. He planted his hat firmly back on his head.

I thought you didn’t handle the money end of things?

I don’t. But I’m not blind. I can see the stress on my grandfather’s face. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together and figure out it must be financial.

A cloud of dust from a nearby dirt devil spun past, and I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face. There must be somewhere more civilized we could talk?

Cort shrugged and nodded. Follow me. He turned and headed away with long strides, and I had to walk fast to keep up. We wandered past a tent where families were devouring pink cotton candy and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I grudgingly admired their ability to lose themselves in the moment and forget about the dreariness that was probably their lives. I mean, after all, they lived in bodunk Colorado for God’s sake. What was there to be happy about?

Eventually, we arrived at a brown-and-white trailer that looked like it had seen better days. Cort led us up the rickety steps and then inside. The small space smelled like old varnish and tobacco. There was a metal sink and a kitchen table with orange-and-yellow-striped booths at the far end. Piles of papers and a desktop computer sat on the warped dining surface. Cort gestured toward the dingy benches, and I shook my head.

I’m fine standing. I eyed the trailer warily. It looked like the perfect setting for a horror movie, and it smelled musty enough for a petrified body to be stuffed in the upper compartments.

My granddad uses this as his office. Cort didn’t look much more thrilled with the place than we were. He’s kind of set in his ways.

Old people, am I right? Benji asked with a smirk as he grimaced at the mess.

Cort frowned at the papers on the table. His recordkeeping isn’t the best.

Were you aware your grandfather’s behind on his mortgage? I interjected.

Pulling his dark brows together, Cort shook his head. I knew something was wrong, but he doesn’t like to talk about money.

I cleared my throat. He’s five months behind.

Cort chewed his lip with a line between his brows. Honestly, I’m not lying about him being sick. I can tell him you came by, but he’s not up to visitors.

Oh, well, just let him know we were here, Benji said cheerfully, turning toward the door.

Hold up. I frowned at my coworker and then turned back to Cort. The bank isn’t going to just go away. That’s not how this stuff works.

With a long sigh, Cort shrugged. You can’t get blood from a stone.

Sure you can. You simply foreclose on the stone and sell it to the highest bidder. That way you can at least recoup some of your money.

Cort scowled. That’s an asshole thing to say.

Heat prickled my cheeks at the disgust in his voice. We’re a loan company, not a church.

He ran his gaze over my expensive coat and shook his head. What’s a city boy like you know about running a ranch?

Nothing. But I know numbers.

Benji nodded. He lives, eats, and breathes numbers.

Cort didn’t look impressed. He also didn’t seem to understand I didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted me here. I peered out the window as a young girl pulling her horse past paused to let the animal unload a pile of shit near the trailer.

Jesus, get me out of this hellhole, please.

I sucked in a big breath and began my usual spiel. The one advantage your grandfather has is that his loan is with my family and not a huge corporation. We don’t actually like taking people’s homes. We’d much rather you just start paying us again. I wondered if he could hear the lack of passion in my voice.

We’d prefer that too, Cort said softly.

I glanced down at my dirty shoes. I’d like to wrap this up as swiftly as possible. I’d always rather be somewhere where stepping in animal feces wasn’t a possibility.

Your shoes are going in the trunk on the ride back to the motel. Benji sniggered. I can smell them from here.

I pulled a silk handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it to my nose. I kind of have the feeling that’s just how it always smells around this place. I moved to the door, making sure my coat didn’t brush against anything. Tell your grandfather to call me tonight or early tomorrow morning. Things will go terribly wrong if he continues to try and avoid us.

I’ll tell him. But he can be a stubborn ol’ coot. Cort followed me outside, and when the sunlight hit his face I was once again struck by the unusual color of his eyes.

I had a rare twinge of sympathy for Cort and the situation he was in. My dad was a bullheaded asshole much of the time, and I knew sometimes getting through to someone like that wasn’t easy. Convince your grandfather to at least talk to us. We have a business proposition that might just save his ranch. If he continues to hide his head in the sand, he will lose his land and everything he’s worked for.

You really think you can help him? Cort lifted one brow, looking skeptical.

I believe so.

Paul may not be warm and fuzzy, but he’s great at what he does. Benji leaned in toward Cort as he spoke. If you can talk your granddad into cooperating, then Paul can work his magic.

I’ll do my best.

We shook hands and that same flutter hit my gut at the feel of his warm skin, and the clean woodsy scent of his cologne. I pulled my palm away quickly, stuffing it into my pocket. Cort narrowed his gaze, but he didn’t say anything.

I spoke if only to distract myself from his stare. Times are changing. It’s hard for a working ranch to be profitable these days when you depend on just the income from the animals. If your grandfather is a reasonable man, I’m hopeful we can get him back in the black.

Sounds good.

I flinched when a teen dressed as a rodeo clown brushed past me, knocking into me slightly. Shaking my head I scowled. Jesus.

Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you. Cort smirked.

What? I frowned and looked in the direction the clown had disappeared. "No. I’m not afraid. He bumped into me." I puffed out my chest.

Don’t feel bad. Lots of people are creeped out by rodeo clowns.

My face warmed. You must be kidding. I’ve skied the Alps and swam with sharks in Fiji. I’m sure I can handle a kid in bloomers with a spongy red nose.

Uh, huh. He pursed his lips.

"I’m not afraid of clowns," I growled.

Amusement twinkled in Cort’s eyes. Sure. Whatever you say, City Boy.

Maybe you’re scared he’ll strangle you with a balloon animal. Benji jumped in on the fun and earned a dirty look from me. Or not.

I turned to address Cort, attempting to hide my irritation. Have your grandfather call me. I handed him my card, and he fingered it for a second before tucking it in his jean pocket.

Sure thing. Cort tipped his hat, and he looked like he was suppressing a laugh as he turned away. You might want to leave from the west entrance instead of the one you came in. That one goes right past the clown tent.

I pressed my lips together tight and tugged Benji after me, ignoring the husky chuckle from Cort.

Chapter Two

Marty called me bright and early the next morning. He still wasn’t feeling up to a meeting, but he agreed to send over his financial records. I sent Benji to pick up the paperwork, and after scouring pages and pages of QuickBooks entries and receipts my eyes burned. One thing my hours of research yielded was that the ranch was hemorrhaging money like a hemophiliac on blood thinners.

When Benji returned to my motel room a few hours later with coffee I could have kissed him. Hey, boss. How’s it?

I pulled off my reading glasses and took the cup he offered. This ranch spends way more than it brings in every month. I rubbed my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

Isn’t that usually the problem?

I nodded and sipped my hot beverage. I need to somehow snag a meeting with Marty.

He can’t be sick forever.

I tapped my cup as I tried to work out how to proceed. They have all the things in place for this to work. Hell, they even have plenty of land to expand if they wanted.

You mean if they go along with your dad’s idea of turning the place into a dude ranch?

Right. I nodded toward my computer. Looking at the pathetic numbers, I don’t think they will have much choice. It’s either do what we suggest or lose the place.

Cort’s a real cowboy. I can’t see him going along with your idea happily. Benji leaned against the desk. Can you picture him leading greenhorns around all day on trail rides?

I couldn’t really picture that. But Cort’s unwillingness to cooperate wasn’t my problem. It was Marty who I needed to get on board with the idea. I just need the old guy’s ear and we’ll be golden.

I have to admit, it worked like a charm in Texas.

Yep. And it might work here too if Marty isn’t too stubborn to listen to reason.

Benji cleared his throat. Yeah, uh… I’ve been thinking. When you talk to these people, you need to work on your approach.

I frowned. In what way?

Grimacing, Benji said, You come off cold. Like you don’t really give a shit.

My cheeks warmed and I gave him a hard glance. I’m perfectly respectful. I help people keep their properties.

You help your family keep their investment profitable.

I grunted, unsure of why that would be a problem. Is there something wrong with doing both?

Not exactly. I’m just saying you lack finesse. I think people would be happier about coming on board with your idea if you seemed like you actually cared.

I crossed my arms feeling defensive at his criticism. The one thing I was confident about was my ability to do my job well. I didn’t need him messing with my head. It’s a business transaction. Why do I need to coddle them?

He shrugged. I’m just saying you could try and seem more sympathetic.

I’m not sympathetic. Why should I be? A big bank would have begun foreclosure proceedings by now. My voice was hard.

"You would have begun foreclosure proceedings already if your dad hadn’t stopped you."

I leaned toward him and spoke pointedly. They’re five months behind. Any sane, financially savvy person would move to take back this property. It’s a very valuable asset. My dad is nuts to back off.

See. He pointed at me, looking smug. That right there is what will turn them off. You should try and get them on your side, not alienate them by making them feel like they’re a bunch of losers.

Tipping my cup, I finished my drink, then tossed it into the trash near the desk. Giamonti Investments isn’t a fucking charity. My dad doesn’t seem to remember that. I’d had a huge blowout with my dad right before I left for this trip. I hadn’t been in the mood to fly all the way out here to Bender, Colorado, to babysit yet another flake who couldn’t pay his bills. These people never should have borrowed the money to begin with.

Benji frowned. Paul, I looked at the loan paperwork before we came. Marty Callahan has been paying on time for twenty years. You’re acting like he took out the loan and used the money on strippers. Times have changed on the poor guy, and he’s struggling to keep afloat. Have a heart.

I laughed sardonically. Have a heart? Really? If I feel sorry for everybody who can’t pay their debt, I’ll be out on the streets and you won’t have a job either, dude.

"Yeah, well, there are more