"I'm guessing it's not five," he said, lamely, and yawned.
"I waited for you until seven, and called five times. It's eight," I said. I'd crossed my arms and was tapping my toes in the dust on the floor.
He looked stricken. He sat up and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
"Damn," he muttered. He looked back up at me, his eyes full of regret.
"Naomi, I'm so sorry," he said, simply. "I never should have gotten distracted, it wasn't fair to you and it wasn't right to leave you waiting. I promised you a steak dinner at six and I didn't keep my word."
"No, you didn't," I said, eyebrows raised. It was a good apology, a great apology, but I was still hurt.
He stood up, unfolding his lean body and rising above the desk.
"Will you let me cook you a steak now?" he asked. "Have you eaten?"
"I could eat," I admitted.
"Please, let me cook you dinner. It's the least I can do," he said. "Unless you'd rather go out now? We can get in the truck and be there, they don't close until ten, maybe eleven."
I stifled a yawn of my own.
"It's been a long week," I said. "I think I'll let you cook me dinner."
He came around the desk and opened the door for me, taking a moment look into my eyes. His presence did funny things to my body, lighting a spark within me.
Clint reached out and took my hand, holding it in his own.
“It really is the least I can do,” he repeated. “I broke my word to you, I let you down. I’m truly sorry about tonight.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I said. “I wondered if you’d gotten in some kind of accident.”
The tall rancher shook his head. “No, just being a fool.” He smiled down at me. “You look absolutley gorgeous,” he said. “It is a cryin’ shame that I won’t be able to show you off tonight, but it’s my own fault.”
I smiled back at him. “Thanks, but I’m still mad at you. I got all dressed up and everything.”
He nodded. “I understand. Let’s get back up to the house and get you fed.”
It seems like he knew a thing or two about pacifying an angry woman - food, compliments, and regretful apologies. It wouldn’t mean a lot if he did it again, though.
As we walked the worn path up to the large house, I finally asked what was driving me crazy. “What had you so distracted that you forgot about coming out for three hours?”
It was hard to see his face in the dim light, but his sigh was pretty clear.
“Like I said, I sat down to check one number, but what was in the computer couldn’t have been right, so I had to hunt down the paper I’d started with a while back, and then I realized that I’d put it in wrong, so I had to re-enter all the numbers. I still don’t have the blasted count of how much I’ve spent on hay for tax time,” he finished.
“So, paperwork, not your strongest point?” I asked.
“I hate it,” he said. “Worst part of running a ranch.”
“Why do you do it? Most of the ranchers I’ve dealt with have at least one person to take care of that for them,” I pointed out.
We’d reached the porch, he stepped ahead of me to open the door.
“My father always taught me that you can’t cheat yourself, but anyone else can cheat you if you don’t know what you’re doing. A rancher who doesn’t know how to do all of this himself is at the mercy of every shark with a certificate,” he said.
It sounded like a direct quote from his father.
“Well, if it’s this much of a struggle for you,” I said, trailing off as I walked into the kitchen and he gestured me to a stool on the other side of the island in the kitchen.