by Kaitlyn Rice
She’d known for a long time that she wasn’t cut out for romance, and at least in the case of her date tonight, she wouldn’t notice the loss. It had been silly to try again.
As she hopped out of the car in front of the farmhouse, she said, “Thanks, Doug. See you around.”
He sped off before she’d taken a single step toward the door. She had to dodge the sand that came flying out from under his tires, but she chuckled anyway. Either he was in a big hurry to leave or the staid banker was a stunt driver in his spare time.
She went to the door, eager to get inside and see what the twins were up to. “Mom, I’m back,” she hollered as she walked through the living room.
Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a cow puppet on her hand. “We’re up here—and you’re early! Did you bring Dwight with you?”
“Oh! Dwight!” Abby said as she started up the stairs. “I kept thinking his name was Duke. Or Don. Or Duffy.”
Her mother waited for Abby to reach the landing, then patted her arm with the puppet. “You must not have had too good a time if you didn’t even catch his name,” she said.
Abby snorted, but not from amusement. Her few experiences with men seemed doomed to failure. She simply wasn’t good at man-woman stuff. “A girl could learn a lot from Dreary Dwight, the banker. I can say that much.”
“You always did prefer smart boys.”
Stepping over the baby gate to see the twins, Abby said, “This guy’s brains only worked with numbers. Maybe I was just interested in listening to a speech on another topic.”
Her mother followed and sat cross-legged on the nursery floor in front of the babies. Bobbing the puppet around in front of her, she imitated the slow lowing of a cow as she said, “Oh, dear, I was hoping Abby’s date would take her to the harvest party next month.”
Still in her new suit, Abby sat beside her mother and grabbed a lamb puppet from a pile of toys on the floor. To the delight of the twins, she held the lamb up and bleated, “The harvest par-r-r-ty, is it time for that aga-a-ain?”
The cow turned toward the lamb. “Absolutely, it’s the same time every year.”
“And I won’t go, the same as every year,” Abby said, forgetting the voice and the hand movements.
Her mother removed the cow puppet and pushed Abby’s bangs away from her eyes. “You should go,” she said. “Even if you’re not concerned with the social aspect, you’re an owner now. The party’s a great place to make business contacts.”
Abby held up her puppet again and moved the lamb’s mouth in time to her voice. “But Abby doesn’t wa-a-ant to go alone.”
Her mother didn’t join the act. “Your dad and I will be there, dear,” she said. “And you need to get out.”
Again Abby used the puppet to say words that were too painful to say in a normal voice. “And here’s a news flash— Abigail Briggs, twenty-six-year-old divorcée slash guardian to adorable twins, attends big community bash with parents. Will she ever get a li-i-ife?”
Her mother smiled as the twins chuckled in glee at the puppet’s antics. “What about taking Jack, just for fun?”
Abby didn’t miss a beat. She swept the lamb around immediately, announcing to all in the room. “Abigail Briggs, twenty-six-year-old divorcée slash guardian, is the talk of the t-o-w-n as she engages in a loud quarrel with her male roommate at the annual harvest party.”
“That’s not going well, either?”
“You could say that.”
“Oh, dear.”
FOR THE PAST HOUR, Jack had listened as a young couple across the bar exchanged verbal insults. He wondered if the pair of sweethearts knew they had an audience, and why they didn’t take their argument to a more secluded place. Even more than that, he wondered why he didn’t just get up and leave himself. He’d long since scouted the room for romantic possibilities, and no one here seemed intriguing enough to make the slightest effort.
“Excuse me, handsome,” said a voice from behind him. A doe-eyed brunette was standing at his shoulder. She slid a slow hand across his back, flexing her fingertips around his biceps. “May I sit here?”
Shrugging, he turned back to his drink while the woman slithered onto the bar stool beside him. After a few moments, a man with spikes in his hair and a hoop through his nose appeared between Jack and the lady. The other man whispered in her ear—which was completely unnecessary, since no one else was interested—and soon Spikey and Bambi floated off into the shadows of the room.
It was the same thing that had happened for two hours now. The women came, they sat, and when Jack didn’t devote his entire attention to their loveliness, they found another stool to occupy.
He just couldn’t rally the interest. Maybe he was too tired. He’d worked doubly hard to complete the training sessions for his clients so he could be finished by eight o’clock. He’d wanted the rest of his weekend free.
Now he wished he was back in the clients’ conference room, standing in front of a circle of executives who were each resentful of the fact that their Saturday was being wasted by a work session. He hadn’t been popular there, either, but at least he hadn’t been bored.
He must be too old to meet women in bars. After all, he’d given up this sort of thing several years ago, when he realized he needed to get to know a woman to fully enjoy her. That was when he’d made a rule to date no more than three at a time. He knew his limitations.
And his approach had been successful enough before he moved out to the sticks. There had always been an ample supply of women who found it acceptable to share a part-time boyfriend, as long as he kept them feeling encouraged.
But he’d tried calling the remaining two girlfriends from his hotel room earlier. They hadn’t answered their phones. It did nothing for his pride to realize that Diane and Zuzu had replaced his attentions in a month.
He’d left messages on their machines, making sure to keep any hint of desperation out of his voice. Desperation would imply something that simply wasn’t true, and in spite of his many failings, he tried to be honest.
He wouldn’t want to imply that he missed their company specifically—he didn’t. He just wanted a woman’s company. He didn’t care which one called him back.
After waiting a couple of minutes in case one of them had been out picking up her mail, he’d left for the bar. He’d chosen the one that had been his favorite nighttime roost in his younger years, figuring he could make a connection with someone there.
He knew that with more than fifty women populating the bar this evening, one or two must be attractive and intelligent enough to take his mind off those damn little sand-colored freckles.
These women hadn’t taken his mind off the things for a minute. He figured he must have outgrown the desperado lifestyle he used to love, so he gave up and left the bar long before the night’s crowd had even begun their uprising.
He returned to his hotel room and paced around the phone.
He wanted to call Abby, but she was out with The Hulk tonight and probably wasn’t home yet. If she was, she might have company. Jack should leave her alone.
He stripped bare right there in front of the phone and headed to the shower. And stood under the hot water and imagined some muscle-bound man kissing Abby good-night.
Jack wished it was him kissing her. He wished kissing her was all right. He fought to remember why it wasn’t. Complications.
Kissing her would cause complications.
She was too special, and wouldn’t be as easy to leave as the others. That was it. Monumental complications.
Still, the thought of kissing Abby, and more, had him turning the nozzle to frigid for a long couple of minutes before he jumped out of the shower.
And then he wrapped a towel around his waist, went straight to the phone and dialed his own home phone number. If she was alone, maybe she’d answer it. His curiosity, at least, would be appeased.
But she didn’t, even after ten rings. She must still be out with The Incredible Hulk.
Phenomenal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER HER MOTHER LEFT, Abby gave the babies their second bath of the day, simply to have something to do with her time. She didn’t want to think about Jack’s weekend, and she didn’t want to listen for his key in the lock. She put the twins to bed, changed into her T-shirt and robe and wandered through the dark house as if she was searching for something. Or someone.
When she passed Jack’s office, a twirling mass of colors caught her eye. He’d left his monitor on, and his screen saver was illuminating the otherwise dark room. Unable to resist, she tiptoed in. She looked around in respectful silence, admiring the careful clutter that signified a clever mind at work.
The telephone in his office erupted with a ring that sent her heart through the ceiling. She glanced at the handset, tempted to pick it up and silence the offensive jangling.
But instead she stared at it, barely moving, waiting for the person at the other end to give up. After ten rings, it fell silent.
Abby let the air back out of her lungs and turned toward the door, too guilty to enjoy her snooping. As she went past the telephone, a Post-it note that was sticking halfway out from under it flapped in the air current. Glancing down, she read, “Buy Abby a…”
She bit her lip, listening for sounds in the house. When she only heard the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of air circulating through the vents, she reached down to tug the note out from under the phone.
“Buy Abby a robe before you ravish her.” That was all it said, in Jack’s precise handwriting.
She snickered. Then frowned.
The note was solid evidence that he’d been tempted, and as tickled as that made her feel, it also added to her confusion. Despite her best efforts, he’d been tempted. And she was supposed to be upset about that.
A tiny click had her dashing from the room to evade discovery, and she bolted into the kitchen. After several breathless seconds spent wiping a spotless countertop, she realized that the noise wasn’t caused by Jack coming in. The click must have been some mysterious house sound, and it was quiet now.
The house seemed too big tonight. With the twins upstairs asleep, and Jack missing, she was reminded too much of the night of her sister’s death. Once again Abby was in this house, waiting for someone’s return.
And again the hours seemed to stretch out endlessly.
She headed out to her greenhouse to putter around among the pots, carrying the baby monitor with her. There wasn’t much out here that needed doing, but the smell of rich earth and the vigor of plant life helped calm her. She checked each variety for signs of disease, and pinched off a few straggling ends.
She told herself as she worked that she didn’t really miss Jack that much. That he was just like Tim, and wasn’t worth missing. He’d sure surprised her, though. Every step of the way. He wasn’t at all self-serving, as she had imagined. He’d been generous with his time and money, and he was amazingly sweet with the babies. He didn’t seem bored with them, or with her, or with living in the country.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t much like Tim at all.
Which made carrying out her plan that much more difficult, but enjoying his company very easy. Abby felt a tenderness toward him that seemed too powerful in combination with the wallop of physical need she felt every time she looked at him.
Sighing, she picked up the monitor and returned to the kitchen, pausing at the table to trace the grain of the oak with her finger. A series of circular patterns repeated across its surface.
Every line and every flaw went all the way through to the underside. Although the top was polished to a rich beauty, and the bottom was rough, the flaws were still there.
Just as hers were. No matter how hard she tried to polish them out, she was flawed through and through. She was starting to repeat the biggest mistake of her past.
She was setting her sights on an impossible man. Again.
Jack was generous and witty, and he made her feel sexy.
He was very nearly Tim’s exact opposite, except for those wandering eyes. He was thirty-one, and he’d never committed to a woman—in marriage or anything else. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want that sort of life.
If Abby got involved with him, it would only be for a while. At some point he would leave, and he’d have every right to steal away the baby boy sleeping upstairs.
She couldn’t let that happen. Wyatt belonged out here on the farm. He belonged with his sister. Most of all he belonged with Abby herself.
It was late enough now that she was fairly certain Jack wouldn’t return tonight, and she needed to relax. She poured herself a glass of wine, locked the back door and turned out the kitchen lights.
She’d just have to stick to her plan. Somehow, she had to keep protecting Wyatt.
She went to the living room and flopped down on the sofa. She removed her hair band and undid her braid, then crossed her feet on the coffee table. Grabbing the TV remote, she started clicking through channels. Even though she hadn’t watched television in a long time, she couldn’t find a thing to hold her interest.
She told herself she wasn’t really waiting for him, but she was. Heaven help her, she kept wishing for the moment he’d come through that door.
But she kept dreading it, too.
JUST AFTER DAWN, and about halfway between downtown Kansas City and rural Topeka, Jack drove past a sign propped up against a farm gate. In hand-painted black letters, it read Young Ducks For Sale.
He slowed to look, but didn’t stop. Most folks would still be asleep at this time of day.
But everyone knew farmers woke early, and Abby had said that her sister wanted ducks on the pond. Maybe a couple of ducks would make a nice conciliatory gesture.
He backed up to the gate and pulled off the road into the ditch. Chickens were scattered everywhere around the house, but there was no sign of a farmer.
Determined now that he had stopped, Jack got out and maneuvered his way past the hens onto the porch. The inner door was open. Someone must be up. He tapped on the screen, and a ruddy-cheeked woman appeared within seconds.
“Mornin’, young man,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Is it too early to see the ducks?”
“Not at all,” she said. Whipping her head around, she hollered into the house, “Fred, there’s a youngster out here asking to see the ducks.”
A squarish man in overalls came to the door and peered through the screen. “You drove out here at sunrise to see some ducks? Where ya comin’ from?”
“Kansas City.”
The farmer took a look at Jack’s baseball cap, then squinted past him at the car he’d parked out by the road. “Ya ain’t plannin’ to keep ducks in some bachelor apartment, are you?”
“No, they’re a gift for a friend who has a pond.”
The farmer stepped out the door, plowing his way through the chickens without a glance. “Must be livin’ right, to get on your way so early,” he said. “Or missing your friend.”
Jack didn’t comment, but he let the farmer’s words weigh on his mind. Did he miss Abby?
Absolutely.
Even though he’d been around fresh faces all weekend, he’d missed her. That had never happened with another woman.
As he followed the farmer through the doors of a weathered gray barn, the distinct smell of animals and hay enveloped him, reminding him of the single summer he’d lived in the country as a boy. Squawks sounded from a couple of round pens on the floor of the barn. Jack stepped close to one of the pens, grinning as he watched a half-dozen gangly ducks scramble all over one another, each striving to reach the top of the pile.
As he concentrated on trying to choose the best pair, the farmer said, “Ya know, most men just take flowers to their lady friends.”
“She has plenty of flowers,” Jack replied. “She doesn’t have a single duck. I’ll take the two on top.”
“Fair to middlin’ choices, if ya want a coupla brothers,
” the farmer said. He turned to pick up a tall, thin-looking bird from the other pen. “Now this’n has a proud look about ‘er. She’ll make a fine layer.”
“Oh. Then I’ll take the two you think are best.”
The farmer set Jack up with a cardboard box, a starter supply of duck food and a few minutes of instructions. Then he helped carry everything out to the car.
Before Jack drove off, he rolled down his window. “By the way,” he asked, “how did you know my friend was a woman?”
The farmer leaned one hand against the hood of the car. “I’ve been breedin’ animals mosta my life,” he said. “I recognize the look of an affected male.”
“What look?” Jack asked, trying not to be offended at being compared to some farm animal.
“A man has a certain look about ‘im when he’s shoppin’ for a lady,” the farmer said. “He makes a careful choice, knowing it’ll matter to a female. If you’d a been shopping for a buddy, you’d’ve had me throw a couple of ducks in a box and been on your way.”
Jack drove the rest of the way to Topeka with the radio off, listening to the ducks yammering instead, and thinking. Did it matter what Abby thought?
It did. Absolutely. He definitely cared that she approved of his gift. And as much as he told himself that it was because choosing a pet was a serious decision, he knew he’d just wanted to please her.
When he arrived at the farmhouse, he was thrilled by the empty driveway. At least there wasn’t some monster truck parked there, signaling the presence of Duke, the seven-foot-tall legend who had taken Abby out last night.
Jack pulled into the garage, trying to decide what to do with the ducks. The farmer had said that they should be kept close to the house for a while, until they got used to their new home.
Jack carried the box through the back door and put it in a corner of the kitchen farthest from the rest of the house. He opened the flaps and set a bowl of water inside, dropping some pellets in a clump beside that.
Then he went back outside to get his bags, intending to unpack quietly until everyone else woke up. A sudden shriek had him tossing the gear on his bed and hurrying out to the kitchen. Maybe a duck had gotten out and was searching for its mother. That cry had sounded demanding.
