Running the Numbers (3 page)

Her smile faltered at his stiff introduction. It didn’t disappear but turned wry. “Sadie Felix.” She stood up straighter and renewed Blake’s attention with the subtle change a few calculated adjustments made to her demeanor. Authority flooded her sharp gaze, and Blake was once again reminded of Kira in a bad way. “Senior accountant at Avery & Thorp.” Her smile changed yet again, this time into something plastic and false. “I’m here to take you to your temporary housing, Mr. Cobb. May I take your luggage?”

Ah. Emasculation. He’d missed the feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing Kira had always inspired within him. Ms. Felix apparently had the same withering touch.

Blake reevaluated his coworker. Mud-crusted, ankle-high, tawny hiking boots, rumpled khaki shorts with a tear in one pocket, a dirty ball cap, and still she wore her title like armor over it all. She’d hold her chin high in a potato sack. She was his equal, not someone he could get away with talking down to. Not that he’d meant to be a jerk.

I never mean it, do I?
Quinn’s dry response snapped across his brain like a horse-whip, a trained response anytime Blake thought about feeling sorry for himself or making excuses.

“I apologize if I seem short,” he offered Sadie. “Long flight.” Ever an excuse but an honest one, at least.

Mostly
honest. Was he supposed tell his new coworker he could hardly stand to look at her because it was like a waking nightmare? At least her eyes were a different color, very unlike Kira’s coffee-brown ones. Blake cleared his throat and tried again. “Not my niece, actually. More like stepdaughter.” Or so he liked to think. His relation to Maddie was complicated.

Blake lifted his luggage and swung it into the bed of the truck, denying Sadie further opportunity to emasculate him. He didn’t doubt she’d get his luggage for him, just to remind him to feel small for talking down to her. He made for the passenger door after another halfhearted smile for his host. It wouldn’t repair the damage, but maybe he’d look inoffensive enough for her to let it go.

A different yet equally abrasive emotion gripped him now, familiar and as old as little Maddie, who had Quinn’s pale blond hair and looked out at the world through Jack Decker’s remarkable aquamarine eyes.

Blake had been there when she was born in L.A., been one of the first to hold her in the nursery. He’d changed diapers, scrubbed spit-up off hundred-dollar silk ties, and fed her in the small hours of the night when Quinn and Jack had both been hit with the flu. Since Quinn worked from home, they didn’t have a nanny to call on in an emergency, but Blake hadn’t minded. He’d been Uncle Blake since the moment she was born.

But he should’ve been Daddy
.

Sadie Felix was no litterbug.

Blake could tell by the crumpled sandwich baggies, drained soda cans, empty water bottles, wadded napkins, discarded gum wrappers, and other assorted garbage scattered across the floor and dashboard of her pickup.

He climbed into the truck with what he hoped was less than a grimace as his feet made loud, crunchy work of the trash. A four-foot long hiking pole was wedged into the cab at an angle so it made a barrier between him and Sadie. It appeared to be sanded down to perfect smoothness and glazed with some sort of sealant.

Sadie noticed his gaze, smiled, and patted it as she got in behind the wheel. “Pine. I carved it myself.”

She
carved
it herself? Blake resisted giving her a once-over, but an unmistakable zing of curiosity made it a test of will. Not because she sported a Snow White black bob he historically found attractive, but because any man might look twice at an accountant who minored in woodworking. He snuck a peek, despite himself.

She gave him a slightly apologetic look and turned the key, the Ford’s engine rumbling to life. “I bet I’m not what you expected. You’ll have to excuse my attire. I’d already asked for the day off to hike Cache Creek before the fall weather sets in. Duncan didn’t see the point in sending someone on company time.”

Carving and taking off weekdays from the office to hike? A cultural thing, or a Sadie thing?

Blake experienced his first dash of doubt since his plane kissed down on the tarmac runway. He wasn’t mountain man material, and the upcoming winter loomed over him like an ominous, hulking giant. Friend or foe, he wouldn’t find out until he was in the thick of it. He squelched his uneasiness, something he’d done many times since making the big decision to come north.

A few minutes south on a two-lane highway led them down into Jackson Valley with a dramatic drop in elevation, visible in the wide open space on either side of the road. A rocky, sagebrush-dotted hill sprung up on the right as the highway descended on a curve. On the other side, Blake spotted the sign for a fish hatchery, and then a great expanse of fenced land stretched all the way to the streets of town in the distance.

“The Elk Refuge,” Sadie helpfully explained. One hand left the steering wheel to indicate the massive acreage beyond the fence. “You can take a sleigh ride out to feed the herds when they come down from the higher elevations for winter. It’s pretty incredible.”

Straight ahead, beyond the buildings that marked the beginning of town, a small mountain—small compared to the Tetons, at any rate—rose up. Two strips were cleared through the trees, as though someone had taken a razor to it. Blake lifted his chin toward it. “What’s with that mountain?”

“Oh, that’s Snow King, both the ski slopes and namesake resort. The
big
ski resort is about fifteen miles from here, a few peaks over from the Tetons, but this place works for the townies.” Sadie gamely played host, all the while taking no pains to hide her curious glances and critical studies of him at every chance.

By now the rumor of his previous position would’ve moved through Avery & Thorp like wildfire. She was probably curious. Maybe he’d appease her some other day, but today all he wanted was to get somewhere quiet to call Quinn. For Seth’s sake, to talk about his Purdue ambitions. And to hear her voice. And to give himself another reason to pity his fool self when he heard Jack’s loud, happy voice in the background, gregariously living the life Blake had given up.

They cruised into town. Sadie took a right once they passed the famous town square with its four deer-antler arches, explaining how they were reconstructed each year. She pointed out the Cowboy Bar across the street, famous for its saddle barstools. And The Silver Dollar, named so for the bar inlaid with 2,032 uncirculated 1921 Morgan Silver Dollars.

“Great.” Blake tried to nod with some enthusiasm but didn’t quite pull it off. “If I want to get hammered, I have a number of renowned drinking establishments to choose from.” The thought didn’t lift his spirits any.
If it gets so bad I turn to the bottle, I’ll give up and move back in with my mother.

“Welcome to the Wild West.” Sadie’s tone had lost some of its amiability.

Blake let a few blocks of silence pass while he tried to force himself into a better frame of mind. If Sadie could be accommodating, he could manage a little interest.

Sadie’s cheeks puffed out as if capturing unsaid words. Finally, she loosed a sigh, drummed restless fingers across the steering wheel, and regarded him again. No intake of breath to warn him, just a rush of words spoken precise and direct. “You’re in Jackson Hole. You realize that, right? People save money their whole lives to visit this place. Don’t let me kill your joy buzz over there, but you could be a little more impressed. If it’s really so ho-hum, at least fake it for my sake. We locals have our pride.”

He smiled at her forthright manner. Now, that bit reminded him of Quinn, which was a nice departure from her eerie likeness to Kira. “Sorry. Jet lag.”

She nodded but didn’t smile back. “Right. Anyway, we’re here.” She pulled into a hotel parking lot.

Blake squinted at the double doors, glass framed in glossy fake pine. “A hotel? That’s what they call ‘temporary housing’ these days?”

This time she did smile, but it was back to the plastic version. “The room you have comes equipped with a kitchenette, a small living area, and a terrace, as well as room service. I’m sure it has everything you need, but if not, feel free to contact Mr. Perry at your earliest convenience.”

Oh, right. Blake was going to call Duncan to complain about five-star accommodations. He bit his tongue as a reminder to keep it from flapping next time. He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I just left L.A. this morning, and I had this stupid idea in my head of a quiet place. I don’t mean to be”—now, what was that word? The one Quinn loved to use…

“A jerk?” Sadie supplied without apology.

Prick, actually, but no need to fill her in. Uncomfortable with her unflinching stare, he shifted and opened the door to let himself out. “Yeah. That.” He shut the truck door and reached for his suitcase. He walked around the truck so he could pass Sadie’s window on his way toward the hotel lobby, meaning to utter yet another weak apology.

It buzzed as she rolled it down before he had a chance to rap his knuckles across the glass.

Her face seemed awfully near. Under those wide, inquisitive eyes was a straight, patrician nose, small on her face and sweeping thinly to a point above an uneven mouth. Her top lip was plumper than her bottom, giving her the perpetual impression of biting her lip. Kind of adorable.

Jackass. Quit looking at her mouth.
He blinked rapidly, working himself out of the stupor with some effort.

“Duncan is going to take you house hunting personally to make sure you find a home you’ll like. He wants you to be happy here. The suite is temporary, and as close to a ‘house’ as his secretary was able to manage. And if I know Nina—which I do—she did her very best.”

The flush started at his neck and spread. Her total sincerity amplified his embarrassment. All the work and time he’d put into being a better man, only to still be an ass when it mattered. He mumbled his apology, even less substantial than the one he’d planned in the first place, and stepped away, head down.

“Duncan will send one of the file clerks to pick you up Monday morning. They’ll take you to get your rental car. See you.” She stuck a hand out the window in farewell, and the truck roared away.

Her ability to go from fake to sincere ruffled his feathers. Something about the stiffly polite act gave Blake the distinct impression he was being mocked. He watched her drive away and decided it was probably deserved.

Sadie shook her head with reverence and poked at the dying fire. “You nailed it, Nina. Nailed it with the hammer of truth, forged by the gods on Mt. Seriously. This guy is so vanilla it hurts my teeth.”

Vanilla with chocolate sprinkles, maybe, but she wouldn’t go any further than that. Yes, his eyes were stunning, and yes, they’d run over her like melted honey, and
yes,
she’d felt the heat down to her pink painted toes.

Somehow, the heat in his gaze, the fire she probably only imagined, was in direct odds with Blake’s demeanor. Distant, bland, cut-off. Affectations or a personality defect?

Nina made self-satisfied noises over the line. “Told you, honey. Stiff and formal, like I said.”

“Yeah.” Disheartened, Sadie slid the metal poker into the holder and dropped into the overstuffed chair closest to the ambient warmth. September nights were tricky in the mountains, some cool, some fair, some touched with the chill of upcoming winter. “The thing is, Nina, I saw a spark. I swear I did, and not just due to his crazy impressive jawline and those devastating eyes, both of which I was unprepared for, despite your warnings.”

“I tried.” Nina’s tone took on a hefty dose of doubt. “Look, hon, a few quips an interesting man doth not make.”

“I know, but I think maybe a little digging could unearth a real gem.”

“Sure, and I bet Amanda is a bucket full of clever conversation behind her blank stare.”

Sadie huffed and burrowed deeper into her chair. “You’re probably right. Besides, we’ve already been over this. If I was into Blake—which I’m not, because he’s a class-A jerk—there’d have to be something diabolically wrong with him. Thanks, Nina. You really help me put things in perspective.”

Sadie smiled as Nina practically purred. “What else are friends for, sweetheart?”

* * * *

Blake settled into his new desk. It didn’t feel like his yet, even with his sparse belongings decorating the surface. According to Kennedy, his inherited secretary who was weird and flirty and giddy in a way that gave Blake a headache, the previous auditor was an old man with something of a hoarding issue and rarely saw the pristine cherry finish of the fine wood desk.

A photo of Seth sat in one corner of it now. In the other, Blake’s daily calendar and a small novelty canister painted to look like a red London telephone booth. A gift from Quinn after one of her return trips from London. She relocated there with Jack after they were married. Seth, too, although they’d all done their best to keep Blake involved in his life.

Blake picked up the canister, popped off the top, and tilted it toward his cupped palm. His wedding band slid out.

His
first
wedding band, specifically. Not the second one, from Kira. Or the third, from Emily.

This one, the plainest and cheapest by far, Quinn had given him on their wedding day, purchased from the local Wal-Mart jewelry counter because they were young, fresh out of high school, and just starting out. This was before Blake’s success and client roster went to his head—and other regions—and before Quinn made it big selling her horror novels as Clementine Hazel.

Of everything he’d come to regret, walking away from Quinn reigned at the top of his list.

Three failed marriages. Only one that haunted him.

A light knock on his frosted-glass door made him look up to catch Kennedy poking her head inside with a shy smile.

“Hey, you. I thought maybe I should give you the tour. You came in so early this morning, no one was here to meet you.”

He half expected her to follow it up with a bat of her lashes. He adjusted his tie—another gift from Quinn; another remnant of the past he clung to—and nodded for Kennedy to enter. She was right. He should meet his new coworkers, appease their curiosity, and get back to sorting through Henry Rupert’s mess. The desk might be clear, but his files were a wreck.