Page 2 of Devoured By the Forbidden Mountain Man

Rex McCord had always been big. I remembered that much. Seven years ago, though, his size had been part of the general category labeled man pursuing my missing brother, and I had been twenty-one, furious, frightened, and uninterested in noticing anything beyond that.

At twenty-eight, I noticed considerably more.

He filled the doorway at six-three, broad through the shoulders beneath a charcoal henley and open dark-green flannel. Silver threaded the dark hair at his temples and his short beard. His strong nose still showed the slight imperfection of an old break, and his sharp blue eyes were as direct as I remembered.

“Georgia. Come in. I was starting to wonder whether the weather had changed your mind.”

“Thanks for seeing me.” I stepped beneath the overhang as another gust pushed cold mist against the back of my coat. “I grew up here. Wind isn’t enough to scare me off.”

“That gives you an advantage over half the people who move here in June.”

He held the door while I entered, and the simple dryness of the comment relaxed something in me.

Warm air met me inside, carrying coffee, paper, and the faint smell of wet pine from the open doorway before Rex closed it behind us.

The office wasn’t the disaster I had imagined.

It was more useful than that.

Everything capable of creating an immediate professional catastrophe appeared controlled. Current recovery folders stood in labeled files. A locked cabinet occupied the wall behind Rex’s desk. A large calendar held appointments and deadlines in compact handwriting. The neglect had collected around the edges of the work instead: an inbox overflowing with receipts, unopened supply boxes near a cabinet, vendor envelopes leaning against the printer, and a second desk doing service as a holding area for mileage logs, expense records, and loose paperwork.

I took off my coat and draped it over the chair he indicated.

Rex remained standing while I looked around. “I can explain most of it.”

“I believe you.” I moved toward the second desk without touching anything. “The question is whether explaining it is a good use of your time.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

I turned back to him. “You said on the phone you’d hear me out.”

“I meant it.”

“Then I’ll save the dramatic plea for employment and give you the useful version.”

Rex gestured toward the chair across from his desk before taking his own. I sat, leaving my bag beside my boots.

“I managed restaurants for years,” I said. “People hear that and think schedules, customers, and making sure nobody poisons anyone. The actual job was invoices, ordering, vendor problems, repairs, payroll questions, staff paperwork, inventory, scheduling, receipts, and figuring out why something that should have been handled on Tuesday became my emergency on Friday night. You don’t need me to know bail recovery. You need someone who knows what operational mess looks like before it becomes expensive.”

Rex glanced toward the second desk and then back at me. “I don’t need a bookkeeper. Annette handles North Fork’s books, and I’d prefer to survive the week.”

“I’m not applying to replace Annette.” I leaned forward enough to rest my forearms lightly on my thighs. “I’m offering to get the local office into a system she can actually use without calling you three times for the same receipt.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “You’ve never met her.”

“I’ve dealt with enough office administrators to recognize a woman who probably already has a list of your sins.”

“That assessment is accurate.”

The conversation was easier than I had prepared for, which helped. I had expected the old history between us to occupy the room like another person. Instead, Rex listened while I explained what I could do and asked questions that suggested he cared about the answers rather than waiting for his chance to object.

Eventually he pulled a yellow legal pad from the edge of his desk and slid it toward me with a pen.

“Show me where you’d start.”

I looked at the paper, then at him. “Is this an interview question?”

“It’s a practical one.”