Crystal Creek as your desert island?”
She smiled, causing a dimple to flash briefly in her right cheek. He was even more enchanted.
“Maybe,” she suggested, “I’ve decided to learn the fine art of Texas cuisine.”
“And maybe not,” he said.
But she refused to rise to the bait, and before long they were fully involved again in the business of input commands and program files.
CHAPTER FOUR
DOUG EVANS WAS amazingly quick-witted, with an incisive grasp of new concepts that left her breathless.
“Let’s start putting some of this into practice,” she said at last, trying not to show how impressed she was with him. “Which part of your business would you choose to enter on the main ledger?”
“The pub,” he said without hesitation. “It makes more money than the hotel. It’s a real godsend during slow times like this.”
“And what do you consider the main areas of difficulty in your accounting?”
“Wage deductions and capital cost depreciation,” Doug said. “I’m afraid this old software has cost me a fair amount in taxes over the past few years.”
“You’re probably right.” Maggie frowned at the computer. “Now, if I can just remember where to find the Web site, I’ll be able to download the neatest program for calculating your capital depreciation. It works like magic….”
While she worked, Doug sat nearby and answered her questions until she had all the programs running in different windows. Then he got up and roamed around the lobby, sat for a while on one of the couches and leafed through a magazine, strolled into the back to lock the outside door.
“Come on,” he said at last, pausing by the desk. “You’ve been at it almost two hours, Maggie. Call it a night and have that drink with me.”
“Two hours?” she looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “Really, it’s been that long?”
He chuckled. “You love this, don’t you? I was watching you at that computer and your face was completely absorbed, like someone watching a good movie.”
She smiled and leaned back on the stool, stretching her arms. “You know, it’s really fun. Looking for the right software is like solving a mystery, or going on a treasure hunt.”
“So, are you going to find a treasure for me?”
“Well…” Maggie hesitated. “No promises, now,” she warned, “but I think you might be able to save quite a lot in taxes.”
“How?”
“Things like capital cost allowances, wage deductions and writing off some of the hotel expenses against the profit you make on the bar. This new software will help you with all that.”
He brightened. “If that’s true, I’ll have to raise your wages.”
Maggie laughed and switched off the computer. With his help she stacked the files neatly, then climbed down from the stool and followed him in the direction of the pub, which was called the Tartan Lounge.
Doug Evans had obviously been aiming for an old-world atmosphere in this part of his business, and judging by his casual statement about profits, his neighbors appreciated the effort.
The bar with its rows of colorful, gleaming bottles was topped by a crest that matched the one up in their sitting room. Bright swathes of tartan and crossed swords adorned the other walls, and a fire burned low in the big stone hearth, where Dundee drowsed in the warmth on a folded blanket.
Three young cowboys and their girlfriends were engaged in a lively game of darts, while a group of older couples chatted over cribbage boards in a corner.
The place was warm and welcoming, rich with quiet companionship, a cozy refuge from the winter night.
Doug settled Maggie near the fireplace, then went to the bar and came back with a martini, and a glass of whiskey-and-cream liqueur on ice for her. She looked at it, surprised to find he’d remembered the brief mention of her drink of choice.
Most of the men she encountered these days would have missed that comment, Maggie realized. They were usually too wrapped up in themselves and the impression they were making to pay much attention to a woman’s conversation, even when they found her attractive.
But Doug Evans seemed to be a supremely confident man. He was quiet and considerate, but gave no evidence of being worried about the impression he was making on her.
“You were joking about wages a while ago.” Maggie sipped the excellent liqueur. “And it made me wonder about something.”
“What’s that?” His hard face was highlighted softly by the flames.
Maggie could picture him as a Highland chieftain sitting near a turf fire, with his horses nearby and his warriors gathered around him.
She shivered in the grip of sudden sexual arousal, and forced her mind back to the topic.
“Do you have any full-time employees besides Rose?” she asked. “If not, the wage deductions won’t amount to very much.”
“I don’t even get a deduction for Rose,” he admitted. “She just works here to help out.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s on a visitor’s visa—not a work permit.”
“You mean she and the children are in the country illegally?” Maggie asked.
“Not exactly. But her visa is on the point of expiry, and she hasn’t been able to get it renewed.” He sighed. “It’s easier to find the Hope Diamond than get a green card.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Maggie asked curiously. “You don’t even know who I am, Doug. What if Terry and I were immigration agents, coming here to investigate your sister?”
He met her eyes steadily, with a gaze so probing that she was forced to look down at the table.
“That’s not who you are, Maggie,” he said gently. “I’m still not sure what you’re doing here, but I do know you’re not at all interested in my sister and her citizenship.”
Maggie traced the damp circle left by her glass on the shining wooden surface of the table. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m no threat to Rose.”
“So do you think I’m daft, Maggie?” he asked casually. “Opening my books to you?”
Maggie shook her head. “I never saw your numbers, not even one entry. I just offered a bit of computer software, that’s all. But I’d say your business seems pretty well managed.”
He chuckled, a pleasant sound in the cozy firelit pub. “Oh, I’m a good manager, all right. I’m just not much of a computer technician.”
She smiled at him. Their eyes met and held for a long moment, and again she was the first to turn away. “So Rose doesn’t want to go back to Scotland?”
“Not at all. Her ex-husband is a harsh, cruel bastard. He’s been abusive to Rose and a terrible influence on the girls. For the sake of the kids, she’d much prefer to keep an ocean between them.”
Maggie thought about the gentle blond woman and her two little girls. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Do you have any family there who could help her if she’s forced to go back?”
“Our father died when we were small and our mother remarried not long after. She’s dead now, too. There’s nobody left but a stepfather. And he’s not a man who’d help either of us, not unless there might be some profit in it for him.”
“How sad.” Maggie thought about the meaning of his words, and what his childhood