by Jennie Marts
“This kind of feels like the state of my life right now. Just another friggin’ mess to clean up.” He gazed around the room and chuckled again. “Besides, what else am I gonna do? The deed is done, so no use crying over spilled milk—or mashed potatoes, as the case may be.”
She laughed with him. Geez. What a disaster.
He stepped between the strewn-about biscuits and picked up the fallen broom. Gripping the handle, he swung the end of it, connecting with a biscuit, and sent it sailing across the kitchen and into the overturned trash can. “Score.”
“Impressive.”
He whacked two more in, then let out a whoop. “Hat trick. And the crowd goes wild.” He grinned at her. “If only I played this well on the actual ice. Granted, it’s easier to score when there’s no pesky goalie getting in the way.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You play hockey?”
“A little. I played growing up and still get in a game now and then. I help coach a kids’ minor team now.”
Seriously? A cowboy who played hockey? And he coached kids? As if this guy weren’t hot enough, his heat ratio just shot through the roof.
He jerked a thumb toward the window. “We’ve got a little pond between our ranch and the next one over. My sister and I started playing with the three brothers from that ranch about as soon as we were old enough to don skates. The oldest brother, Rock, went on to the NHL. He plays for the Colorado Summit.”
“Rock? As in Rockford James? He’s a legend on the ice. He’s your next-door neighbor?”
It was his turn to arch an eyebrow at her. “You follow hockey? Now I’m the one impressed.”
“Why? You think a girl can’t follow sports?”
He held up his hands and chuckled again. “No, of course you can. My sister is a die-hard, balls-out fan. I just meant I was impressed that you had the good taste to like hockey. Not everyone follows the sport.”
“I like it.” She and Michael used to watch the games on television. Kansas didn’t have a professional team, so they’d adopted the Summit as their team and had become huge fans. They’d even given Floyd a hockey stick and puck for Christmas when he was five, and he was always pushing it around the house and claiming he wanted to play some day. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any kids’ hockey leagues in the town where they lived. And it wouldn’t have mattered if they did, since she couldn’t afford for him to play anyway.
“I like it too. And I can probably score you an introduction to Rock. He’s not just my neighbor; he’s also my brother-in-law. He married my sister this past summer and built her a big house about a mile from here. Which is why I so desperately need the extra help. My dad and I were doing all right until my uncle had a heart attack a few weeks ago and my dad went to Montana to help run his ranch.”
“Oh no. I hope he’s okay.”
“Thanks. He will be. He’s a tough old coot. A lot like my dad. You know those old cowboys—tough as nails and don’t let much get them down. Except bypass surgery. Apparently that’ll knock you right out. But he’ll be back on his feet soon, I’m sure. We’re hoping my dad will be back in the next few weeks. Quinn—that’s my sister—will kill him if he isn’t home by Christmas.”
Harper knew the feeling. It was her goal to make some money, earn enough for a couple of bus tickets and the next mortgage payment, and have Floyd back home by Christmas too. Until this last Thanksgiving, they’d never spent a single holiday apart. Hadn’t spent more than a night apart before she’d been arrested.
A fist tightened around her heart. She was so close to her boy, finally in the same town, but she couldn’t go to him, couldn’t see him. She hadn’t formed much of a plan beyond getting to Creedence, but she couldn’t very well walk up to Judith’s door and demand she give her son back. How would she take him home anyway? The town didn’t seem that big. They could probably walk back to the bus station, but then what? How would she buy them tickets? They weren’t going to get far on the two dollars she had left in her pocket.
She needed money.
That thought sobered her, and she bent to pick up the trash can. “I’ll do my best to keep you fed until your dad gets back. And speaking of which, I’d better get to work if I’m going to earn my keep around here.”
He swept the last few biscuits into a pile. “This mess is well beyond the call of duty. I’ll help you clean it up.”
“No way. I can get this. It won’t be that big a deal once I start. And I’m sure you have more important things to do.” She gestured out the front windows. “Ranch-type stuff.”
He frowned. “Actually, I do. I’d been getting ready to answer some emails when I found Ted passed out in one of the horses’ stalls. Now that he’s gone, I’ll need to run some extra hay out to the cattle. It might take me an hour or two. But I feel bad leaving you with this disaster right off the bat.”
“Don’t. Really. I’m fine. It looks worse than it is. I can get this cleaned up and figure out something to make for supper.” She glanced at the clock on the stove. “Let’s just plan on two hours. I’ll have a meal ready and on the table then.”
“That sounds great.” He glanced around the house. “You need me to give you a tour? Show you around?”
She shook her head. “I can figure it out. I can certainly navigate my way around the kitchen, and I’ll assume the room with the toilet is the bathroom.”
He grinned. “Correct.” He scribbled a number on the whiteboard that hung on the wall next to the refrigerator. “That’s my cell. Call if you need me. Reception’s sometimes spotty out here and Dad’s old-fashioned, so we still have a house phone if you need to use it.”
She waved him away. “I’ll be fine. Go feed your cows. Let me worry about feeding you.”
“Okay.” He headed for the front door, then turned back, his expression sincere. “Thanks, Harper. I’m grateful for your help and really do appreciate this.”
A lump formed in her throat so she couldn’t speak. She waved him on instead, then turned away. It had been a long time since anyone had been grateful for her help. Except Floyd. He was an affectionate kid and quick to throw his arms around her waist in thanks for something she’d done for him. Thinking about a hug from her son wasn’t doing anything to help the burn in her throat, so she focused on the mess instead.
Dropping her backpack, Harper shed her coat and pushed up the sleeves of her thermal shirt. She took a few minutes to look around the house and get her bearings, then pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail and got to work. Gathering the clothes from the living room, she started a load of laundry, then attacked the mess in the kitchen.
It only took her about half an hour to clean up most of the chaos. By that time, the washer had finished, and she’d rounded up all the towels and gotten a load of them running as well. Snooping around the kitchen, she found some chicken and a bag of potatoes. Thankfully, Kimberly hadn’t tossed out the flour, so Harper had enough to dredge the chicken and make a fresh batch of biscuits.
She found a heavy cast-iron skillet and some oil to fry the chicken in, then peeled the potatoes as the chicken sizzled and popped on the stove. Her mom couldn’t cook for crap, but her grandma was a master in the kitchen and had taught Harper how to bake and the basics of a few key recipes.
After Michael died, she and Floyd had moved in with her grandmother. Over the last few years under Nana’s watchful eye, she’d gained more skill and confidence in the kitchen. The thought of her tiny, sweet grandmother had Harper choking up again.
Stop it. She didn’t have time for tears or sentiment. She swallowed the pain, inhaled a deep breath, and pushed her shoulders back.
It had been nine months since Nana had died. Nine months in which Harper’s life had fallen apart. Her grandmother had taken care of Floyd while Harper worked. But with no daycare, she’d had to stay home and lost her job. She’d tried to find something else, something she could do
during the hours Floyd was in school, but jobs were scarce, and she couldn’t find anything.
No job meant she couldn’t keep up with the house payments, could barely keep food on the table. She’d sold everything she could part with, but it still wasn’t enough. She was two months behind on the house payments with no future income in sight when her mom approached her to help with the accounting at the metal manufacturing company where she worked.
Normally, Harper wouldn’t fall for one of her mom’s schemes, but Brandy had sucked her in, assuring her this time was different. Harper was so desperate for the money that she let herself believe it. At first, the job seemed legit. Even though her mom had brought the books to her instead of her going in to an office. Harper was excellent at math, and it felt good to use her skills. Plus the hours worked with Floyd’s schedule. But her mom was being too nice to her, too accommodating. That alone should have tipped her off. She should have known something was up, but she was so thankful for a paycheck again that she’d let her guard down and hadn’t paid as much attention as she should have.
It was just a few changes at first—a few line items that her mom assured her were budgeting adjustments. But then the amounts got bigger, and there were more receipts for supplies purchased than outgoing products. It took her a few weeks, but Harper finally figured out what her mom was doing. What she was helping her mom to do.
She’d been planning to turn herself and her mom in. To throw herself at the mercy of the company’s president and find a way to pay the money back. But she’d been too late.
They’d been arrested and charged with embezzlement before she had a chance to confess.
Harper hadn’t realized her mom had been learning her technique, then making bigger changes back at the office and taking more money. But someone at the company noticed and traced the missing funds back to Brandy. Harper’s paycheck hadn’t changed, so she hadn’t known the extent of what her mom was doing. That fact is what had kept her an accessory to the crime, instead of the main offender.
So she should have been grateful. At least that’s what her court-assigned public defender told her. But she didn’t feel grateful. She felt ashamed and foolish and angry at herself for falling for her mom’s line of bull. And desolate for what she’d done to her life. She’d lost everything. Including her son.
She’d had no one left to turn to, except Michael’s mother, Judith, the woman who blamed Harper for taking her son away.
Making that call to Judith Benning had been one of the hardest things Harper had ever done—harder than going to jail, than subjecting herself to a strip search, even worse than the horrifying moment when she’d sat in a cold room and had a pimply-faced guy who smelled like formaldehyde and stale salami hand her a photograph to identify Michael after the accident.
Nothing was worse than calling her already-disapproving mother-in-law and telling her she’d been arrested, then asking her to come get Floyd.
She could almost feel the guilt-laden judgment running down her spine like a slimy raw oyster slipping from its shell. But Judith had come. Right away. And she’d taken the boy without a moment’s hesitation.
Now Harper just had to figure out a way to get him back.
Her mind raced with ideas as she scrubbed and vacuumed the house. She’d found cleaning supplies in the laundry room, and she tried to visualize her frustration disappearing with each surface she angrily wiped clean. It didn’t take her long to have the living room and kitchen sparkling and smelling fresh again.
A small stereo hung from under the counter, and she’d turned it on earlier to clear the ghosts from the air. It had been set to an oldies station, and she found herself singing along to a favorite song as she set the table for Logan. She had the potatoes boiling, the chicken frying, the biscuits baking, and a pan of green beans ready to steam. All she had left was to mash the potatoes and stir up some gravy.
It felt good to be busy, to be doing honest work for an honest wage. Although, come to think of it, they hadn’t exactly agreed on a wage. They hadn’t even talked salary. She’d been so happy to get a job that didn’t require her to work with anyone else’s money—or admit she’d spent the last few months in jail—she hadn’t even asked. She supposed they’d have to talk that through.
She lifted the crispy fried chicken onto a platter, then poured milk and flour into the drippings. As the gravy simmered, she drained the potatoes, then added butter and milk and mashed them until they were fluffy and lump-free. She scooped them into a bowl, dropped another pat of butter on top, and then seasoned them with salt and pepper. Nana had always told her to never be afraid to dash on a little extra pepper.
Another classic song came on, and she found her hips swaying as she stirred the gravy. Her favorite part of the chorus came up, and she belted out the lyrics.
“Wow, I didn’t know I was going to get dinner and a show,” a deep male voice said from behind her.
She shrieked and whipped the gravy-laden spoon into the air as she spun around. “Holy crap! You scared me.”
Logan stood at the counter, looking down at the large dollop of gravy that had just landed on the front of his shirt. “I guess dinner’s on me now.”
“Wow. You are just the king of one-liners, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Not usually. But apparently tonight I’m on fire with them. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just walked in like normal, but with the radio playing, you must not have heard me. The house looks awesome though. And whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.”
“Thanks.” She scrunched her nose at the gravy sliding down his breast pocket as she handed him a paper towel. “Sorry about launching your supper at you.”
“It’s not the first time today someone has thrown a meal in my general direction,” he said with a shrug.
She laughed. “Yeah, but I had planned on you eating this one. I spent the last two hours cooking and cleaning to impress my new boss and amaze him with my cooking prowess; then he walks in and I chuck gravy at him.”
He dipped a finger in the gravy on his pocket, then licked it clean. His eyes widened. “Damn, that’s good. Consider me impressed and amazed.” He glanced around her to the counter. “How did you know fried chicken and mashed potatoes were my favorite meal?”
“To eat or to wear?”
“Come on now, I only wear meat loaf,” he chided her good-naturedly. “And only when it’s in season.”
She laughed. He was cute and funny. She leaned a hip against the counter, a witty comeback on the tip of her tongue. Wait. She wasn’t here to be witty or to be wooed by a cute cowboy. She was here to do a job, collect some cash and her boy, and get out of Dodge.
Pushing back from the counter, she straightened and smoothed the smile from her face. She could be pleasant, but not flirty. Bryn had warned her not to fall for Logan’s obvious charms. But dang, she hadn’t known he’d have so many. “Hope you brought your appetite. This will be ready in a few minutes. I just need to steam the green beans.”
“Great. And I brought the appetite of Zeus. I haven’t eaten much today, so I’m starving, but I need to wash up, and I should probably change my shirt.”
“I washed the stuff strewn across the living room and the rest of the shirts and jeans I found in the hamper in your room. They’re all folded in a pile on the end of your bed. I found some ChapStick, a bolt, half a roll of butterscotch Life Savers, fourteen dollars, and some change in the pockets of those jeans. I left that all on your dresser.”
His eyes widened. “Wow. That’s great. Thanks. My sister always claimed finders keepers if she found cash in anybody’s pocket when she did the laundry. And from what you’ve accomplished in the last few hours, you earned it. Especially those Life Savers.”
Her stomach clenched, and she tightened her grip on the wooden spoon. “I wouldn’t take money, or anything else, that wasn’t mine. I’m not going to steal from y
ou.”
He shook his head and took a step toward her. “Harper, I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I was just making a joke. And a bad one, apparently. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t how to respond. She wanted to brush off the remark, make it seem nonchalant, but his offhand comment had hit her in her core. And the worst part was, she didn’t even have the right to act insulted. She was a thief.
“Let’s just drop it, okay?” She needed to look at him though. Needed to assure him and say the words. “But you can trust me in your house. I’m not going to take anything from you.”
He nodded, keeping his expression as solemn as hers. “I believe you.”
“You’d better get washed up. These beans are almost ready.”
He turned and headed down the hallway, and Harper let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
* * *
Idiot. Logan chided himself for cramming his foot so far into his mouth. What had he been thinking? This morning, he’d fired a woman who was flirting with him, and tonight he was acting like some kind of Casanova. Well, like a nerdy version of Casanova. What was up with those dorky one-liners?
And he’d never meant to insinuate she would steal anything. Although someone seemed to have stolen the part of his brain that formed intelligent conversation. And she’d robbed him of his breath when he walked into the house and seen her shaking her groove thing as she belted out the words to the song on the radio. And she had a pretty great groove thing.
Her hair was piled on top of her head, but several tendrils had come free and were hanging loose along her bare neck. He’d stood and watched her for a moment before he spoke, imagining what it would be like to walk up behind her, slide his arms around her waist, and lay a soft kiss in the crook of her neck. He envisioned the way she would lean back into him, pressing her back into his chest as she let out a contented sigh.
