Home with You

by Shirlee McCoy

  He walked back to his cruiser, but didn’t climb in.

  “How bad is the farm?” he asked, and Clementine shrugged.

  “Did you see any crops last year?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “The fields produced a tenth of what they should have. Matt was a good guy, but he knew squat about farming. Another year like last year, and this place will be in the red. Sunday was concerned they’d have to mortgage it to pay bills.”

  “Matt didn’t mention that.”

  “The bills were his, so why would he?” Clementine replied.

  “According to Matt, the farm was doing well.”

  “Like I said,” Clementine began.

  “The farm is a mess,” Rumer cut in, because she was freezing and because it was the truth.

  “Does Sullivan know that?” Kane asked, turning his attention to her.

  “We haven’t had a lot of time to discuss it,” she admitted, “but it wouldn’t take a layman six minutes to figure out that this place is going down fast.”

  “All right.” He nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Who’s we?” Clementine asked, her hands on her hips.

  “The town. We look out for each other. You’re the expert, so I’ll send the crews to you.”

  “Now, hold on a minute!” Clementine protested.

  “You said you wanted to help.”

  “I plan on it.”

  “This is a big place. You’ll need manpower.”

  “What I’ll need—”

  Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of a car engine. Not a nice quiet purr or a soft rumble. This was a loud chugging protest. Rumer knew before she saw headlights, knew before they bounced over a rut and pulled in behind the sheriff’s squad car. Knew that she was going to see the old red van.

  What she didn’t know, what she never would have expected, was that the driver’s-side door would fly open, and Sullivan would hop out. That he’d scan the area, his gaze stopping on her. That he’d move toward her, and then stop in his tracks, turn back around, open the sliding door, let a half dozen pajama-clad kids spill out.

  She couldn’t have expected that or the way her heart seemed to fill up and swell out as the group moved toward her, little hands connected to little hands, scrawny tween arms supporting chubby baby thighs. Towheaded boys bouncing with excitement, their pajama cuffs dragging in the dirt.

  And, Sullivan. His hand on Moisey’s shoulder, his gaze on Rumer, his eyes skimming her from head to toe. She felt it like a gentle caress, like fingers trailing along her skin.

  And, dear God!

  She wanted so much more than that.

  Her mouth went dry, her heart stopped, and if she hadn’t been nearly frozen from cold she’d have melted into a puddle just from the heat of that one searing glance.

  He took off his coat, wrapped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck as he lifted her hair from the collar.

  He was looking straight in her eyes, and she could feel that, too. Feel the way he was drinking her in, memorizing every part of who she was.

  “You,” he said, his voice harsh, “just scared a dozen years off my life.”

  And, then he did something else that she couldn’t have expected, something that she never ever could have prepared for.

  He kissed her.

  Right there in front of everyone, and it wasn’t just a peck on the cheek like she’d given him. It was a full-out, soul-searing kiss.

  And . . . holy cow!

  Her toes curled in her boots, and her hands curved around his shoulders, and she was lost. Just . . . lost. Drowning in him and in that moment.

  Kane cleared his throat, and Sullivan pulled back, his eyes blazing as he looked into her face.

  “What the heck was that?” she asked, but Moisey wedged herself between them, tugging at Rumer’s hand.

  “It was a kiss. He just kissed you,” she said, and that was apparently the only answer Rumer was going to get, because Sullivan was already walking away.

  A metaphor for her life and a hint at the future that was bound to come. She’d be an idiot to forget it, so she pasted on a fake smile, took Moisey’s hand, and pretended her entire world hadn’t just been turned upside down.

  * * *

  Nothing good ever happened in the early hours of the morning.

  Sullivan knew that.

  He’d gotten the call about Sunday and Matt at one in the morning. Years before that, his mother had died just after midnight. And then, of course, there’d been his father.

  Robert had been at his worst before the sun came up, yanking Sullivan and his brothers out of bed to polish shoes or scrub toilets. There’d been no rhyme nor reason to his demands, but Sullivan’s childhood memories consisted mostly of those dark hours before dawn, scrub brush in hand, bending over a toilet or a sink or a tub, crawling on his hands and knees, fishing toy cars out from under sofas while his father ranted and raved and tossed expletives and insults around like grenades.

  Sullivan had gotten over that a long time ago, but he hadn’t forgotten it.

  So, yeah. Early morning wasn’t his favorite time of day. Being woken by a phone call when it was still dark? Not high on his list of things he enjoyed.

  This morning had been no exception.

  When his cell phone rang, he’d known it couldn’t be good news. He’d been expecting to hear someone from the hospital telling him that Sunday had taken a turn for the worse.

  Instead, Kane had told him that a woman had called in to report suspicious activity on the property. She’d said someone was sneaking around near the ranch house. Kane was heading over to check it out, but he’d wanted to call Sullivan first. Just to make sure he wasn’t alarmed by the sirens.

  Sullivan wasn’t the kind of guy who sat around waiting for other people to do what he could. He’d figured he was closer to the rancher, so he might as well go check things out himself.

  Which had been his first mistake.

  He should have stayed in bed and let Kane handle things.

  Instead, he’d pulled on his clothes and gotten ready to head out, but sometimes—all the time?—kids woke crying or screaming in the middle of the night. For the past five nights, he and Rumer had handled it together. The way his mind had been working after the phone call, the way he’d been thinking, he’d assumed that a kid would wake up. When that happened, Rumer would be wondering why he wasn’t around to help. So, of course, he’d written a note. He’d planned to slide it under her door.

  That had been his second mistake.

  Instead of finding the door closed, he’d found it open, Rumer gone. He’d known right then that she was knee-deep in whatever trouble Kane had called about. There was no way he was going to sit around twiddling his thumbs hoping she was okay.

  He’d woken the kids, helped them into coats, piled them into the van, and headed over to the ranch house.

  Which, of course, was his third mistake.

  If it had been his final mistake, things would have been just fine, but Sullivan hadn’t stopped with that.

  He’d pulled up in front of the house and seen Rumer standing near it, the exterior lights shining on her wild hair and her pale face, and he’d gotten out of the damn van and nearly forgotten about the kids.

  But, that hadn’t been his final mistake, either.

  No. He’d had to one-up every mistake he’d made since Kane’s call. He’d let the kids out of the van, and then crossed the space between him and Rumer. He’d meant to ask what the hell she’d been doing outside at two in the morning, but he hadn’t been able to get the words out.

  She’d been shivering with cold, and all the anger and fear had just drained out of him. He’d taken off his coat and put it around her shoulders, and then . . .

  Yeah.

  Then.

  He’d kissed her.

  His last and final mistake, and damn if he was going to regret it. If he’d had the moment to do over, he
’d have done it again. If he’d had it to do a million times, he’d have changed nothing.

  But, now they were heading back to the house, the kids and Rumer silent as church mice. Not a peep out of any of them. A surprise, because there’d been a cacophony of noise at the rancher, all the kids except for Heavenly overjoyed to see the renter that he hadn’t even known existed.

  Clementine Warren. She’d handed him a rental agreement and cashed checks that had proven that she’d continued to pay rent for the property even after she’d moved out. She’d honored her contractual obligation, and with nearly two years left in the lease, she expected him to honor his. She’d explained it just like that, and he hadn’t seen any reason to argue. The kids adored her, and she had some good plans for getting the farm back into working order. Sullivan might not be a farmer, he might know squat about planting and harvesting, but even he’d noticed that Pleasant Valley needed help. The fields looked bedraggled, fences were falling down. The chicken coop was empty, the henhouse piled high with dirty hay. The only animal that still lived on the property was Bessie, and her pen had been the first thing he’d put to right. Since then, he’d been working through a three-page list of things that needed to be cleaned up and improved on.

  Funny. The house had been immaculate the night he’d arrived. Everything neat and orderly. The garden behind the house had been the same, the soil already turned and ready for spring planting.

  Close to the house, things looked good.

  Farther out, they were grim—barns and outbuildings that needed to be shored up and painted. Broken paddocks and leaky irrigation systems. He’d pored through the financial books, trying to get a feel for how things had been run, but all he’d found were household accounts in Sunday’s neat, precise handwriting. Matt had apparently been handling the business end of things, and from what Sullivan had seen, he’d been doing a piss-poor job and hiding it well.

  Not one person in Benevolence had mentioned that the farm was struggling. No one had said anything but good things about Matt. The entire town loved him, and Sullivan understood why. Of all the Bradshaw men, Matt was the one people admired. He was kind, easygoing, eager to please. He treated everyone he met like a friend, and that wasn’t lost on a community like Benevolence.

  Yeah. Matt was a great guy with lots of great attributes. Sullivan had loved him dearly, but the longer he lived at Pleasant Valley Farm, the more clearly he could see his brother’s weaknesses.

  He sighed, pulling up in front of the house and getting out of the van. Oya had fallen asleep in her car seat, and he unhooked it from the seat belt, lifting it from the car. He’d have opened Rumer’s door, but she was already heading toward the front door, a twin clutching her hand on either side. Moisey skipped along behind her. Twila was following more slowly, a book held close to her face as she read.

  “Watch the step, Twila,” he said at the same time Rumer called, “Careful, Twi. Don’t trip.”

  She glanced his way, her expression hidden in shadows cast by the porch light. He thought, for a moment, she might say something. Maybe comment on the fact that great minds thought alike, or tell him that they were finally getting this parenting thing down. She’d said similar things dozens of times in the past few days, and he’d always smiled and nodded and agreed, because they were getting this thing down. Mostly because of her. Rumer was the calm in the chaos, the voice of reason when the kids were completely unreasonable.

  Even Heavenly seemed to have warmed up to her.

  If there were such things as miracles, that would be one.

  This time, though, Rumer didn’t say a word. She just pulled a key from her coat pocket, opened the door, and walked inside. The kids followed one right after another while he stood there with Oya watching them go.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Language,” Heavenly replied, and he realized she was standing near the back corner of the van, watching him the way he’d been watching everyone else.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re probably right about that.”

  “I guess an old dog can be taught new tricks.”

  “What tricks?”

  “Honesty.”

  “For the record, I almost never lie. Also, I’m not old.”

  She smiled, and it caught him off guard. Not because she was smiling, but because it was the kind of sweet, easy smile he’d seen on Rumer’s face dozens of times.

  “I guess you’re not,” she admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not young, either. Which means you should know better.”

  “Than what?”

  “Rumer isn’t the kind of person who’s going to be swayed by one piping-hot kiss.”

  “Geez, kid. This is not the conversation I want to have with you.”

  “Yeah. Well, I didn’t want to have a conversation with you about the reasons why skintight clothes shouldn’t be the only weapon in a sexy woman’s arsenal, but I did.”

  True.

  He’d had that conversation with her a few times. He hadn’t used the word sexy, though. He’d said attractive. He also hadn’t used the words arsenal or weapon.

  Apparently, despite his fumbled attempts at getting the point across, Heavenly had gotten the message. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, but we’re family. We have to look out for each other.”

  She snorted.

  “Whether you like it or not, you’re my niece. Your parents aren’t around. It’s my job to make sure you understand the way life works.”

  “A piece of paper signed by a judge doesn’t make a person family,” she replied. “You don’t have any obligation to me, and I don’t have one to you, but you’ve been really good to my sib . . . the dweebs, and I’d hate to see you fail in the romance department.”

  “So, you’re going to school me on romance?”

  She frowned. “I’m going to tell you what not to do when you’re trying to let someone know you care.”

  She was dead serious, and he was just smart enough to not make a joke out of that. “All right. I’m listening.”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry for that kiss.”

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  “And, don’t pretend it didn’t happen. If you want Rumer to fall for you—”

  “I didn’t say that I did.”

  “Your kiss sure as hell did,” she snapped.

  “Language.”

  “I’ll quit cussing when you do.”

  “Done,” he said, and she snorted again.

  “Whatever. Go ahead and screw things up with Rumer. I don’t care.” She stalked away.

  Two weeks ago, he’d have let her go.

  Two weeks ago, she’d been nothing more than a troubled kid his brother had adopted, a problem child whom he’d inherited.

  Now, she was his niece, someone he cared about, and he’d be damned if he’d let her go without letting her know that.

  “Was that it?” he asked quietly, and she stopped on the porch stairs, turning to face him again.

  “What?”

  “Your advice. Was that it? Just: Don’t apologize for the kiss and don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “Do you really want to know?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He moved toward her, the car seat bouncing lightly against his leg.

  “That was only what you shouldn’t do if you don’t want to piss Rumer off.”

  “What about what I should do if I want to let someone know I care?”

  She didn’t speak for a second, and by the time she did, he’d reached the stairs. He stopped at the bottom, and they were eye to eye. She had no makeup on, no weird black eyeliner or dark red lipstick. She didn’t look like the teenager he always thought of her as. She looked like the little girl she was.

  “Tell her she’s beautiful and mean it,” she said, the words just a whisper on the cold night air. “But also tell her that she’s smart and fun. Tell her you love her, because you want
her to know. Not because you want her to say it back. When she’s sad, tell her it’s okay to cry, and when she’s happy, be happy with her. Mostly, just be nice to her. Bring her flowers and candy and little gifts, but also, don’t blow a fuse when she makes mistakes. Don’t make her feel stupid when she messes up. Listen when she talks. Like, really listen. Don’t just pretend to. Women love that kind of stuff.”

  “Do they?” he asked, and she shrugged.

  “It seems that way to me.”

  “Then, I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said. “You think I’m some punk kid who doesn’t know anything, and you probably didn’t hear a word I just said. Give me Oya. I’ll bring her to our room.” She reached for the car seat, her skinny arm seeming to strain under its weight as she walked to the door.

  “I heard every word,” he said before she could cross the threshold, “and, I don’t think you’re a punk kid who doesn’t know anything. I think you’re a beautiful young girl who also happens to be very smart and very fun.”

  She froze. Just stood there for a second, clutching the car seat; then she glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes. “Just so you know, I don’t need anyone to love me. I’m fine all on my own.”

  She trounced away before he could respond, but there was something about the way she moved, the straightness of her shoulders and the quickness of her steps, that made him think that, for once, he hadn’t said the wrong thing, that maybe for the first time since he’d walked into the family, he’d acted like he was part of it.

  Chapter Ten

  Rumer made breakfast and thought about the kiss.

  She got the kids off to school and thought about the kiss.

  She did a load of laundry, took Oya for a walk, made the beds in the guest rooms because Sullivan’s brothers were coming.

  And, thought about that damn kiss.

  Never, and she meant never, had she ever spent so much time thinking about something so inane. It was a kiss, for crying out loud. Not a lifetime commitment or a pledge of undying love.

  “The problem,” she said as she sat on the old swing with Oya in her lap, “is that I’ve got a bit of my mother in me.”