The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride

One thing was certain, though. She had no idea who he really was, because no one put Clayton Jenkins on hold.

“Doesn’t the nurse have an ice pack?” she asked the caller.

Clay took another bite of the cookie and listened to the one-sided conversation, trying to figure out what was more important than this woman’s future employment—which was growing shakier by the second.

“Well, Mrs. Paxton, I’m a bit more concerned with my son getting beat up by Conner Doyle, who I believe is a bully, than I am about Conner having to rewrite his essay on the rain-forest biome because he didn’t save the document in the computer lab.”

Bully? The once-delicious cookie turned to chalk in Clay’s mouth. It hadn’t been that long ago that a certain football jock had made his adolescent life hell.

“Well, if the document was saved, then...uh...Well, wasn’t it password protected?...Uh-huh...I see.” After a beat, she said, “I’m sure Tyler didn’t hack into anything.”

Hack? Now, that word sparked a rather magical memory. Years ago, Clay had used his skill in technology to fight back against the bigger and tougher kids at school, and it had worked like a charm.

“Suspended? Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

It sounded like the boy—her son—was in trouble.

“Is Conner being suspended, too?” Those brown eyes widened, and she tightened her grip on the receiver. “What do you mean, ‘not at this time’? Actually, don’t answer that. Don’t do anything. I’ll be right there.”

After disconnecting the call, she waved at Clay, indicating that he should follow her toward the back office.

People didn’t order Clay to do anything, and while every fiber in his being wanted to balk, he trailed behind her as she strode to a desk and yanked open the lower drawer.

She appeared to be in full mama-tigress mode, preparing to protect her cub. Clay couldn’t help but be a bit envious of the lucky kid. His own mother had never gone to battle for him. Of course, he couldn’t hold that against her. She’d had her own struggles to deal with, and more often than not, Clay had needed to take care of her.

“Listen, Mr...” The redhead paused and glanced up from where she’d stooped over, her eyes wide, her lips parted.

Apparently, she hadn’t paid a bit of attention when he’d told her his name.

“Johnson,” he said, repeating the alias he’d come up with. “Peyton Johnson. And you’re...?”

“Megan Adams.” She reached for a black purse that had seen better days, then kicked the desk drawer shut. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, Mr. Johnson. But since you work for Zorba’s anyway, would you mind covering the shop for me for a couple of minutes? I have to run to the middle school. It’s just down the street, so I’ll be right back.”

Her keys were in her hand and she was heading out the back door before Clay could voice either an objection or an agreement.

As he heard a car backing out of the parking spot in the alley, he turned to look at the cluttered desk piled with coffee-stained work invoices and an open green ledger.

While stunned and annoyed that the woman had just left him in the back office with all the pricey equipment and access to confidential business information, he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead he’d take the opportunity to get a peek at what was really going on with the store, although he had a pretty good idea already.

He still didn’t know anything about the woman other than her name, but if her behavior at the front counter and the disarray of this desk were any indication, he knew she didn’t have the work ethic that Geekon Enterprises expected from those on their payroll.

And it didn’t matter how sultry her eyes were—or that his hands itched to touch her abundant red hair.

Nor did it matter that she made a damn good cookie.

Business came first, and Clay had to do what was best for the store—even if that meant firing the first employee he’d met.

* * *

Megan could have died when the handsome dark-haired stranger had come into the shop and introduced himself as the accounting specialist the corporate office had sent to get their store in order—or to spy on them, depending on how you wanted to look at things.

The truth was, the shop desperately needed his help. But they didn’t need him reporting back to corporate and getting her and her boss fired.

When Don Carpenter first hired Megan to help out in the store a few months back, the job had been a godsend. And despite the fact that she knew very little about computers—and not much more about bookkeeping—it hadn’t taken long for her to realize the store was in big trouble.

Don was a wonderful older man, a kindhearted boss and a loving husband, but she feared that his worry about his wife had caused him to become scattered lately. He’d also been so busy looking after her and taking her to appointments that he’d gotten behind on his work. And to top it all off, he was intent upon doing things the “old way” and had been resistant to converting to a new, electronic accounting system.

Megan tried to do what she could to help, but the store was going under, and she wasn’t sure if she could turn things around on her own. Sadly, poor Don couldn’t afford to lose his job right now, especially with his wife still undergoing chemotherapy. So Megan had brought in Tyler to assist him with some of the easier repair work. And while her twelve-year-old son had been helpful at times, he was also causing her more stress lately.

She glanced at the sulky boy hunched into the front seat beside her. His lip was split, and he hadn’t said a word since she’d blasted into his principal’s office and exchanged some heated words with the woman—and with Conner Doyle’s parents.

She hated being a tattletale or fighting Tyler’s battles for him, but it was unfair for her son to get suspended for retaliating the only way he knew how.

Conner had been picking on Tyler ever since they’d moved to Brighton Valley last summer, and the bullying had only gotten worse. She’d sensed a change in her son during the school year. The sweet, fun-loving boy had grown quieter each day, withdrawing into books and technology and other solitary activities. It concerned her because it was something she couldn’t relate to, and she feared losing the connection they’d always had.

She stole another glance at Tyler, noting his red hair, his thin frame. In many ways, he’d taken after her side of the family in looks. She had no idea where he’d inherited his amazing intellect. She’d never been a great student, and her ex-husband, Todd Redding, who’d been athletic and quick on his feet, had excelled far better on the football field than he had in the classroom.

To make matters worse—and no doubt compounding what Tyler might be going through now—Todd had never wanted much to do with his nonathletic, bookish son, even before he’d abandoned the family. And that was one reason Megan had taken back her maiden name when they were divorced. Another was to distance herself from the terrible financial situation Todd had left her in.

When she stopped at the intersection near the town square, she reached over and tousled her son’s red hair. “I love you no matter what, Ty. And I want you to know that when you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’ll be here to listen.”

He didn’t respond, yet he didn’t move away from her caressing hand, either.

She pulled her old Civic into the parking spot in the back alley behind Zorba’s and shut off the ignition, her thoughts still desperately groping for a solution. And while she wasn’t sure what to do to help her son, she couldn’t very well leave Mr. Johnson alone to poke around the store more than she already had. But she’d had no other choice. Had he not been there, she would have locked up and left an “out to lunch” sign on the front door.

Megan glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, wishing she had some lip gloss and mascara.

And why was that? She hadn’t gone out of her way to look attractive for anyone since before her divorce. Of course, there’d never been any extra money for frivolities like makeup or new clothes. Besides, the last thing she needed was for a man to show any interest in her.

So why was she now so concerned with how she looked for Mr. Big-Shot Accountant?

“Did Mr. Carpenter leave that MacBook for me to adjust?” Tyler asked as he hopped out of the car and headed toward the back entrance.

Oh, no! She’d forgotten to tell Tyler that Mr. Johnson was here. And for that reason, he couldn’t do any more of the repairs—at least, not during business hours.

She unlatched her seat belt and hustled out of the car, trying to intercept the boy before he made it inside.

“Whoa,” Tyler said before she could stop him. “Who are you?”

Mr. Johnson, who’d been seated at Don Carpenter’s desk, spun the chair toward the door as they entered.

Had he gotten better-looking while she’d been gone? Or had she just been too distracted on the phone to notice that his eyes were an amazing shade of blue, that he had a square-cut jaw, that his lips were full and sensuous?

“I’m Peyton Johnson.” He stood and extended his hand to Tyler. “I work for Zorba the Geek.”

While Megan hadn’t paid too much attention to his facial features before, she definitely noted them now, especially the way his blue eyes narrowed in on her as he said, “And now will somebody be so kind as to tell me who you two are?”

Oh, no. Hadn’t she introduced herself when he’d arrived? Her memory replayed the sequence of events between when he’d entered the shop and when she’d dashed out. As the conversation, at least most of it, played back to her, she could have sworn she’d told him her name. But maybe she hadn’t.