Free Samantha’s Cowboy by Marin Thomas

watering eyes. For the hundredth time that day Wade pushed his glasses up his nose. “Why don’t you wear contacts?” She blurted the question that had been on her mind since meeting him.
    “Contacts irritate my eyes.”
    “Maybe you should consider laser eye surgery.” Didn’t he hate having to adjust his glasses all the time?
    “Dad says our glasses are a sign of intelligence and we should be proud to wear them.” Luke gazed up at his father. “Right, Dad?”
    Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to wound their egos.
    “Break’s over,” Wade announced. “Back to digging.”
    She’d heard once that high-IQ people lacked common sense and wondered if Wade fell into that category. One thing was clear—even if her arms transformed into rotary blades, they wouldn’t hit water today. She might as well put an end to this nonsense. “I’m quitting,” she announced.
    Both males gaped at her. “What about the bet?” Luke asked.
    “Your dad wins.” That ought to make up for any bruised feelings from her four-eyes comment.
    The corner of Wade’s mouth lifted in a sexy half smile. “What’s my prize?”
    “Your prize is that you don’t have to shovel anymore. I’m calling a drilling company tomorrow and that’s final.”
    “But—”
    “No buts, Wade. This is my project. My money. And we’re doing this my way.” She stomped off, forcing her legs to keep moving when Wade called her name.
    “Wait, Samantha!” Footsteps pounded the earth behind her.
    She’d made it to her truck when Wade stumbled to a halt. “Luke wants to keep digging the well. He’s having a great time. Please give us a week. If we don’t hit water, I’ll step aside and we’ll do this your way.”
    Luke caught up to them and both males gazed at her through their eyeglasses. How was she supposed to resist such a cute pair of geeks?
    “Okay. You’ve got until next Sunday. Then all bets are off.”

Chapter Six
    “Find anything yet?” Wade asked George, the systems analyst called in to search the company’s software program for Samantha’s missing trust fund.
    Fingers clicking the keyboard at hyperspeed, the balding man in his late fifties grunted an unintelligible answer.
    Wade moved to the office doorway and stared at the empty conference rooms across the hall. Due to his uncle’s extended absence, the firm’s senior executives were conducting business meetings on the golf course while employees on the lower rungs of the company ladder managed to squeeze in online shopping, long-distance calls to family and friends and two-hour lunches.
    Wasting company time was the least of Wade’s worries. He flexed his stiff fingers. His stint as a weekend cowboy had taken a toll on his body. Monday night he’d caved in and paid for a massage at the gym. Tuesday he’d sat for a half hour in the whirlpool and made another appointment with Helga and her meat-grinding fingers. Wednesday he weaned himself off the Icy Hot patches and this morning he was able to roll outof bed without wincing—just in time for another round of abuse this weekend.
    Ignoring the queasy feeling that had plagued his stomach all week, he shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his wing tips. Even if he succeeded in digging the sixty-foot well by Sunday evening, he doubted Samantha would approve of him shoveling the trenches to lay water pipe from the well to the paddocks.
    “Sir.”
    “What is it?” Wade bolted to his desk and peered over George’s shoulder at the jumbled symbols, letters and numbers on the computer screen.
    “These codes—” George pointed to the top of the screen “—verify that the account in question was accessed by an unknown user.”
    “A computer hacker?”
    George shrugged. “The user ID isn’t registered to anyone in the company.” He tapped a series of numbers. “And this code tells me that the transaction wasn’t made on your computer.”
    “If not mine, then whose?”
    “Computer 12785.” George