“If the snow comes early, you can take my truck back to town.” Ben ended the discussion matter-of-factly, dismissing her lukewarm arguments with an amused look toward the cabriolet behind her. “Your car just won’t do.”
She knew he was right and that arguing with him about her car was plain stupid. But still… She was used to being the one handling all the problems, both hers and Paul’s. To stand back and let someone else fix the glitch was just…wrong. And yet here she stood with Ben, who unknowingly made her feel like a damsel in distress, all due to his old-fashioned ways, and she liked it. It made her feel cared for, cherished.
It made her feel like a woman.
With a deep sigh, she gave up and walked over to his truck, trying to ignore his pleased smile as she passed him. As she was about to grab the handle to lift herself up, Ben’s large hands landed on her waist, or where he assumed her waist was located under the bulging winter coat, and with ease he gently lifted her upward until she could climb straight into the cab.
His obvious strength made something in the area of her stomach ache deliciously, and she knew she was making a huge mistake going with him to the farm. She, the boringly frigid librarian, seemed to have one rather acute problem when it came to reacting with sexual excitement as soon as he touched her. Or, to be completely honest, only looked at her.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew this was some sort of reaction due to the recent end of a relationship, one of many phases she most likely would have to go through before she left Paul behind. Ben wasn’t interested in a relationship; all he wanted was for her to help his daughter. And she was not interested in Ben at all. This was only her mind and body acting out, and they had chosen a very safe object to get excited about.
Ben was safe. Ben was good. Ben was…almost as boring as she.
The perfect man to have a little secret rebound-crush over.
She just had to avoid him as much as possible until she had reached the next phase, because she most definitely didn’t want to get involved with anyone. The rumors said that he had some woman in Bridgeport he was involved with and had been for many years. The gossipmongers down at the diner, the infamous ones commonly known as the Hyenas, had mentioned one fanciful reason after another about why he never had brought her to Barnesville, but Leonore guessed that a single father had to be careful about when to introduce a new woman to his child. And as the relationship didn’t seem to progress, she could only assume he didn’t want to involve Kelly in it.
But what did she know? The Hyenas might be right; Ben could have several women locked in the cellar and the trips to Bridgeport were him refilling the cabinet in the dungeon.
She had been wrong about people before, so why not about Ben? Ignoring the little jolt of excitement searing through her stomach at the mere thought of being locked in his cellar, at his disposal, she closed her eyes as he turned on the roaring engine of the truck. As he backed out into the street, she grasped her glove-clad hands hard, silently praying for strength to stay sane and to not blurt out anything which would tell him of her bodily struggle.
Thank the Lord it was only for a few hours.
Chapter Two
Slowly, they rolled out of the quaint town, honking the horn as they passed someone Ben knew. He seemed to have many friends; the horn wasn’t quiet until they drove up Rainbow Hill, leaving Barnesville behind. Even though it was only ten in the morning, it seemed more like twilight outside, due to the heavy, dark clouds looming over their heads. The storm was arriving fast, and Leonore could only hope Ben was correct about it not reaching them until dinnertime. If it came earlier, she would be caught at the Emerson farm.
She sneaked a look at Ben, beside her, both hands on the wheel, his concentrated gaze on the slippery road in front of them. His brown hair was a bit too long under his hat and looked like it hadn’t seen a comb today. Or yesterday. It surrounded a strong, slightly handsome face with a straight nose under his almost navy-blue eyes. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt under a parka she thought once had been khaki green. It was hard to say, though; it seemed to have been exposed to quite an amount of dirt and was now almost camouflage-colored.
He was her complete opposite.
This morning she had made her honey-colored hair into a perfect French roll, and she knew not a strand of hair was in the wrong place. She wore glasses even though she didn’t need any, mostly because she thought they made her look smarter and more sophisticated. Her whole wardrobe was inspired by Jacqueline Onassis, who’d had impeccable taste, according to Leonore’s mother, and Leonore couldn’t agree more. Granny had saved a few of her mother’s outfits, giving them to her when she left for college, so she would always have a part of her mother with her.
Such a little thing that meant so much.
“Here we are,” Ben announced, breaking into her muddled thoughts. Bewildered, she noticed they had already reached the Emerson farm. What nice company she had been. The ride took at least fifteen minutes even on good roads, and here she had been sitting, caught in her own head, the whole trip.
The old, whitewashed house lay in a peaceful hollow, surrounded by fruit trees that long ago had shed their leaves for the season, and with dark forest behind. They must have been driving through the Emerson lands for quite some time, mile after mile of snow-clad fields and closed pastures.
Two enormous barns flanked the house, and Ben drove through a large open door in one of them, which seemed to be used partially as a garage.
An older version of Ben, silver strands highlighting his mop of hair, stood beside another large truck, waiting for them. As Ben stopped beside him, he raised his hand in greeting before climbing into his vehicle and disappearing down the road.
“You have to excuse Pa’s inhospitality; he needs to get to Hartford ahead of the storm. He only waited for me to get back so Kelly wouldn’t be all alone.” Ben turned off the engine before jumping to the ground. Just as gentlemanlike as when he had opened the door for her at the library, he now opened the passenger door, offering her a hand so she easily could climb down.
She could feel the heat of him through the thick glove, and for a breathless moment she stared into his friendly eyes, wondering what he would think if she…kissed him… His eyes were so deep blue it felt like she was drowning, and her heart picked up speed, almost beating itself out of her chest.
“Daddy!”
A girl’s happy voice cut through the tension, and Ben let go of Leonore’s hand and turned to embrace the almost-teenager who came running from the house.
“Oh, Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here. I was so worried. I thought you wouldn’t be able to get back before the storm. But you did, and just in time!”
She was a real beauty, this Kelly Emerson. She had her mother’s sweet face and her father’s lovely coloring. In a few years’ time, she would grow into an astonishing young woman, Leonore was sure, but for now she was still a child who missed her daddy as the storm…was…coming. As if on cue, big snowflakes started to twirl through the air, flakes almost as big as her thumb.
“What?” Leonore squeaked, losing her normally soft-spoken, stiff, prim persona for a moment. “Is the storm coming now? I thought you said it wouldn’t be here until tonight!” She glared at Ben, feeling he somehow had misled her, and to her surprise his ears turned a deeper shade of red.
“You knew the storm was coming earlier?”
He nodded, again looking like that damn, irresistible puppy. “Sorry.”
Leonore took a deep breath, not wanting to lash out in front of his big-eyed daughter, who was interestedly following their conversation. “Drive me home. Now.”
“I can’t. Too much snow already. Sorry.”
He didn’t look like he was very sorry. Instead he looked almost too pleased with himself, as if his well-laid plan had worked. Now he had her here, he could put her in the dungeon with his other women prisoners.
He didn’t wait for her to answer his apology. “Kelly, this is Miss Brody, Mrs. Brody’
s granddaughter I’ve been talking about.”
Kelly mumbled something inaudible, which Leonore interpreted as some sort of greeting.
“Nice to meet you, Kelly,” she offered stiffly, with chattering teeth.
“You are freezing,” Ben said, compassionately. “Let’s go inside.”
With an arm around his daughter, he walked out into the increasing snowfall, heading toward the house. With an anguished groan, Leonore slammed the truck door shut before following them, unable to tell if her uneasiness came from being unwillingly trapped here at the Emerson farm or the fact that she felt reluctantly exhilarated about it.
In the small entrance hall, dirty coveralls hung on both walls, allowing a small path between them. Not wanting to get her coat dirty, she had to go sideways into the house so she wouldn’t accidentally touch anything. Too busy avoiding the coveralls, she completely missed Ben’s still very dirty rubber boots, which lay where he had removed them—in the middle of the small floor of the hall—and they sent her flying headfirst into the house.
Both father and daughter looked up as she tumbled into the kitchen, in panic trying to grasp anything which would stop her from falling to the floor in a most embarrassing style. Kelly giggled behind her hand, whereas Ben tried to hide his smile by turning away. But she could tell by his shaking shoulders that he laughed.
The coldhearted, cluttered bastard.
The house was clearly not inhabited by a grown female. It could have been a very nice home. She could sense a detail or two here and there that told her it had once been a very nice and comfortable house. But that time was long gone. Now it was just a place to rest between workdays. Or a place to work on something that needed repair. There was clutter everywhere.
The living room was a nice room. Or would have been if it hadn’t been filled with—guess what? Yup, clutter. There were two armchairs in front of a cold fireplace, where father and daughter now stood, which were free of things. Probably that was where the two Emerson men spent their evenings, discussing farm things. She thought there was a sofa behind the two chairs, but it was hard to tell, as it seemed more a huge pile of blankets. And by the smell of them, probably horse blankets. Used ones.
A part of something which Leonore thought was a plow filled the rest of the living room, set on a really nice-looking dining table now used as a workshop table, surrounded by at least ten high-backed, carved chairs. Ignoring the two who were trying to relight the cold fireplace, she wandered back into the kitchen. It was a large, square room, with three walls covered with cabinets and one wall filled with windows. Dirty dishes stood stacked everywhere, except on the spots where huge piles of old magazines and papers were stacked.
A round table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room, probably the only thing she had seen so far which actually was clean. Thank God.
The small door by the refrigerator turned out to be the stairs to the cellar, and she slammed it shut quickly, cursing herself quietly for letting the self-righteous Hyenas influence her mind enough for her to not want to explore the cellar. Another door took her back into the living room, where a warm fire now spread its orange light. It was oddly dark inside as the howling storm outside threw more snow against the house, even though it was only about eleven in the morning.
“I hope your father will be all right,” she said as she joined the two at the fireplace. “The storm came upon us rather quickly, considering it wasn’t supposed to hit until tonight.”
“The storm came from the west, and as father is driving to Hartford, he has a very good chance to outrun it. And if not, it’s no big deal. He has many friends along the way who will be more than happy to have him stay for a night or two.”
A couple of nights?
Leonore took a deep breath through her nose. “Could this mean that I will have to stay here with you for a night or two also?”
There really was no reason for the two Emersons to look so happy about her staying when they nodded unanimously toward her. But, strangely, they did. Unmistakably so.
“Maybe I should borrow your truck and see if I can find my way back to town,” she mused, but immediately Ben shook his head sternly.
“No way, Leonore. I can’t let you do that. There’s just too much wind and snow out there now. Soon the roads will be gone, and you could find yourself caught in a snowdrift, unable to go anywhere. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened.”
“You could go with me.”
His smile was overbearingly gentle. “And leave Kelly behind? What kind of father do you think I am?”
Leonore was starting to feel a bit frustrated. “She can come too.”
“Out in the storm? No way. Besides, I can’t go off and leave the animals. They require attention at least twice a day, after all. Getting stuck in a snowdrift would be unthinkable. I’m sorry, Leonore, but you will have to stay here for the night. As soon as the storm dies, we will take you back to Barnesville, okay?”
Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply before nodding, defeated. There was no way around it; she had to stay in this clutter of a house with a girl she was supposed to talk puberty to and with a man who looked more handsome with every breath she took. Pushing her glasses farther up her nose, she removed her coat, gloves, and the ugly fur-lined cap, and cleared a dining chair so she could hang her things there to dry.
She could feel their eyes upon her as she emerged from her clothes, a tidy librarian in a Jackie Onassis-inspired dress. She knew she looked just as exotic in this house as a famous painting worth millions would look in someone’s extra bathroom. Not that she was worth millions; a librarian wasn’t among the well paid, which was something Paul had constantly remarked upon.
“You should find another job,” he would say when she still lived in Boston and worked at their local library. “A job which would give you a salary equal to at least half of what I earn. How can we ever marry and live like equals if you bring such small potatoes to the nest? Not even with your two other jobs are you bringing in a third of what I get paid.”
She had never had an answer to that; in her world, wives and husbands didn’t compete in what they brought into the marriage. Instead they made a living of what they had together. Like equals.
But she knew Paul. It had been better to stay quiet. He didn’t take opposition too well.
“I’m hungry,” Kelly groaned. “When is lunch?”
“I-I don’t know.” Ben stood up, looking distressed.
“Daddy, you’re not cooking, are you?” Kelly looked suspiciously at her father, and Ben nodded cheerfully.
“I am. This will be so great. I will make…pancakes?”
“Nooooo!”
“Oh, come on.” Ben laughed. “I’m not that bad a cook. I can make pancakes, you know. That’s easy-peasy.”
No one who said easy-peasy about cooking knew what they were talking about, and Leonore shook her head, defeated. “I can make pancakes.”
“You can?” Kelly said, her face filled with a shiver of hope.
“Yes, I can.”
“Daddy can’t,” Kelly said, with a dramatic wave toward her father. “I love pancakes, and Grandpa makes the best ones in Barnesville. But Daddy’s… Not even the pigs want his.”
“Kelly.” Ben sighed. “Now you are being rude. What will Leonore think of us? And for the record, the pigs like my pancakes just fine. Not one of them is such a picky eater as you are.”
Looking at the two of them frowning at each other in the middle of the eternal battle of words between parent and child, Leonore felt a prick of envy. She too wanted to experience that wonderful feeling of being a part of a family, as she had with Granny when she was young.
She took a step closer to the kitchen. “I could…” she started, but was immediately interrupted by her host.
“Oh, no.” Ben ushered Leonore back toward the living room. “You are a guest here. We should take care of you, not the other way around. You stay here, and we will fix lunch.”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
Ben sat down again, folding his hands in front of him. “Please, Leonore, would you kindly make some pancakes for my starving daughter?”
It had been their game all along. She could tell by the badly hidden excitement in Kelly’s pretty face and Ben’s smug smile. She knew she was being beyond childish, but as it was the only leverage she had at the moment, she refused. She hardened her heart against Kelly’s begging eyes, but later, as she sat at the table in the kitchen, poking a burnt, doughy, and completely inedible pancake, she knew she was a bigger culprit than she had thought at the moment of denial.
Ben was the worst cook. Ever.
Chapter Three
“It’s your fault, you know.” Kelly glared at her viciously over a plate filled with a pile of black mashed…something. “You could have made the pancakes instead of him. But nooooo, you had to play hard to get. And look what we have to eat now! A mush! An awful, disgusting, horrible black mush.”
“Perhaps mine would have been even worse,” Leonore tried, but Kelly snorted with rolling eyes.
“No way. It’s just not possible to make worse pancakes than this. My dad is a great guy, really he is. But the truth is—in the kitchen he sucks.”
“Kelly!”
Kelly turned, indignant, toward her father. “But it is the truth, isn’t it? And you have said more times than I can count that as long as I’m honest…”
“I never meant about my cooking,” Ben mumbled.
“I hate you,” Kelly howled and stood up so quickly her stool fell backward, saved from crashing to the floor only by the stack of newspapers behind it.
They heard her angry footsteps through the house, stomping their way up the stairs and, followed by a slam of a door, into her bedroom.
Please Be My Valentine Page 2
