Graciella, page 3
Billable hours? She was either the ice queen or seriously closed up. And can she please quit calling me Mr. Brockman? That name splintered at the headache he already had.
“Do all accountants have to perfect that coldhearted tone or does it come naturally?”
He watched her face change from that cold mask to pissed off in one smooth move. So she’s not immune to me. “I thought you might like your luggage,” he said, matching her clipped tone.
“Oh, I…” Miranda looked down at her suitcases. Before she could say anything else, he strode away.
Miranda carried her bags inside, shut the door then leaned against it to catch her breath. Damn him! What right did he have to judge her? He didn’t know anything about her life. But she was mad at herself as well. As soon as Katie had left her alone at the cottage, she’d climbed the stairs and discovered the sunlit bedroom. Complete exhaustion had taken over and she’d fallen asleep. She’d been dreaming of herself as a child, searching for her mother, and she’d woken in tears to his knock at the door. Rarely did she cry, and simply because he’d caught her in a moment of exhaustion and embarrassment, she’d been a complete witch when he’d asked if she was okay.
Coldhearted. He’d hit a nerve, a sensitive one that was raw and stretched, a brittle old wire waiting to snap.
It was true that she had gone into accounting in business school so that she could make a lot of money, but it wasn’t for purely selfish reasons. After her father had died and left them penniless, she and her mother had done everything they could to scrape by. She’d vowed never to be financially dependent on a man again. Then her mother had gotten sick and Miranda had had to provide for both of them.
Hired right out of college by one of the top five accounting firms in the country, she’d never looked back. Along with the paychecks came a workload that left her little time for anything else. Maybe that did make her coldhearted.
Yet coldhearted was the label that scared her the most when she looked deep into herself. Was she? She had gotten through a lot of her career and life with a hardened attitude, especially after…well, that certainly wasn’t an experience she wanted to remember. Ultimately, she had discovered very few people over the years she could trust.
Miranda brushed her hair out of her face. Following her dreams had never been an option, at least not while her mother depended on her. In fact, as accounting had become her life, Miranda had hidden her real longings.
But now her mother was dead. It all felt like some strange time warp. One minute Adelaide Jenks had been awake, complaining about too much sunlight in the small cramped room of their old house in Houston, and the next minute her heart had given out.
After the funeral, Miranda had packed and left as she’d always done, except this time her mother wouldn’t be there when she returned. The entire foundation upon which she had built her life, the one thing that allowed her to stay buried in work, no longer existed. Now Miranda was responsible for no one but herself.
Freedom. Something she’d secretly longed for, but now that she had it, did she even know what to do with it, how to step out of the careful shell she’d built around herself?
Thinking of Cruz Brockman, the oldest son, heir and executor of the Brockman estate, she walked to the window and drew back the curtain. He was rude and callous, and he’d insulted her.
But he’d done something else too. He had touched her, and his touch had seared into her with a shock that had caused her to pull away when what she’d really wanted was to feel his strong hands warming her entire body. A body that had been asleep for a long time. The sky darkened slowly as the sun began to set. Miranda watched the light fade. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of, being coldhearted and closed off, or the feelings Cruz had opened inside her with the caress of his finger and his almost predatory gaze.
* * * *
Cruz stormed through the main house, annoyed at himself for having met her rudeness with his own. He got into his truck and headed back to the dairy barns on the other side of the farm.
Miranda Jenks was a puzzle—soft and exposed one moment, sharp as a knife and closed up the next. Cruz liked puzzles, but this lady was a serious distraction he didn’t need right now.
He had plenty to do to keep the business running while settling the estate, and he wanted this chance to make Brockman Farms something to be proud of.
Cruz had been waiting to return without thoughts of revenge, hate or nausea at the memories of his father. When he could breathe a sigh of relief and walk through the orchards, when he could stand above the barns, smell the crisp sea air and watch the sun dip into the ocean without fear. He’d known this day would come. What he hadn’t known was that T.D. would name Cruz as executor.
Cruz suspected his father had done it on purpose, knowing that Cruz would do his duty—T.D. knew what drove his sons, all three of them. Manipulative bastard! Even from the grave you try to mess with us.
In naming Cruz executor, T.D. had dragged Cruz back. T.D. thought he’d beaten him one last time. But this time, Cruz was the winner. He was determined to be nothing like his father, the reason he had bristled when Miranda had called him Mr. Brockman with disgust in her voice.
His mind lingered on her as he drove. When he’d brushed his fingers across her cheek to steal the tear from her face, the featherlight touch of her skin on his had felt like a welcome. He’d wanted to leave his hand there to feel her softness and the fire that was building inside him. For a minute, as the blush bloomed across her cheek, he’d felt she wanted the same. But she’d composed herself again, become so cold, so reserved.
What he needed was some good physical labor to clear his head for a while. The threat of tax fraud wasn’t in his plans. Neither was a stunner of an accountant with a voice like steel that shot right to his gut.
Chapter Four
Miranda was up before the dawn, which was normal for her. What was unusual was not knowing what she was supposed to be doing. Or, rather, when she was supposed to start. She assumed people who had a farm and animals must be up early, but it was quiet here by the cottage. Looking across the landscape, she couldn’t tell if there were lights on in the main house yet, and the land around her was beginning to wake up.
Uncertainty made her restless, and she did not like that feeling. The thought crossed her mind that she could call Cruz, but she quickly tossed that idea out, remembering how hard she’d tried to get hold of him this week. Just because he owned a cell phone didn’t mean the man answered the damn thing.
By the time she’d showered, gotten ready and made some coffee, she could see a light on across the large garden in the back of the main house.
“Well, nervous or not, it’s time to get started,” she told herself. Grabbing her laptop case and her soft cardigan, she headed outside.
It might have been spring, but the chill hit her as soon as she stepped out, soaking right to her bones and nipping at her throat as she breathed in. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. She’d completely forgotten her coat for this trip. Not that she ever really needed one in Houston, but she was used to traveling and always came prepared. Her mind had definitely been exhausted last week. She looked up at the clear morning sky, which was a beautiful lavender starting to lighten into blue.
“You do realize it’s not even fifty degrees, and we’re on the coast here, don’t you, Ms. Jenks?”
“What?” Miranda turned and put her hand to her chest.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Cruz said, reaching out to steady her. “You’re shivering.”
His voice sounded like a reprimand and his face had that angry look. She shifted enough to remove her elbow. “Sneaking up on people a habit of yours, Mr. Brockman?”
“Barns. Path. House.” He pointed. “Just walking along my path from my barns to my house to help you get set up this morning. Not sneaking up on anyone.”
“Right.”
“Shall we?” He gestured towards the house and they turned to walk together.
“I wasn’t sure what time you wanted to begin. I neglected to pack a jacket. It’s in the eighties in Houston.” Stop babbling, she silently told herself. She walked alongside him. His hand had been warm on her arm—even through her sweater she’d felt the heat. Neglected to pack a jacket. God! Could you sound prissier? Quiet might be her best course of action until she untied her tongue.
Apparently, he was fine with the silence too, as he said nothing while they walked. She almost preferred his clipped tone—at least then she wasn’t so tuned in to her nerves rattling around inside. When they reached the back porch, he held the door open for her and followed her into the warm steamy kitchen that smelled of cinnamon and sugar and fresh coffee.
“Good morning, Ms. Jenks.” Jake sat at a worn wooden stool at the kitchen island, drinking coffee.
“Hello,” she said.
“Elena,” Cruz said. “This is Ms. Jenks, the accountant who’s going to be helping us settle the estate accounts. Ms. Jenks, this is Elena. She’s been the housekeeper here since before I was born. And she makes the best cinnamon rolls you’ve ever tasted.” He winked at Elena, grabbed a roll out of the baking dish and nearly fumbled it. “Hot!” he said.
“Come here, young man.” Elena drew him down to her in a hug. “And you, Miss, it’s very nice to meet you.” She took Miranda’s hands in both of hers. “Goodness, you’re freezing, and you’re too thin. Sit down right now. Tea or coffee?” She gestured to a stool next to Jake’s.
“Ah, coffee sounds wonderful,” Miranda said.
“Cruz, get this lady some coffee.” Elena swatted him with her towel. “Where are your manners? You let her walk over here in that thin sweater so she’ll catch a cold. Your mother and I didn’t teach you better than that? What is wrong with you?” she asked, while she fixed a plate of eggs, sausage and a steaming cinnamon roll for Miranda. “Now, honey, you eat and get some energy for your brain and meat on those bones. You’re too thin. I’m here five days a week till four. You need anything at all while you’re working, ask me. I know everything that goes on around here.”
Miranda was too startled not to smile. “Thank you, and please, my name’s Miranda.” She snuck a look at Cruz and had to swallow slowly. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at her or himself, but he wasn’t calm and settled, that was for sure. He got Miranda some coffee then poured himself a cup.
“Cruz,” Jake said. “You look rough.”
Rough and dangerous, Miranda thought as she ate her breakfast, trying hard not to stare at him. Not at all like the clean-cut rich playboy she’d seen yesterday in his office. In fact, ‘clean-cut’ was the last thing that came to mind.
“I’m not sure I can handle all these compliments this morning.” His voice was frosty, but she also caught the quick grin he tried to hide behind his steaming coffee mug.
Jake laughed. “Sorry. Late night, or early morning?”
“Both.” Cruz pinned Miranda with a look before he dodged around Elena for another roll.
“The breakfast is delicious,” Miranda said trying to ignore those vibrations that spread through her when his gaze locked on her.
“Elena is the only reason I put up with Cruz.” Jake winked at Miranda.
“Stop.” Elena blushed.
Cruz snorted. “Elena’s the only reason you ever see a home-cooked meal.”
“Please,” Jake said, “I haven’t found the perfect woman yet to marry me and cook for me. What do you say, Ms. Jenks, you and me, wanna get hitched?”
Miranda nearly choked on her coffee. Are they always this open and informal with each other? She smiled at Jake. “While I’m certain I’ve never received a more charming offer, I think I’d better focus on the audit I’m here to do.” She got up to take her plate to the sink, but Elena took it from her.
“You boys leave this lady alone with your teasing now. Go on, all of you, out of my kitchen.”
“Whenever you’re ready, Ms. Jenks.” Cruz picked up her laptop bag for her and led the way out.
“You should be comfortable in here,” Cruz said as they followed him into the library. “It’s much bigger than the office.” And we can stay out of each other’s way. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning and he felt like a stumbling drunken idiot around her.
“It’s huge,” Miranda said, looking around at the room.
Cruz studied it. The ceilings were twelve feet high and books lined every wall except the floor-to-ceiling windows along the front of the house. Despite those windows, the room looked dark and cold.
“T.D. didn’t believe in doing anything half-as—I mean small. Bigger was better, according to him, even in a room he never used with books he never read.”
She gazed around the room at all the books, awestruck, but something more as well, almost as if she was trying to solve a problem in her head. She studied things intently. He’d watched her do the same thing yesterday when she met his mother, as if she was taking notes or drawing pictures in her head. And this morning before he’d caused her to jump out of her skin, she’d been staring up at the sky, swallowing in the clear morning light.
He had manners. He’d thought to offer her a jacket. There were several hanging in the cottage she was staying in. Heck, he’d meant to offer her his own, dirty as it was. But that had been before she’d turned to him with that startled look on her face, the soft sunlight surrounding her, before he’d held her arm, and before any reasonable thought had been sucked right out of his brain.
“Unfortunately for you, Ms. Jenks,” Jake said, “it’s also a huge amount of files and accounts and paperwork.”
“I’ve built my career on big businesses and the work they provide me. I never complain about that. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
She works hard to be snotty. Cruz hadn’t slept well at all for thinking of her. For some reason Miranda’s pale face, with a hint of flush and her startled eyes, had played havoc with his mind all night. He’d gotten up early and been down at the barns since before five a.m.
“I’m sure you will,” Jake said. “Your reputation is excellent. I know it can be stressful in the beginning trying to reorganize someone else’s system, and T.D’s system was a mess. We’ll help in any way we can.”
“Well, I’ve certainly handled messes before. I’d like to get started. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take some time by myself and see what’s here.” She turned on the desktop computer and set her laptop next to it.
“Sounds great,” Jake said. “Cruz and I have several meetings today. Then I’ll be back in Portland for most of the week. Cruz should be easy to find as he practically eats, sleeps, breathes and, come to think of it, rolls around in the farm, from the looks of him this morning.” Jake smacked Cruz on the back. “You might want to think about cleaning up before we head to the bank.”
Cruz looked at himself. Hosing down barns and milking cows wasn’t exactly clean work.
“Right. I need to get cleaned up. Ms. Jenks,” Cruz said and nodded at her. “I’ll meet you at my place, Jake.” And he turned and strode from the room.
She let a breath out, at ease now that he’d taken his broody presence out of the room. The fact that she’d been able to feel his gaze on her even when she wasn’t watching him unnerved her. How odd, she thought, as she surveyed the shelves, the large mantel over the fireplace, the wide leather chairs, to have a room built specifically for books you never read. And the tone Cruz used when he spoke of his father wasn’t one of kindness and love, that was for sure.
What Miranda knew about Brockman Farms didn’t seem to match what she’d encountered. A wealthy family running a business that had been handed down through generations. On paper it was polished and perfect, something to be envied. On paper it was simple, an audit she had to perform and a report to hand in.
Here among them it felt anything but simple.
Jake picked up his briefcase, stirring her out of her thoughts. “You have both our cell phone numbers in case you need anything. And good luck. I know accounts like this are a common, everyday thing for you, Ms. Jenks, but these people mean a lot to me, so please let me know if I can help.”
She was touched by his words, simple, honest, sincere. She’d seen the bond between the men, witnessed their good-natured teasing, their easy talk. Here was true friendship. She’d had two good friends in college. They’d all drifted apart soon after graduation. What must that be like, to have those bonds still in her life, to have someone like Jake looking out for her?
“Certainly,” she said. “And please, call me Miranda. From the looks of things, we’ll be working together for a while.”
“At least we’ll have Elena’s cooking to keep us well fed,” he said. And his easy smile was back.
Chapter Five
After several days of working on the Brockman Farms account and attempting to weed through piles of paperwork without much real auditing going on, Miranda was grateful for the end of the day on Friday. Her brain needed a break. She couldn’t decide if she’d been working all that hard or if she was exhausted from the unorganized hell the accounts were in. How did these people expect her to audit? How could she do her job when such a shoddy one had been done before her? In all the years she’d been an accountant, she’d never seen accounts so messed up.
So little of the information was in the computer, too much was a disarray of old-school paper files, and the accounting that had happened before her… What accounting? She wanted to scream as she entered the cottage and sank down into the oversized couch. Often where there was such disorder in a suspicious account it meant the client was hiding something. Or many things. In this case, she already knew that was a possibility. The IRS Criminal Investigation Division and the Department of Justice had been looking into Brockman Farms right before T.D. died.
