by Nicole Snow
“I’ll grab the other.” She’s already picking up the box. “I’ve got it.”
There’s an old washboard sticking out of the top of her box. She has to hold her chin up to see over the top of it. “I’ll follow you.”
I lead the way to the door, open it, and stand aside as she walks out to the freshly plowed property. I follow and shut the door.
We take the boxes to the guesthouse, and the entire time I’m following, my eyes won’t leave her. What can I say?
She’s trim, fit, and as cute in the back as she is in the front.
It’s not just the fact that I’ve been cooped up all winter.
It’s her, every soft inch of Grace Sellers that makes her a dose of sexy blonde medicine.
That was on my mind the entire time we’d been digging through the boxes. How attractive she is, and how I could use that to my benefit right now.
I’d received several texts from Bebe Silk since Tobin mentioned her, my never ending pain in the ass.
I haven’t heard from her since leaving California, which makes me wonder what’s changed to send her after me.
A pretend ‘girlfriend’ would give me the excuse I need for Bebe to buzz off. I know how maddeningly persistent this woman is, and if I don’t give her a reason soon, she’ll show up at my door.
Getting rid of her again will be as hard as the first time—she’s like a wood tick that sinks in and doesn’t let go as long as there’s still blood.
“You can just leave that box out here, please,” Grace says, nodding to the floor of the porch next to the cabin door. “I’ll carry it in when I’m ready to wash the stuff.”
I set the box down, opening the cabin door for her. “I’m sure Tobin has dinner almost ready. Bring your dad, assuming he’s feeling up to it.”
“All right. I’ll wash up and then we’ll be over,” she says, glancing toward the couch where the old man slouches half asleep.
I close the door without saying another word and walk to the house with an odd weight in my gut.
Almost like I didn’t want to leave her.
I’m not a man who brings in strays for good karma, especially strangers, yet that glimmer of sadness, of hopelessness in her soft blue eyes pulls me down like an anchor.
Tobin has supper ready like I knew he would, a steaming pot of beef stew with red wine, garlic, and plenty of rosemary. We’ve got greens, bread, and homemade mashed potatoes to go with it.
I figured it’d be a stew day after the big storm.
There are times when the man’s predictability feels like a godsend.
Grace and Nelson arrive a few minutes after I do, and as we eat, I can’t help wondering more about their past. I save the hard questions—especially when the old man looks like he needs every bite he can get—and ask them about life on the farm instead, their favorite places in Milwaukee, all the little things that make Wisconsin worth a trip.
When the meal is over, I head into my office and fire up the computer, where I find a defunct website and social media for Sellers’ Pumpkins. I’m still scrolling through old posts when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say, expecting it to be Tobin but wanting it to be Grace.
It’s neither.
Nelson sticks his head around the edge of the door. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” I minimize the page on my screen, waving a hand for him to sit down in one of the chairs.
I hope like hell he hadn’t seen me peeping at his old business.
He’s stooped forward again, as if it hurts to breathe while walking, and gradually makes his way across the room. I resist the urge to jump up and help him.
I almost regret salvaging his pride because he’s nearly gasping by the time he plants himself in the empty chair.
“Have you seen a doctor recently?” I can’t hide my concern.
“Y-yeah.” He nods, covering that damnable cough with his elbow. “Gracie took me to the emergency room one night not long before we left home.”
I stare, hating how his entire body trembles.
He takes a wheezy breath. “They gave me some pills, but...damn things sure haven’t helped much.”
“Maybe it’s time for a follow-up,” I suggest.
“Can’t.” His shoulders rise as he struggles to pull in air. Lungs rasping, he sits back in the chair. “It’s too expensive, and really...that’s what I want to talk to you about, Ridge.” Taking another struggling breath, he gestures to me. “I noticed your tattoo over dinner. Your man, Tobin, confirmed you were in the Army. So was I. Quite a few years ago, but I did my time in West Berlin, nose-to-nose with the Reds.”
My respect for him increases.
The armed services can be a tough road for anyone, but those who served years ago saw some shit many have forgotten. Nothing like enlisting during the height of the Cold War to make a man’s balls drop, staring in the face of very real conflict with another superpower, even the chance of nuclear annihilation.
“Brave times for braver men,” I say. “I’m aware things were different back then.”
He gives a slight nod. “Not as different as you’d think. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about, and as a fellow serviceman, I want to give it to you straight.”
“Okay, Nelson. Shoot.”
“We’ve had a change of plans. Gracie won’t be able to finish decorating your place, I’m sorry to say.” He pauses, coughing a few more times and wiping one eye. “But I’ll give you Rosie and Stern for your trouble, leaving a job before she’s barely started...I know how disappointing that can be. Consider it payment for letting us stay. We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”
Shit.
Tomorrow? In his state?
Obviously, I won’t take the offer, but I have to humor him to find out what’s really going on.
“Oh?” I ask. “Don’t you think sticking around for a few more days until you feel less like death warmed over would be a better idea?”
He gives me a friendly chuckle. “Maybe so, but frankly, we can’t.”
“Where’s the fire?” I fold my hands, looking him square in the eye. “Montana’s calling that bad, huh?”
Nelson flinches back, struggling to contain yet another cough.
“Listen, you’re a smart guy. You know we’re nothing but trouble. You saw what went down with Jackknife...we’re plenty grateful but we have to keep movin’, Ridge. Gotta be on our merry way before dragging you in any deeper.”
“What sort of trouble are you in, Nelson?” I tilt my head.
I’ll be damned if I won’t find out, whether I pull it out of him tonight or dig it up myself. I have my ways, and friends in the right places.
“The kind that’s got legs and follows,” Nelson says with a shake of his head. “I saw the driveway’s been plowed today, so we’ll head out in the morning. You’ve been real good to us, and I don’t feel right putting you out a minute longer. You’re a busy man, I’m sure.”
“How does Grace feel about the new plan?” I ask.
“She’ll...she’ll listen,” Nelson whispers, breaking off to hack into his arm again.
Goddamn.
So he hasn’t even talked to her yet.
At least that means there’s a good chance he won’t get far.
Grace is hardly a do-as-I-say woman, but the old man doesn’t need to hear it because I don’t think he sees his daughter that way either.
He’s flat-out desperate, grasping at straws, lost in fight-or-flight mode.
I think he knows he’s in over his head.
Another thought hits me that raises more alarm. My gut tells me that Tobin, in his subtle, yet always out-for-my-best-interests way, got to Nelson. Maybe he even put the bug in his ear to blow Dallas while the weather’s clear.
If it was anyone but Tobin, I’d be pissed, but I know him.
Hell, I expected something like this after our conversation this morning. The man doesn’t do confrontation, but behind the scenes, he could turn
a pack of pirate-ninjas into total pacifists.
Fuck, I’ll talk to Tobin later.
For now, I tell Nelson, “You and Grace are welcome to stay here for as long as you need, without any sort of rent. Including your horses.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Nelson says with a nod. “But we have to leave, and to be honest, not pulling a horse trailer would be easier on the old truck.”
There’s no denying the logic. Not having their name on the side of their truck would be beneficial, too.
However, despite what Nelson thinks, I believe Grace will make the real decision. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll be cool leaving with her father so sick.
“If you’d like, Rosie and Stern can stay here. I’ll take good care of them and they’ll be ready whenever you’d like to pick them up, whenever that may be.”
“Dammit, I...thank you. Thank you, Ridge, you’re one hell of a guy. I knew you’d understand.” He stands up, holding out a shaky hand. “We’ll be heading out bright and early, so I’ll say my goodbyes now, if you don’t mind.”
I stand and give his hand a firm pump, knowing full well I’ll be seeing him in the morning. Then I release him and watch as he walks toward the door.
“When you’re ready for help loading, I’m here. Come to me. Tobin shouldn’t be doing all the lifting at his age.”
He stops at the door, coughs, and with watery eyes, looks at me again. “I wish like hell I could take you up on that. I truly do.”
As soon as he closes the door, I pull out my phone. Finding the number I need in the contacts, I punch it and wait for the ring.
It only takes one. I’d be surprised if it was any different.
“Barnet? Hell of a big storm, wasn’t it? You okay, man?” The familiar Oklahoma twang over the line makes me grin.
I’m not surprised Quinn Faulkner is just as buried as I’ve been. He lives on a smaller farm ten or so miles away, his grandpa’s old place where he used to spend his summers.
“Yeah, it’s me. Should I kick your ass now or later for ever mentioning the words ’Dallas, North Dakota’ without telling me about the winters?”
“Aw, shucks. You’d have never moved here to keep me company if I scared you off.” His deep laughter echoes in the phone. “Tell me what’s really got you pissed. Finally decided you need a real man in one of your movies? I’m ready.”
“I’d call Andrews if that was the case, Faulk,” I say jokingly.
The three of us were in more than one mission together that went sideways during our years in the service, and Joel Andrews never quit boasting about how good he’d look on the big screen.
Faulkner chuckles again. “Good luck with that, bro. He’s in South America, living it up in Panama or something on a budget.”
“I heard,” I tell him. “Well, maybe Grady deserves his fifteen minutes of fame. Any dude raising two little munchkins alone is more man than I’ll ever be.”
After a short pause, he says, “Seriously, Ridge, what’s going on? I’ve been thinking about you lately. Haven’t met up since we had a beer shortly after New Year’s.”
“Better question: how are you?”
“You know me, I’m always good every day I’m working for myself. Spying on cheating husbands and dropping trackers on guys with minor warrants beats getting shot at any day.”
I laugh. Faulkner has always been full of himself, and since leaving the service, he’s made a name for himself as a private eye after serving several years in the FBI.
I haven’t needed to use him until now. Enlisting his services for anything seemed far-fetched until recently.
“Listen, I’m calling to ask a favor. Can I trust you with a secret?”
The laughter stops. I hear him take a sharp breath, realizing how serious I am.
“Sure. What’s up?” he asks.
“I need intel on a man. ASAP.”
“You got it. Give me a name and I’ll dig up everything right down to his birth certificate.”
“Nelson Sellers. Lived in Wisconsin. Milwaukee first, and then moved somewhere outside of it. Owned a pumpkin farm.”
“Pumpkins? Shit, do I even want to know? Is this some weird movie star thing?”
“Faulk, just trust me on this. I’ll explain the rest later.” I’m sure he expected me to be asking about a big-time star or politician, someone far more high profile than a random pumpkin farmer from Bumfuck, Wisconsin.
“Okay, okay. Give me an hour or two and I’ll send something back. I’ve gotcha covered, Barnet.”
The line goes dead.
I click off and stand up, ready to have a few words with Tobin.
7
No Surrender (Grace)
“What’s so interesting? You haven’t even looked up once, Gracie.”
I finally glance up at Dad’s voice, startled that I hadn’t heard him walk in the cabin.
Oof. I’ve been deep in the weeds, scouring every Wikipedia tidbit and gossip rag I can find for info on Ridge Barnet.
I flip my phone down against the plaid cushion of the sofa before Dad sees. He’s no stranger to gossip, but I’m not sure he’d approve of me snooping on our host.
“Oh, just browsing decorating sites and Pinterest boards,” I tell him, flashing a smile that hurts my face.
It’s not a complete lie. That’s what I’d started out doing, but of course curiosity got its hooks in, and I wound up creeping on Ridge instead.
Can you blame me?
It hasn’t even been a full forty-eight hours since my whole world was turned upside down for the second time by this gorgeous Bruce Wayne who decided to play real life Batman.
Dad shakes off his coat and drapes it over the back of an overstuffed chair before he sits down and lets out a sigh...
...and that leads to another cough.
God.
He’s still getting worse.
Soon there’ll be no choice. I’m going to have to convince him to see a doctor. No easy task when he comes armed with a thousand excuses.
The first time, it took me two days of arguing, and even then, the only reason he finally caved is because I said we couldn’t leave for Montana until he got checked out.
I wish like hell we’d had time for that follow-up in Milwaukee with the cardiologist. The specialists there are no doubt a lot more common and skilled than whatever’s out here in these podunk North Dakota towns.
But Clay and his goons made sure time was a luxury we didn’t have.
It just hurts.
Even when you know you made the right decision, fleeing practically overnight, it’s no real relief when you’re watching your own father fall apart in front of you.
“Everything okay? You seem kinda anxious,” I say, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. It’s harder than it sounds when I don’t want to focus on that bleary redness around his pupils.
“I told Ridge we’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Dad says once his latest coughing subsides.
Boom. A nice, searing slap across the face.
I mean, it’s not like it’s a total surprise.
I figured that’s why he’d stuck around at the house after supper.
And I also know darn well we won’t be leaving tomorrow.
Not with the way he’s coughing and rubbing at his eyes.
I’ll humor him, though, for now.
I’ve learned to do that over the years, throw him a carrot to keep his spirits up and let him down easy later.
Hard part is, I’ve never learned to like it.
“Hmm. I suppose maybe we’ve overstayed our welcome. We’d better keep moving, after all. With the drubbing Ridge gave Jackknife, I bet he’ll be back next time with friends.” I stand up.
“Yeah. That was really something. Damn nice it went our way for once.” Dad gives me a tepid smile and melts back into his chair. Probably relieved that I’m not putting up the fight he expected. “You need my help tying up your odds and ends?”
“I’m good. I’ll go pack up the things I fo
und in his shed today, once I’m finished. It’s the least I can do for our host.” Patting Dad’s shoulder as I walk past, I add, “Hey, they’re clean now. They can use them if they want to.”
“Aw, Grace. I’m sorry about that, getting you roped into things here. Don’t know what I was thinkin’.” Dad looks down, staring at his work-worn hands folded neatly in his lap. “Dummy me. I shouldn’t have said nothing to Ridge about your decorating.”
“It’s fine. This way, we can give back for them taking us in.”
We trade a knowing smile.
Even in his weakened state, my dad’s a proud man to the end. He’s independent to his core and stubborn as a bull when it comes to taking help.
I walk into the kitchen area that opens to the living room.
I’d carried in the other box from the porch after supper, washing everything carefully before I’d picked up my phone to research some ideas and started snooping everything Ridge Barnet instead.
He’s had an interesting life...to put it mildly.
Sure, the tabloids embellish the mundane and create entire scandals every time someone famous burps without covering their mouth.
But behind every piece of clickbait, there’s often a grain of truth, however tiny.
I can’t let myself replay that now, though.
“I think he appreciates you, Gracie,” Dad says, his voice crackling like a fire across the room. “The man’s a hard nut to crack, wouldn’t take my money or the...other stuff I offered to trade him for having us. You’re good at what you do. When this is all over, you can tell everybody you worked on a movie star’s house. Imagine the business that’ll bring in! You’ll be rolling in it,” Dad says, sounding excited for my sake but also very sad.
I’m sad, too, but hold true and don’t push the issue.
That can wait until morning. If it’s anything like yesterday, he’ll stay up longer than he should with that merciless cough and sleep through his alarms.
“We found a lot of antiques today. Even an old harness that’ll be quite handsome once it’s cleaned up with some saddle soap,” I tell him.
“Gracie, I...there’s something I ought to come clean about. I tried to give him Rosie and Stern for letting us stay here.”
