by Marin Thomas
Ellen’s mouth was eager, clumsy and inexperienced, but she made up for it in enthusiasm. With persistent patience he cataloged her sighs, her moans of pleasure.
“Ellen…” Never had a woman’s kiss reached deep inside him the way hers had. She made him feel…yearn…need. His body trembled with an urgency that hinted at recklessness. He ended the kiss and pressed his forehead against her brow, struggling to catch more than his breath. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”
“We got carried away,” she corrected, weaving a finger through his hair.
He liked that Ellen wasn’t afraid to admit she’d enjoyed the kiss. “About what Seth said this afternoon in the diner.”
“Shh.” The finger in his hair moved to his lips.
He couldn’t resist. He sucked the tip of it inside his mouth.
“No more talk, Nelson. Not tonight.” She pulled her finger free, rubbing the moistness against his lip. “Give me fifteen minutes and then the bathroom is yours.” She slipped off the swing and headed to the house.
“You’re sure about me looking into your finances?” he called after her.
The breeze carried her husky laughter back to him. “If it keeps you out of trouble, go ahead and stick your nose in my business.”
Keep him out of trouble? He doubted it.
Not if t-r-o-u-b-l-e sported blond pigtails and baggy overalls.
Chapter Six
“Hey.” Seth stopped in the kitchen doorway, yawned, then padded barefoot to the refrigerator and removed a gallon of milk.
“Good morning.” Nelson glanced at the wall clock. “Nice to know someone around here averages more than six hours of sleep.” Over a week had passed since he’d arrived at the Tanner farm. He and Seth had settled into a routine—Seth slept until noon and Nelson rose at the crack of dawn to help Ellen with the cows and with whatever other chores needed doing. After she left for the diner, he spent the remainder of the morning sitting at the kitchen table, studying tax returns, bank statements, bills and other financial records.
“How long you gonna work on that stuff?” Seth retrieved what looked suspiciously like a large, dog food dish from the cupboard.
“Almost finished.” Nelson had been euphoric when Ellen had dumped ten years’ worth of records on the kitchen table several days ago. The detailed documents allowed him to compare the farm’s past financial situation with its current state. Not that there was much of a difference. Aside from a couple of good years, the farm had always run in the red.
Seth poured half a box of cereal into the dog bowl, grabbed the gallon of milk and mumbled, “See ya,” as he went into the living room. A moment later, the sounds of a television game show drifted into the kitchen.
Nelson stood and stretched his aching muscles. For a man who worked out religiously in a gym, he sure as hell was sore all the time. Maybe tomorrow he’d take Ellen’s suggestion and sit on the stool to clean the cows’ udders. The constant bending over had to be the cause of his lower back pain.
After analyzing much of the data, he was certain the solution to the farm’s financial dilemma remained the same—increase the milk production. He’d insisted that if she purchased additional equipment and hired more help, she could move twice as many cows through the barn in half the time. Ellen had balked, claiming a minimum of $20,000 would be required to construct extra stalls and buy extra milking apparatus.
He was positive more cows meant more income. He just had to figure out how to cover the cost of additional udder antiseptic, udder balm and a trillion udder things. Not to mention additional vaccinations, vet bills and cleaning supplies. He walked to the coffeemaker and poured the remaining sludge into his cup.
The past few days had been a real eye opener. He’d discovered that Fanny Farmer had no cash reserves. No 401K. No savings plan. Not even a life insurance policy from her deceased husband. What kind of a man left his wife and son unprotected? All Ellen had to her name was the farm and the sixty-seven dollars currently in her checking account.
Regarding business decisions, he’d never second-guessed himself—until now. Four years on Harvard’s crew team had strengthened his competitiveness and turned him into a poor loser. In his mind, first was the only place that mattered. He had a hunch that in order to help get the farm on track he had to secure an investor. The chance of finding someone willing to dump a truckload of cash into the day-to-day operation of a small-time dairy farm was next to nil.
What about you?
Ellen would never accept a no-interest loan from him. The stubborn, prideful woman would rather work herself into the ground than take a handout. Hell, she’d thrown a tantrum when he’d refused the small wage offered with the job. When she’d threatened to fire him, he’d had no choice but to accept the meager pittance. He’d then used the money to purchase cattle feed. If Ellen had noticed the grain barrels had been topped off, she hadn’t let on.
Maybe she’d accept a loan if he promised to remain a silent partner. You, silent? All right, he’d have to convince her to take his money and his advice, but only for the summer. After Labor Day he’d pack his bags and return to Chicago, taking his advice with him.
You’re joking.
Nelson ignored the voice in his head and gulped another swallow of muddy coffee.
What’s in it for you?
“Nothing,” he mumbled, then glanced at the doorway to make sure Seth hadn’t overheard him talking to himself.
Liar. The real reason you’re considering investing in Ellen’s farm is so that it gives you an excuse to keep tabs on her.
“Why would I do that?” he muttered. All this manure-scented air wasn’t good for his high IQ.
Because you like her. Really like her.
Okay, he’d admit to liking Ellen. What was there not to like about her? She was a cute thing with pretty blue eyes. And she was funny—sometimes. Determined, loyal and courageous. Most men would find a woman like that…likable.
There’s more. She revs your motor.
Slamming the door on the voice in his head, he rinsed his coffee cup, then studied the one bill that had bothered him from the start. Something didn’t add up on the milk-hauling statement and he intended to pay a visit to the company. “Seth,” he called when he entered the living room. “Grab your shoes. We’ve got an errand to run.”
The boy set the almost-empty cereal bowl on the table and vaulted off the couch. “Where are we going?”
“To pay a visit to Packard milk haulers.”
“Cool.” He raced down the hallway, then returned in less than a minute dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and untied sneakers. Poor kid. If a ride to a trucking facility excited him this much, Nelson could only imagine the boy’s euphoria if he went to Disney World. Nelson made a mental note to try to plan a day trip somewhere this summer with the boy—a place without cornfields and silos. Maybe he could convince Ellen to allow him to give Seth a tour of Chicago.
Once inside the car, Nelson checked the map of Illinois, then headed west on RR 7. Packard Hauling was located on the outskirts of a small town called Farmington, sixty-five miles from Ellen’s property. After making only one wrong turn, they arrived at the facility by one o’clock in the afternoon.
He parked in front of the cement-block building with the neon Office sign in the front window. Seth accompanied him inside, where a ding-dong announced their entry.
“Be right there,” a feminine voice called. A moment later a teenager with flaming red hair stepped around the corner. “Oh, hi.”
Nelson grinned at Seth’s slack-jawed stare. The boy’s gaze was glued to the girl’s buxom chest. If Seth didn’t close his mouth soon, drool would leak out the corners.
“I’m Nelson McKade. I’d like to speak with the manager or owner of the company.”
“That would be my dad. He’s down with the trucks. I can ring his cell and have him come up to the office.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll find him.” Because he wasn’t sure how much Ellen had told her son
about the farm’s money troubles, he didn’t want to chance Seth overhearing something that might upset him. “Stay here. I won’t be long.”
“Sure.” Seth flashed a grateful smile.
Swallowing a chuckle, Nelson left the office, thinking it hadn’t been all that long ago that he’d been thirteen and fascinated by breasts. He followed the gravel drive to the transport trucks parked behind a chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
A short, stocky man stood near the engine of one of the trucks, scribbling on a clipboard. He must have heard Nelson’s footsteps, because he glanced up, then shouted, “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the owner.”
“I’m your man. Russ Packard.” He held out his hand.
“Nelson McKade. Pleasure to meet you.” Obviously, the young girl in the office had inherited the red hair from her father. Russ Packard was as bald as a billiard ball but sported a crimson beard Santa Claus would be envious of. “Wonder if I could ask a few questions about your business?”
“You a government inspector?”
“No. I work for Ellen Tanner of Tanner Farm in Four Corners.” No sense telling the man he was only there for the summer.
“Yeah, I know Ellen. We pick up her milk a few times a week.”
“That’s what I want to speak to you about. You’re charging her fifty-four cents per one hundred pounds of milk weight to haul her product to the processing plant. After checking with other hauling companies, I find your price exorbitant.”
“Wait just a minute, pal. I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
“The other haulers charge anywhere from seventeen to thirty cents. Why is Ellen paying so much?”
The top of the man’s bald head glowed like a red stoplight. “Fifty-four cents barely covers the cost of gas and the hauler’s wage to drive out there and get the milk. Never mind truck maintenance, insurance and taxes that come out of my pocket.”
“I don’t understand.”
Brow scrunching, Packard studied Nelson. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”
Nelson followed the man as he carved a path through the parked trucks and entered a doorway off what appeared to be a large garage. After flipping the light switch, he pointed to the opposite wall, plastered with county maps.
“Dairy farms are in pink, corn and hay farms in red and beef cattle operations in green.” Packard motioned to a small triangular-shaped area. “Here’s Ellen’s farm.”
The little patch of pink was no bigger than a thumbprint and surrounded by much larger areas shaded in red.
“Twenty years ago, the Bradford milk processing plant in Kentucky closed down.” Packard moved his finger. “The nearest processing plant for dairy farms in this part of Illinois is now up in Peoria.”
“Okay. You’re hauling milk halfway up the state. I still don’t understand why Ellen has to pay more.”
“Because her farm is way out of the way. When the Kentucky plant shut down, area dairy farmers switched to crop farming. Ellen’s family didn’t. Her dairy doesn’t produce enough milk to make it worth transporting.”
“You’re providing your services as a favor, then?”
Packard nodded and tapped the large pink area north of Ellen’s farm. “These dairy operations run several thousand head of milk cows. I leave two of my trucks on site 24-7. The milk is pumped straight into the tanks. Therefore, I can afford to give them a discount. Hell, the processing plant is only fifteen miles down the road from the farms. Ellen’s cows don’t even use a quarter of a truck’s storage capacity.”
Nelson was beginning to get the picture. He shook his head. Ellen would have to expand her herd to several hundred to compete with the other dairies. Damn, he hated admitting he was wrong. “Doesn’t make sense for her to stay in business.”
“I figured after Buck died she’d sell the place. With gas prices rising daily, there’s going to be a time when I can’t haul her milk anymore. Sooner than she thinks.”
Nelson offered his hand. “I appreciate the information.”
Packard eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of work did you say you were doing for Ellen?”
Nelson opted for the truth. “I’m helping with chores and supervising her son this summer.”
The man studied Nelson’s wrinkle-free khakis, golf shirt and clean dress shoes. “A friend-of-the-family kind of thing?”
“Sort of,” Nelson hedged.
“Maybe you can convince Ellen to sell.”
“Maybe.” Nelson returned to the main office, where he found Seth sitting at the front desk, playing a game on the computer. “Ready?”
“Yeah, sure.” The teen clicked on several icons until the screen saver popped up.
“Where’s the office girl?” Nelson asked.
“Brittany went to get the mail.”
“Brittany, huh?”
“She’s way cool. She let me play games on her computer and drink a Dr Pepper.” Once inside the car, Seth asked, “Why’d you want to talk to Brittany’s dad?”
“For some information. Nothing important.” The trip to the milk-hauling company assured Nelson he needed a new game plan. Truth be told, he’d rather face an angry mob of stockholders after company shares dropped than to try to convince Ellen to sell.
AS SHE HAD the past several nights, Ellen lay in her bed at the witching hour, staring at the water stain on the ceiling. She blamed her restlessness on the fact that she wasn’t working herself into her normal exhausted state. Before Nelson had arrived to help with chores, she had ended her day asleep on her feet. She’d barely registered taking a shower and brushing her teeth before collapsing on the bed and awakening from a deep coma when the alarm buzzed before dawn—
A flash of brightness lit up the bedroom. Ellen rolled off the mattress and scurried to the window. Someone had turned on the lights in the holding barn. Was something the matter with Nelson?
Refusing to analyze why her heart pumped faster than her milking machines, she fled the room. At the front door she stopped to slide her feet into a pair of rubber boots before heading to the barn. Outside, the glow spilling from the structure illuminated a path across the gravel drive, allowing her to move without fear of tripping. A gust of wind blew her loose hair about her head and plastered the knee-length nightshirt to her body. Holding the hem in place, she raced onward.
When she reached the barn, she peered around the edge of the door and sucked in a quick breath as a shadow passed along the far wall. Craning her neck farther, she spotted Nelson shoveling manure into a wheelbarrow—practically naked! He wore Buck’s old rubber boots, black silk boxers and not a stitch more.
A smile played at the corners of her mouth, then faded when Nelson lifted the next shovelful of manure. The sight of all those sweaty muscles rippling and twisting wasn’t a bit funny. Nelson had a dreamy body—the kind you’d see on calendars showing half-naked blue-collar men.
She must have made a sound, because the shovel froze midair and the muscles along his back hardened into granite. He checked over his shoulder, his face dark and stormy as if anticipating an attack. “Ellen? What’s wrong?” He set the shovel aside and hurried to her. “Is it Seth?” he asked, tucking several strands of hair behind her ear. He did that a lot lately—fussed with her hair.
“No, no. Seth is fine,” she assured him. That Nelson worried about her son made her yearn to give him a big hug. The musky scent of hardworking male swirled around her head. “I noticed the lights and thought—”
“Sorry I woke you.” He plowed his fingers through his already mussed hair, leaving clumps standing on end. His gaze shifted from her face to her braless breasts, lingering a fraction too long. The simmering heat in his eyes sparked a fire inside her that erupted into an inferno.
“You look ridiculous,” she blurted, embarrassed her nipples were flirting with Nelson.
He chuckled. “So do you.”
“I guess.” She plucked self-consciously at the front of her nightshirt. An awkward silen
ce ensued. She broke it. “Seth said you paid a visit to Russ Packard this afternoon.”
“I had a few questions for him.” He retrieved his shovel and went back to work.
Edging closer, she insisted, “I agreed to let you view my financial statements, not harass my neighbors. I can’t afford to anger Russ. He’s the only one who’ll haul my milk.”
Nelson leaned on the shovel handle, his chest expanding and contracting as he caught his breath. “Did you know Packard barely breaks even with your business?”
“What are you talking about? I pay a fortune for his services.”
“His fee doesn’t cover all the costs of transporting the milk up to Peoria. He won’t be able to haul for you much longer.”
“He said that?” She studied the tips of her boots, afraid her face would betray the panic escalating inside her. Russ and her husband had been buddies. Evidently, now that Buck was dead, Russ didn’t care to bother with her. Schooling her features, she insisted, “I’ll find another company to haul my milk.”
“Who, Ellen? You’re the sole dairy farm operating in the area. Others changed over to crops years ago. Only the big operations can afford to remain in business.”
“Good for those farmers,” she spat, hating that she sounded like a belligerent child.
“What I want to know, Ellen, is why the hell you’re milking cows instead of growing corn or hay? Better yet, why didn’t your father or husband change operations when the processing plant in Kentucky closed down?”
“Leave my father and Buck out of this.” Guilt churned her stomach. Her husband had tried to talk her into phasing out the dairy operation and switching to corn. He’d insisted he’d cut back on his construction hours and spend more time on the farm if they grew corn. She’d refused to listen, arguing that they’d go too far into debt purchasing expensive planting and harvesting equipment.
Buck had sworn he could find more land to lease that would pay off the equipment after five good harvests—the operative word being good. No. No. No, she’d answered each time he’d brought up the subject. Until the last time…when she’d reminded him the farm was hers, not his. The land belonged to her parents, and therefore he didn’t have a say in how it was used.
