When she returned to her desk, Zach was on the phone and she had more work waiting. After placing her pictures on her desk and table, she focused on correspondence, so lost in concentration she was startled when Zach spoke to her.
“It’s half past five. Just because the work is here in the house, you don’t need to stay all hours. We’ll close the office now. I eat a late dinner, but you can eat whenever you want—Rosie will be in the kitchen until eight. After that she’ll have cold or easily heated choices on a chalkboard menu.”
“Thanks,” she said, wondering if she had eaten her last meal with the boss. If she had, it would be the wisest thing to happen. At the same time, she couldn’t prevent her slight disappointment.
“You’ve done good work today, Emma. I hope you like the job.”
She wanted to laugh and say that he sounded surprised. Instead, she merely nodded. “Thank you. I think this will be good.”
He gave her a long look that killed the impersonal moments that had just passed. Once again her nerves tingled, invisible sparks danced in the air and she could feel heat rising. In spite of logic, she didn’t want him to go.
Turning away, he walked out of the room without saying anything further. She stared at the empty doorway. The chemistry had not changed. He seemed to fight it as much as she, which was a relief and made the situation easier.
Zach continued to pile on a lot of work. While there wasn’t as much as that first morning, letters to write, papers to proof, appointments to set, phone calls and various tasks streamed to her desk. Time passed swiftly as she worked diligently and kept up with what he sent to her. There were no more lunches together. Sometimes he worked straight through and then stopped about four. Sometimes he ate at his desk. He continued to make an effort to keep their relationship impersonal, which suited her completely. No matter how cool he was, there still was no way to stop that acute consciousness she had of him as an appealing male.
Thursday the work he gave her in the morning was done by noon. When she returned after lunch he sat by a large cardboard box filled with papers.
“Want to tackle some of the old letters and memorabilia?”
“Sure,” she replied, watching him pull another chair near his. “That’s a lot of letters.”
“Many were written by my great-great-grandfather to his sister, his brother, later his wife. They were all saved and somehow ended up back with our family. Probably some relative didn’t want them and another one took them.”
“Zach, that’s wonderful. I’d think you’d want to read each of these yourself.”
“Hardly. They are letters from an old codger who settled out here and struggled to carve out a life on the plains. He was probably a tough old bird and about as lovable as a prickly porcupine. I think you are romanticizing him. Sit here beside me so whenever you have a question you can ask me. Want anything to drink before we start?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.” As she crossed the room, his gaze raked briefly over her, making every inch tingle. She became aware of the navy sweater and matching slacks she had pulled on this morning, her hair in a ponytail.
Catching a whiff of his enticing aftershave, she sat beside him.
“The big basket is for letters and papers that go to the shredder,” he instructed. Sitting only inches from him, she was lost in his blue eyes and could barely focus on what he told her. She was even closer than she had been that first morning and it was distracting beyond measure.
“As far as I’m concerned, I think it would do the family a favor to shred all papers that don’t contain pertinent information that would affect our lives today,” he said. His voice deepened a notch and he slowed his speech. Was their proximity having an effect on him, too?
Lost in depths of blue, she was mesmerized. Her breath caught and held. He leaned a fraction closer. Her heart raced. With an effort she looked away, trying to get back to their normal relationship. Leaning away from him, she touched the yellowed envelopes in the large box as she tried to get back to his instructions.
“If there is anything about money, boundary rights, water rights, that sort of thing, then place the paper in the box marked Consider and I will read it. If you find maps, drawings, etc., then place them in Miscellaneous.”
As what he had told her to do sank in, she frowned. She picked up a tattered, yellow envelope with flowing writing across the front. “This was in the 1800s. Look at the address on it. It’s just a name and the county. You want to shred it?”
“If it doesn’t have anything pertinent to the matters I listed—rights, boundaries, money. Something significant.”
“The letter is significant if it has nothing like that in it. Isn’t it written by one of your ancestors?”
“Probably my great-great-grandfather. Maybe further back than that by one generation.”
“You can’t shred it. It’s wonderful to have all these letters from your ancestors and know what they were like,” she said, staring at him and wondering how he could care so little about his own family history. “How can you feel that way about them?”
With a smile he shook his head. “It’s past and over.”
“You have an architectural firm, so you must like old buildings.”
“Old buildings are more reliable than people. People change constantly and you can’t always count on them. An old building—if it’s built right—might last through centuries and you can definitely rely on it.”
She stared at him, wondering who had let him down so badly that he would view people as unreliable. Had it started when his mother had walked out on the family? Three young boys. Emma shivered, unable to imagine a mother leaving her young sons. Maybe that was why Zach kept his feelings bottled up. “This is your tie to your past. And your ancestors were reliable or you wouldn’t even be here now.”
“Okay, so read through the letters. If they’re not significant in the manner I’ve told you, toss them in this basket. Give me two or three of the most interesting and I’ll read them and see if I can discover why I should keep them. I think when you get into it, you’ll change your mind. I don’t want to save letters that tell how the sod roof leaks or the butter churn broke or a wagon needs a new axle.”
“I think all those things would be interesting.” She tilted her head to study him. “Family really isn’t important to you, is it?”
Shaking his head again, he continued to smile. “Sure it is. I’m close with my brothers. That doesn’t mean I want a bunch of old letters none of us will look at twice. They’re musty, rotting and of no value.” He leaned closer, so close she blinked and forgot the letters. He was only inches away and his mouth was inviting, conjuring up her curiosity about how he kissed.
“You’re looking at me as if I just sprouted fangs.”
She couldn’t get her breath to answer him. His eyes narrowed a tiny fraction and his smile vanished. The look in his eyes changed, intensifying. Her pulse drummed, a steady rhythm that was loud in her ears. “I can’t understand your attitude.”
“Well, we’re alike to a degree there—I can’t understand yours,” he said lightly. Again a thick silence fell and she couldn’t think about letters or the subject of their conversation or even what he had just said. All she thought about was his mouth only a few inches from hers. Realizing the lust-charged moments were happening too often, she shifted and looked away, trying to catch her breath and get back on track.
She stood and stepped away, turning to glance back. “I’ll get a pen and paper in case I need to take notes.”
“I’ll help sort some of these,” he said, studying her with a smoldering look.
She