Читать книгу A Family After All - Kathy Altman - Страница 10
ОглавлениеSETH WALKER CURSED a streak bluer than the truck’s oil-heavy exhaust as he slid out from under the chassis and blinked in the morning sun. Dammit. This was not going to be an easy repair. He’d have to call the garage. Arrange a tow. And figure out how the hell he was going to manage to pay for either when his bank account balance hovered somewhere between pathetic and desperate.
He plucked his shades from his shirt pocket, jammed them back into place and reached for his phone. He’d find a way. If he didn’t have a truck, he couldn’t make his deliveries. And if he couldn’t make his deliveries, he couldn’t see Ivy.
The clutch in his chest had him shaking his head. Maybe that would be a good thing, considering what he planned to tell her.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t care.
After dialing the garage, he lifted the phone to his ear and turned away from the road. Traffic was sparse, but the occasional passing car still made it difficult to hear. He wandered to the edge of a vineyard that stretched all the way to Lake Erie, a hazy strip of blue in the distance bordered by the lighter blue of the sky and the vibrant green of the grapevines. Off to the left, a yellow monster of a harvester straddled a row of vines. As it lumbered through the crop, it shook the purple grapes onto a conveyer belt that led to a massive storage bin in the back. Seth had been up close and personal with a harvester more than once while making his deliveries, and he didn’t know how the drivers did it. They had to climb a ladder just to get to the cab. He liked his steering wheels closer to the ground.
He made arrangements for a tow while breathing in the sweet scent of Concord juice, pressed End and dialed again. One call down, two to go.
His thumb hovered over the send button. He exhaled. Screw pride. All he had to do to save himself the cost of a rental was call in a favor. And suck up the ribbing next time he got together with the guys.
Joe Gallahan answered the phone, saying, “Your ass better not be backing out of poker night, ’cause I’m feeling lucky.”
“You’re feeling lucky ’cause you’re getting lucky.”
“Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, well, she’s lucky, too.”
Joe snorted. “I can feel myself being hit up for a favor.”
“You always were a sensitive kind of guy.”
“Kiss my ass. Now, what do you need?”
Less than a minute later, Joe had agreed to lend out his truck for the two to three days it would take the mechanic to fix Seth’s ride.
“Hang tight,” Joe said. “I’m on my way.”
Two down, one to go.
Bradley answered on the first ring. “’Sup.”
“Try again,” Seth growled.
A protracted sigh, then, “Tweedy’s Feed and Seed, how may I help you?”
“Better.”
“Dude. Why do I have to answer your calls like that? You’re the owner. You should know the name of your own business by now.”
“Cute.” Seth turned back to his truck. If only he could afford to abandon the damned thing. “I’m stuck at the side of Route 5, waiting for a tow. The brake line’s leaking. Joe’s going to lend us his pickup so we can handle deliveries until Pete can breathe life back into Bertha here.”
“That sucks. About Bertha, I mean, not about Joe.”
“Point is, I’ll be late getting back to the store. You okay watching the kids till I get there?”
“Not a prob. Or you could let me make the deliveries.”
“I got it.”
“You sure? Because I don’t mind. Anyway, isn’t it my turn to deliver to the dairy farm?”
In your dreams, kid. “You don’t get a turn at the dairy farm.”
“I used to. And, dude, I know Ivy misses me. Just the other day, she told me how much she misses me. I saw her at the post office and she came up to me and said, ‘Oh, Bradley—’” the kid started talking in a high-pitched voice, though God only knew why he added the Southern accent “‘—I’ve missed you so much, Bradley, you big, strong, handsome hunk of man, you—’” Abruptly, Bradley switched back to his normal voice. “Sorry, Mrs. Macfarland, I didn’t see you standing there. Weed killer? Try aisle three.” He got back on the phone. “Awk-ward.”
Seth didn’t know whether to laugh or groan, so he did both. “Stop tormenting my customers. And don’t forget to dust.”
“Give my love to Ivy,” Bradley said, and disconnected.
Not long after, Joe pulled up. Seth climbed into the passenger seat and stuck out his hand. “I appreciate this.”
“No sweat. I can always use Allison’s car if I need to run errands.”
“How’s she doing?”
As he pulled back out onto the highway, Joe gave his head a shake that failed to dislodge his goofy grin. “She’s great,” he said. “Just great.”
“Glad to hear it. I know the motel’s doing well. Whenever I drive by, the parking lot’s full.”
“That website she put together is really bringing in the business.”
“The renovations must have helped, too. I still hear horror stories about the turquoise ceilings.”
“Bet you hear more about the python behind the wall.”
Seth didn’t have to fake his shudder. “I’d rather talk about the ceilings.”
“I know what you’d rather talk about. Or should I say who. Ivy still thinking about opening a riding school?”
Seth frowned. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Allison. Ivy asked her advice on creating an ‘online presence.’” Joe glanced over at Seth and winced. “Damn, man, I’m sorry. I figured you knew. You’re at the farm all the time.”
“I’m at the farm when I have a delivery to make.”
“That’s all there is to it?”
“She’s determined to keep things casual.” Which was a never-ending source of frustration for him. They’d met a year ago, when he and his kids had moved to town and he’d taken over the feed store. The tall blonde fascinated him. She was industrious, smart, sexy and playful—a constant tease to the deliberate side of his personality. Unfortunately, she was also determined to keep their relationship shallow. He’d been just as determined to coax her toward the deep end.
But some things weren’t meant to be. Like his marriage, which had ended two years earlier. Maybe it was just as well Ivy wasn’t into forever, because his kids were still struggling to deal.
Joe’s next words reinforced that notion. “Between your kids, your store and that cranky-ass truck of yours, it sounds like you have your hands full anyway.”
Seth grunted. “So does she.” A riding school. When would she find time to run a school? The woman worked too damned hard as it was.
What really bothered him was that she hadn’t mentioned it. Yeah, they kept it laid-back, but over the past several months they’d talked about everything from the nutritional value of the cottonseed in her cows’ feed to the healing properties of oral sex. His groin perked up at the phrase. Down, boy.
They never talked much about his kids, though. And that was the thing.
His kids came first.
Joe turned into the crumbling asphalt lot of his motel, Sleep at Joe’s. Seth smirked, even as wistfulness whispered through him. Joe and Allison had gotten back together in the spring after a year apart. He doubted there was a lot of sleeping going on.
He met up with Joe on the sidewalk in front of the truck and offered his hand again. “Thanks. I’ll take good care of her.”
“You’re welcome. And yeah, you will.”
“Anything I can do in return, you let me know.” Seth waved at Allison, a curvy blonde who was working at the other end of the motel, spreading mulch around the base of a young tree. She returned his wave and blew Joe a kiss before turning back to her yard work.
Seth gave his head a mournful shake. “I get a kiss and you get a wave? What’d you do, leave the toilet seat up again?”
“Smart-ass. The kiss was for me.” Joe pushed him off the sidewalk and trailed him to the driver’s side. “You heading out to Ivy’s now?”
Seth gestured toward the empty truck bed and opened his door. “I need to get back to the store and load up first.”
Joe slammed the door shut after Seth had buckled himself in. “Hey, I thought of something you can do for me,” he said through the open window.
“Name it.”
“Spring for some decent beer for poker night.”
Seth raised an eyebrow. “What do you care?”
“That cheap-ass crap you buy gives everyone else gas. I may have quit drinking, but I still have to breathe.”
* * *
IVY MILLBROOK SHOULD have been working. Instead she was staring at the backside of the man she’d lusted after since the day he’d moved to Castle Creek.
A year was a long time to go hungry, but Seth was tougher than a cheap cut of meat. Since her livestock needed feed and Seth was the only game in town, Ivy had no choice but to respect his preference to sit tight as friends.
Plus, he was a genuinely nice guy. Damn him.
When he turned and caught her staring, the flare of heat in his brown eyes stirred up a jittery warmth in her belly. But then he looked away, and a squeeze of panic put a hitch in her breathing. He had something on his mind. Something she probably wouldn’t want to hear. She squinted up at him as he shifted on the truck bed, surrounded by flecks of dust floating in the afternoon sun, straw rustling beneath his boots. What the heck had happened to the laid-back, naughty camaraderie they usually shared?
He lifted his ball cap away from his hair and swiped an arm across his forehead, resettled his hat and finally returned her stare, his own gaze reflecting half amusement, half frustration and half speculation.
She frowned. Wait. That was too many halves. But with all those gorgeous man muscles mere inches from her nose, no one could blame her for not being able to do the math.
“Ivy,” he said.
“Seth,” she drawled, proud of the lack of urgency in her tone.
He propped a boot on the nearest hay bale. Despite the green-apple crispness of the October day, he was sweating. And no wonder, considering he’d already unloaded most of her order—and hers was not the first delivery of the day. His long-sleeved cotton shirt clung to impressive pecs, and the deepened rhythm of his breathing had her wishing that she, and not hard labor, had made him pant. An explicit mental image of just how she might achieve that shoved her own lung action toward the red zone. A swell of lust left her fidgeting. She shifted her thighs against the ache and Seth made a growling sound of impatience.
“Are you going to just stand there eyeing my ass, or are you going to help?”
The warning behind his words kept her from pointing out that he’d turned around. It was no longer his ass claiming her attention.
“Help,” she said.
Not realizing she was answering his question, he crouched on the truck bed and held out a gloved hand, jaw firm, eyes distant. Seemed Seth Walker was in no mood to play today.
“You can push the rest of these bales onto the tailgate while I finish unloading.”
Ivy sighed. “Fine.” She stepped onto the bumper and let him haul her up beside him. She pressed her palm against his chest to steady herself and had only an instant to appreciate his solid, sweaty warmth before he jumped to the ground. He hefted a bale as if it weighed no more than his battered ball cap and swung toward the barn.
“Where is Wade, anyway?”
“Home with his wife,” she called after him, her gaze lingering on a very fine rear view. She exhaled, pictured his handsome face and sucked in her bottom lip. What had put that furrow between his brows?
No matter what was troubling him, she’d only make it worse by letting him do all the work. She pulled her gloves from the back pocket of her jeans. As she stuffed her hands into the scarred leather, a gust of autumn air skated past the pickup, carrying the comforting scents of meadow grass and manure, lifting her bangs off her forehead. Pride surged. She scanned the fields of her Pennsylvania farm, waves of vibrant green lolling under a thin, hazy streak of Lake Erie blue.
Seth emerged from the barn, one eyebrow lifted. With a squeak Ivy lunged forward and started shoving.
He leaned an arm on the nearest bale and she noticed his faded navy Henley was ripped at the elbow. “Becky still recovering from her accident?”
She stopped pushing, flipped her braid back over her shoulder and nodded. “He’s working fewer hours until he’s confident he can leave her on her own.” It was proving to be rough handling Wade’s chores on top of hers, but at this particular moment she was grateful for her farm manager’s absence. It was nice having Seth all to herself.
Even if they had strayed from their routine. Usually they took their time, engaging in nonstop innuendos and dirty jokes. It was why he always saved her stop for last. They’d end the visit with his asking her out and her asking him to bed. Both knew nothing would come of it. Seth didn’t do casual, so Ivy didn’t do Seth. Because she was all about casual.
But as much as their sexual standoff frustrated her—and drove her to ride her own fingers almost every night—she looked forward to their time together. He respected her. Challenged her. Cheered her.
At least he had until today. He was probably just tired. The man worked harder than she did. And he was a single father of two.
“I’m sorry she’s not doing well.” Seth gripped the twine binding the nearest bale and tugged it toward him. “I’d heard the accident wasn’t serious. Just the one car involved, right?”
“She broke her collarbone.”
Ivy must not have managed to keep the cynicism out of her voice, because Seth cocked his head. “And?”
“And...it’s a collarbone. Collarbones heal.” She wondered at the relief that skated across Seth’s face. Sweet of him to worry about a woman he didn’t even know. “But I think Becky’s gotten used to having Wade around the house. And I think he likes feeling needed.”
“So a husband misses his wife. What’s wrong with that?”
“I need him, too,” she said, and cringed at the petulance in her tone.
Seth dipped his head and looked up through his lashes. Good God, the man had gorgeous eyes. “You’re not thinking about breaking your own collarbone, are you?”
She rolled her eyes, watched as he hoisted the bale and blurted, “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Miss your wife?”
He stopped, adjusted his grip and headed for the barn. “Ex-wife,” she heard him mutter.
Guess that meant she wouldn’t get an answer. She was still trying to decide whether to press the issue when Seth reappeared. Quickly, she leaned over again and braced her hands on another bale, feeling like a football player performing preseason drills. She slid the bundle over to Seth but didn’t straighten, liking that his face, with its stubbled jaw and concerned expression, was so close to her own.
“Hey, what’s with the sign?” he asked.
She knew what he meant. The big fancy Millbrook Dairy Farm sign at the end of the driveway had become the pet project of some smart-ass with artistic skills. He—or she—liked to monkey with the middle word. Currently the sign read Millbrook Funny Farm. The moniker probably had Ivy’s father rolling over in his grave, but it was fairly accurate.
“I’ve decided to stop wasting energy trying to fix it,” she said. “At least it’s always G-rated. Though I have to admit, I didn’t much like the Fat Farm edition.”
Seth grunted, took off one glove and freed a hunk of hay. “You got someone seeing to Wade’s work while he’s gone?”
In her dreams. “Yes.”
His gaze narrowed. “So you don’t need help picking up the slack?”
“You offering to stop by more often? Give me a hand when I need it? Or—” she propped her chin in her palm, arched her back and gently swayed her hips, enjoying the stretch of the muscles at the backs of her thighs “—maybe there’s another body part you’d be willing to contribute to the cause.”
Seth slapped a palm down on the hay bale. “Need to get this inside,” he said.
His voice carried an edge. She peered at him, watched his gaze flick from her face to the front of the truck, saw the color streak his cheekbones and glanced behind her. Oh. Oh. It wasn’t the front of the truck that had snagged his attention but her reflection in the sliding window. With her chest nearly touching the hay bale and her ass in the air, her position seemed somewhat...suggestive.
It was affecting him.
And now it was affecting her.
She straightened slowly and treated herself to an unhurried inspection of some serious muscles. “You’re looking flushed,” she managed. “Too much sun, I expect. How about a beer?”
“Love one.” He swallowed and with a tilt of his chin indicated his pickup. “But this thing won’t drive itself.”
“So stay.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
Yeah. She did. She shrugged. “Why’re you driving Joe’s truck?”
“My brakes are shot.”
“On your pickup?” A curt nod. “You couldn’t use your box truck?”
“Didn’t have that many deliveries to make. Anyway, the box truck uses too much gas for everyday use.”
She frowned. “Business okay?”
“No.”
Her stomach dropped, but his next words made it clear his “No” had nothing to do with her question.
He removed his ball cap again. The brown hair plastered to his skull looked black. “We’re not going to just step over this and keep on walking. Not again. We’ve been circling each other for a year. But we both know it’s not going to happen. We want different things. And neither one of us will get it unless we back away from each other.”
“How do you know I’m not getting it?” she asked archly.
Her face heated under his steady gaze. “Point is,” he continued, “while we’re doing whatever this is we’re doing, I haven’t felt free to see anyone else.”
“But you want to.”
He moved to the side and held out a gloved hand, offering to help her jump down. When her boots hit the ground, she almost dropped to her knees, which were suddenly and inconveniently loose. He stared down at her.
“I’m looking at the woman I want to date. You’ve made it clear that won’t happen.”
“You want more than I can give.”
“How about what I can give? You don’t think you deserve love, but you do.”
Oh, God.
When she didn’t—couldn’t—respond, he tapped a knuckle under her chin. “This thing about not wanting kids...it doesn’t make sense. They arrive by the bus full and you enjoy the tours as much as they do. If you’d just give it a chance—”
She jerked away from him, the warmth sparked by his “you deserve love” comment vanishing faster than an apple under her stallion’s nose. “You don’t know that.” Her hang-up when it came to kids might not be rational, but she had her reasons—reasons she didn’t plan on sharing with anyone, let alone Seth.
“You don’t know me,” she continued.
“You won’t let me.”
“But there are so many incredible things I will let you do.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Come on. This is about more than sex. You like me. You look forward to my visits. We have fun together. My kids don’t bite.” He flashed a grin that threatened her knees all over again. Damn that dimple. “All right, they do, but not often, and never when there’s a chance they’ll talk someone into playing Uno. Look, you have a lot in common. All three of you love horses, hate Brussels sprouts and live to cause me grief. Why not give this a shot?”
“Because I’m looking for sex, not a happy-ever-after.”
“Got it.” He put his hat back on and reached again for the hay bale, his motions smooth but his stubble-roughened jaw as hard as the steel toes of his work boots. “Olivia over at the DMV has been asking me out for a while now. Guess I’ll take her up on it. Maybe it would be better for both of us if I split your deliveries with Bradley.”
“Did you warn him about me? Tell him not to turn his back on the cougar at the dairy farm?” She was being unfair. She wasn’t winning any points, either—there was no mistaking the disgust in Seth’s expression.
Time to pretend the past fifteen seconds of conversation had never taken place, because otherwise she’d dissolve into tears right in front of him. Besides, she knew how busy the feed store kept Seth and his part-timer... Chances were their delivery schedule would stay the same.
She also did her best to ignore the sudden scorch of indignation she had no right to feel. Olivia Duncan was a petite, bubbly brunette with big breasts and a notorious affection for children, if not for their teeth. She kept a bottomless bowl of candy at her window for the kids whose parents had dragged them along on their errands. No way could Ivy compete with that, even if she wanted to.
“Wise choice,” she finally managed.
“Bradley? Or Olivia?”
“Olivia. I didn’t think Bradley was your type.”
Seth gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “You know her?”
“Not personally. But I’m sure, after you wine and dine her once or twice, the next time you go in to renew your license she’ll wave you right up to the front of the line.”
He never cracked a smile. “It’ll be nice to have a woman put me first for a change.”
* * *
THE MOMENT HE placed his left boot on the long-faded pavement, Seth heard the arguing. Two all-too-familiar voices, raised in earsplitting fury. He shook his head and shoved the pickup door shut, heading toward the noise. If he was honest, playing referee was exactly the distraction he needed.
Damn Ivy Millbrook and her lovely blond hide.
A shriek echoed inside the building. He winced at the faded brick structure he’d owned just over a year, an investment that made him alternately proud and scared shitless. Tweedy’s Feed and Seed. The worn wooden sign was placed strategically over the strip of etched cement that read Castle Creek Fire Company No. 6.
He’d fallen hard for this two-story slice of history, with its boxy shape, bell tower and masonry arches that curved like eyebrows over tall white-framed windows. The pair of fire engine–sized bays behind white mullioned doors provided more than enough space for loading and unloading supplies. The oversize front door, capped by a battered aluminum awning striped with white and green, added a welcoming retro touch.
The rat-infested interior, Seth hadn’t been so impressed with. The old guy who’d turned the firehouse into a feed store had run it for decades before eventually getting too sick to manage it. His daughter had kept it going for a while, but she wasn’t all that young, either, and by the time Seth had come along, the place had contained more dust and droppings than merchandise.
But after everything that had happened the past few years, he’d been desperate for a distraction. He’d been wanting to get the kids out of the city anyway. The opportunity to own his own business in a country community by the lake? Too good to pass up. The weeks he’d spent hauling and scrubbing and hammering and painting—and sweating bullets at the bank—had been worth it.
Now he just had to convince his kids he’d made the right decision.
“Da-ad!” Nine-year-old Grace emerged from the nearest bay, hands steepled against her forehead to protect her eyes from the afternoon sun. She was all legs and nut-colored hair, just like her mother. He grinned through the usual hot prod of regret and pulled her into a hug. Her little body remained stiff—she wasn’t liking him much these days.
She wriggled free, her eyes on Joe’s pickup. “The truck broke down again?”
He didn’t know whether to be amused or bothered by her world-weary tone. “The brakes need work. Joe’s letting us use his until Bertha’s out of the shop.”
Her on-the-warpath gaze returned to his face. “Travis took my marker. My favorite marker. The purple one. How am I supposed to finish my project? I have to turn in a weather report and I’m drawing a rainbow and without purple it’ll look stupid and I’ll fail.” Her voice ended on a squeak shrill enough to shatter glass.
“I hear you, G, I hear you. Take it down a notch, all right? Let’s go inside and talk to your brother.”
She flounced back into the store, her bright turquoise tennis shoes smacking the concrete. Seth followed more leisurely, blinking in the dim interior. He nodded at Bradley, the lean, shaggy-haired, just-turned-twenty part-timer who’d opted out of community college in favor of another year of playing video games on his mother’s couch. He was slouched behind the counter, a bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Didn’t take a genius to figure out which he’d been using.
The kid might be lazy, but he had good business sense and Seth liked him. More important, Grace and Travis loved him.
“Everything good?” Seth asked. Another argument erupted from the office in the back and he grunted. “Besides the noise level, I mean?”
“Old Mr. Katz called. He’s on his last bucket of feed. Wants to know if we can make a special delivery.”
“Got time to swing by on your way home?”
“I guess.” He frowned. “You ever going to make him pay his bill?”
“That horse of his is all he has left of his farm. The odd bag of feed won’t kill me.”
“You, no. Your business, yeah. I lose this job and I won’t be able to pay my phone bill.”
“Your concern is touching,” Seth said wryly. “But I’m not going anywhere. You won’t, either—” he lifted an eyebrow at the glass cleaner in Bradley’s hand “—as long as you do your job.”
Bradley grinned, snatched up a rag and flicked at the countertop while humming in a falsetto tone.
“Smart-ass,” Seth muttered, and continued on to the office, a half-wood, half-glass corner structure left from the building’s firehouse days. A battered metal desk took up one half of the room, and waist-high shelving lined the other. In the center stood a rickety round table Seth had set up as a homework station for the kids. The school bus dropped them off about half past three and they were stuck at the store until six, when Seth closed for the day. They hadn’t been thrilled with the arrangement at first, but they’d settled into a routine—snack and playtime until four thirty, homework till closing. Most days they finished their assignments before piling into Seth’s truck for the short trek home, which meant that once dinner and cleanup were behind them, they could veg in front of the TV until tuck-in time. Traditionally, tuck-in time included hearing a chapter from whatever book they’d voted Seth should read them. Every now and then they veered off course and had a sing-along. Grace insisted she needed the practice for sixth-grade chorus tryouts.
Never mind she was still in fourth.
“Where is it?” Grace’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell me!”
Seth stalked into the office wearing his best “heads are about to roll” expression. “All right, what’s the problem here?”
“I told you,” Grace cried. She had both palms on the table and was leaning toward her brother, who sat steadily coloring, a fistful of crayons in one hand and half a chocolate bar in the other.
Dammit, Bradley. No wonder they loved his part-timer.
Grace opened her mouth again and Seth held up a finger. “I’d like to hear it from Travis.”
With a beleaguered exhale, his daughter pushed upright and crossed her arms over her chest. Seth waited. Grace fumed. Travis poked the green crayon back into his fist and plucked out a yellow.
“Travis,” Seth prodded.
His seven-year-old looked up from what appeared to be a drawing of a food fight. Chocolate ringed his mouth and it was all Seth could do not to grin. That would be fatal, though. Grace was already convinced Seth loved her brother more.
“Hey, Dad,” Travis said brightly, as if he hadn’t just been trading insults with his sister.
“Hey,” Seth drawled. “We’re looking for a purple magic marker. Have you seen it?”
Travis blinked but remained mute, his normal MO when talking would mean telling a lie. Seth gritted his teeth around a sigh. Either Travis had the marker, or he knew Grace had it and didn’t want to tattle. Lately G had taken to “losing” things in a bid for attention. Or maybe she just wanted to drive her dad crazy.
She was doing a good job of it.
Thing was, he could never tell when the tears and the drama were real. G’s pediatrician back in State College, along with Seth’s mother and his good friend Parker, who operated a nearby greenhouse and had her own challenges with a daughter who’d just turned ten, had advised him not to sweat it, assuring him it was just a phase. Decent advice, except that a week ago he’d spotted his checkbook in the recycling bin. Hard not to sweat that.
He’d reasoned, scolded, pleaded and suspended all kinds of privileges. He understood his daughter’s frustration. Still, there had to be a better way for her to express it.
Back to the matter at hand. His son had resumed his coloring, the tilt of his white-blond head casual, his grip on the crayon anything but. “Travis isn’t talking, G. How about we all look for it together?”
“I don’t have time,” she whined. “I need it now.”
“Can you use a different color?”
She dropped her arms and snatched up her drawing, a tidy rendition of a rainbow arching behind a soggy pair of trees and a horse. She stabbed a finger at the innermost arch of the rainbow, currently colorless, and shot him a look that screamed, Duh!
He surveyed the markers scattered across the table. “If you mix red and blue, you get purple. Maybe use red, then color over it with blue?”
“Good idea,” Bradley said behind him. G’s shoulders lost some of their height, though she shot a dirty look at her brother.
“Whatever,” she muttered. She grabbed the red marker and dropped into her chair.
Seth turned away and bumped knuckles with Bradley. “Remind me to give you a raise.”
“You can’t afford it.” He shoved a message pad at Seth. As per usual, there were more doodles than writing on the paper. “Pete Lowry called again. He needs another payment for the work he did on the truck.”
This was the work he’d done the last time Bertha was in the shop.
“I’ll take care of it.” Somehow. Seth noticed Bradley fighting a grin. “Something else on your mind?”
“Olivia Duncan’s on the phone again. Want me to take a message?”
Seth pictured the curvy brunette with the open smile and kind eyes. Last time they’d talked, she’d offered to arrange a picnic lunch for Seth and the kids. Sandwiches and Frisbee by the lake.
“You three should enjoy the beach more often,” she’d said. Like a normal family, she’d meant.
He glanced over his shoulder at his kids, one secretive, the other sullen. Thought of the hell they’d been through the past few years.
They could use some normal.
His brain flashed from Olivia to Ivy, whose elegance, beauty, stubbornness and lusty sense of humor were far from ordinary. Ivy. Who’d made it clear she’d put up with children only if they arrived on a school bus and left the same way, in ninety minutes or less.
He didn’t want to date anyone else. Hadn’t wanted to date at all after his divorce, until he met her. But he had to make it clear—to himself and to her—that what little they had wasn’t working anymore.
“No.” Seth took off his cap and tossed it at his desk, rolled his shoulders and headed for the door. “I got this.”
* * *
IVY SWEPT THE rubber currycomb over the stallion’s gleaming coat, over and over, each circular stroke carrying her closer to calm. She still had a long way to go, though, because she hadn’t quite managed to convince herself that Seth Walker didn’t deserve a good, swift kick in his stupendous ass.
She knew he hadn’t been playing hard to get. But it ticked her off that he’d simply up and walked out on the game. The jerk.
What ticked her off even more? The burning sensation behind her eyes. She blinked, cleared her throat and focused on the one male in her life she knew would never let her down.
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing, does he, Cabana Boy?”
The dark bay’s coat rippled and he scolded her with a snort. She was brushing too hard. Ivy lifted the comb away.
“Sorry about that.” She moved to the corner where she’d stashed the plastic grooming tote and exchanged the currycomb for a soft-bristled body brush. She hesitated and stared down at the fresh straw covering the floor. Her shoulders ached from mucking out stalls—she’d gotten a little too carried away with the pitchfork. And she still had to close up the milking shed, pay bills and record the production numbers before she could call it a day. A tuna sandwich would have to do for dinner. She didn’t have the energy to manage anything more exciting.
Crap, did she even have mayonnaise?
She leaned forward until her forehead rested against the iron grill forming the upper half of the stall. The slim bars provided better lighting and ventilation than a solid floor-to-ceiling wall and saved Ivy—and her horses—from claustrophobia. She closed her eyes and breathed in the rich, sunshiny scent of dried straw and the mint toothpaste she used every time she washed her hands to get rid of the smell of manure.
She pictured Seth with Olivia, and regret knotted her stomach. Maybe he’d understand if she explained why she couldn’t have children in her life. And maybe he’d hate her forever.
It wasn’t worth the risk. Seth was right. He and his kids deserved a woman who’d put them first.
Would he really stop playing deliveryman, though?
She opened her eyes, pushed away from the wall and turned back to Cabana Boy and his soothing beauty. He was brown, and his points—mane, tail and lower legs—were black, but Ivy’s favorite feature was the bright white star on his forehead, a star that looked more like a backward comma. Her parents had brought the stallion home as a sort of consolation prize for leaving Ivy behind while they cruised the Mediterranean. One month later, they were both dead.
That had been eight years ago.
Cabana Boy nudged her shoulder. “I should have brought an apple,” she murmured. Her stomach grumbled, and she huffed a laugh. “For each of us.”
A scuffing sound behind her had her swinging around while her heart bounced against her breastbone. Wade leaned over the stall door, and Ivy struggled to keep the disappointment out of her face. How pathetic, that she’d think for even a second that Seth might have changed his mind.
“Hey there,” she said. “Heading out?” It was late, but he’d made it into work only a couple of hours ago.
He nodded, gaze locked on the stallion. “I fixed that one pulsator. Just needed to adjust the pressure. We’re back to ten milkers again.”
“Bless you,” she said, and got the first inkling of trouble when his lips thinned under his gray-flecked mustache. She patted Cabana Boy’s flank and turned toward her farm manager. “Everything okay with Becky?”
He shrugged, still not looking at Ivy. “Her brush with death has got her to thinking. What she wants to do with her life and such.”
“Brush with death?” Ivy gaped. “Wade, she backed into a Dumpster at the dollar store. She broke her collarbone after slipping on a half-eaten egg-salad sandwich when she got out to check the damage.”
“There are people who can take something like that in stride. Others feel the need for the kind of understanding only a family can provide.”
He stuck out his lower lip, signaling his disappointment in her reaction. Ivy sighed. Such a fine damned line between being judgmental and showing righteous scorn. Apparently she’d crossed the line. Again. Then Wade’s words registered. Oh, God.
“You’re moving back to Montana?”
“Soon as we can get packed.”
An icy dread coated Ivy’s stomach. “Does that mean you’re not giving any notice?”
“Like I said, she needs her family.” He sucked his lower lip back in and raised conflicted eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I really am.”
Shock held her immobile, and her heart felt heavy in her chest. Becky had obviously put her foot down, and Wade had never been able to tell his young bride no. Somehow, she willed a smile to her lips. “I’ll miss you,” she said thickly. “You’ve been a top-notch manager and a good friend.”
How the hell am I going to replace you?
He shuffled inside the stall and held out a thick, scarred hand, but Ivy ignored it and drew him into a hug. He stiffened, then squeezed her hard, and squeezed even tighter when she made to step back. Once he finally released her, he was blinking rapidly. He turned his head and took his time plucking a piece of hay free of his shoulder.
Ivy concentrated on giving Cabana Boy’s head a good solid scrub. “Do you need a reference? I’d be happy to write one up and email it to you.”
Wade moved to the other side of the stallion and started stroking the bay’s ears. “I appreciate the offer, but I won’t need it. We’ll be helping out at her folks’ ranch.”
“Cattle?”
“Dude.”
She almost laughed aloud at the disgust in his expression.
He met her gaze, his pale blue eyes brimming with doubt. “Sure wish I didn’t have to leave you in the lurch like this.”
Me, too. “Don’t give it another thought. Everything will work out. It always does. Of course Becky should come first. Give her my best, okay? Anyway, lately you’ve been mooning over Montana like I’ve been mooning over that robotic milker that feeds the cows and mucks out the barn at the same time.”
Wade’s mustache stretched as he grinned. “I am looking forward to getting back out on the prairie. And you can’t beat the fly-fishing.”
“There you go. Now come on into the house. You can make sure I’m caught up on everything, and I’ll print out your check.”
An hour later, after sending Wade off with another heartfelt hug and a severance check too small for her liking but too big to be prudent, she left the house in search of her two farmhands, who were no doubt fretting about the extra work they’d have to take on now that Wade was leaving. Normally, they’d have left hours ago, but Wade had asked them to stick around until he’d talked with Ivy. She bet they’d loved that—not—but there was always plenty to keep them busy, and she’d put a little extra something in their paychecks to help make up for it. She’d just have to squeeze a little extra milk out of the girls this month.
Padding paychecks might even win her some points when it came time to ask the guys if they’d be willing to take on Wade’s duties until she could hire a new manager. She didn’t even want to think about how long that could take. She glanced at the clock and closed the lid on her laptop. If Gary and Dell hadn’t left yet, she might as well get this conversation over with. Though it promised to be more of a beg-fest than a dialogue.
She grabbed a sweatshirt, stepped out onto the porch and stood for a moment, getting her bearings. Shadows crowded the outbuildings and rolled across the yard. In the distance, the band of navy that was the lake swallowed the remainder of the sun. Only the faintest curve of glimmering orange lit the sky. A barn owl bid daylight a high-pitched, rasping goodbye.
Okay, then. No wonder she was hungry.
Ivy glanced at the gravel lot beside the dairy barn. Two pickup trucks. Gary and Dell were still here. She jogged down the steps and was heading for the barn when a figure ambled out of the milking shed. Gary. If his thin, six-foot frame hadn’t given him away, the pale yellow sheen of the outdoor lights reflecting off his hairless head would have.
When he spotted her, he changed course. She met him halfway across the yard, her boots squelching over grass already slick with dew.
“Gary. I was just about to come and check in with you and Dell. Can you give me two minutes before you leave? Is Dell closing up?” If Dell secured the barns, that was one less thing she’d have to worry about before grabbing that tuna sandwich. Yay. She took a step toward the milking shed.
Gary moved in front of her. “You going to promote one of us to manager?”
Oh. Ouch. She hid a wince. “Why don’t we find Dell so we can all talk about this together?”
“That means no.” His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed. He spread his legs and planted his hands on his hips, making it clear he wasn’t going to move until he had his answer.
Fine. She’d do this twice. “That means no,” she agreed. “You and Dell are each a valuable part of the farm, but neither of you has the business experience I need in a manager.”
“You’ll have a hard time finding a replacement for Wade.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Dell and I have worked here a long time. We deserve a shot at that job.”
“I couldn’t run the farm without you or Dell. And I appreciate your loyalty, Gary. But I don’t have time to provide on-the-job training. I need someone who already knows how to manage a dairy farm.”
He dropped his arms and took a step backward. “And in the meantime, Dell and me’ll have to pick up the slack. Screw that.”
Ivy held out a hand. “Wait. What does that mean?”
“Means I’m outta here.”
This couldn’t be happening. “You’re quitting?”
“Goddamn right.”
“Gary.” The knot of frustration in her chest tightened, gathering into a dense, aching mass of dismay. “Please stay. We’ll all have to pitch in more, but it’ll be temporary. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yeah?” Like a cardboard villain in a cheesy Western, he paraded his gaze up and down her body while tracing a slow hand over his chin. “What did you have in mind?”
