Читать книгу Winter's End - Ruth Herne Logan - Страница 12

Marc pulled into Nan Bedlow’s at 5:40 p.m. He’d spent the better part of the day moving rotational fencing, allowing the herd new winter grazing on old cornstalks. His shoulders ached and his back knew the strain of bending and shifting, but he’d finished the job.

The task wasn’t rhythmic like when he partnered with his dad. Then, one would drive, one would stake and unspool the wire to the plastic insulators, and they’d leapfrog one another to keep the installation moving. They could encircle a cornfield in a few hours time.

Quick compared to today, anyway. Setting fence was a two-man job.

He’d hired help for the feed store so he could have more time with his father. Even with the midwinter slump in business, he couldn’t be in the store, the barn and the house at the same time. Superman, he wasn’t. But he couldn’t justify paying two hands with the decreased work, so the store got the extra hands and Marc got the farm labor.

He smiled as Jess swung open the passenger door.

“Cold?”

Jess tugged off her gloves. “Oh, yeah.” She placed her hands palms down over the dashboard vents. “Thanks for having the truck warm.”

“It’s all right. Good session today?” Jess worked Rooster several times a week. The saucy paint had been a relatively inexpensive purchase five years past. He’d proven to be a good horse, with instinctive showmanship. The gelding loved an audience.

That made him perfect for Jess’s needs. Rooster defied the laws of gravity with his leans and Jess had no problem eyeing the arena’s dirt floor with him. They made a team, with the show ribbons and acclaim to prove it.

Jess kept her eyes trained ahead. “Good enough.”

Uh-oh. “But?”

“He needs to work.”

Ah. January doldrums. Working horses didn’t like being put to rest. They’d stabled Rooster with Nan so they wouldn’t have to trailer him. Jess worked off his feed by helping Nan. It seemed a good plan, but Rooster was a “go” horse. Hanging out with the pampered babies of weekend riders wasn’t his cup of tea. Marc understood that. “You’re probably right.”

“But trailering him here takes a lot of time.”

“Not so much.”

Jess started to object. Marc raised a hand. “We want to do what’s best for him, right?”

“Yes, but you’re doing everything on your own. That’s hard.”

She didn’t add that the advanced state of their dad’s cancer not only removed a capable set of hands, but added a pall to everyday life. They both recognized that. She continued, “I wish I didn’t have to go to school. I’d rather stay home and work with you. Ride. Feed. Muck.”

“Castrate.”

Jess laughed. “That, too.”

“You’re a born rancher, kid. And when those calves start dropping, I’ll put you to work.”

“I know.” Her voice was smug. “I’m a chip off the old block.”

Marc tuned in more carefully. Something else was going on. Something unspoken. “Problems?”

“Nope.”

She answered too fast. Marc mulled the possibilities. Jess was a good student. High honor roll, a favorite of teachers. He frowned as a thought occurred.

She rarely brought friends around. She’d meet up with other riders at the ring and sometimes hang out with them, but that was different.

School friends? None he could picture. Did she feel funny bringing them home with Dad sick? “Why not have some friends over this weekend? We can do a winter barbecue.”

Jess’s careful smile set off warning signals. “I’ve got to get ready for first semester finals and work Rooster, plus help you. And I’d rather spend time with Dad right now.”

Marc couldn’t argue. Time with Dad was growing short, although his father seemed more energized today. Still, the feeling he was missing something stuck with him. Resolving to figure it out, he turned into the drive.

The nurse’s car sat in his spot. He frowned, parked and followed Jess in.

“You must be Jess.” As he crossed the threshold, Marc saw the nurse offer her hand. “I’m Kayla Doherty, your dad’s nurse.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jess’s voice mirrored the sincerity of her smile. She grabbed the nurse’s hand in a firm grip. “Dad says you’re wonderful.”

The nurse laughed. Jess’s dimples deepened at the carefree reaction. Marc cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “The door, Jess.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Jess stepped in farther so Marc could close the door. Turning, he caught the nurse’s eye. “Is Dad okay?”

“He’s fine,” she replied. “He asked me to come by and meet Jess.” She smiled Jess’s way. “We hadn’t met and your dad wants you comfortable around me. That way you can ask me questions, approach me about anything. If I don’t have the answer, I’ll find it for you.”

“You came back to tell us that?” Marc stared, trying to read her angle. Women like her always had an angle. Part of the inborn metabolism that fed her need for stylish clothes and trendy shoes. Not to mention sassy nails.

“And for stew.”

Marc fought a groan. She met his look and continued, “Your dad invited me.”

“That’s great.” Jess’s voice pitched up. Obviously her taste was less discriminate than his. She grabbed Kayla’s hand, excited. “There’s never another girl around here.”

“Imagine that.” The nurse leveled Marc a look that said nothing and everything.

Marc narrowed his eyes. Her gaze offered a challenge. Silent, he pushed his boots into the corner and strode into the kitchen as Jess exclaimed, “Great shoes. I love wedges, any time of year. Where’d you get them?”

The nurse’s answer was lost to him as she and Jess headed toward the living room.

Great shoes, my—

Marc clamped the thought. With Jess growing up, it was normal for her to like girl things, right? Although tempted, he couldn’t keep her in flannel forever. Girls didn’t wear barn clothes to the prom. Or on dates. But he fought inner panic at the thought.

He didn’t want Jess to be like their mother, more concerned with appearance than substance. He wanted her to be a woman of merit. Women like that didn’t wear insensible shoes in January.

Responsibility tugged as he tended the stewpot. He didn’t know anything about raising a girl. How would he talk to her about…stuff? Girl stuff? Boy stuff?

Laughter from the front room caught his attention. Didn’t the nurse say she’d answer Jess’s questions? Hadn’t she just made that offer? Nurses were trained for that, right?

After all, Jess was raised on a ranch. She’d seen animals mating in a natural dance of life from the time she could walk. Truth be told, she could probably tell the nurse a thing or two. They’d raised dogs, cows and horses. Jess had been present at births and deaths and everything in between.

Even knowing that, he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her about the facts of life. No way, no how.

He grimaced as he withdrew a loaf of Amish bread from the oven. To approach the nurse, he’d have to be nice to her. Ignore her foolish shoes and her Meg Ryan haircut. The saucy look. And the “notice me” fingernail polish. For a moment he wondered if she painted her toes to match, then pushed the thought aside.

He was a tough guy. A farmer and rancher. He could be nice to a woman who placed looking good above everything else if it meant help with Jess.

But it wouldn’t be easy.