Free Leslie LaFoy by Jacksons Way

neat, Ben's columns straight and his numbers precisely formed. None of that made looking at the totals any easier. Lindsay had stood at the window for the entire two hours, presumably watching the traffic onthe street pass by. Whatever her thoughts on the task at hand, she studiously kept them to herself.
    Jackson leaned back in the chair and contemplated the tin ceiling. “Ben?”
    On the other side of the desk, Ben tore his gaze away from Lindsay and straightened his spine a notch. “Yes, sir?”
    “In your estimation, when did the wagon begin to lose the wheel?”
    He blinked, rocked back on his heels for a second, and then recovered enough to cock a pale brow and say, “I beg your pardon, sir?”
    “When did the MacPhaull Company begin to move from the black into the red,” Lindsay clarified, her gaze still fixed on the world beyond the office.
    “I'm the bookkeeper, sir,” Ben quickly countered, casting a glance her way. “It's not my place to offer such observations.”
    Because they're not going to reflect well on my employer's business judgment
, Jackson silently added for him. It occurred to him that Lindsay had probably maintained her strict silence because she knew darn good and well what the books were telling him and didn't want to compound her embarrassment. In a perfect world, he would have anticipated the possibility of such an awkward situation and insisted on coming to the office without her. But the world wasn't perfect and he really hadn't expected to see anything approaching the disaster that had been so neatly and clearly laid out in front of him. But since the ugly truth had to be faced and put into words sooner or later, sooner was probably better.
    “That might not have been the case in the past, Ben, but now's now and I want your opinion.”
    The bookkeeper hesitated, glanced at Lindsay again, and then quietly cleared his throat. “I'll have to give it some thought, Mr. Stennett. The matter has never occurred to me and I'd prefer to give you a fully considered speculation later rather than a hastily formed and thus inaccurate one now.”
    “Fair enough.”
And a damn fine job of dodging there, Ben.
“Your books look to be in excellent order. I can't see that I need you for anything else today. I'm assuming thatyour wife is going to be putting your dinner on the table shortly and would like to have you there to eat it while it's still warm.”
    Ben Tipton's shoulders went slightly less square and his smile seemed a little less forced than it had been all afternoon. “I'm not married, sir. But Mrs. McAbee, my housekeeper and cook, does expect me to present myself in a timely manner for all meals.”
    “Then head on out for the day.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Stennett.” He turned toward the window. “Miss Lindsay,” he said softly, “I hope that Mr. Patterson improves rapidly. If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask.”
    Looking over her shoulder, she smiled stoically. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate your concern.”
    With an abbreviated bow to her, Ben took his leave, pulling the door half closed on his way out. Jackson wryly smiled at the gesture; how interesting that Ben thought to balance the need for privacy and propriety.
    “He's conscientious and very loyal,” Lindsay said quietly. “Thank you for assuring him that his job is secure. Given the times, it would be terribly difficult for him to find another.”
    “No point in cleaning house just to clean house. He's meticulous and knows the books. Both are assets I can appreciate.”
    She didn't respond and in the silence he turned the ledger pages until he reached those concerning the drafts against owner equity. The numbers were the same as the last time he'd looked at them. “Lindsay? How do you pay for the food on your table?”
    Lindsay leaned her forehead against the window glass and closed her eyes. Why had he started with the personal aspects of it all? The details of business transactions would have