Home with You
Page 5
She had a point.
A good one.
He wasn’t all that keen on sitting down and putting the chart together, but Twila was the kind of kid who’d probably love it.
“And, don’t ask Twila to make the chart just because she’s the most organized,” Rumer said as if she’d read his mind. “Heavenly is the oldest, and she’s just as capable. Putting her in charge might win you a few points with her. Then again”—she straightened and moved toward the back door, grabbing her purse from a hook on the wall—“it might not. Good luck with everything! Thanks for towing the truck out. See you around!”
She was outside before he could respond, walking down the steps and into the yard. Bare feet and arms. Pretty little white shirt and butter yellow bell-bottoms. Wild curls and grass stains. And, his only chance of surviving the next few days or weeks or months. It wasn’t like anyone else was knocking on the door begging for the job his brothers had advertised.
He frowned, walking back through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Someone had left the window cracked open, but the oven seemed to be keeping the room warm. He could smell the cake—sugar, butter, vanilla. Caught a hint of smoke and laundry detergent beneath it all. Somewhere outside, a kid was giggling, the sound carrying in on a cool fall breeze.
This was what home should be. He’d been working toward it since he’d arrived with no success. The kids fought him tooth and nail. They fought one another. They fought at school.
Every. Single. Damn. Day.
“I like her,” Moisey said, breaking the tranquil silence. “You should bring her back.”
“It might be hard to convince her to come after the mess she saw today,” he said bluntly.
Too bluntly, because Moisey’s face crumbled and a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away with her sleeve.
No. Not her sleeve.
She was wearing a yellow jacket that hung off one shoulder and fell nearly to her ankles. Butter yellow. The same color as Rumer’s bell-bottoms.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he mumbled, crouching so they were face-to-face. He didn’t touch her. He’d made that mistake the first time he’d seen her cry, trying to pull her in for a hug that she didn’t want. She had a killer left hook. “Tell you what. Once the cake is done and we’ve had Twila’s birthday, I’ll call Rumer and talk to her.”
“You will?” She eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and hope.
“Sure.”
“You promise?”
He hesitated. Promises weren’t his thing. He’d heard too many of them made, seen too many of them broken. But, this was a small thing. An easy thing. A phone call. He hadn’t gotten Rumer’s phone number, but there couldn’t be many horse therapy programs in the area. He doubted there was more than one run by someone named Lu. It should be easy enough to track Rumer down. He’d make the call. He’d offer the job. She’d accept or decline and life would go on. “I promise.”
“That you’re going to talk to her, right?” Moisey said, still not quite believing him.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Not just her voice mail?”
“Moisey Bethlehem, I said: I’ll talk to her,” he responded, exasperated.
Something flitted in her eyes and across her face. There. Gone.
“You sounded just like Daddy,” she whispered, and then she ran off, the too-big jacket trailing on the floor behind her.
Chapter Three
Snow started falling right around sunset, giant flakes fluttering through fading light, coating the ground and trees with a glittery layer of white. Rumer watched the swirling flakes, listened to the soft whistle of wind beneath the eaves, and wished she were anywhere but in Lu’s kitchen cleaning up after one of Minnie’s infamous spaghetti pie dinners. She’d only eaten three or four bites, but she felt like she had a lead weight in her stomach. And, the mess.
God!
How could a woman as smart as Minnie manage to create this kind of kitchen chaos: sauce on the counters, the floors, the cupboards. Sticky bits of pasta everywhere. Cheese smashed into the grout in the tile floor.
Maybe cleaning it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t already spearheaded the cleaning effort at Pleasant Valley Organic Farm.
Two horrendous kitchen messes in one day was too much.
She dunked a bowl into steaming water, the scent of garlic and parsley filling her nose. She wanted to gag, but she didn’t think Minnie would appreciate it. She stood a few feet away, squirting cleaner on the oven and trying to scrub off caked-on goo. She’d been at it for ten minutes, and Rumer was beginning to think she was purposely being slow so she wouldn’t have to deal with the rest of the mess she’d created.
“I’m thinking next time, we order in,” Lu muttered, grabbing a plate from the drying rack, swiping a cloth over it, and placing it in the cupboard.
“That might be a good idea,” Rumer agreed.
“Why?” Minnie was still scrubbing at whatever had been cooked onto the stovetop. “You didn’t enjoy my cooking?”
“I enjoyed it about as much as I enjoyed my heart attack,” Lu responded.
“That’s real nice, Ma,” Minnie mumbled, running the rag under the faucet and going back to the stove.
“I wasn’t trying to be mean, Min,” Lu responded. “I was just making a statement of fact. You’re good at other things. No need to be upset if you don’t have a talent for the culinary arts.”
“What does talent have to do with it?” Minnie finished at the stove and went to work on the floor, swishing the mop around over bits of congealed sauce and noodles. “It’s all about measuring,” she continued. “If you measure the ingredients properly, the dish will always turn out.”
“You must have been distracted and measured wrong,” Lu insisted. Just like she did every time Minnie cooked. They’d been having this same tired argument for as long as Rumer had known them.
Thirteen years.
It seemed like forever and no time at all.
“Of course, I was distracted. Seeing my beautiful daffodil suit—”
“Daisy,” Rumer corrected absently.
“What?” Minnie stopped mopping and speared her with a look that would have stopped the tongue of most people.
Not Rumer.
She knew her aunt well enough to know she was more bluster than bully. “There were daisy buttons on the jacket. Not daffodils.”
“I was referring to the color,” Minnie huffed. “The color it was before you dragged it through dirt and mud and stomped on it,” she added.
“I explained what happened, Minnie, and I promised to replace the suit.”
“Replace? Replace!? That is a genuine nineteen-seventies original. It can’t be replaced.”
“I’ll get you something else, then. I’m sure I can find a vintage outfit at Goodwill or Andrea’s Clothes Cupboard.”
“Andrea’s Clothes Cupboard is a disaster. Bugs and cigarette smoke. The stuff she’s offering for sale reeks.” Minnie smoothed her raven-black hair, the pixie cut she preferred only adding to her gamine appearance. Like Rumer, she had small bones and a delicate build. Rumer’s mother had been tall and curvy and beautiful. At least, in all the photos Lu had, Victoria was those things. In Rumer’s memory, she was sallow-skinned and blank-eyed, head thrown back and mouth gaping open. Scrawny. Anxious. Picking at her skin and refusing food.
“I’ll drive out to Spokane. They’ll have something there.” Rumer wasn’t in the mood for arguing with her aunt. She hadn’t been in the mood for overcooked spaghetti pie. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t been in the mood for much of anything since she’d left Pleasant Valley Farm.
The problem was, she kept picturing Heavenly—her scrawny body shoved into too-tight clothes, her eyes filled with more knowledge than a twelve-year-old should have. She kept wondering if she should have said something to Sullivan, told him to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t get into the kind of trouble girls like her tended toward.
She could have named
every single one of them.
She’d lived them all. Survived them. Overcome them. Thanks to Lu and Minnie.
Thinking about that made her soften, and she sighed, rinsing the last pot and draining the sink. “I really am sorry, Minnie. I should have been more careful.”
Minnie raised a raven-black brow. “I accept your apology, and I’m sorry for being such a grinch about it. You know how I am about my stuff.”
“Insane?” Lu cut in, and Minnie smiled.
“There’s some truth in that. I’ll admit it. But, I like what I like, and I’m not going to change that.”
“As long as you have your own place to keep all that stuff you like, it’s not my business. Speaking of which, Dana Wilson called me today. She said she was at your place for a consultation, and you had so many boxes piled up in the living room, she could barely make it through to your office.”
“Dana needs to stop gossiping. That’s why she’s got so many problems with her stomach,” Minnie said.
“Yeah. Well, she said the boxes are a hazard, and you know how she is. She’ll probably mention it to Derrick, and then he’ll put on his county inspector hat and pay you a visit. After all my medical stuff, that’s the last kind of trouble either of us need.”
“Derrick may be her husband, but he and I go way back. He’s not going to come to my house without a warning. Not that it matters, I’m cleaning stuff out. Those boxes are filled with items I’m donating.”
“Donating?” Lu sounded as surprised as Rumer felt.
“Don’t act so surprised, Ma. Even old horses can be taught to carry a rider.”
“You’re not old,” Rumer pointed out. “Or a horse.”
“I turn forty in less than a month. It’s time to make some changes. Besides, I’m a naturopath. How can I tell my clients to declutter, destress, and embrace peaceful living, if I’m not doing the same?”
“You’ve been a naturopath for fifteen years, hon. You’ve been heading toward forty since the day you were born.” Lu swiped sauce off the counter, not meeting Minnie’s eyes.
“And, I’ve suddenly realized it.”
That was it.
Just that statement, and the kitchen went dead silent.
The old cuckoo clock on the wall ticked away the minutes while Rumer scrubbed the cupboard and tried to think of something to say.
Something besides Are you thinking of moving away? Doing something different? Leaving Lu behind?
“I’m thinking, that this means you’re ready to do what your sister did,” Lu finally said.
“If I’d been planning to do what Victoria did, I’d have run away at sixteen, gotten pregnant, raised the kid in a . . .” She met Rumer’s eyes. “I’d have left a long time ago.”
“But you are planning on leaving, right?” Lu demanded, tossing her cloth into the sink and putting her hands on her hips. She’d lost weight since the bypass surgery, her well-padded hips now narrow, her bones jutting out from beneath a fitted T-shirt.
“I never said that.”
“That’s no answer.”
“Lu,” Rumer interrupted. “You’re getting upset. The doctor told you that you have to take it easy.”
“I’ve done nothing but take it easy for weeks, and of course I’m upset. Minnie is planning to leave.”
“Ma, really . . .” Minnie sighed. “Look, you’ve been bugging me for years, telling me to get rid of some of my stuff. I’m finally doing it. You should be thrilled.”
“I’d be thrilled if I weren’t suspicious.”
“Of what?”
“We’ll see,” Lu said cryptically, dropping into a chair, her face pale. She’d be sixty-five in the spring, but she looked older, years of sun exposure and decades of smoking creasing her face and aging her skin. She’d given up smoking in exchange for Rumer’s promise to attend college. That had been eleven or twelve years ago. Even after all this time, she still tapped her fingers on the table when she sat for too long or patted her pockets as if searching for a cigarette.
“How about some tea?” Rumer offered, wanting to move the conversation away from Minnie’s plans. She’d walk over to the trailer later, sit down with her aunt, and have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Maybe Minnie would tell her what she didn’t seem to want to share with Lu.
If Minnie left the homestead . . .
Rumer didn’t want to think about that.
Lu was great at training horses, working with clients, and helping families. She did okay with the books and with payroll, but Minnie had set up the nonprofit. She filed the taxes, kept the accounting logs, calculated how much feed and hay needed to be ordered each month. Along with being licensed as a naturopathic doctor, she had a master’s in business administration. Without her, the business might fail, and if it failed, Lu might not have a reason to get out of bed in the morning, do her therapy. Heal.
“No coffee for me,” Lu said, rubbing the back of her neck and eyeing the clock. “I’ve got to go feed Hamilton. Otherwise, he’ll be standing outside my window tonight, yowling for dinner.”
“I’ll take care of him.” Rumer grabbed her coat from a hook by the back door and shoved her arms into it. She’d rather feed the barn cat than stand in the kitchen worrying about a future she couldn’t control.
“Thanks, hun. I’m tired. I think I’ll go tuck myself in.”
“It’s not even eight yet,” Minnie protested.
“My body doesn’t care what time it is. Neither does my brain. It sucks to get old, girls. Take my advice. Don’t do it.” Lu shuffled across the room and probably would have gone to her room and locked the door if the doorbell hadn’t rung.
“Who’s that?” Minnie whispered as if some demon were standing outside the door.
“Good question. Nobody I know would come for a visit at this time of night.” Lu grabbed a frying pan from the dish rack. “Which means it’s a stranger. And, what kind of stranger would show up here?”
“Just about any kind,” Rumer responded.
“We live in the middle of nowhere. Strangers don’t just show up. They come for a reason or they don’t come at all. I’ll go get the shotgun.” Minnie sprinted down the narrow hallway that led to the bedrooms before Rumer could tell her not to bother with the gun.
The doorbell rang again, and Rumer reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t,” Lu commanded. “It could be a serial killer, a thief, a druggie hopped up on PCP thinking he’s hunting zombies.”
“Have you been watching horror movies on your computer?”
“This is the reality of the world we’re living in,” Lu huffed, lifting the frying pan above her head as Rumer opened the door.
She wasn’t expecting a killer, a thief, or a druggie. She sure as heck wasn’t expecting Sullivan, either. But there he was, standing on Lu’s front porch, his dark hair gleaming in the dim light, Minnie’s daffodil jacket in his hand. No apron this evening. No kids that Rumer could see. She glanced past him, eyeing the shiny SUV that sat in the driveway.
“I didn’t bring them. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Sullivan said before she could ask. “I asked someone from their church to sit with them for a few hours.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” Lu asked, her knuckles white from clutching the heavy pan, her dark eyes drilling into Sullivan.
“Sullivan Bradshaw. I came to return Rumer’s jacket.” He held it up, and Lu scowled.
“That’s what most killers say.”
Sullivan’s lips quirked but he had the decency not to smile. “That they’re returning a jacket?”
“That they have a good excuse for being where they shouldn’t.” She lowered the pan, gave him a good once-over, and called, “Forget the shotgun, Minnesota. He looks shifty, but I think we can take him down if we need to.”
“Minnesota?” Sullivan mouthed as he met Rumer’s eyes.
“My aunt. Minnie.”
“The one who let you borrow the suit?”
“That’s right.”
Which was a whole heck of a lot better than Jake had done the first time he’d been to the homestead.
But, then, Jake didn’t like animals. He hated dirt, fresh air, sunshine, heat. All the things that Sunshine Acres had in abundance during the summer. He’d spent his first night there mourning the fact that there was no television, no air conditioner, no comfortable king-size bed.
And yet, for some reason, Rumer had still thought they were the perfect match.
She shoved the thought away. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to waste time thinking about all the time she’d wasted on him and on their joke of a relationship.
The fact was, she hadn’t been heartbroken when she’d discovered his infidelity. She hadn’t even been all that angry. She’d been . . .
Relieved?
That wasn’t quite the right word, but it was close enough.
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have this back.” Rumer took the jacket Sullivan was offering. “Thanks for bringing it by.”
“It’s the least I could do. The cake was delicious. Twila enjoyed it.”
“What cake?” Minnie emerged from the hallway, the shotgun in hand. Of course. Because not only could the Truehart women not find a good man or sew a straight hem, they also tended to attract men who couldn’t be trusted. Minnie had the worst record of all of them—married twice to men who’d used her as a punching bag and a doormat. She’d divorced the second bastard on her twenty-third birthday. As far as Rumer knew, she hadn’t been in a relationship since.
“I made Lu’s pound cake recipe,” Rumer explained, taking the shotgun and checking to make certain it wasn’t loaded. As far as she knew, there wasn’t ammunition in the house. That was kept in a locked box in the attic. Still, it didn’t hurt to be cautious.