Patty threw her a look. “Your brother’s not real picky, so it’s up to you.”
“Pancakes, then.”
“Could you grab the mix out of the pantry?” Patty had pulled a package of bacon from the fridge.
Miranda rose stiffly and hobbled to the pantry door. As she scanned the shelves, a spear of misery lanced through her. Staring out from a bright orange Wheaties box were the pale blue eyes of Luke Archer, his arm cocked back ready to send a football sailing through the air. She couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs as she stared at the hand curved around the pigskin and remembered how it felt against her skin.
“Pancake mix is on the third shelf down. Grab the syrup, too,” Patty said.
Miranda seized the cereal box and shoved it between the Cheerios and the Froot Loops. “Got it,” she said as she scooped up the syrup and pancake mix and backed away from the pantry.
Patty gave her an appraising glance. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Dennis always claimed the farmhouse was haunted.” Miranda rummaged around for a mixing bowl. “Where is he, by the way? He told me I had to set my alarm for six.”
“Probably thought you’d need time to primp,” Patty said.
Miranda touched the sloppy bun she’d yanked her uncombed hair into and glanced down at her jeans and long-sleeved thermal T-shirt with a short laugh. “Yeah, I did a lot of primping.”
Patty looked up from laying the bacon in the frying pan. “You’re lucky. With your big brown eyes and that ivory skin, you don’t have to wear a lick of makeup to look gorgeous.”
Right now Miranda felt anything but gorgeous.
“Morning, sis.” Dennis shuffled into the kitchen. Patty handed him a mug with steam wisping out of it, and he buried his nose in it.
“Burning daylight, bro,” Miranda teased as she stirred water and eggs into the mix.
He squinted at the window, where the sky was just showing a tinge of pink. “Not day yet.”
Miranda examined the two of them surreptitiously. They both looked tired and drawn, although Dennis had surprising color in his cheeks. Probably from working outdoors in the frosty October air.
Her brother gulped down his coffee and took the whisk out of her hand with a grin. “I’ll handle the pancakes. Last time you cooked, the smoke alarm went off, and I don’t want to wake Theo up.”
“Hey, that was five years ago.” Miranda bumped him with her hip.
“And you haven’t been near the stove since,” her brother said, elbowing her away from the counter.
“Behave, children,” Patty said, but she was smiling.
Miranda was glad to see their faces more relaxed, so she carried on with ribbing her brother as they cooked and ate a speedy breakfast. At the back door, they shoved their feet into rubber boots and piled on warm clothing against the bite of the early-morning chill.
Dennis laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s like old times. I miss having you working beside me.”
“Me, too,” she said, giving him a kiss on his scruffy cheek. Amazingly enough, it was true. There was something comforting about the familiar tasks of forking hay, attaching milking machines, mucking out the barn, and processing the fresh milk. Not to mention that they kept her mind off Luke Archer. She winced as the sense of loss sliced through her again.
Dennis held the door open for her, and she stepped out onto the flagstone path that led through the yard toward the dairy barn. The rising sun’s rays angled along the rails of the fence, lining them with light. The cows stood waiting by the barn door, their warm breath blowing puffs of mist into crystalline air. An occasional moo punctuated the dawn birdsong.
Miranda breathed in the cold-muted smell of manure that always hung around the part of the field where the herd congregated twice a day. Not everyone liked the scent, but it was part of her childhood, so she found it soothing.
As they tromped along side by side, the mooing grew in volume. The herd knew that food and the easing of their udders were nigh.
Dennis veered off the path, and Miranda stopped. “What’s up?”
He stutter-stepped and headed toward the barn again. “Nothing. Just tripped.”
Two more steps and he staggered before going down on his knees.
“Dennis! What’s wrong?” She knelt beside him and peered into his face.
“Hell,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I’ve caught the damn flu.”
She pulled off her glove to put her hand on his forehead, nearly snatching it away again. His skin was scorching hot. “Back to the house with you,” she said, standing to help him up. She wrapped his arm over her shoulders and supported him back to the door.
Patty was drying dishes and spun around in surprise when Miranda and Dennis lurched into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she asked, tossing the towel on the counter as she jogged over to them.
“He’s burning up with fever,” Miranda said. “Help me get him upstairs.”
“Stubborn man. I knew he wasn’t feeling right,” Patty muttered, coming around to the other side of her husband.
“I can walk,” Dennis said, slurring his words.
Worry scraped at Miranda’s heart. Her brother was leaning heavily on her, which meant he was having a hard time staying upright.
“You’re going to have to walk,” Patty said, “because we sure as heck can’t carry you, sweetie.”
Somehow they got him up the steep, narrow staircase and into his bedroom. Miranda helped Patty take off her brother’s outer garments and then left her sister-in-law to handle the rest. She didn’t think Dennis would appreciate having his sister see him in his skivvies, no matter how sick he was.
She stood outside the bedroom door, pitching her voice low to ask what Patty needed her to do.
The other woman came to the door. “I hate to ask you this, but can you milk the cows by yourself? That’s what Dennis would want done.”
“Of course.” Miranda injected as much confidence as she could into her voice, even though the prospect made her blanch inside. She didn’t have the strength or stamina her brother did, and she was out of practice.
“Thank God you’re here.” Patty gave her a quick, hard hug and turned back to the bedroom.
Miranda squared her shoulders and clumped down the stairs as quietly as she could in the rubber boots. The warm glow of the knowledge that she was helping her family dispelled some of her fatigue. Maybe she wouldn’t be as fast as Dennis, but she could get the job done.
Two hours later, she shooed the last cow out of the barn and collapsed onto an overturned bucket. Dennis had updated much of the equipment to make milking less labor-intensive, but she still had to clean the teat cups. After that, she would call Orin to tell him she needed the week off. She couldn’t leave Patty to cope with a sick husband and child and a herd of dairy cows while the hired hand was out of commission.
Miranda grimaced. Orin would want his pound of flesh for making him rework the schedule. She pushed up from the bucket and trudged back into the barn.
Now she remembered why she’d wanted to flee to the big city.
“I’m really sorry, Orin, but I need to take the week off,” Miranda said. She gripped the phone tighter and waited for her boss to blow up. Instead, there was a long, ominous silence. “I know it’s asking a lot, so I’ll take night shifts or weekend shifts as a thank-you for anyone you have to call in.”
She plucked at the twine of the hay bale where she sat in the weak warmth of the late-morning sunshine.
“I have reached my breaking point,” Orin said. “I’m going to have to let you go.”
Miranda couldn’t stifle her gasp. She’d expected him to berate her up, down, and sideways, not fire her.
Her boss continued, and she swore she could hear a note of triumph in his voice. “Your performance has not been up to the standards we require at the Pinnacle. I will give you one week’s base pay as severance, which I’m sure you will agree is quite generous.”
Techni
cally speaking, he didn’t have to give her any severance pay at all, so by some measures it was generous. However, an assistant concierge’s base pay was peanuts, since the bulk of her income came from commissions and tips.
“I will also provide a letter of reference, stating your dates of employment here at the Pinnacle. Without mention that you were fired.”
That was Orin’s way of saying he would not recommend her for another position. Not that she’d expected it.
Somehow she managed to grind out, “I appreciate that.”
“And well you should. I could cite you for dereliction of duty.”
Hot anger ballooned inside her. “Dereliction of duty” would be going back to New York to indulge the whims of hyperwealthy people while her brother and his family struggled alone. She clenched her jaw to prevent herself from asking Orin what the hell he knew about duty.
“I will have Sofia box up your belongings. You can pick them up when you get back from the farm. Make sure to wash the manure off your shoes before you walk into the lobby.”
Her vision went red with fury. “Good-bye, Orin,” she said and hit the “Disconnect” button. That would piss him off more than any of the names she wanted to call him.
She bolted up from the hay bale and paced in a circle in front of the barn door, vibrating with frustration and rage.
“That sniveling little scumbag of a worm-eaten dipstick! Useless sack of cretinous goat manure!”
After a few more circles and creative name-calling, she felt the cold, dark hand of panic close around her throat. She couldn’t afford to be out of a job. The cheese was what kept the farm financially viable. If she couldn’t make the payments on the cheese-making equipment, Dennis would have to sell the herd and the land. Maybe he could keep the house and continue to work for the new owner.
Miranda shook her head. There was no job security in that, nor was there enough income to send Theo to college, even with Patty contributing her garden sales. No, Dennis would have to move. Her parents would be devastated; the farm had been owned by the Tate family for five generations.
She sank back down on the hay bale and dropped her head into her hands. Two days ago, she’d been a well-respected concierge at one of the most exclusive luxury buildings in a city that specialized in them, not to mention dating a gorgeous, elite athlete. Now she sat alone in a muddy paddock in manure-smeared boots a size too large for her with no job and dim prospects of finding another one.
Sometimes life truly sucked.
Chapter 24
“Jesus H. Christ! Get rid of the ball!” Luke smacked his fist against the Gatorade dispenser as Brandon Pitch got sacked for the third time.
The rookie climbed to his feet and shook his head as though dazed, but went straight into the huddle.
“At least he gets right back in the saddle,” Luke muttered to himself.
“Archer!” The head coach beckoned him over. Junius slipped off his headphones and lifted his clipboard to cover his mouth. “Pitch is falling apart. At halftime, I want you to grab him and settle him down before he gets hurt so bad he can’t stay on the field.”
Luke nodded.
“Rookies.” Junius stalked off to consult with one of his assistants.
Luke had worked with the young quarterback on the field and off for the last two days. They had reviewed film, discussed strategy, rated opposing players, and done everything else Luke could think of to prepare Pitch to play with confidence. He’d driven the kid hard, because it kept his mind off Miranda. Mostly.
Pitch had major athletic talent, and he had field vision. He’d played college ball in the pressure cooker of Alabama, so he had experience. But the NFL was a whole different level of tough, and the kid was folding like a cheap suit.
He watched the rookie take up his position behind the center. What could he say that would give Pitch the balls he needed to win this game?
An idea struck him, and he strolled over to Dyson “Dice” Fredericks, another former Alabama player. “Hey, Dice, you know anything about Pitch’s family?”
“Like what kind of anything?” the defensive tackle asked.
“Like has he got brothers and sisters, and where does he fall in the lineup?”
“Seriously, man? What you want to know that for?”
“Psychology,” Luke said.
Dice slanted Luke a look. “You mean, so he gets his act together and wins this game?”
Luke nodded.
“Nah, I don’t know that stuff, but Devell would. He and Pitch hang out sometimes.”
Luke waited a minute before he moved to stand beside the veteran Derrick Devell. He made it look casual, because Luke never knew when the television cameras would focus on him and the announcers would start speculating on what was happening on the sideline. Luke asked Devell the same question.
“He’s got three brothers and a sister. He’s the baby, apple of his mama’s eye,” Devell said. “Not spoiled, though. Good kid. Doesn’t expect to be given anything.” The man turned away from the field to look Luke in the eye. “You going to get his mind right?”
“Do my best.”
When the whistle blew for halftime, the Empire were down by seventeen points. Luke gave Pitch credit: the quarterback walked off the field with his head held high and confidence in his stride. You’d never guess he was bombing.
However, as soon as the team filed into the locker room, where cameras were forbidden, the kid’s shoulders curled inward, and he sagged onto the bench. Luke walked over, tapped him on the back, and nodded toward an unoccupied office.
Resignation was written in every line of Brandon Pitch’s body as he walked ahead of Luke. As soon as Luke closed the office door, the younger man turned. “You’d be playing better injured than I am in top condition.”
“Not what I was going to say.” Luke leaned his hip against the metal desk. “Is any of your family here?”
“What? Yeah, my parents and my brothers and sister are all watching me screw up.” He smacked the wall with his hand.
Luke wanted to tell him to treat the tools of his trade with more respect, but he needed the kid to focus. “You’re the youngest, so you’ve got something to prove. I want you to forget about everyone else in the stadium—your teammates, your opponents, the fans, the coach, me—and picture your family and what they will take away from this game. You want to give your mom a win to bring home and brag to all her friends about. You want to make your dad’s friends buy him a drink in celebration of his son’s first victory in the NFL. You want your brothers to sit up and say, ‘Damn, Brandon is really something.’”
Because that’s what he’d wanted from his family.
He watched Pitch as he spoke every sentence, testing to see what would flip the switch in the younger man’s brain. The kid’s shoulders were squaring up again, and his hands were closing into fists, but it was the last sentence that lit a spark of steely determination in Pitch’s gray eyes. Sibling rivalry was a powerful motivator, as Luke could attest.
Luke straightened away from the desk and rested one hand on the other man’s shoulder pad. “You’ve got all the tools, kid. Now make your family proud.”
Pitch nodded before he gave Luke a tight smile. “Aren’t you going to tell me I gotta have heart?”
Luke liked the kid’s sense of humor. “Nah. I saw you get up after that third sack. You’ve got the heart covered.”
Pitch strode out of the office with his head up. Luke hung back so the other players could get a good look at their quarterback’s new attitude. Junius wound up his halftime speech, and with a slap of pads and a clack of cleats, the players readied themselves to head back out on the field.
As Luke joined the procession, Junius came up beside him. “Think you turned him around?”
Luke shrugged. “We won’t know until he runs the next play.”
“I’ve been around long enough to know how a winner walks out on the field.” Junius swung his gaze from Pitch to Luke. “You could have a real
future as a coach.”
“Thanks.” Junius’s comment was not something to dismiss lightly, but all Luke could think about was the Series 7 study guide he’d hurled into the trash after Miranda walked out two nights ago.
After the evening milking, Miranda fumbled off her filthy rubber boots in the mudroom. Slumping onto the hard wooden bench, she braced her elbows on her knees, hanging her head in exhaustion and indecision. She needed a shower, but she wasn’t sure she could make it up the stairs just now.
Despite her physical fatigue, she was having a hard time sleeping. The wrench of her parting with Luke dropped like weight onto her heart and mind at night. Now she could add the anxiety of joblessness.
The sound of cheering drifted down the hall from the family room, and Miranda realized that someone was watching the Empire football game.
Did she want to see Luke on the wide-screen television, or would it hurt too much?
“Miranda? Is that you?” Patty’s voice echoed down the hallway as her silhouette appeared against the light. “Can I get you some tea or coffee?”
She needed comfort, not caffeine. “How about hot chocolate?”
“You got it,” Patty said. “Go on in and watch the game. I’ll bring it to you.”
Miranda knew she should offer to make it herself. Patty had pitched in at the barn until she needed to go check on Dennis and Theo.
The prospect of getting up and doing it all over again in the morning wrenched a groan from her throat.
Patty stuck her head into the mudroom. “You okay?”
“Just thinking I should go to the gym more often.”
“Farming’s hard work, especially if you’re not used to it. You’re doing an amazing job for a city slicker.”
Miranda managed to chuckle before she shoved up off the bench and staggered into the kitchen to wash her face and hands. “How are Theo and Dennis?”
Patty had banished her from the sickrooms, saying they couldn’t afford to lose their only healthy farmhand.
“Theo’s temperature broke an hour ago. I had to change every stitch on him and his bed because they were drenched.” Miranda could see tears of relief standing in Patty’s eyes. “Dennis is still up at 102 degrees, but we know that’s the way this flu runs. They both wanted to watch the game, so I let Theo join his dad in our bed.”
The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) Page 27
