Her Right-Hand Cowboy by Marie Ferrarella

Author:Marie Ferrarella
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-10-10T19:37:50+00:00

Chapter Eleven

It was turning into one big perpetual juggling act.

Because Ena didn’t want to run the risk of possibly losing her position in the hierarchy at the firm where she had worked so hard to get ahead, three days a week Ena got up before the crack of dawn to work on the accounts that had been forwarded to her via email. She took them on because she had always believed in shouldering her responsibilities, not shirking them, and these were her accounts.

But as the days went by, she began to feel that her heart wasn’t in this as much as it had been. While there was a certain satisfaction working with numbers, it wasn’t the same sort of satisfied feeling she derived from working with the horses.

Besides, she discovered around the latter half of the second week she was there, if she were really looking to balance a ledger, she had her father’s accounts to work with.

Or, more to the point, to set right.

“You really didn’t have a head for figures, did you, Old Man?” she marveled, addressing the hodgepodge that Bruce O’Rourke had undoubtedly referred to as his accounting method.

As Ena paged through the worn ledger that looked as if it had been used as a doorstop more than once, she was stunned to see that her father had left some columns completely blank and others without any totals whatsoever. Toward the latter half of the book, there was hardly a balanced statement to be found.

Piecing things together, Ena concluded that her father had stopped keeping records, or at least accurate records, somewhere around the time that her mother had taken ill. And it had all gone downhill from there.

Prior to that, the columns had all been neatly written. She looked closer and saw that every number was written in her mother’s very precise handwriting.

“She was your accountant, wasn’t she, Old Man?” Ena murmured.

She frowned, flipping through the pages. It looked as if not only wasn’t her father’s heart in the work but he had barely paid attention to it, and when he did, it all looked as if it was haphazard and slipshod.

Getting this in order was going to take a monumental effort, she thought.

“There you are,” Mitch declared as he came into the den. “I was looking for you. Felicity said you had breakfast early. Are you ready to get to work?” he asked.

She spared him a quick glance. “I am working,” she informed him. “Did you know that my father’s records were a complete mess?”

Mitch shook his head, although her question didn’t surprise him. “He never let me look at any of that. Always said that he had it all under control.”

She frowned as she turned another page, all but shuddering at what she found. This was going to take her weeks and weeks to straighten out, if not longer, she thought in mounting despair.

“Well, he lied,” she told the foreman.

“Maybe he didn’t realize how bad this was,” Mitch guessed.

That, she thought, was being far too kind.

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