LITMIR.BIZ

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do with his nonathletic, bookish son, even before he’d abandoned the family. And that was one reason Megan had taken back her maiden name when they were divorced. Another was to distance herself from the terrible financial situation Todd had left her in.

      When she stopped at the intersection near the town square, she reached over and tousled her son’s red hair. “I love you no matter what, Ty. And I want you to know that when you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’ll be here to listen.”

      He didn’t respond, yet he didn’t move away from her caressing hand, either.

      She pulled her old Civic into the parking spot in the back alley behind Zorba’s and shut off the ignition, her thoughts still desperately groping for a solution. And while she wasn’t sure what to do to help her son, she couldn’t very well leave Mr. Johnson alone to poke around the store more than she already had. But she’d had no other choice. Had he not been there, she would have locked up and left an “out to lunch” sign on the front door.

      Megan glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, wishing she had some lip gloss and mascara.

      And why was that? She hadn’t gone out of her way to look attractive for anyone since before her divorce. Of course, there’d never been any extra money for frivolities like makeup or new clothes. Besides, the last thing she needed was for a man to show any interest in her.

      So why was she now so concerned with how she looked for Mr. Big-Shot Accountant?

      “Did Mr. Carpenter leave that MacBook for me to adjust?” Tyler asked as he hopped out of the car and headed toward the back entrance.

      Oh, no! She’d forgotten to tell Tyler that Mr. Johnson was here. And for that reason, he couldn’t do any more of the repairs—at least, not during business hours.

      She unlatched her seat belt and hustled out of the car, trying to intercept the boy before he made it inside.

      “Whoa,” Tyler said before she could stop him. “Who are you?”

      Mr. Johnson, who’d been seated at Don Carpenter’s desk, spun the chair toward the door as they entered.

      Had he gotten better-looking while she’d been gone? Or had she just been too distracted on the phone to notice that his eyes were an amazing shade of blue, that he had a square-cut jaw, that his lips were full and sensuous?

      “I’m Peyton Johnson.” He stood and extended his hand to Tyler. “I work for Zorba the Geek.”

      While Megan hadn’t paid too much attention to his facial features before, she definitely noted them now, especially the way his blue eyes narrowed in on her as he said, “And now will somebody be so kind as to tell me who you two are?”

      Oh, no. Hadn’t she introduced herself when he’d arrived? Her memory replayed the sequence of events between when he’d entered the shop and when she’d dashed out. As the conversation, at least most of it, played back to her, she could have sworn she’d told him her name. But maybe she hadn’t.

      “I’m so sorry. I’m Megan Adams. I help Mr. Carpenter here in the back office. This is my son, Tyler. He got in trouble at school today, and I’m afraid dealing with all of that made me a little flustered. I’m not normally like this.”

      Peyton’s intent stare sent a nervous flutter through her, threatening to scatter her thoughts to the winds, so she averted her eyes from his face, her gaze slipping down to the open black collar that exposed a sliver of dark chest hair.

      “So,” Mr. Johnson said, reining in her thoughts from the slight sexual diversion they’d taken, “what exactly do you do here at Zorba the Geek? Are you a computer tech?”

      “Ha!” Laughter came from the boy behind her, but before she could turn and shush him, he added, “Mom wouldn’t know a gigabyte from an integrated circuit.”

      Peyton’s brows rose, and he looked over Megan’s head, which wasn’t all that hard for him to do, since she stood only five foot two. “And you do?”

      “Of course I do. Take this Geekon hard drive right here.” Tyler pointed to one of the black boxes disassembled on an empty workstation against the wall. “This model uses a digital integrated circuit.” He went on to talk about logic gates and signals and values of ones and zeroes, all of which went over Megan’s head. “See, all the Geekon series use digital ICs.”

      “What do you think of the Geekon series?” Peyton asked the usually quiet boy, who hadn’t said more than three sentences to her all week.

      Tyler perked up and launched into a full discourse on the uses of microprocessors and transistors and everything else that caused Megan to tune him out.

      “So basically,” Tyler said, “straight out of the box, Geekon computers are the best you can buy. But they’re not the best that can be made.”

      “Tyler, Mr. Johnson works for Zorba the Geek, which is part of Geekon Enterprises, remember?” Megan left the rest unsaid, hoping that her normally introverted son knew better than to insult the product that was responsible for providing her paycheck.

      The boy lovingly patted the black hard drive on the table. “Then I’m sure Mr. Johnson would want to see what I can do with this baby to make it run even better.”

      Oh, jeez.

      “You know what, Tyler? I certainly would like to see that. But I’m here from the accounting department. Maybe when I get finished here, I can call some buddies who run the manufacturing department and set you up with someone who designs this stuff for a living.”

      “Sweet!”

      Well, at least one person was excited about Mr. Johnson being there.

      When Peyton returned to Mr. Carpenter’s desk, he looked at it as if he wanted to pick up the whole thing, mounds of paperwork and all, and throw it in the Dumpster out back.

      Shoot. Who could blame him? Whenever Megan tried to tackle the piles of old invoices that had been stacked up months before she’d even started working here, she felt like tossing it all out herself. She didn’t even know where to start sorting out the jumbled mess.

      “I don’t even know where to start,” Peyton said.

      Great, he was an accountant and a mind reader.

      “Things have gotten a wee bit backed up since Mrs. Carpenter got sick,” she admitted.

      Of course, in a matter of days—maybe even hours—Mr. Johnson was going to figure it out on his own. But in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to try and make the corporate lapdog see that they were all doing their best and that none of them should lose their jobs.

      “Do you have a game plan for how long you’ll be in town?” she asked, hoping he’d say it would be for only a few hours.

      “As long as it takes. The corporate office got me a room at the Night Owl.”

      The motel was right off the highway and near the Stagecoach Inn, a local honky-tonk. Neither seemed to be the kind of place that would appeal to a man like Peyton Johnson, although that was mere speculation on her part—and quite frankly, it was none of her business or her concern.

      “Too bad you can’t stay in the apartment upstairs,” Tyler said. “It would make it a lot closer for you.”

      The boy’s suggestion took the wind right out of her, making it impossible to respond, let alone object.

      “It’s got a bed and stuff up there,” Tyler added. “And it’s also got a TV and a kitchen.”

      “Is it vacant?” Peyton asked.

      “Yeah,” Tyler said.

      Megan’s stomach tightened. How did she go about keeping the boy quiet? “The company has made arrangements for Mr. Johnson to stay at a motel, Tyler. I’m sure they’ve already made a deposit. And if not, there’s probably a cancellation fee. Besides, there’s not much to do in

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