by Marin Thomas
“It’s open,” he called.
Drawing in a deep breath for courage, she entered the room. Seth lay sprawled across the bed on his stomach, flipping through a video-game magazine. “Mind if I sit down?” she asked.
He scooted over, making room for her at the bottom of the double bed. Not sure how or where to begin, Ellen studied the size-nine foot hanging off the end of the mattress. Her baby was growing up too fast.
“Are you mad at me ’cause I said Mr. McKade didn’t want to have sex with you?”
Leave it to a teen to cut right to the heart of the matter. “No, I’m not mad.” Embarrassed, humiliated and a million other things, but not mad. “Although you could have picked a more private place to drop a bomb like that.”
“Sorry.” He offered a dopey smile and her heart turned to mush.
“Forgiven.”
“Mom, can I ask you something without you getting all mad and stuff?” He dropped the magazine over the edge of the bed, where it landed on a pile of dirty T-shirts and jeans.
What did he mean by stuff? Unless he expected her to have a hissy fit or a meltdown. “Ask away.”
“Did you want to have sex with Mr. McKade? Is that why you hired someone who doesn’t know anything about cows?”
She’d intended to discuss sex and Seth, not sex and her. Ignoring the urge to run, she answered, “I hired Mr. McKade to help with chores, nothing more. Why would you even think such a thing?”
“I know you didn’t love Dad.” He fingered the edge of a tear in the knee of his jeans.
A gasp crawled up Ellen’s throat, but she caught it before it had a chance to escape her mouth.
Seth rolled off the bed and went to stand in front of the window.
“Don’t look all shocked, Mom. It’s not like you and Dad ever kissed or hugged in front of me. And you guys never went out on dates like Brad’s parents do. Sometimes they even stay overnight at hotels.” He jabbed his big toe against the edge of the rug and studied the floor. “Did you guys have to get married ’cause of me?”
She’d never suspected her and Buck’s relationship had been transparent or that their son had been so perceptive. “Yes, honey, we did. I got pregnant with you when I was seventeen. The beginning of my senior year of high school.”
When Seth glanced up, his lip was quivering. She popped off the bed and hugged him. “It didn’t matter that your father and I weren’t totally in love with each other. We both wanted you from the very beginning.”
Seth took a moment to digest her words, then his stiff shoulders relaxed. “If you could go back in time, would you marry Dad again if you got pregnant?”
“Absolutely,” she answered without hesitation. “We may not have loved each other passionately—” or at all “—but I respected your father for not turning his back on you or me.”
“If he hadn’t died, would you guys have stayed married forever?”
Ellen recalled the cash that she’d saved over the past thirteen years, hidden in the living-room desk. “I don’t know, Seth.”
“You gonna get married again?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
His eyes teared. “I don’t want to be a farmer and live here the rest of my life.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged him closer. “You don’t have to be a farmer.”
“But you’ll be all alone. If you don’t get married again, who’s gonna help with the cows?” He wiggled against her and she released him.
“I’ll manage. Maybe someday I’ll try to do something different.” That is, if I can find the courage to walk away from the only thing I’ve ever done. “Have you considered what you might like to do after you graduate from high school?”
“Maybe something with computers. I bet I could find a job in Chicago. You could, too.”
Her insides twisted as she gazed into her son’s innocent blue eyes—eyes that begged her to fix his world and make his dreams come true. He asked the impossible of her. How could she help him realize his dreams, when she was terrified to reach out for her own?
“I’m glad you’re thinking about the future, honey. Remember, a lot can happen between now and graduation.”
“Can I call Brad and talk about this new game I saw in the magazine?”
So much for the sex chat she’d planned. “Sure.” She stole one more hug and whispered, “I love you, Seth.”
“Me, too, Mom.”
After Ellen left the room and shut the door, she collapsed against the Harley poster and rubbed her eyes. She felt emotionally gutted. She could think of a better way to end the day than being reminded of her inadequacies and fears.
She’d suspected for a long time that her son disliked living on the farm. If they moved tomorrow, he’d miss his friends but little else. She wished she hadn’t gone to his room tonight. Now that his discontent stood out in the open between them, she couldn’t very well continue to ignore it as she had the past few years.
But sell the farm? She was a single mother. Keeping a roof over Seth’s head, food in his stomach, clothes on his back and a hundred other things he needed throughout the year was an intimidating responsibility for a woman who’d only ever milked cows all her life. Aside from waitress work, or maybe factory work, Ellen wasn’t qualified for any decent-paying jobs. God help her if she were forced to choose between the farm and her son.
“Hey, Ellen,” Nelson called.
Her eyes popped open and she rolled her head sideways. He stood at the end of the hall, a broad shoulder propped against the wall. He cocked his head and a lock of dark hair fell across his brow. Without even trying, he made her stomach drop and her thoughts scatter like seeds in the wind. When she noticed his red hands, she bit her lip to keep from smiling.
“What?” His husky voice carried a hint of intimacy.
“Your hands.”
He held them out in front of him. “What about my hands?”
“First time I’ve caught a man with dishpan hands.”
“The gloves make my skin itch,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he submerged his hands in scalding water and disinfectant every day. “You got a minute?”
A minute. An hour. A day. However long you… Startled by her complete loss of good judgment, she shook her head.
“You don’t have time to talk?”
“I mean, yes.” Flustered, she added, “Let’s go outside.” The fresh air would clear her head and cool her body.
When she arrived at the end of the hall, he didn’t budge, forcing her to turn sideways in order to avoid touching his body. On the front stoop, she sucked in a lungful of moist evening air, while Nelson stood at her side in silence. She drew in a second deep breath. This time a trace of masculine cologne mingled with the smell of damp earth. Why hadn’t she thought to buy Buck cologne for Christmas? She’d always gotten him something practical like tools, a new coat or shells for his shotgun.
“There’s a swing under the tree.” Before she reached the bottom step, Nelson set his hand at her elbow, steadying her as they made their way across the yard to the ancient maple. His gallantry was unnecessary, but a balm to her feminine soul.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d sought refuge beneath the maple’s giant limbs. During the summer months when Seth had been a toddler, she’d rocked him to sleep in the swing. Buck had believed the ritual foolish, but Ellen had enjoyed the quiet time with her son and her dreams.
“I never noticed how big this tree is,” Nelson commented, shortening his stride to match hers.
“My great-grandfather planted the sapling in 1905 after he bought the farm.” At the swing, Ellen brushed off the seat, then wiggled into a comfortable position at one end.
Before Nelson added his weight, he yanked the rusted chain wrapped around the gnarled limb. Satisfied the chain would hold, he sat next to Ellen and waited for her to push off. When the swing remained motionless, he glanced at her feet—the tips of her toes barely grazed the grass. “Want me to push, shorty?”
“Ha, ha. I’d like to see you struggle through life at five-four.”
Grinning, he rocked the balls of his feet against the ground. She didn’t have to convince him her height, or lack of it, was a handicap on a farm. Only an on-going miracle prevented her from being crushed or trampled by one of her beloved bovines. It was a humbling experience for a man of his stature to witness this petite woman handle a cow with ease and efficiency. Hell, half the men who worked for him didn’t have an ounce of Ellen’s strength, stamina or guts. He wondered if her deceased husband had admired those traits in her.
“How did your husband die?” Silence. “Sorry, that was a little blunt.”
“It’s okay.” A soft sigh drifted past his ear.
The vulnerable sound made Nelson want to hug her and promise to fix her broken world.
“Buck assumed he was invincible. Never wore a seat belt. Never wore a helmet when he drove the ATV. The helmet thing did him in. Unfortunately he wasn’t wearing his construction hard hat when a steel beam clunked him on the head. And since Buck knowingly broke the hard hat rule, suing was out of the question.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
The lack of emotion in her voice surprised Nelson and made him question her relationship with her husband. Time to change the subject. “What’s Seth up to?”
“He’s talking to Brad on the phone.”
Fighting a feeling of restlessness, Nelson closed his eyes and sniffed the breeze disturbing the air beneath the tree canopy. Relaxing wasn’t in his nature, and he itched to do something—anything but sit still.
Ellen suffered the same malady. She shifted around until she found a comfortable position—head resting against the back of the swing, tips of her shoes dangling in the air.
The night shadows allowed him to catch only glimpses of her expression. First, the tilt of her mouth as if she were dreaming of something pleasant. Next, a tiny frown line between her eyebrows. What was going on in that cute little head of hers?
He fingered the end of one red ribbon hanging limp from a crooked pigtail. Any other female Ellen’s age would look ridiculous wearing pigtails. But not her. Fanny Farmer was a very unusual woman. Unfortunately, an unusual woman with not so unusual money problems. “Ellen, I believe I can change your financial situation.”
In one second flat, her posture went from slouched to ramrod straight. “Give it a break, Nelson. You’re not sticking your nose into my business and that’s final.”
“But—”
“You’re clueless when it comes to dairy farming. You’ve been here a grand total of two days and already you think you’re an expert on cows.”
“I’ve studied the dairy industry numbers for this region and I believe you can expand your operation without a substantial initial investment on your part.”
Her mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened. “Look, Nelson. I admire you for jumping headfirst into something you don’t have a clue about.” A gust of agitated air left her lungs. “Obviously you’re a man used to running the show. But my farm is one show you’re not going to run.”
If she’d give him a chance to explain, she’d see how sound his idea was. “I’ve done the research.”
“Maybe. But unless you’ve lived the life of a farmer you can’t grasp how varying issues affect the success of a farm. Weather, insects, fluctuating feed prices, disease, equipment failure, milk trucking costs, electricity and a million other things have to be factored into the equation.”
“Okay, so there may be unforeseen circumstances. Doesn’t mean there isn’t a better way—”
“There’s only one way—my way.” She inched toward the edge of the seat, but he clamped his fingers around her wrist, and she froze.
“What are you afraid of, Ellen?” He grasped her chin gently and forced her to make eye contact with him. “Tell me your fears, then I’ll take those into account when I come up with a plan of attack.”
“I’m not afraid.” She swung her head sideways, whacking him in the face with a pigtail. “I’m cautious.”
Cautious? More like stubborn. “Nothing wrong with being careful as long as you don’t let it get in the way of opportunity.”
“You’re talking in circles. What opportunity are you referring to?”
Finally, an opening. “You have to expand your herd, hire additional help and increase your milk production in order to regain your financial footing. In other words, you have to spend money to make money.”
“I can’t afford to spend money I don’t have.”
“You can’t afford not to spend the money, Ellen.” When she didn’t interrupt, he added, “I took the liberty of studying the financial statements you left lying on the kitchen counter today.”
“You what?” The words rolled out flat and cold.
“You’re behind on your taxes—”
“Three months. Big deal.”
“The minimum payment on your credit card barely covers the finance charge.”
Her slim shoulders lifted, then sank in defeat. “I had to replace the blowers in the barn this past fall.”
“If you continue to operate the way you are now, you’ll be bankrupt in four years.”
“Four years? How did you figure that time frame?”
“I ran a market analysis on the farm. Using the last tax statement, I factored in inflation, the cost of maintaining or replacing equipment and general bills and living expenses. I also added in a wage increase at the diner anticipating that you’d continue to work two jobs.”
He paused, allowing her to absorb what he’d said, then explained, “In simple terms, Ellen, the money going out is greater than the money coming in.”
“I’m curious, Nelson. Do you have a finance degree?”
“I have a business degree.”
“How high is your IQ?”
Oh, hell. Why did she have to go and ask that question? Only he and his grandfather and, of course, test administrators knew Nelson’s intelligence quotient. It wasn’t any of Ellen’s business, but for some damn reason he couldn’t lie to her. “High.”
“How high?”
He hesitated, not wanting her to see him as different or brainy. He wanted her to see him as a man. “One hundred and fifty.”
Ellen remained silent, which bothered him almost as much as if she’d made a snide remark about his intelligence. “Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked.
“What made you decide to go into the import-export business?”
The question surprised him. “What do you mean?”
“You have the intelligence to be a rocket scientist, to work at NASA, to…I don’t know, find the cure for cancer. But you chose to buy and sell stuff?”
Not exactly how he’d describe his job. “I was three when my parents and grandmother died in a private plane crash. My grandfather raised my brothers and me. As the eldest I was groomed to manage the family business and make sure it thrived and supported my brothers.”
Her callused fingers moved in tiny circles against his arm, setting off a sensory explosion beneath his skin. He hadn’t expected her comfort, but appreciated it.
“When you were a little boy, what did you dream of being?”
“A fireman.”
Grinning, she said, “Not too late to switch careers.”
“I doubt my grandfather would be too pleased.” Refusing to allow Ellen to change the subject, he insisted, “We were discussing you and your money troubles.”
“Nelson, I don’t have to be told I’m on shaky ground regarding my finances.”
“Then let me develop a fiscal plan. You don’t have to use my advice, but at least you’ll have all the facts and figures in front of you.”
“I hired you to watch Seth and do a few chores this summer, not be my accountant.”
“I’ll make sure Seth toes the line. As a matter of fact, he should be helping out around here a lot more than he is.”
“I won’t let you wo
rk him too hard. He deserves to have fun this summer.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Let’s just say kids can get into trouble and rebel if they’re pushed beyond their limits.”
Nelson suspected Ellen spoke from experience. “Understood.”
When she would have risen, he rushed on. “There’s one more thing.”
“All right already,” she huffed. “You have my permission to snoop through my financial documents until your heart’s content.”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t referring to that.”
She tilted her head, waiting for him to continue.
“About Seth’s comment in the diner this afternoon.”
“Forget about it. I’m used to kids speaking their minds.”
His knee bumped her thigh and heat raced up his leg. He set his hand on her shoulder and massaged her muscle. And it was definitely muscle. Muscle used to lug the heavy milk canisters in the barn. He pictured her firm, petite body under his much larger one. Skin to skin. What would her touches feel like? Was she an aggressive lover—strong, a little wild? Or was she gentle?
“Seth got it wrong, Ellen.” He slid his hand across her nape and leaned nearer. Couldn’t help it. Her scent, her softness drew him. She was an amazing woman. A widow who ran a dairy farm, worked a second job and was raising a son. The urge to protect her hit him in the stomach with the force of a roundhouse punch.
“Got what wrong?” Her breath sighed across his cheek.
“Got this wrong.” He cupped her jaw, angled her mouth slightly upward and lowered his head. The barest caress…feather light. Then he retreated. “I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I hit you in the nose with the door at the diner.”
He waited for some kind of response from her—a sigh, a laugh, a curse. Nothing. Had he imagined the way she’d gawked at his naked body in the bathroom yesterday? Was this attraction all one-sided—his side? Maybe it was too soon for her—a widow, barely a year. Cursing his insensitivity, he muttered, “I stepped out of line—”
“No, you didn’t.”
This time he kissed her the way he had in his dream last night. Open-mouthed. Tongues dancing. Teeth nipping. She tasted sweet and pure with just a hint of cinnamon-flavored toothpaste.
