Home For a Cowboy Christmas(26)

“I’m behind on admin work. There are probably ten checks that need to be deposited, not to mention invoices that need to be sent. I have a handful of employees, and I need to work out there with them. It’s difficult to do it all. I would never ask you to do this, but you offered. And, frankly, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of such a kind offer.”

“It will benefit you, but as selfish as this sounds, I offered because it’s something I want to do.”

“It’s a win-win for both of us then.”

Emmy barely tasted her sandwich. She ate most of it but gave the rest to Sam. The one thing Emmy didn’t waste was her Cheetos. After they were gone and her plate had been put away, she not-so-patiently waited for Dwight to finish. He took pity on her and paused in his eating to get the account set up for her.

“Have fun,” he said as he gave his desk over to her.

She rubbed her hands together in glee, eager to dive into the account. “Oh, I will.”

He chuckled and walked out, though Emmy barely noticed. She submerged herself in everything having to do with the ranch. The first thing she did was deposit all the checks, making sure to match them to outstanding invoices and mark them as paid.

Then she spent time going through the most recent part of the books, learning how the ranch operated. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Dwight had done a good job of staying on top of things. She could show him how to improve in a few ways, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d thought it might be.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made her look up from the computer. She jerked her head to the doorway to find Dwight leaning against it, wearing a smile.

“There you are.”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I called your name twice. Even poor Sam couldn’t get your attention.”

At the mention of his name, the dog whined.

Emmy smiled and gave Sam a good rub. Then she shot Dwight an apologetic look. “Sorry. I get absorbed.”

“You aren’t kidding. Have you gotten up at all?”

She rubbed her temples as she felt a dehydration headache coming on. “No. Usually, I keep water with me so I’ll drink, which in turn forces me to get up and go to the bathroom.”

“Moving around is good,” Dwight teased.

She laughed and rolled her neck. “Yes, it is.”

“Can you call it a day?”

“I think I will.” She pushed back in the chair and rose.

They walked to the kitchen together, where she found an open bottle of wine and two filled glasses. Before she reached for the wine, she downed two glasses of water. All the while, Dwight took the pot of stew out of the fridge.

“Leftovers good with you?”

“It’s perfect.”

“We might be eating this for a few days. Vic made enough for an army.”

With the stew heating on the stove, they moved to the living room. Emmy curled up on one side of the sofa while Dwight lit the fire. Once he was done, he put his back to it and remained there with his wine.

Emmy licked her lips as she watched Sam curl up by Dwight’s feet. “Did your sister share my story with you?”

“She did not. Vic keeps things to herself.”

“An admirable quality. However, I wouldn’t have been upset had she told you. Or did you already know from Dalton?”

Dwight shook his head. “Dalton only told me that you were testifying against a powerful man in Denver, that there was a leak in the marshals, and that you were almost killed.”

“That is succinct.”

“He had to be.”

She waved away his words. “Oh, I know. I was just commenting. Those are facts, things that he could share quickly and easily.”

“You don’t need to tell me anything more.”

Emmy glanced at her wine before meeting his gaze. “I know. But I want to.”

Dwight took the seat at the opposite end of the sofa. Sam jumped between them and put his head on Emmy’s lap.

She slid her fingers into Sam’s soft fur. After a deep breath, she told Dwight the same story she had shared with Victoria the day before. He kept his face impassive as he listened, showing very little—until she finished.

“Dalton was right to get you out of town,” Dwight said.

Emmy waited for more, but he merely rose to stir the stew as he checked the heat. Then he got the bottle of wine and brought it back to refill their glasses. He set the empty bottle on the table next to the couch and slid his gaze to her.

“I knew someone had put out a hit on you. That was obvious to piece together. I wasn’t expecting the mob. I had a minor run-in with some on the east coast,” he said.

“Does knowing my story change things?”

He gave her a wry look. “Not at all. It lets me know what kind of people we’re up against. Dalton would’ve filled me in had he been able. He likely counted on me getting the information from you.”

Emmy felt lighter having told Dwight her story. She wasn’t sure how much it changed for her, at least not until it came time for the trial—if she made it that long. All she could hope for was that if anyone did find her, that Dwight and his men wouldn’t be harmed. She couldn’t stand it if Dwight got hurt—or worse, killed—because of her.