The Wrangler. Lindsay McKenna

She didn’t need cosmetics. Her lips were a natural pink color. Most of all, he liked her freckles. They made her look like a young girl instead of the mature woman she was.

      Val picked up the frayed and broken rope. “Well, this auger is about thirty years old. It’s DOA, dead on arrival.” She squatted in front of him, elbows resting on her thighs, opposite of where he was working. Griff had strong-looking fingers and yet, he expertly opened the engine and delicately began checking it with expert ease. His head was bent and she had a chance to absorb his strong profile. His mouth, which she found delicious, was pursed as he focused on his inspection. Her curiosity got the better of her.

      “Do you miss your home?”

      “What?” Griff looked up briefly. He saw in Val’s face that she was open to his answer, and she was almost approachable. It was the first time she’d talked to him in a voice other than that of a boss, and it took him by surprise. Recovering, he managed a twisted smile. “New York? No.”

      “Why not? You lived there most of your life.”

      “I didn’t have a choice as a kid,” he said, his fingers getting oily and dirty as he studied the carburetor. “I do as an adult.”

      “Do you think you’d have come back here if you hadn’t lost your job?”

      Shrugging, Griff said, “Probably not. But that’s how things happen. Life takes unexpected turns.” He looked up to see her features grow pensive. Did Val know how beautiful her blue eyes were? He wished he could tell her their color reminded him of the deep blue sky after sunset, but Griff thought better of sharing the observation. After all, she was his boss.

      “I’m sorry you lost your aunt and uncle. And then to have your business fail. That must have been hard on you.”

      “It was a tough time,” Griff agreed. Although it had helped to work with the FBI to help clean up the mess left behind. He’d done it gratis because he felt he’d been partly responsible for the economic collapse. The least he could do was help the FBI understand the inner workings of his and other firms on Wall Street. It had eased his guilt.

      “I wonder how anyone could deal with losing all their money at once. Especially millions of dollars.” Val studied him intently and watched his mouth pull in at the corners. Griff was experiencing frustration or pain of some kind over her probing question.

      Placing the carburetor into a pan that had some cleaning fluid in it, he said, “My parents didn’t have much money.” My Dad would hunt deer and elk to put meat on our table. We were pretty much raised on wild food. When I got taken back east by my uncle, it was a whole other life for me to adjust to.” Griff glanced up at her. Val’s eyes were readable and he saw so many emotions in them. Heartened that she cared, he decided to open up. “At first, I wasn’t used to the rich foods they gave me. I remember eating too much one time and throwing it up afterward.” Griff added, “I was a poor ranch kid who lived off the land, not off the fat of the land.”