Chapter 4: Jennifer

Jennifer gingerly stood up from the chair, rolling her neck from side to side to work the kinks out of it as she looked down with satisfaction at the piles of papers on the wooden, scarred desk. To the untrained eye, it would look a lot like it had when she'd started – just piles of papers laid out everywhere – but this time, there was a purpose for those piles.

Which definitely couldn't be said for the first set of piles she'd inherited.

She hadn't sorted out the piles elsewhere in the office, stacked on every horizontal surface available, but hey, baby steps.

Now that there was some semblance of order in the chaos, at least in the desk arena, she just had to find a way to help Mr. Miller save his farm, even if he was an ungrateful ass. He may not appreciate her hard work on his behalf, but that didn't mean it was any less her job.

Which, now that she thought about it, was rather like operating on a pain-in-the-ass patient and saving their life, whether or not they wanted the help, and whether or not they appreciated it.

Jennifer wrinkled her nose at herself. How was it that she'd gone from one profession to the next, and neither one of them appreciated the effort and care she put in? She must be a glutton for punishment – a masochist of the first order. There was no other explanation.

"Would you like a break now?" came Carmelita's voice behind her, startling her out of her self-pitying thoughts. She whirled around to face the door, her hand over her heart, a startled yelp spilling out of her.

"Sorry, I did not mean to scare you," the housekeeper said with a kindly smile. "You have been hard at work for a long time, though, and I thought that you might want to take a break."

Jennifer's eyes flicked to the elk clock on the wall. Wow – 3:15 in the afternoon? Where did today go? "I'd love that," she said. "You have my crust of bread and my glass of water to drink?"

She may or may not have said that with sarcasm dripping off every syllable.

Carmelita sighed as she turned to head back towards the kitchen, her soft slippers making her almost completely silent on the creaky hardwood floors.

"Stetson has not come back in from outside yet, but when he does, we will have a talk about manners," the housekeeper said over her shoulder in her softly accented voice. "He was not raised by his parents – God rest their souls," she crossed herself, "to speak to a woman that way. Or anyone at all."

They'd made it to a cheerful, if cramped, country kitchen, where Carmelita set about making a sandwich for Jennifer, her hands moving rhythmically between the ingredients. There was a small, worn table shoved up against the wall, so Jennifer slipped into a seat, watching the housekeeper at work. Homemade white bread, thick sliced roast beef...her mouth was watering at the sight.

"Are his parents no longer here?" she asked, trying to phrase that in the most tactful way possible. The housekeeper seemed intent on bringing them up, even if Jennifer usually didn't get involved or even know much about a client's background. But since Carmelita wanted to talk about it, it was only polite to respond and ask questions.

Nothing more than that.

"No," Carmelita said sadly, sliding a plate in front of Jennifer along with a glass of milk. Jenn stared at the glass in bewilderment – she hadn't been served milk to drink since she was a small child. She took a hesitant sip of the super thick, creamy liquid as Carmelita continued, "His mother died 14 years ago in a car accident – hit a deer on the way over to Pocatello to visit Stetson's older brother, Declan. His father was devastated; they loved each other very much. He never dated or looked at anyone else. He died of cancer last July, or so they say. I think he died of a broken heart. He was never right after Mrs. Miller died."

She stopped talking just as Jennifer had taken another overly large bite of her glorious sandwich – she'd almost just shoved the whole thing in her mouth because it was so damn delicious, but had settled on only taking a huge bite instead.

Which left her chewing furiously so she could respond without her mouth being full.

Awkwarddddddd...

Finally, she swallowed and said, "That's a really sad story."

Which was just about the most lame comment on the planet, but she really wasn't sure what else to say.

Carmelita pulled out an oversized mixing bowl and canisters, lining them up in preparation to make something delicious, Jennifer was sure of it. It was probably a good thing that an audit only lasted a couple of weeks. She was going to have to be rolled out the front door at this rate on a hand truck if all of Carmelita's cooking was as delicious as the sandwich had been.

She scrambled for something else to say as Carmelita hummed softly to herself, stirring flour and sugar together in the ceramic mixing bowl.

"So Mr. Miller has an older brother?" She wasn't sure why she was asking this question, other than out of politeness. It certainly wasn't any of her business.

She certainly didn't care.

"Two older brothers," Carmelita corrected, adding salt into the mixture. "Wyatt is the oldest and then Declan two years later. Stetson was...how do you say? Surprise." She laughed a little. "Mrs. Miller was so flustered when she found out she was pregnant again. Stetson was eight years after Declan, and they had believed that they were done. She wanted a little girl but of course, he was a boy. Mr. Miller was happy, though, and Stetson never left his side. As soon as he was out of diapers, he spent the whole day with his father. Never complained – his shadow. Two peas in a pod.

"Declan was always closest to Mrs. Miller, and Wyatt...well, I do not know. Wyatt is his own person."

Which was just about the oddest statement ever, but Jennifer didn't feel comfortable asking for clarification. She'd already gossiped about her client's past long enough. It was time to get back to work.

With a barely stifled groan, she pushed back from the worn kitchen table and stood, stretching for just a moment before smiling at the housekeeper. "Thank you for lunch," she said.

The housekeeper bobbed her head, flashing a quick smile before concentrating on her baking again. Chocolate chips were being added to the bowl now. Jennifer tried not to drool.

Too much, anyway.

"My Stetson – his bark is worse than his bite. He is just worried. He has a good heart. He will be nicer to you next time. I will make him."

Jennifer let out a snort of laughter at that. The diminutive housekeeper was probably a good two feet shorter than Mr. Miller, but Jennifer was pretty sure that in this case, size wasn't really what mattered.

"Well...ummm...thanks again," she said, and headed back to the office.

She was still pretty sure that Stetson Miller was a jackass of the first water, but at least he had good taste in housekeepers. That was one point in his favor.

Even if it was his only one.