Rancher at Risk by Barbara White Daille

hands.
    Sweat broke out on his forehead.
    Overseeing the project manager had damn sure taken on new meaning.
    He stepped farther back into the shadows, slumped against the side of the barn and dragged his shirtsleeve across his brow.

Chapter Seven
    Later that afternoon Ryan stood in the office doorway and looked in surprise at the bare desk. A big change from the flood of files she normally kept all over its surface. Not to mention the floor.
    Better to think of that mess than to dwell on the vision he’d seen after breakfast.
    Hell, he’d seen a lot more of a lot of women than he’d seen of Lianne. But somehow that glimpse of her in her exercise gear had darned near knocked his legs out from under him.
    The view now had him a little shaky, too.
    Behind the desk, she stood studying a spreadsheet, her blond hair pushed back to spill around her shoulders. With her head tilted down, one long strand had slipped forward near her temple and draped down against her cheek. Idly, she twirled the strand around and around a pencil.
    Eventually she looked up and noticed him leaning against the doorjamb. Blue eyes observed him without blinking. Pink lips stayed straight and firm. But he could see she was making an effort.
    He gestured around the room. “What happened to organized chaos?”
    “Sometimes I like a rest from it.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    She laughed.
    The soft, blurred sound had his legs even shakier. “How’s it going?”
    “About the same as it was this morning. And again right after lunch.” She pointed toward her computer monitor at the digits in the corner of the screen. “Two hours ago, that is.”
    “That long already?”
    “Not nearly long enough.”
    She tossed her pencil onto the desk. The lead broke. Sighing, she shook her head. “Good thing there are plenty more where that one came from. Which reminds me, Ryan. Do you think with the next supply order, I should purchase a time clock? Maybe if I punch in and out, you won’t need to check up to see when I’m working.”
    Was that the beginning of a curve to those pink lips?
    “Very funny.” He shifted the spreadsheet and sat on one edge of the desk. “Not checking up, supervising,” he corrected. “And I’ll take that stack of resumes from you.”
    The curve shifted back to a straight line, but she went to the file cabinet by the credenza for a folder and set it on the desk. “Those are mostly candidates for the aides—the counselor positions for the noncurricular activities. Caleb has reviewed them. I’m starting with the top few.”
    “How are you planning to contact the applicants?”
    “I’ve already called the first two.”
    “‘Called?’” Frowning, he looked at the telephone she had pushed to one corner of the desk and half buried under a sheaf of papers. “On the phone?”
    “No. Through video relay.” She pointed toward the computer again. “I sign to an online interpreter who speaks for me and tells me what the other party says. The conversation goes back and forth, just as in any phone call.”
    He nodded. The explanation sounded like something she’d memorized, but it did address one of the issues he’d wondered about—how she would deal with hiring the staff. “You’ll do the interviews through the interpreter.”
    “No. Those I’ll handle face-to-face. I’ve confirmed a couple for next week.”
    He nodded. “I’m planning some full days out on the ranch, but I’ll work around your schedule. Give me the dates.”
    “Why? I’m not expecting you to sit in on the interviews.”
    “That’s what supervisors do.”
    She shook her head emphatically, sending that strand of hair swinging against her cheek. “Not in this case. I’ve already talked to Caleb about the candidates. He’s good with my selections.” She shoved a file drawer closed. Metal clanged.
    At the desk again she slipped her spreadsheet into a folder, as if worried he’d manhandle the paperwork from her. As if afraid he’d try to take over her