Page 3 of Legacy of Lies
Pulling a file from the stack, she opened the cover. “So, anyway. Um, let’s get to work.” Holy rosary, could she be any less smooth?
He relaxed into the seat across the desk from her. The chair next to him remained conspicuously empty. When he rested a dusty-booted ankle on his knee and balanced his Stetson on his solid thigh, she sighed and made a superhuman effort not to stare at the taut denim covering his ...
Wow, she needed to stick with the parent-teacher routine and ignore how the guy made her ovaries tremble with excitement.
A stormy expression settled on his brow. “I agree. Is this going to take long? I have to get back to work.”
Hard muscles tightened the fabric of his checkered work shirt and worn jeans. Every inch of him brimmed with rugged vitality and scents of the outdoors.
This man was the opposite of Sara. Although she had participated in the occasional teenage bonfire in the summer, no one could accuse her of being an adventurous sportswoman. Her idea of roughing it involved sleeping in her house with a window open.
With effort, she tore her gaze away from his gold-flecked eyes and said, “Uh, well. This time is yours to do with as you wish. But I’d like to discuss Zach.”
“What about him?” That calm, low voice switched to knife-edge sharp in the space of a second. A warning.
She flipped through the papers, cursing under her breath as one page floated to the floor. With fumbling fingers, she retrieved the paper and pulled out her evaluation.
“So, Zach is a very bright young man. I’m sure you’re proud of him.”
A grunt. Possibly the Garrison equivalent of approval.
“He’s above grade level in math and reading ...”
A square finger flicked the worn leather hat brim.
“And, ah, he gets along with most of the kids.”
“Most?” Garrison leaned forward and narrowed his gaze at her.
Stop it, she commanded her tapping foot. “Yes, he has some friends, and they get along well.”
His glare hit the balance between cold assessment and irritation.
Sweat collected between her breasts, and she prayed the dampness wouldn’t show through her pink button-down shirt. She tried not to pull a chicken-wing move, but paranoia and warmth were pretty good reasons for the deodorant to fail.
This man had her tied in more knots than a macramé hammock.
“But?” he said.
Damn her pounding heart, she hated confrontation more than anything—practically had a Ph.D. in avoiding it, for all the good that had done. Heck, she’d rather dust off her treadmill and jog a few miles than share unpopular information with this big, grumpy man.
“You and Zach live on the ranch.”
“Yeah, so?” His response hit quick, like the lash of a whip.
She swallowed. “Are things, um, pretty okay at home?”
“Of course.”
“Is his mother involved at all?”
“Number one, this is a small town, and unless you’ve been under a rock, you know damn well she left us last Christmas. Number two, my personal life is no one’s business.” He paused to take a breath. “Why? What are you getting at?”
She flinched. “Look, Garrison, I understand about your situation. It’s just that some kids come from homes where the parents are separated—”
“What’s that have to do with the price of cattle?” His jaw tightened as his mouth pressed into a hard slash. No more a handsome man, his face had darkened like a thundercloud about to burst.
And Sara stood right in the path of the storm.
