It was certainly not because he was great fun or because they had so much in common. The only similarities they had were living in Texas at the same time in history and being connected in business to the same company. She had to get a grip on her reactions to him.
In every way he was not the man to be attracted to. Her boss, a world traveler, cared almost nothing for all the things that were important to her, family most of all.
Picking up a tablet, a pen and an empty wooden tray, she returned to her chair, pulling it slightly farther from his, but she couldn’t move away because the basket and box to put the old documents in stood between them. She placed the wooden tray on the floor beside her chair.
When she opened the first envelope, a faint, musty odor emanated as she withdrew thin, yellowed pages covered in script. She read the letter from a man who wrote about frontier life, the “beeves” he had rounded up, and his plans to take them north to sell.
“Zach, if this is your great-great-grandfather, you should read this letter and see what kind of life he had,” she said impulsively. “It’s fascinating. He writes about a wagon train that came through and camped on his land. Is that this same ranch?”
“Same identical one,” he remarked dryly, amusement in his expression.
“Listen—’their leader was Samuel Worthington,’” she read. “‘Samuel asked if they could stay. He said they had traveled from Virginia and were going west. They had lost four people in their group. The four unfortunates drowned when they crossed a treacherous river after a rain. I gave them flour and beef so they had fresh supplies. Worry ran high about finding water in days to come so I drew Samuel a map of the land I know and showed him where to find water when they left my home. They have great expectations regarding their journey.’”
She lowered the letter to look at Zach. “I think that’s wonderful. Don’t you feel you know a little now about your great-great-grandfather? He was kind and generous with those travelers. I would be so excited if these were letters written by my great-great-grandfather.”
Zach smiled at her as if facing a bubbling child. “Okay. My great-great-grandfather was a nice guy who was good to people passing through. That knowledge really doesn’t bring me closer because he lived years ago. It doesn’t change the course of life. He was a rancher in the old days of the longhorns and he had a tough life. He worked hard and was successful and built on the land to pass that on to the next Delaney son. I don’t need to wade through all his old letters about life on the plains in the early days.”
She tilted her head to study Zach. She was both annoyed by his attitude and at the same time, mesmerized again by his enticing smile. “Do your brothers feel the way you do?”
“We haven’t talked about it. I’ll ask before I shred these. I would guess that Will might want them and Ryan will feel the same as I do.”
She shook her head. “I can’t understand your family. You must not have been close growing up.”
He shrugged and shook his head. “When our mom walked out and divorced Dad, he sent us away to different boarding schools. I suppose he had some reason that seemed logical to him. We’re close in some ways, but we were separated most of the time for a lot of years. It made a difference.”
“That’s truly dreadful.”
He smiled again and her pulse fluttered. “Don’t feel too sorry for us. Our father spent a lot of money on us.”
“Money doesn’t make up for some things.”
“We could argue that one all night,” he said, leaning back and placing his hands behind his head. The T-shirt stretched tautly across his broad shoulders and his muscles flexed. As he stretched out, she could not keep from taking one swift glance down the length of him. Feathers were holding a dance inside her. Everything quivered and lustful thoughts flashed in her mind. She realized silence was growing again and he watched her with a look of interest. Her mind raced for something, trying to think where the conversation had ended.
“Your great-great-grandfather—I wonder if any of you resemble him.”
“You can see for yourself. In the last years of his life, someone painted his portrait. It hangs in the library.” He put down his arms and leaned forward. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
“You don’t need to walk there now. I assume you’re supposed to be staying off your foot.”
“I can walk around,” he said, getting the crutch. “I go to the doc next week and hope to get off this crutch. I’ll still be in some kind of crazy medical shoe, but at least I may lose the crutch. C’mon. We’ll go look at my old ancestor. I suspect he was a tough old bird. My dad was in his own way. I’m amazed he kept the letters. He didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body until the last couple of years of his life. Or maybe since Caroline’s birth. That little granddaughter changed him.”
“That’s family—little children wrap around your heart.”
He gave her another big smile. “You’re sentimental, Emma.”
“I certainly am,” she replied cheerfully.
He led the way into the library that held shelves of books from floor to ceiling. A huge portrait in a gilt frame hung above the fireplace and she looked at a stern-faced man with prominent cheekbones, straight gray hair, mustache and beard.
“I can’t see that you look like him in any manner at all.”
“No, I don’t think so either.” He gestured across the room. “Over there are portraits of my paternal grandfather and my dad.”
She crossed the room. “You don’t look like them either.”
“If I have a resemblance to any forebears, it’s my maternal grandfather. People say I look like him. I don’t see it much myself except for the hair. No pictures of him here.”
She returned to the fireplace to study the picture, thinking about the letter she had just read. “I’d think you’d want to read every letter in that box.”
“I’m leaving that to you.”
She turned to find him looking at her intently, a look that was hot and filled with desire, giving her heart palpitations. In spite of his injured foot, he looked strong and fit. Muscled arms, broad shoulders, flat belly. She stepped toward the door.
“We better go back and let me start reading them,” she said, heading out of the room, aware that he fell into step beside her. “You said you have brothers. Do they have ranches around here or do all of you gather here?”
“Both. I’m not a rancher, so I’ve probably spent the least time here, but we were here plenty growing up. Plenty to suit me. I’m not a cowboy and not a rancher and my brothers can ride the horses. No, thanks. Will’s ranch adjoins this one. Caroline loves it there, so they go quite often. Ryan’s ranch is farther away. He’s a cowboy through and through. Maybe it’s because he spent too much time out here with Granddad.”
“So will your brothers come here this week for Thanksgiving?” she asked, lost in thoughts about her own family’s plans. She was taking a corn casserole and a dessert for everyone.
“No. Ryan’s with a friend and Will and family are going to his home in Colorado.”
“I can’t imagine not being with family, but if you’re with close friends or a close friend and family, that works,” she said, glancing at him to see a grin. “You’re staying out here alone, aren’t you?” she blurted, aghast to think his brothers were going their own way and Zach had no plans. She started to invite him to her house, but she remembered that her predecessors had not lasted more than a few days at best on this job. If she invited him and then he dismissed her, it would be awkward.
“You’re staring, Emma, and you have pity written all over your face,” he said. “A new experience in my adult life.