She was too startled to be mad. The mud oozed around her brand-new, still-stiff jeans, which she’d picked up the day before at the feed store in Chowchilla. “You can’t help it if all you have is city clothes,” Red had insisted, urging her to charge whatever she wanted to his account.
Before she could figure out a way to rise without putting her hands in the mud, her father’s voice called out through the hole, “Here comes Mother.”
Casey’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, crap,” she muttered, scrambling to get out of the way. Mother’s eyesight wasn’t the best and she might accidentally run over Casey, injuring them both.
She tossed the bucket and grabbed the boot straps, trying to break the seal that had been created. Her foot was stuck in her tennis shoe, which was not coming out of the boot. Cursing under her breath, she pushed on the heel of the boot with her bare foot.
“Casey?”
Her head popped up. “Jimmy,” she cried, trying not to sound hysterical. “Go back in and stop Mother. I’m stuck here.”
Her words were lost to the growing volume of grunts and snorts erupting from the doggie door.
Panic surged through her veins, and she renewed her effort to break free, but the heavy mud held her fast. A second later, a pair of arms locked around her chest and a tug-of-war ensued.
“Oh,” she exclaimed when her foot popped free. It happened so suddenly she’d been unable to give her rescuer any warning. Together, they fell backward in a heap.
“Hurry,” Casey urged, rolling off him. “Mother’s coming.”
Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the fence, his boots slipping and sliding exactly like Jerry Lewis on roller skates.
The cold mud soaked through her white socks, but the chill wasn’t the only reason a fierce shiver passed through her limbs. A heartbeat later, Mother—two hundred-plus pounds of pissed-off pig—charged out the opening. Squinty eyes flashing with displeasure for having been separated from her brood, she headed for the only non-oinkers in sight.
Hands squarely on her bottom, Jimmy boosted Casey over the wooden rungs, then swung over himself, dropping to the ground with a noisy “Umph.” He remained on one knee, drawing in quick breaths while Casey tried to make sense of what had just happened.
“You saved my life,” she said.
“Naw.” He looked up, mud streaking his face like war paint. “Mother might have roughed you up a bit, but she’s not mean.”
Casey knew that wasn’t completely true. She was so moved by emotion, she reached out to touch his shoulder. The contact—the very male heat and substance—made her realize how much she missed her husband.
“Casey?” a familiar voice said from behind them.
She drew back her hand as if burned and spun about on her mud-encrusted socks. “Nathan?”
NATHAN HAD ALWAYS prided himself on being impervious to petty emotions like jealousy. He’d seen too much of it as a kid. Nathan still remembered hearing his mother complain about “those women” at his father’s workplace. Whether or not his father had ever given her any reason to be jealous, Nathan didn’t know, but in an effort to avoid the door slamming and loud arguments of his childhood, Nathan strived never to raise his voice—except in court.
“What’s going on?” he asked in well-modulated tones. Nothing in his manner could have betrayed the sudden tension—and some other emotion—that made him clench his fists. “I thought your fight was with turkeys, not pigs.”
Casey stepped away from the stranger she’d been touching in such a tender manner. Of the two, she was by far the muddier, but her cohort wasn’t unscathed. His cowboy boots were coated with disgusting sludge that reminded Nathan of changing his younger brother’s diapers.
“Jimmy just rescued me. I was trapped in quick-mud. Is that a word? The same devouring properties of quicksand, but the consistency of mud.”
She talked fast, her tone brighter than he’d heard lately. Obviously, Casey was nervous, flustered. Guilty?
Nathan took a step closer and held out his hand. “I owe you my sincere gratitude then,” he said.
The stranger wiped his hand on a clean patch of denim. He was an inch or two shorter than Nathan but broader across the shoulders. Hatless, he squinted against the bright sunlight. He glanced at Casey as if waiting for an introduction before returning the courtesy. Quick. Solid. A man’s handshake. “No big deal. I mean, she’s a big deal, but I didn’t really do nothing.”
“You’re wrong, Jimmy,” Casey insisted. “Red always said not to be anywhere near a mother pig when she had a mad on.”
Jimmy. As in Casey’s old boyfriend.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Nathan Kent, Casey’s husband.”
Casey smacked the heel of her hand to her forehead, sending a shower of drying mud flakes across her nose. “Sorry. I’m discombobulated.”
Jimmy looked Nathan in the eye and nodded. “Jimmy Mills. Red’s foreman.” Then he stepped back and said, “Case, I’ll grab your boots after Mother has time to settle down. I don’t want to provoke her any more right now.” He glanced at Nathan and said, “Nice meeting you. I’d better get back inside and help Red muck out the pigpen.”
Only years of rigid self-control kept Nathan from reaching out and pulling his little woman to his side in a display of machismo. What the hell was wrong with him?
Casey shifted from foot to foot, either uncomfortable from the wet mud or embarrassed to have been caught in a private moment with her old boyfriend. Or both. “There’s a bathroom in the barn. Follow me. I’d better wash some of this stinky stuff off or I won’t dare drive your fancy car.”
His car. Not, their car. When had they gotten to the point where their possessions held individual ownership? He’d first noticed the term crop up in the move when Casey pointed out his weighty collection of law books. “Your library is going to put us over the weight limit. Mine on the other hand is going to the senior center to be redistributed among the faithful.” Faithful romance readers, she meant. For the past couple of years, Casey’s taste in literature had turned escapist. That, too, made Nathan uneasy.
“Do you want a ride?” he asked. “Piggyback.”
Her expressive lips curved up in a wide smile. “No pun intended, I’m sure.” She swiped at a patch of drying mud on her cheek and shook her head. “No, thanks. I can walk. I don’t want you to have to shower, too.”
There’d been a time when a joint shower was a good thing, not a bother, but Nathan followed when she started toward the massive building. He’d been on his way inside when he’d heard the sound of her voice. He’d arrived on the scene only moments after Jimmy had jumped over the fence and rushed to Casey’s rescue.
Would I have known to do that? Nathan wasn’t sure. Casey hadn’t looked in jeopardy when he’d first spotted her. In fact, he’d grinned at the sight of his wife on her butt in the mud. Dressed in stiff-looking jeans and a man’s long-sleeve shirt, she looked wholesome, fresh and about sixteen years old. But that smile had disappeared when her frantic movements telegraphed fear. He’d started forward the same instant the cowboy had rounded the barn and vaulted over the fence, but Nathan’s knees hadn’t cooperated. The legs he’d used that morning to run two miles suddenly forgot how to work.
Seconds later, the huge black-and-white sow had bounded down the little ramp—its sharp hooves punching holes in the imprint his wife’s body had left in the mud. In the space of four or five seconds, Nathan’s emotions seesawed from amusement to flat-out panic to jealousy, and now, Casey was strolling away as if nothing had happened.
He wanted to grab her arm and shake her. Or kiss her. He wasn’t sure which would calm the turbulence still humming through him.
“So, what the heck are you doing here?” she asked, motioning for him to keep up. “This is a major surprise. I tried the apartment and your cell phone this morning, but when you didn’t answer I figured you were at the office. Didn’t you tell me you had to work this weekend?”
&n
bsp; “That’s where I should be, but something’s come up and I thought we should discuss it, face to face.”
Casey stopped abruptly. “What?”
He took her elbow—making an extra effort to keep his grip neutral—and urged her forward. “Nothing that can’t wait until you’re clean and dry. That wind is a bit cool and your lips are turning blue.”
She made a face but didn’t argue. Her lips were bluish, but still the same kissable shape he had once dreamed about when he should have been studying. He used his free hand to loop a fairly clean swatch of hair behind her ear and said, “I bet you were cute when you made mud pies.”
She smiled uncertainly. Nathan didn’t blame her for being puzzled. He couldn’t remember the last time he flirted with her. His life was all about work, hers all about getting pregnant. Somewhere in that equation, they’d lost sight of each other.
“I’ll be back in a jiff.” With a flicker of her fingers, she dashed into the barn.
Nathan followed, but he hadn’t gotten four steps when she reappeared. “I don’t suppose you brought clothes, did you? I can’t put these back on.”
“Actually, I did pack a bag. Just in case…” He let the words trail off. He’d left San Francisco with no real purpose in mind other than breaking the news that Gwyneth was in town and his company was representing the turkey growers. But perhaps on a subliminal level, Nathan had hoped he and Casey might spend some quality time together. Now that idea seemed not only advantageous but imperative.
He’d been at Willow Creek for less than fifteen minutes and felt like a defendant arriving in court without the slightest hope of clearing his name. Hell, he didn’t even know for certain what the charges against him were, only that he was probably guilty.
CASEY HURRIED through her shower. Something was up. Nathan didn’t make surprise visits. He was all about schedules and purpose. He didn’t joke about mud pies. Something was wrong, and her gut told her it was bad.
She pulled on Nathan’s soft gray sweatpants and Boston U sweatshirt. Both were too big, of course, but not as bulky as they would have been on someone as petite as say…Sarah—pre-pregnancy—or the lovely Gwyneth.
After wiping a clear patch in the steamed-over mirror, Casey towel-dried her hair. She shook her head, making the shoulder-length locks bounce. Thanks to Ricardo, her hairdresser in Boston, the clever cut gave her more body and style than she’d thought possible. Growing up, she’d never cut her hair and had stubbornly resisted her aunt’s suggestion to visit a stylist. But shortly after the doctor predicted that getting pregnant wasn’t going to be easy, Casey had decided she needed a change.
“Run with it,” she’d instructed Ricardo. “I’m ready for a new me.”
He’d immediately snipped and clipped. Then he’d freshened up her ordinary blond sameness with some jaunty highlights.
As their friendship grew, Casey had felt comfortable admitting that as a child growing up she’d hated her hair color. Not because of the inevitable blond jokes, but because she’d been one of the few non-Hispanic children in her class. Plus, her landowner parents employed many of her classmates’ parents or relatives. She was smart, blond, motherless and had no siblings. All strikes against her.
Ricardo, who was gay, overweight, half Puerto Rican, half Irish and lived with his mother, had helped Casey find humor in her past. “We are who we are,” he used to tell her. “Your job is to love who you are.”
Nathan once suggested that getting her hair cut was like cheap therapy. Casey couldn’t agree more, and as she combed her fingers through her damp locks she realized she needed a trim, and suddenly felt very alone, which, she knew, was a terrible thing to admit when her husband was waiting outside for her.
After hanging the towel on the shower door, she went in search of Nathan. She could tell by the raised voices that her father and Jimmy had followed Mother and the piglets outside. Nathan had promised to wait nearby so they could ride back to the house together. Presumably, Casey thought, so he could tell her the news that was so important it couldn’t be discussed over the phone.
Her nerves humming, she looked around until she spotted him squatting beside the pen that until a few minutes earlier had been Mother’s home.
She tiptoed carefully, hoping to keep his white tube socks from turning black. When she was a few feet away, she saw why he was down on one knee. A dead piglet lay pushed up against the fence, its tiny body posed as if in slumber.
“Mother’s a good breeder, but she always loses a few each litter,” she said frankly.
When he looked at her, Casey could tell he was upset. Nathan was a master at hiding his emotions, but she’d been playing poker since she was five. Nathan’s tell was a little nerve that flicked in his cheek when his jaw was tense.
He started to say something but apparently changed his mind. He swallowed and looked away, then rose in one fluid motion. Too fast. And in the wrong place.
His head struck the edge of the uplifted bucket on her father’s tractor just as Casey cried out for him to stop. He looked momentarily surprised then his eyelids fluttered and his knees gave out. Like a great tree chopped at the base, he toppled to the floor before she could move.
“Holy cripes,” Casey cried, rushing to her husband’s side. “Oh, my God, Nathan. Are you okay?”
He moaned once then went silent, his face bloodless.
Casey jumped to her feet. “Daddy! Jimmy! Help. Somebody call 911. Nathan needs an ambulance.”
CHAPTER SIX
“GET A BAG of peas from the freezer,” Red said, once they had Nathan’s body stretched out on a nearby hay bale. “There’s a couple in that old fridge over there.”
“I will not,” Casey said with passion. “You already moved him against my wishes and now you want to treat him with frozen vegetables? Where the hell are the paramedics?”
“It takes them about twenty minutes, Case,” Jimmy said calmly. “Peas make a great ice pack and will reduce the swelling.”
That made sense, but she gave her father a fierce frown before dashing away. She wanted to point the finger of blame at Red. What kind of irresponsible tractor operator left the bucket in that position? Even she knew to lower it, and she hadn’t driven a tractor since she was fifteen.
Ignoring the shiver that raced through her—she was still running around in stocking feet, she yanked open the door to the freezer and pawed through the frosty parcels until she found the peas.
Nathan hadn’t regained consciousness. He’d moaned something unintelligible when Jimmy and her father had moved him, but not a peep since. Casey’s panic level had not subsided. She knew who the real culprit behind this accident was: her. What was she doing here, anyway? Trying to fix a past that was beyond repair? Attempting to recapture her youth? Good lord, why would she want to do that? She’d been a lonely little tomboy with no fashion sense, no communication skills and no dreams beyond pleasing her father. She should have been home with Nathan trying to make a baby, not trying to get her father to love her. Again.
“The past is the past,” she muttered under her breath as she raced back to the hay bales.
She couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed herself this week. The slower pace, reconnecting with the animals, cracking through a couple of layers in her father’s stubborn shell had felt rewarding, even though she knew it was unlikely that Red would ever admit he was wrong to have sent her away.
And what good would an apology do anyway? She was an adult. She had a great life. Yes, she had some regrets about missing out on knowing her father for all those years, but she was perceptive enough to admit that she shared some of the responsibility. As Ricardo had pointed out more than once, “The door swings both ways, missy.” But pride was inherited, and she was definitely her father’s daughter when it came to stiff-necked perversity.
“He’s breathing, isn’t he?” she asked as she handed the peas to her father, who was sitting near Nathan’s hip. Jimmy stood at Red’s shoulder, his brow lined.
C
asey sat down where she’d been a moment earlier, at Nathan’s head. His hair was pushed back from his forehead. An angry red gash ran from the hairline to his temple, but it hadn’t broken the skin except for one small nick. His chest barely rose and fell, prompting her question.
“’Course he’s breathing. He’s tougher than he looks.”
Casey would have responded to her father’s backhanded compliment, but the trill of a cell phone distracted her. She knew by the tone it was Nathan’s. He didn’t often carry the phone with him, but a short hunt through his pockets revealed his brand-new RAZR—another company perk.
She hadn’t used it before, but after a moment of scrutiny pushed the right button. “Hello? Uh, Nathan Kent’s phone here.”
Red leaned forward and applied the frozen peas to her husband’s wound. Nathan made another moaning sound. His lips moved but no words came out. Casey’s stomach twisted and she felt a touch of bile rise in her throat. Even as a child, she’d toss her cookies when faced with a medical emergency—human or animal. She’d planned to be a veterinarian—until she’d figured out she’d never be able to do the work because she’d be running to the bathroom.
The voice on the other end of the phone came through crisp and clear as if the person speaking was in the next room. “Casey? Is that you? I’m trying to reach Nathan. This is Gwyneth.”
Of course it is, Casey thought a bit hysterically. The barracuda has psychic abilities.
Touching Nathan’s shoulder made her feel a bit more grounded. “He’s unavailable at the moment, Gwyneth.” Why are you calling my husband’s cell on a weekend? “Would you like me to give him a message?”
“When will he be available?” Gwyneth asked.
To you? Never. “I can’t say for sure.” Judging by how long Nathan had been unconscious, she realized there was a chance he might be out of action for days. “As long as I have you on the phone, could you do me a favor and let his office know that he might not be in on Monday? I have the number, but I’m a little tied up at the moment.”
A Baby on the Way Page 7
