by Aaron Lazar
Grace’s old bedroom had been repurposed as a nursery for Portia’s son, Dirk Joseph Hawke, who was named after the girls’ father. After seeing how much confusion was caused by “which Dirk” was being called or referred to in the household, they’d all agreed to call her son Joey. The boy was just two, and now toddled around the kitchen pushing his little pretend lawnmower that popped colored balls every time the wheels rotated.
“Mow da grass,” he said with a proud smile.
Portia laughed. “What a good little helper you are, Joey.”
Daisy sat at the table folding laundry. Her cancer was in remission, but Portia worried about how frail she seemed.
“Now don’t look at me that way, young lady.” Daisy pursed her lips and folded one of baby Joey’s sleepers.
Portia snorted a laugh. “What way?”
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “You know I can tell what you’re thinking, Portia. I’m your mother, for goodness sakes.”
Portia hung the dishcloth over the faucet and turned, leaning back against the sink. “Mom. I just worry about you.”
Daisy sighed. “I’m fine, honey. But to tell you the truth, I am worried about other things.”
Portia refilled her mother’s coffee cup and poured one for herself. “Like what?” She settled beside her mother at the table, keeping a close eye on her son, who now rummaged in “his” cupboard where they’d stored a bunch of plastic bowls for him to play with.
“Like this farm. Boone’s farm. And last but not least, your sister and Anderson.”
Portia knew the farms were struggling. It was no secret that money had been tight. The past two years of drought had brought disaster to the local farmers. Yearling sales were down, and the prices for dairy products had plummeted. Both farms were close to failing. But she hadn’t heard about troubles in Grace’s marriage, and wondered what her mother referred to.
“We need to go back to horse shows, Mom. Get Grace back up on some of Mirage’s progeny, and have them win a bunch of classes. Maybe go for another championship.”
Daisy nodded. “That would help stir up sales, I’m sure. We should see if she’d be willing to get back in the show ring again.”
“It might be hard with the baby and all,” Portia said.
Her mother raised her eyes from the laundry. “Couldn’t you watch Caroline while Grace gets back into shape for the show circuit?”
“I could,” Portia said. “But I’m going back to work next week.”
Daisy blinked. “Seriously? When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just decided yesterday. And I was going to tell you today.” She rested her hand on her mother’s arm. “You know we need the money. We can hardly make the truck payments anymore.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to face that place again?”
Portia cast her eyes down. “It won’t be easy. I still have nightmares about being kidnapped by Murphy in that damned parking lot.”
“I’m so glad he’s dead,” Daisy said, almost spitting the words.
Portia touched her hand. “Me, too.”
Daisy cast an affectionate glance at her grandson. “You want me to watch our baby while you’re working?”
Portia glanced toward the toddler. “He’s hardly a baby anymore.” She jumped up and closed the drawer the boy had opened, just before he stood and hit his head on it. “And I would love you to watch him. But I think it might be too much for you.”
Daisy sighed. “I’m from good Vermont stock, young lady. Nothing is too much for me.”
Portia shot her a wry smile. “Mom. Come on. You get tired folding laundry these days. Aren’t you tired now?”
Her mother’s lips tightened.
“Come on, admit it. Can you imagine watching this little monkey for eight hours straight?”
“I could do it.”
“Okay, maybe you could. But I'm not going to ask you to. I’ll think of something.”
“So you’re definitely going back to the nursery?”
Portia nodded. “Yes. Marty wants to retire and is willing to hire me as manager to take her place. I’d make twice what I made when I worked there before.”
The Green Mountain Nursery was a thriving gardening center. Portia worked there after coming home from college. She’d earned her undergrad degree in biology, but was burned out. She found a previously unknown passion for plants when she took the job, and hadn’t pursued her original goal of grad school. The dream of being an equine vet had faded. And now that she had a little one, it had vanished.
At the nursery, she’d moved into a trusted position, quickly becoming indispensable to owner Marty McGorkin, a seventy-something woman who still spoke with a Scottish accent and who was stronger and more energetic than most twenty-year-olds Portia knew. She knew she could handle the job.
Her mother’s face fell. “Won’t you miss little Joey?”
“Desperately.” Portia’s eyes filled with tears. “But Boone’s doing everything he can to bring in extra money, and it just isn’t enough. He’s exhausted, Mom. I need to help.”
“Okay, honey.” Daisy stood and was about to pick up the laundry basket when Portia grabbed it.
“I’ve got it, Mom. You rest.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “I can carry a laundry basket, honey.”
“I know. But I'm going that way, anyway.” She ran it into the laundry room and hurried back, catching Joey trying to throw his leg over their dog’s back.
“Ride Boomer,” he said with a grin.
“No, honey. Boomer’s not a horse.” She picked him up and sat with him on her lap. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“So what’s going on with Grace and Anderson? Why are you worried about them?”
Daisy smiled. “They’re in hot water, too. If they don’t do something soon, they’ll lose the cottage.”
“How can that be? Doesn’t Anderson make a really good salary?”
“He does. But the therapy bills have put them underwater, I guess. That, and your sister’s spending habits. She’s not exactly the most frugal gal in town.”
“Hard to believe she’s a Vermonter, isn’t it?” Portia almost laughed, but held it back. It really wasn’t funny.
“So, I offered them the bunkhouse. It’s heated. It has hot and cold running water. There are four little bedrooms. They could set one up as a nursery. And there’s the bathroom, which isn’t big but could do just fine. We could update the kitchenette with a microwave and little fridge. I’m sure we could find one at a yard sale.”
“What would they do with the cottage?”
“Rent it out. Anderson knows a visiting professor who recently arrived from Massachusetts. He needs a house for a year and wants to rent it. It would save them a bundle of money on utilities. The rent would pay for the mortgage and taxes.”
Portia frowned. “I wonder why Grace didn’t tell me. She usually tells me everything.”
“She just found out. I guess Anderson was trying to handle it all on his own. He told her last night.”
“That explains it,” Portia said. “Hey. Do you think she’d agree to working with the horses again?” Her son laid his head against her chest and closed his eyes.
“Why don’t you ask her, honey? They’re coming over tonight with the first load of their stuff.”
“Okay. I will. Now, let’s get you and this little guy upstairs. Wouldn’t a nap feel good right about now? He sleeps better when he has someone next to him, anyway.”
Daisy nodded. “Okay. If it will help you. But I don’t need one, you know that.”
Portia smiled. “Of course, Mom. You’re from strong Vermont stock.” She stood, shifted the boy to her hip, and caressed her mother’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Nothing gets you down.”
Chapter 3
Portia lifted another cardboard box from the back of Anderson’s Jeep. This was the third load of the evening. Daisy was indoors, listening for both babies who thankfully slept
peacefully in the nursery.
A plum sky tinted the western horizon, reminding her that it was almost nine. She felt exhaustion seeping into her bones and all she wanted was to drop into her bed, plump up her soft pillow, and drift off to sleep. “Phew, is there anything left in the cottage for your renter, Grace?”
“Of course!” Her sister snorted a laugh and hefted the rails of the dismantled crib. “I only packed the necessities.”
Anderson grabbed the crib mattress and laughed. “He’ll have dishes, a bed, and a couch. But believe me, I had to wrangle them out of her hands.”
Portia chuckled. “You always were a collector, Sis.”
Boone appeared at Portia’s side. “Hey, babe. Let me take that.” He deftly slid the heavy box out of her hands and carried it away as if it were filled with air.
She still admired the way his jeans caressed his narrow hips, his broad muscled back, and the way his shaggy blond hair hung over his collar.
Grace caught her glance. “Yep. He’s very fine, Portia.” She let out a lilting laugh and headed for the barn with the crib railing.
Portia watched her go. It wasn’t long ago that Grace had openly flirted with her man. And years before that, when she’d been a teenaged drug addict, she’d actually tried to make a pass at him to get money for drugs.
Why can’t I forget that?
Shaking her head, she followed them into the bunkhouse to help unpack.
∞∞∞
Dirk flipped a pancake over and smiled. It was just like the old times, but even better. His daughters were living at home with their husbands—both good men in his eyes—and he had two beautiful grandchildren sitting in highchairs and watching him with wide eyes. Life couldn’t be better, except maybe in the money department.
He shrugged that nagging worry away and surveyed the family gathered around his kitchen table. He slid another pancake onto Boone’s plate. “Anybody else for seconds?”
Daisy made a motion for him to sit. “Eat, honey. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”
Portia flashed him a wide smile. “Your pancakes are just like I remember, Daddy. Delicious.” She cut off another tiny piece and put it on Joey’s tray. The baby stuffed it into his mouth. “Even your namesake loves them.”
Grace turned to both parents with a sober expression, her eyes full of unshed tears. “Thanks for letting us move in, guys.”
Daisy shushed her. “Now, none of that. You’re family, honey. And we belong together. Besides…” She shot a sly smile at Portia. “Your sister and I have plans for you.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Plans?”
Daisy nodded. “Yup. I’ll let Portia explain.”
Dirk watched his girls interact, wondering what they’d cooked up now. Daisy hadn’t mentioned any new plans. “Explain, honey. Now you’ve got me wondering, too.” He cocked his head at Daisy, but she just smiled at him.
Portia straightened. “Well, Mom and I did come up with an idea.”
Grace quickly grew impatient. “For Heaven’s sakes, Portia.”
“Okay, okay. We want you to get back in the show circuit. Just local, you know. To help spread the word about Mirage’s beautiful babies. He’s still the best Morgan stallion in the county, maybe in the state. And we need to get the sales percolating.”
Anderson sat back in his chair and reached an arm around Grace’s shoulders. “It’s not a bad idea.”
Grace tilted her head as if considering it. “I guess. But I still have to shed this baby weight. I don’t think my old jodhpurs will fit me.”
Daisy took a sip of her orange juice. “No better way to lose weight than riding. You know that, honey.”
Grace nodded. “Of course. It’s harder work than it looks to stay on the back of a fast moving horse.” She laughed suddenly, her eyes alight. “Oh my gosh. I really love the idea. I’m going back to the show ring!”
Dirk watched his daughter’s face transform. She’d always loved the attention she got when showing their horses, especially when she was younger, before the druggie days. Although Portia had always been their star rider, Grace was very good, and now, sitting up on one of Mirage’s four-year-old mares that he’d been training, she’d do well.
“There’s one more thing,” Portia said cautiously. “We’ll need to hire a sitter.”
“What? Why?” Grace shot her a suspicious glance.
“Because I’m going back to the Green Mountain Nursery. I’m managing it now, taking over for Marty”
“Wow. Really? When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. I just accepted her offer.”
Grace’s face fell. “But guys, I don’t want some stranger watching Caroline.”
Daisy leaned over to touch her arm. “Don’t you worry, honey. I’ll be here to keep an eye on her. And we’ll only hire someone with good references.”
Dirk listened as the girls continued to weigh the options of sitters they knew in the area. Boone paid strict attention to his pancakes, and Dirk figured the young fella was embarrassed because he couldn’t make ends meet on his own. Heck, that’s how Dirk felt. Not exactly like a failure, but pretty darned close to it. But in his heart he’d never give up, and he knew they could get out of this mess, together. As a family.
He pushed back and stood up. “Okay. Who’s up for more coffee?”
Chapter 4
That night, Anderson lay beside Grace in their new makeshift home in the bunkhouse. Caroline was still sleeping in the extra crib in the main house. Portia was listening for both babies tonight, just until they put together the crib in the bunkhouse. She promised to call if she needed help.
He and Grace had pushed both little beds together so they could make love, but there was a dip in the middle where the twin beds met, and while they were in the middle of their wild passion, the beds had separated, causing the couple to nearly fall into the chasm. They’d pulled themselves back onto one side, finished with cries that he was sure had woken the entire barnyard, and collapsed back onto their respective mattresses.
Still trying to catch his breath and with a huge smile on his face, Anderson reached for her hand. “Grace?”
“Mmm?” She lay back with one arm above her head, legs flopping to either side. A dreamy expression settled in her eyes.
“We’ve gotta do something about this bed situation.”
“I know, honey. We’ll figure something out.”
Anderson laughed. “We’d better, or we’ll end up on the floor next time.”
“Maybe you could nail them together, or something?” Grace suggested, her voice a soft purr.
“Maybe. I’ll have to ask Boone. He’s good with stuff like this.”
“K,” she said, rolling toward him. “By the way, Mister, that was real special.” She reached over to stroke his organ. “You did good. Real good.”
Shivering with pleasure, he slid across the beds to be closer to her. “I’m glad, Grace. And for the record, you weren’t so bad yourself.” He caressed her shoulder, and then kissed her neck and ear. “You always send me to the moon, Mrs. Rockwell.”
“Aww, handsome. You do the same for me.” She cuddled against him, her eyes growing heavy. “Hey. What are we gonna do about this babysitter situation? I’m real nervous about just hiring anyone off the street. Even if they have good references.”
“I know. Me, too.” he said. “There must be a better solution.” After a pause, he said, “What if you worked with the horses after I get home from the university each night?”
“I could.” She pouted and looked up at him. “But then I’d never see you. We wouldn’t have our nice dinners together, or watch our favorite programs. We wouldn’t be a whole family, we’d be split up all the time, honey.”
“True. And I suppose the weekends wouldn’t give you enough time?”
“Heck, no. I need to be out there at least six hours a day, working two or three of the horses Dad chooses for me. We have to get our routines down to a fine art. Every step has to be practi
cally choreographed.”
“Like horses doing ballet?”
“Kind of, yeah.” She chuckled. “I really am excited, though. I’ve missed riding so much.”
“Well, I’m glad you can get back into it. And it’ll also help your family in the process.”
“I’m falling asleep,” she said, slurring her words. “Let’s talk more in the morning, okay?”
“All right.” He kissed her lips and moved back onto his own bed. “In the morning.”
∞∞∞
Portia pulled back the covers and slid into bed beside Boone. “Phew. I finally got Joey back to sleep.”
“He’s just excited, babe. It’s his first boy-girl sleep over.”
Portia hit his arm, giggling like a teenager. “Oh my God. You’re hopeless. They’re just innocent babies, you moron!”
Chuckling, he drew her closer. “I know, I know. I just love to rile you up, woman.” He kissed her deeply, and then pulled back. “Listen. I have an idea. See what you think of it?”
“Okay.” She lay against his bare chest, running her fingers in circles. “What is it?”
“I’ve been thinking of a way we could arrange childcare without worries, and do it real cheap.”
“That sounds too good to be true. Like you suddenly got my mother all fixed up and she was healthy enough to watch the kids again.”
“Well, almost like that. What about my mother?”
Portia sat up, tilting her head. “Your mom? Isn’t she too busy taking care of your dad and brother? And doesn’t she work on the farm, too?”
“Well, sure. She feeds Ned and Dad, takes care of the house, and tends the garden. But she’s hurting for money, too. We all are. Maybe we could take some of your new earnings to pay her. Like, oh, I don’t know, $20 a day? I know that sounds ridiculously cheap; she’d be worth ten times that. But she might like to help. After all, Joey is her grandson.”
“I’d feel like I was insulting her with that kind of pay. Are you serious?”
