to fight you than it will to let you have what you want, I think there's more to be gained in cooperating than in opposing. You promised to take only what you need to retire my father's debts in Texas. I'll believe that you're an honest man until proven otherwise. However, if you give me even the slightest reason to suspect that you're not a man of your word, I'll see that you sincerely regret the day you ever thought to come east.”
They had a formal truce. How long it would hold was anyone's guess. But an adversary in constant sight made for a more secure peace. “All right, Miss MacPhaull, if you want my expectations of you defined, I'll oblige,” Jackson declared, coming around the end of the desk to stand right in front of her. “You're to consider yourself my aide-decamp. Where I go, you go. You're to supply me with whatever information I require. What information you don't possess, you're to find for me. When asked for your opinion, you'll render it honestly and completely. Once I've made a decision, you'll support it—no matter your personal feelings on the matter—and see to its execution in a timely and efficient manner. Most importantly, you're not going to sabotage my efforts to bring some sort of order to this chaos. Is all that acceptable?”
Her chin came up. “And if it isn't?” she countered.
“Don't push, Lindsay,” he said quietly. “I'll push back. And you might not like where it takes us.”
She studied him a long moment, fire flashing in her eyes. “Then it's acceptable,” she said tautly. “Do you want to go to the office now or after luncheon?”
It wasn't what she'd wanted to say; he could sense it. For whatever reason, she'd made a calculated decision to back down and he was grateful for it. Having won the first—and a crucial—round in their contest, Jackson decided that he could be a bit gracious. “It makes no difference to me. Which would you prefer?”
“After luncheon. Primrose has it ready now,” she said firmly, turning and walking away. “Although, truth be told, I'd much rather go now and get it done. Patience has never been one of my stronger virtues.”
He followed her out of the study, watching the seductive sway of her skirts and thinking that her confession didn't bode well. Two impatient people all but tied wrist and ankle was bad enough, but two impatient people locking horns over something they both wanted … Jackson knew to the center of his bones that it was just a matter of time before Lindsay MacPhaull decided to see if he'd meant what he said about pushing back. He did, of course. And where they ended up at the end of the match all depended on just how much tolerance she had for risk. Something told him she liked dancing on edges and that the idea of falling didn't frighten her all that much.
For him, though … There were certain kinds of falling that he didn't ever want to do again.
C HAPTER F OUR
L INDSAY LOOKED OUT THE CARRIAGE WINDOW they ade their way back across town, acutely feeling both the confines of the vehicle and the tension in the silence stretching between herself and Jackson Stennett. He didn't seem disposed to do anything about breaking the latter and she couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't come out as a tacit admission of her discomfort in the situation. Better to maintain the appearance of poise, she told herself, than to provide evidence of lacking it. Her predicament was bad enough already without surrendering what little advantage she had. Damn her father. Jackson Stennett would like to kill him? Well, the Texas cattleman would have to wait his turn. All things considered, she had suffered longer and deeper for her father's decisions than Jackson Stennett had or ever would.
The real suffering she'd have to endure hadn't yet begun, though, and she knew it. If Stennett was even half as intelligent and business-wise as she thought, he'd take one look at the books and the true nightmare would begin. He'd ask questions
They had a formal truce. How long it would hold was anyone's guess. But an adversary in constant sight made for a more secure peace. “All right, Miss MacPhaull, if you want my expectations of you defined, I'll oblige,” Jackson declared, coming around the end of the desk to stand right in front of her. “You're to consider yourself my aide-decamp. Where I go, you go. You're to supply me with whatever information I require. What information you don't possess, you're to find for me. When asked for your opinion, you'll render it honestly and completely. Once I've made a decision, you'll support it—no matter your personal feelings on the matter—and see to its execution in a timely and efficient manner. Most importantly, you're not going to sabotage my efforts to bring some sort of order to this chaos. Is all that acceptable?”
Her chin came up. “And if it isn't?” she countered.
“Don't push, Lindsay,” he said quietly. “I'll push back. And you might not like where it takes us.”
She studied him a long moment, fire flashing in her eyes. “Then it's acceptable,” she said tautly. “Do you want to go to the office now or after luncheon?”
It wasn't what she'd wanted to say; he could sense it. For whatever reason, she'd made a calculated decision to back down and he was grateful for it. Having won the first—and a crucial—round in their contest, Jackson decided that he could be a bit gracious. “It makes no difference to me. Which would you prefer?”
“After luncheon. Primrose has it ready now,” she said firmly, turning and walking away. “Although, truth be told, I'd much rather go now and get it done. Patience has never been one of my stronger virtues.”
He followed her out of the study, watching the seductive sway of her skirts and thinking that her confession didn't bode well. Two impatient people all but tied wrist and ankle was bad enough, but two impatient people locking horns over something they both wanted … Jackson knew to the center of his bones that it was just a matter of time before Lindsay MacPhaull decided to see if he'd meant what he said about pushing back. He did, of course. And where they ended up at the end of the match all depended on just how much tolerance she had for risk. Something told him she liked dancing on edges and that the idea of falling didn't frighten her all that much.
For him, though … There were certain kinds of falling that he didn't ever want to do again.
C HAPTER F OUR
L INDSAY LOOKED OUT THE CARRIAGE WINDOW they ade their way back across town, acutely feeling both the confines of the vehicle and the tension in the silence stretching between herself and Jackson Stennett. He didn't seem disposed to do anything about breaking the latter and she couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't come out as a tacit admission of her discomfort in the situation. Better to maintain the appearance of poise, she told herself, than to provide evidence of lacking it. Her predicament was bad enough already without surrendering what little advantage she had. Damn her father. Jackson Stennett would like to kill him? Well, the Texas cattleman would have to wait his turn. All things considered, she had suffered longer and deeper for her father's decisions than Jackson Stennett had or ever would.
The real suffering she'd have to endure hadn't yet begun, though, and she knew it. If Stennett was even half as intelligent and business-wise as she thought, he'd take one look at the books and the true nightmare would begin. He'd ask questions
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