Page 8 of Cowboy Mountain Man

Hope looks toward the counter. June suddenly becomes very interested in polishing a spoon.

“That sandwich won’t eat itself,” I say.

She arches an eyebrow. “Are you country boys always this bossy?”

Country boy? Never thought of myself that way before. I shrug.

Then Hope picks up half her sandwich. “Apparently, your service includes monitoring lunch,” she says drily.

“Only when you’re shaking.”

She looks down at her hands. The sandwich trembles slightly between them. “Too much coffee.”

“Could be.” I let her have that.

She takes a bite, chews, and sends the photographs. My phone vibrates with the incoming files.

“I’ve spoken with Sheriff Bellamy,” I tell her. “He’s sending a deputy up to the property.”

“Good.”

“For now, you stay away from it.”

Her chewing slows. “I still have a job.”

“And somebody’s been using the place.”

“Yes. Which the deputy can check.”

“Then we decide how you finish your work.”

“We?”

I meet her eyes. “Yes.”

She puts the sandwich down. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mercer, but I agreed to inventory a house. I didn’t agree to acquire a supervisor.”

“Harlan.”

“Fine. Harlan. I appreciate you coming, and I’m happy to cooperate with the sheriff. But I’m not a package somebody hired you to move around.”

I study her for a moment. She’s scared. I can see it in the way she keeps checking the window. But she’s sitting straight and meeting my gaze with those ridiculous eyes of hers. They’re framed by thick, long lashes that somehow make everything about her even more expressive. Breathtaking, too.

This is not good.

“I know,” I manage.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because ‘then we decide’ sounds an awful lot like you decide and I nod.”

“All right.” I rest my forearms on the table. The move feels entirely too intimate. Something flashes behind her eyes that I’d rather not read into. Last thing I need is her feeling this, too. “Tell me what you need.”

She blinks, then takes a breath, her bottom lip slightly trembling. “My tablet.”

“Where is it?”