Page 7 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Bathroom’s to the right,” I say before opening an overhead cabinet. I’d considered getting a desk for this room, but the table made more sense. The office doubles as space for me to meet with clients, but it’s also where many of the employees store their lunches—though some choose to drive the golf cart out and eat elsewhere on the farm.

One thing Miller Run has is tremendous views.

I push the code for the safe wedged between the shelves, and pull out paperwork. Opening a number of drawers, I find a pen, a map, and turn to see a content Rory tucked in the arms of a smiling Cass.

She strokes a gentle finger beneath Aurora’s chin, and the cat makes a soft purring noise.

“Seems to like you,” I say, slapping the papers onto the small wooden table. Cass jolts, and my jaw tightens. I didn’t mean to spook her.

Rory hops from her arms, and Cass steps forward, pulling out the chair when I gesture for her to sit.

“Alright,” I start, spinning the chair backward and straddling it with the papers tossed on the table. I lift the ball cap off my head and tame my hair before placing it back on my head. “Here’s the map of the place,” I start, carefully going over the two barns.

“At the bottom of the hill on the other side of the farmhouse, we have a second barn for the mares we breed. The main barn, where we sit, is typically used for lessons and clients boarding their horses. Each paddock and pasture is labeled, so you can find them easily.”

I dare a glance in her direction. Rory has claimed the woman’s lap as her official napping place, and Cass looks happy to have it be so. A small seed of hope plants itself right in my gut. Maybe this one will stick, and we will finally get the help we so desperately need around here.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” I add, sliding one of the maps to her. “Take this. Your hiring paperwork is here, but we will worry about that once you make your decision at the end of the day. We’ll just see how it goes.”

“And the house?” Cass questions.

The house at the end of the drive was a gift from my grandmother. She’d purchased it from our neighbors as soon asretirement entered her mind. Now, it gives me a good way to bribe employees to stay on for longer than a few weeks.

Farms tend to have a good turnover, attracting high school and college-age clientele. I, personally, work very hard not to capitalize on young kids desperate to own their own horse. I’ve known plenty of farms getting free labor while charging exorbitant amounts for lessons. Truly, the first scam many youngsters walk into.

“It’s open and ready,” I start, “but I want to make sure you stick around.” I stand, spinning the chair before pushing it back into its proper position.

Cass stands, too, organizing the papers I gave her and sliding them to one side of the table. She thumbs the map, gentle fingers plucking it from the stack and folding it twice before tucking it into the waistband of her leggings. I let my gaze settle on the corner of the office, refusing to think too hard on that chosen spot for the map.

“I’m sure,” Cass says, her tone certain. “I’ve worked with horses before. I know what that entails, and I’m fully committed to working here.” One corner of her mouth tugs upward. “Well, actually… that would depend on your criminal history. You don’t have one of those, do you?”

I stare at her, blue eyes shining in the light of the rising sun beyond the window.

“No,” I say—questioning. “No, I do not.”

Her smile widens, brightening her features in a way the sun simply couldn’t compete with. I’m afraid that if I look at her too long, she might just burn me. “Then we already have something in common!” she says, “What’s first, Boss?”

I clear my throat, reminding myself that on my small farm, I am HR and HR is me.

“No nicknames,” I mutter, skirting around her and making my way to the door.

Cass’s boots squeak as she follows, and I fight the smile flirting with the edges of my mouth. Two bright yellow rain boots.

I shake my head once.

Ridiculous.

“So, Boss is a title, not a nickname.” I can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks. “I could always try something else. “Mr. Miller?” she asks.

“Too formal.”

“Cowboy?”

The smile wins, so I keep moving forward and keep my face turned away from her. I close the office door and head out of the barn to the golf cart parked up near the fenceline. My boots squelch in the soft earth, but it’s nowhere near as loud as the sound of Cass’s steps behind me. She sounds like she’s walking with one of those fart machines designed for pulling pranks in her pocket.

It would be unprofessional for me to laugh, so I scowl instead.

“Don’t own cows, here,” I grunt.