by V McFarlane
“Thanks,” I say and watch her walk away.
Penny is watching the girls almost too intently, like she’s trying not to meet my eyes.
She food comes a short time later and the girls tuck in. I’m grateful to see Ripley devouring her food despite the icecream she had earlier. My food looks amazing and my stomach growls appreciatively but whilst Penny’s food looks good, it doesn’t exactly look fulfilling, more like something you’d have as a side.
We tuck in regardless and when our plates are cleared, I turn to the girls and smile, “Dessert?”
“Wait,” Penny suddenly says, “We have dessert at home!”
“But waffles!” Ava cries.
“I’ve got it,” I tell Penny quietly.
Her head snaps to me, “I’m not a freaking charity case!”
Fuck.
She digs into her purse and throws down a ten and a twenty onto the table. “Ava, we’ve got to go.”
I stand, “Penny, I’m sorry I didn’t mean–”
“Don’t worry about it. Ava,” she looks to the little girl who grabs her bags and her colouring and stands from the table.
I pick up the cash from the table, “Dinner was on me.”
“No, it’s fine.” Penny tells me, gripping Ava’s hand. “Thank you for,” she gestures to the table, “Dinner.”
“See you tomorrow!” Ava says to Ripley, her smile wide. I’m thankful that the kid hasn’t picked up on Penny’s emotions.
“Bye Ava!” Ripley calls.
I watch the two of them hurry from the joint and then sag in my chair, staring at the crumpled bills on the table.
I was never going to make her pay for her half of the meal. I thought I had made that clear.
I’m starting to realise, however, that Penny has a much more complicated history than I had bargained for.
The idea should turn me off, it should send me running in the other direction but all it does is leave me wanting more. I want her story. I want the words that tumble from those plump pink lips, I want to watch the way her brows react to her words and the way her eyes change colour depending on the emotion she is feeling.
I want to know all there is to Penny Hart.
I settle the bill for the meal on my card and pocket the cash, intending on giving it back. I don’t think she’ll simply take the money but there has to be a way of getting it back to her. I just wish there were something I could do.
“Uncle Rhett said you might have found someone to look after me,” Ripley says as we walk out the mall, completely unaware of my internal war.
“Did he now?” I say, holding her hand.
It still shocks me how natural this feels. I went from having no kids to having a six-year-old daughter. It feels like I’ve had her forever, like she’s always belonged to me.
“Mm-hmm,” she nods, “Who is it?”
“Uncle Rhett might be confused,” I frown down at her, “I haven’t found someone perfect enough for you.”
She giggles, “Can I swim before bed tonight?”
“Only if you promise to wash before putting your pyjamas on,” I tell her with a smile.
“Okay.”
I buckle Ripley into the brand-new car seat now occupying the right-hand side of the back seats of the truck and climb in behind the wheel. Who knew kids still needed car seats at six, but according the parenting one-o-one books, kids should be buckled into at least booster seats until they are twelve or weighing above a certain weight. I’m not entirely sure how much Ripley weighs but I know it’s less than what those books advise.
There’s so much more to parenting than I had ever given credit for. So much you shouldn’t say or do, what to feed them, when they should go to bed. It’s complicated stuff and honestly, I hold my hands up to the moms and dads who do it without so much as a complaint.
_
I hold a towel out for Ripley as she climbs from the pool that’s been installed at the back of the ranch. She tip-toes to me, her dark hair wet from where she was practicing her underwater diving and wraps her small body in a pink towel, one I had purposely bought for her.
“Everything is pink,” she says.
“Don’t you like pink?” I ask.
“I do,” she nods, “But I like orange and blue and green too.”
I shake my head. Does everyone just assume little girls love pink?
I shower Ripley off in the bathroom a few doors down from her bedroom and then help her into her pyjamas before tucking her into bed.
“Are you happy, sweetheart?” I ask, sliding up next to her in the bed with a book.
She looks at me, her hazel eyes reflective, “I’m happy. I do miss mommy though.”
“What do you miss?” I ask.
She taps her chin a little, staring up at the ceiling, “She used to make these brownies, they were the best, so much better than the ones we bought in the store, and she used to sing at bedtime.”
I nod, waiting for her to continue. It’s good to know these things.
“Mommy always took me to the park to play and if she could, we used to go ice skating, but I wasn’t very good.”
I try to recall Anna back in college, but the truth was, I didn’t know her that well. I couldn’t tell you what she liked to do in her spare time, whether that be ice skating or reading for that matter.
“And what else?” I question.
“Mommy was so pretty.”
“She was,” I agree.
“Penny is pretty too,” she says quietly, “Like Rapunzel.”
I suck in a breath and hold it, counting to five before exhaling. Ripley was right, Penny was pretty, no more than just pretty, there wasn’t a word I could use to accurately describe her. Stunning. Beautiful. Gorgeous. They all just seem mediocre when she’s so much more than that.
She’s sweet but maybe a little vulnerable and I have no idea if she’ll ever talk to me again.
After I read the book to Ripley and double check she’s sound asleep, I head downstairs and open my MacBook, loading up the search engine.
I type in Penny Hart to the search bar and hover over the go button.
It felt wrong to just google the woman, but my curiosity has truly been piqued. I hit the button and wait for the results to load.
Eleven
Penny
I feel like a horrible person, especially as I tie the brand new, flashing sneakers on to Ava’s little feet. She hasn’t been able to stop looking at them, like the things are a priceless diamond, so rare and beautiful she simply can’t stop staring.
Once they are tied, she stamps her heel and grins when the lights embedded into the soles flash green and pink.
I’ve seen Taron around this past week, but he hasn’t tried to talk to me once, even when Ripley and Ava meet up in the school yard, he just stands there and watches, never lifting his eyes to look at me.
Maybe I acted a little crazy but after he paid for Ava’s shoes and then dinner, insisted he ‘had’ it, I couldn’t help but feel like he thought I was simply a charity case. Someone to feel sorry for, like a wounded bird. It’s pretty obvious that I’m not exactly well off and I’ve really struggled this last week with so very little money to my name and no new job to start. I’d considered even getting a loan but the only ones available to me with my credit are the ones with the ridiculous interest rates.
Whilst Taron hasn’t spoken to me, he has parked behind my car every day, leaving a big space between his bumper and mine, big enough so I can get out easily but too small for another car to park. On one of the days he parked there, the back end of his truck sat on a no parking zone and he got a ticket.
I watched him that day, as he sauntered back to his truck, looking glorious in a pair of Levi’s and a white t-shirt, his Ray-bans covering his eyes. He simply took the ticket from the windscreen, looked it over and shrugged his shoulders like the fine meant nothing.
I soon realised why the Cain surname seemed so familiar. The Cain family owned the whiskey distillery h
ere and from what I’ve heard their whiskey is famous. That’s why money for him so easy, that’s why he looks at a parking fine and shrugs his shoulders. I won’t lie, the mere thought of a fine causes me to sweat.
Can’t you go to jail if you don’t pay those?
I suppress a shudder as I buckle Ava into the back of the jeep. The car is getting worse every day and the noises coming from under the hood? Yikes. It sounds like there’s something stuck in there and when the engine is running, whatever it is, is being catapulted around.
The engine sputters a few times before finally catching and I pull out the drive. I have two weeks before my rent is due on this place and that long to find a job. I park the car outside the school and together we head in through the gates. It’s Friday today and on Friday’s we go to the park after school.
“Penny?” Taron’s familiar voice says from behind me, a little cautious.
I turn, holding my breath. Why does the man have to be so damn attractive? There’s this magnetic force about him, one that I’m so captured by, I want to fall into it. I know that can’t happen though. He wouldn’t want someone like me, not with my history or even with my present.
“Hi,” I smile softly, “about the other night,” I quickly start, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
He nods once, head cocking to the side as he studies me. I feel like I’m a butterfly trapped in a mason jar, his scrutinizing gaze boring into me through the glass. He doesn’t speak for a while and I fidget on my feet, plucking non-existent lint from my top.
“Don’t worry about it,” he finally says and then presses his lips together, sighing.
“What is it?”
Is he going to tell me he doesn’t want our kids playing together anymore? Will I have to tell Ava to find a new friend?
I rub the back of my neck. I don’t even know this guy and yet he’s under my skin, crawling away and messing with my emotions.
“I hate to ask because, well,” he shakes his head, “Anyway, I haven’t been able to find a nanny yet for Ripley but this week it’s been fine, I’ve made it work but I’ve got a meeting this afternoon that’s likely to run over and everyone I would trust to grab her for me are with me at the meeting.”
Oh. Oh!
“You need me to pick her up?”
He nods. It’s now his turn to rub the back of his neck, the movement causing those large biceps to flex. Shit, since when did I find arms so sexy? And those hands! God, they’re not smooth or pristine, no they’re workers hands, big and rough looking. The image of those hands on my skin suddenly flashes in my mind, I wonder if they’d feel as rough on my skin, if those callouses would gently scratch as he runs his hands over my body.
I hadn’t realised I had been staring until he speaks again, drawing my attention to his lips. I swallow hard, my tongue darting out to moisten my suddenly parched lips. If I’m not mistaken his eyes track the movement but it happens so quickly, I could be wrong.
“What’d you say?” He asks. I had missed whatever it was he said before.
“For me to pick her up?” I ask, hoping that’s what he means, “You trust me enough to do that?”
He nods once, “You’re good with her plus her and Ava are friends, I’m sure they’d like to hang out.”
I nod, “sure, I can pick her up.”
His shoulders visibly relax, and he lets out a breath, “Thank you!”
He pulls out his wallet and grabs a couple of bills, two of them stand out in comparison to the crisp other bills and I have a feeling they were once mine.
“Get them icecream and pizza or something,” he tells me, handing me the money, “I’ll need your number to text you my address, you can take the girls there after if you like. I have a pool, can Ava swim?”
I nod, suddenly so very confused.
“Good,” he holds out his hand. I stare at it. What does he want? A handshake to confirm the deal? A high five?
I place my hand in his, a shot of warmth zinging up my arm at the contact. Holy sh – that’s not normal right?
He chuckles and shakes his head, “Your phone, so I can put in my number.”
“Oh!” I snap my hand back, my cheeks warming something fierce.
“You blush real pretty,” he says quietly, his voice suddenly husky.
My gut twists and what the hell is that going on between my legs? If it wouldn’t be so obvious, I’d be squirming on my feet but seeing as we are in a playground, I stay frozen, only moving my arm to pull out my phone and hand it to him.
He taps in his number and then his pocket begins to ring, “So I have your number too,” he explains and then hands it back.
The teacher – Mrs Trusson comes out then and the kids line up to head into class. We say our goodbyes, Taron kissing Ripley on the head whilst I give Ava a hug and then they disappear in through the door. Taron quickly tells the teacher the plan for me to pick up both girls and then we’re heading out the gates.
“Your car is safe, right?” Taron asks as I step up to the driver’s door.
Embarrassment floods me and I dip my head, trying to hide my reaction. Truthfully, I have no idea if it is safe, I hope so but without the money to check it over, I can’t be sure.
“It hasn’t failed me yet,” I say in a small voice.
He doesn’t seem convinced and eyes the offending car suspiciously. “Okay,” is all he says after a long pause, “Thanks again, Penny.”
There’s something about the way he says my name that sits like heaven inside me. Maybe it’s just because it’s him and his sexy southern drawl saying it.
Shaking off the thought I watch him pull away and then climb into my own car and sit for a few minutes, taking a breather.
I don’t like that he has this kind of effect on me. I barely know the man and I’ve hardly been courteous to him. This doesn’t mean anything anyway. I’m just helping him out.
With that thought I pull away and head to the grocery store. I won’t buy pizzas, preferring to cook a homemade meal, well when I can anyway, and I’ll get the girls something sweet for dessert. Taron gave me way too much money, fifty dollars or so but I’ll only need about ten or fifteen, so I’ll just leave the rest on his kitchen counter.
I’m just climbing out the jeep when my phone buzzes with a text.
It’s an address and then there’s a message beneath it.
Taron: This is my place. The code for the gate is 2414 and there’s a spare key in the lock box, combination 1229. Help yourself to anything and thanks again, Penny. You’ve really helped me out here. T.
I contemplate a reply but then decide against it, closing my phone down and heading into the store.
Twelve
Taron
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the search results. They’d loaded and been right there and yet, as I hovered over the first link, I couldn’t bring myself to click it. It felt like a betrayal and I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t owe her anything and for all I knew the results on the internet could have been about any Penny Hart.
She hasn’t texted me back since I text her the details about the ranch, but I can see it’s been read so I leave it at that. I have no idea how much money I shoved her way earlier, fifty, sixty dollars maybe, including those crumpled bills she’d thrown down on the table at our dinner. I did that on purpose.
“Ready?” Rhett taps his knuckles on my office door.
“Yeah.”
_
The meeting lasts for hours. I check my watch to see it’s past six in the evening and all we’ve done is go round in circles. The town council want me to sell part of the land the distillery is on and because we have no plans to expand – yet – it means we don’t need it. They have the power to force my hand but like hell will I let that happen.
“Gentlemen,” I stand, placing both hands on the large, mahogany table, “With all due respect, the distillery and the land it sits on has been in the Cain family for well over a century. This distillery was what put W
inters Creek on the map, was it not?”
Grumbles sound around the table, “Mr Cain, do you understand how many houses we could build on that vacant space round the back here? Hell, half of it is wild!”
“Half of my ranch is wild,” I shrug, “You gonna try force me to sell that too?”
They didn’t want to build houses. They want to build malls and fill the land behind the distillery with restaurants and cafes, using my distillery as a beacon to line their pockets.
“I have plans for that space anyway,” I dismiss them, “It isn’t for sale.”
“What plans!?” An older gentleman hollers, seething, “Your father has said no such thing.”
“That’s because my father no longer runs this place, I do. Now if that will be all for today, I have a daughter to get home too.”
“We heard about your news,” a man I know as Gareth Hall says. He was close with my father when he still ran this place, “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I dip my chin, “Is that all?”
“These plans,” someone pipes up, “Will you be sharing them with the council any time soon?”
No. Not because I didn’t want to but because I had no clue. “Not right now, it’s in development. Rhett,” I address my friend, “Can you close up and see these guys out?”
He nods his chin once and I head for the door.
“Reconsider, Mr Cain,” someone calls out from behind me, “Think about what the money and the tourists could do for this town.”
I scoff. They’re not thinking about what the money could do for this town, they’re thinking about what the money could do to their pockets. I knew business was brutal, I was warned, even before I started college, but I never would have expected it to be like this. The first year was the hardest. People hovered around, waiting for me to fail and when I didn’t it was like the world was ending for them.
People would do anything for the slice of pie and this distillery, it was famous, it made my dad rich and his dad and now me.
The money for me isn’t everything. Sure, it’s nice to have, but the whiskey is my life, well was my life before Ripley, it comes in at a close second now.
