by Amanda Ashby
Bec glanced at Coop’s clenched hands. “Are we still talking about me?”
“What?” He blinked before coughing. “Of course we’re still talking about you. We’re going to have to put this conversation on hold, because I have another appointment at the bank.”
“Sure. Okay,” she said as he gave her a quick good-bye hug and jogged toward his car. That was weird, even by her standards. Note to self, next time I see Coop, find out what’s up.
By the time she finished setting out the vintage games for tomorrow, she had a fine layer of perspiration on her forehead as she went through her neat to-do list. Not that she’d ever been a list person before, but she was discovering when it came to weddings, it was all in the bullet points.
Next she needed some publicity shots of the farm in fall, so she held up her cell phone and took several photos of the old maple tree. The ground underneath it was like a moving golden carpet, as the fallen leaves danced and jittered in the breeze. Once she was happy with the shots, she called the caterer to confirm the food for the next day, and was just walking to the cottage to get a shower when she caught sight of the work vans. She groaned. The whole place was now covered in scaffolding, dust, and badly tuned radios, which meant relaxing would be impossible.
There were still some hay bales that needed moving, as well as the pumpkins Charlie had gathered for Halloween (which Bec had decided would be perfect for a game of bowling). She turned and headed for the barn. The tractor, nicknamed Matilda, had been Ivy’s pride and joy, and she’d taught all the sisters to drive it. But Bec was the only one she trusted on it. Driving it had been one of the few times Bec had felt close to her great aunt.
She gave Matilda an affectionate pat and started the engine. A startled yelp came from the other end of the barn, then Pepper and Charlie emerged from the old tack room, where they’d obviously been discussing something.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Pepper said once Bec had cut the engine.
Bec climbed back down from the tractor and walked across to them. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were here. I’ve got to finish moving the hay for tomorrow. You can give me a hand if you want.”
“Actually…” Pepper fiddled with the neat black skirt she was wearing and smoothed away an imaginary crease. “I have to go out and do something. Charlie’s coming with me.”
“Like what?” Bec frowned. Her sister and Charlie had always been close, but they didn’t tend to leave the farm much together. She studied Pepper’s face for a clue, but there was none forthcoming. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Pepper quickly replied, her voice just the way it always was when she wanted to imply Bec wouldn’t understand.
“If you say so.” Bec shrugged, swallowing down the familiar hurt of not being considered worth confiding in.
“And don’t even think of using that ladder,” Charlie said in his familiar drawl. “If you need anything up high, you wait until I’m back.”
“I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be climbing ladders either,” Bec retorted, annoyed that people kept thinking she’d risk the baby. Especially after the small accident she’d had when she’d first come back to the farm. I don’t need to learn my lesson twice. “I got Coop to help, so you don’t need to worry I’ll do anything stupid.”
“Bec, that’s not what he meant. And I can probably cancel if you need me to stay and help,” Pepper said, her face softening. “We just want you to be safe. You and the baby.”
Bec was silent as she glimpsed the old Pepper, the one who used to help build tent forts when they first moved to the farm. Her anger dissolved.
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. Go and do whatever secret business you have, and don’t worry about it.”
Pepper paused as if unsure whether to reply or not, then finally shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
But Bec didn’t bother to answer as she put her hand onto her stomach. What her sister didn’t understand was that Bec was always on her own. It was what she was used to, and if that’s what she expected, it meant she couldn’t get hurt. Something she’d do well to remember when she was around Lincoln.
She waited until Pepper’s car pulled out of the farm before she climbed back on Matilda and got to work. Because the sooner she focused on what mattered in her life, the sooner the tightness in her chest would disappear. Or so she hoped.
…
“So, you’re going to be a father,” Lincoln’s mother said from the other end of the cell connection. It wasn’t a question, more like a statement. It also let him know his decision to tell his family by email hadn’t been appreciated. He suddenly had some sympathy for Bec’s predicament about the best way to give him the news.
“Yes.” He shut the small notebook that was never far from his side. Normally drawing helped him process whatever was bothering him. Sketch, understand, act. But his mind refused to relax.
And of course, Elvis wasn’t helping.
When Lincoln had arrived back at Miss Dottie’s Bed and Breakfast the other day, she’d regretfully told him his old room was booked, but she had another suite he’d love. A room that celebrated the history of Elvis Presley.
It was a lot to take in, from the Hawaiian wallpaper, the guitar-shaped clock, and the life-size mannequin dressed up as the King during his Vegas years.
Then again, she could’ve put him in a room full of zombies and he wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered was convincing Bec to talk to him. To trust him.
Not that he was getting very far. Between the disastrous picnic and yesterday’s cake tasting, he was probably going backward.
He’d tried to convince her to see him today, but she’d refused on the pretext of being busy.
Busy avoiding me.
The worst of it was, despite his scandalous father, Lincoln had constantly come into contact with people who wanted to know him simply because of his title and his estate. It had never impressed him, but he could now see he’d taken it for granted that people would at least listen to him.
People that weren’t Bec.
“I see.” His mother sighed, increasing his guilt. It was a sigh he was very familiar with, full of pragmatism and stiff upper lip. “I assume she’s going ahead with the pregnancy, which means we just need to deal with it. What I don’t understand is why you had to book a wedding.”
“Because thanks to my trying to bribe her over the photos, she wasn’t exactly happy to sit and talk with me,” Lincoln said. Or even look at me. Which sucks, since I can’t seem to stop looking at her. Or her mouth. Hell. “This way I get her undivided attention so we can sort out an arrangement that suits us both.”
Not that he’d managed to get very far with that. There had been a moment at the food truck when they’d looked clouds and the old Bec had been beside him. The wild, untamed one. But then something had happened, and the reality of the present had crept back in. Still, until he could convince her that he wasn’t a jerk, that he was someone she could trust to be in their child’s life, he wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t care how many weddings he had to book.
“So, it definitely wasn’t so you could marry this girl?” his mother said, and Lincoln flinched. There was no point admitting he’d proposed, because she’d never understand why Bec had turned him down. In her experience, people always wanted more from their family, not less. Unfortunately, he was all too clear on Bec’s reasons. I’m the liar she can’t forgive.
“Of course not. I invented a couple on the estate I’m gifting it to. I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d like a free wedding, do you?”
“I have more pressing issues on my mind,” his mother replied in a taut voice. “Still, what’s done is done. Now we just need to get the matter settled. You’ll get a money figure from her, and I’ll have the lawyers draw up a non-disclosure agreement.”
“No, you will not.” Lincoln’s grip tightened around his cell, and he wondered just how many times his mother had done this in the past wi
th his father’s many indiscretions. “This is about me trying to work out how to be part of the child’s life.” No matter how much Bec hates me. “The last thing I need is to bring in the lawyers.”
“No, the last thing you need is for the tabloids to find out you’ve got a love child. Because if they do, then the deal with the investors will be off, and everything we’ve done over the last eight years will have been for nothing.”
“Would it really be such a bad thing? Don’t you ever get tired of trying to hold our life together?” Lincoln asked, allowing himself a glimpse of what it had been like in Italy, when he had been free from the constraints of his life in England. Besides, his mother had only married into the family. The title was from his father’s side. What if she’d married someone else? How different her life would’ve been…mine would’ve been.
“The one thing worse than being associated with a disgraced peer is being associated with a disgraced peer and having no money,” she said, her tight voice betraying her fear. “Of course, there’s still one more option.”
And there it was.
“I told you before. I’m not proposing to Victoria. Especially in light of what’s happened with Bec. That’s my final word on the matter.”
“Fine. I’ve always trusted your judgment, and I trust it now. Do what you need to do, but don’t forget your responsibilities as Lord Ashford.”
“When do I ever?” He finished the call and dragged out his laptop as guilt rose in his throat. Despite saying he hadn’t forgotten his responsibilities, the truth was he hadn’t even looked at the work piling up—the accounts Howard had sent, the maintenance costs that needed to be slashed if they were going to afford next year’s tax bill, the looming investor’s meeting to nail out the final agreement between the two parties.
The list went on. But after five minutes of trying to decipher the legalities of transferring some funds from one account to another, he gave up and walked over to the window and rubbed his brow. If only he didn’t find his life tiring.
That’s what had sent him to Italy in the first place. Two weeks to paint and forget about the mountain of debt the estate was buried in, or that people were all looking to him to clear it.
And is that Bec yelling at some guy on the street?
He pushed the window up so he could lean farther out. Bec and a man in his early twenties were standing outside a mechanic shop, which had a rusty sign that said “Tony and Sons,” and a collection of old pickups parked outside it. And judging by the way Bec’s arms were flying around, she wasn’t happy.
He turned and stalked from his room. Miss Dottie was in the reception area randomly wearing a pink wig and holding a lampshade, but Lincoln didn’t do more than give her a cursory nod as he hurried outside and joined the growing crowd.
“Forty years, Ethan. That’s how long Ivy’s been bringing Matilda to your father’s shop, and now you’re telling me you can’t come out and fix one lousy gasket.” Bec folded her arms, and despite the fact she was only five-foot-three and had her short hair held back by a tea towel, her presence was immense.
“Bec, dude.” The hapless Ethan gulped. “It’s not like that. I have the part, but I’m on my own today and I can’t leave the shop. You know that.”
“And you know I don’t like being called ‘dude.’ Would you’ve called Ivy a dude?”
“Hell, no.” Ethan shuddered as if Bec had just invoked a dangerous spirit. “Can’t you get Charlie to install it? He could do it with his eyes closed.”
“He had to drive to East Windsor to run an errand for Pepper, and my Hayride Fiesta starts in two hours. Two hours! Please, Ethan.”
Lincoln blinked. Hayride Fiesta? He didn’t know what a Hayride Fiesta was, but it meant she hadn’t been trying to avoid him today. She did have something else she needed to attend to. The dark cloud that had been hanging over him all morning lifted.
He coughed. “Perhaps I can help.”
At the sound of his voice, Bec spun around. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, the bed and breakfast’s just across the road,” he said, trying not to be insulted at the way her blue eyes narrowed. It probably wouldn’t help his cause to mention that half the street had heard the argument. He coughed again. “And, as it turns out, I can change a gasket.”
“You?” Bec raised an eyebrow, while next to her Ethan looked equally uncertain.
“The thing is, dude, Ford 8N’s will go forever, but you have to know what you’re doing.”
“Tell me about it. The last John Deere we bought had been someone’s restoration project. What a mess they’d made of it. I had to strip it all back and start again,” Lincoln said. He turned to Bec, who was still glaring at him. He sighed, wondering why he was even bothering. Especially considering all the work that was sitting on the desk, waiting for him to return. Then again, he also had work to do with Bec, to make her trust him again.
“Having a tractor and changing a gasket are two different things, Lord Ashford.”
Lincoln winced. Thanks to his mother’s tour of the house, Bec had obviously assumed his childhood had been silver spoons and elocution lessons. The truth was most of his time had been spent painting in the old nursery wing, or following Howard around the estate. And since Howard’s hobby was old cars and tractors, by the time Lincoln was ten he could strip an engine almost as well as his teacher.
“I know. I also know if you want it done in two hours then we need to stop talking,” he said before lowering his gaze so he could catch her eyes with his. A small current passed between them. “Let me help you, Bec.”
She didn’t reply, and so he waited while she stared at him, her chest rising and falling. Is she considering it? Beneath the soft fabric of her T-shirt was the outline of a pink bra peeking through. His pulse quickened. Say yes. Please say yes. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, breaking the contact.
“Fine,” she said from over her shoulder. “Let’s get going then.”
…
Bec was going to regret this. No doubt about it. But, despite her instincts telling her to stop, she couldn’t. She took another peek at Lincoln, who was leaning over the front of the tractor. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, and the sleeves of what looked like an expensive shirt were rolled up, exposing his tanned forearms.
And what nice forearms they were.
She sighed as she honed in on the smudge of grease just below his elbow, and heat coiled in her belly. The fact she could be turned on by watching Lincoln get covered in grease showed her just how pathetic she was.
And it doesn’t mean Coop’s right. Just because I want to keep staring at Lincoln’s arms doesn’t mean I want to kiss him. Except I do. Real bad.
Crap, crap, crap.
“And now, let’s see how she goes.” Lincoln turned the key, and the engine burst to life. Bec jumped to her feet, pleased for the diversion.
“You did it. You really did it.”
“And without a minute to spare,” he said as he nodded over to the old clock in the barn. It was eleven-thirty. Bec groaned. Thanks to Lincoln’s arms, she’d completely lost track of time. Thankfully she’d finished setting everything up before she’d tried to move Matilda, only to discover the old tractor wouldn’t start.
She reached for her clipboard to double check that she hadn’t missed anything else, and to keep from thinking about the fact Lincoln stopped it from becoming Hayride Disaster. Which was good. Except it was bad because his help had sent her libido into overdrive. And—
“Are you okay? You look hot.”
“I’m fine.” Bec bit down on the inside of her mouth. I need to get a grip. Especially if I can’t blame my hormones. She stepped away from him on the pretense of patting her hair, as if that’s what she always did before an event. She owed him an apology. The heat from her belly traveled up to her face. “And I’m grateful. If you hadn’t come along—”
“Then no doubt you would’ve mana
ged to get poor Ethan to come up here and do it. You can be pretty convincing when you put your mind to it.”
I can?
This was news to her. In her experience, it was the opposite. The more she wanted something, the less chance she had of getting it. Like with Lincoln. From the second he’d crashed into her life, she could picture them together, and yet when it had happened, the fallout had been devastating.
It was also hardly the time or place for reflection.
“We might need to disagree. But thank you. When you call Stan to collect you, just ask him to charge it to me. After all, I’m the one who dragged you out here,” Bec said.
“Actually…” Lincoln had finished wiping the grease from his arm and was now in the process of rolling down his sleeves. Boo. I mean good. More sleeves means less distraction. “I might stay and help.”
“It’s okay,” Bec said, torn between the dream of being near him and the idea he was judging her and finding her wanting. “Apart from the gasket, everything else is under control.”
He rubbed his chin and frowned. “I didn’t mean to imply it wasn’t. The truth is it looks fun.”
“Fun?” she said in surprise, since when she’d told Pepper about the idea, her sister had rolled her eyes. Even Coop, who was up for most things, had declared that it sounded like hell. But there was no denying the adventurous gleam in Lincoln’s eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t breathe in too much grease?”
“I’m sure. It’s either hang out with you or look at the five hundred photographs of floral arrangements that arrived in my inbox this morning. I assume that was your doing.”
“Oh.” Bec lowered her gaze. She’d been so mad at how many times he’d tried to ask about the baby that she’d purposely asked Abby to send him every single photo she had, even though they were already displayed on the florist’s website. “I thought it might be helpful.”
“No, you didn’t. You wanted to punish me because I was being overbearing,” he said, catching her off guard. Both the Lincoln from Italy and Lord Ashford from England were a confusing puzzle she hadn’t managed to solve. “Besides, what if you have another tractor engine emergency?”
