Hearth Song

by Lois Greiman

  “And it is!” He sat up quickly, letting the sheet pool around his naked lap. False modesty had never been one of Dane’s flaws. “Of course it is. But there could be even more. This is my chance to make something of myself. Your dad would give you the money if you asked. It’d be a loan. Just a loan.” His expression was earnest, his eyes imploring, but was there a shadow of desperation in his voice?

  She stared at him as the seconds ticked away. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Dane?”

  “Not telling you! Like what?”

  “Like … I don’t know. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Trouble! Geez, Vey, you make it sound like I’m still some stupid kid when I’m just trying to …” He took a deep breath, calming himself. “Don’t you see how it could be for us? I could pay your old man back in a minute once I got on with a good firm.”

  She scowled. Outside, a barn owl crooned secrets to the dawn. “A good firm where?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and laughed as he swept an expansive hand through the air between them. “Anywhere you want to go, baby. L.A., Chicago, New York.”

  “New York?”

  “I’m just saying, the sky’s the limit.”

  “I don’t think Milly and her goslings would be very happy in Manhattan.”

  He laughed. “We could stay in South Dakota if you wanted to. Maybe work for a nonprofit. Or pro bono for one of the reservations.”

  “But if you worked for free, how would we pay Dad back?”

  “I can’t win with …” He blew out his breath and laughed a little. “The point is, I’d do whatever made you happy.”

  She stared at him, catching a glimpse of the chinks in his logic, and he drew back a little, watching her.

  “But maybe I’m not important enough to bother your father about.”

  A dozen sharp rejoinders came to mind, but she bit them back. He had a right to dream, too. “How much would you need?” Just asking the question made her stomach ache and her frugal nature, honed by a hundred hungry ancestors, revolt.

  “Well …” He exhaled. “Law school’s not cheap.”

  “How much?”

  “A couple hundred thousand maybe.”

  The number left her breathless.

  “But I wouldn’t need it all at once,” he rushed to add. “Maybe, though, if we paid a hefty sum up-front, they’d give us a discount… save us some money in the long run.” His eyes searched hers. “And isn’t that what we’re talking about, baby?” He ran his hand down her bare arm. Goose bumps shivered in the wake of the caress. “The long run?”

  She stared at him, trying to figure out a way to explain that she couldn’t, just couldn’t ask for that money, but outside, an engine rumbled into the yard, distracting her.

  “Or maybe we’re not,” Dane said and, drawing his hand away, straightened.

  She pulled her gaze from the window, found him scowling at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Maybe your little fling with the chief was more than I realized.”

  A half-dozen uncertainties struck her at once, reminding her how tumultuous life with Dane could be. He had a way of throwing her off balance, of keeping her just a little off center. “I didn’t have a fling with anyone.”

  “Really?” His eyes bored into hers. “So there haven’t been any fantasies? No longing glances? No breathless, touchy-feely moments?”

  “I …” Guilt flooded in like hot lava, heating her cheeks. She was innocent … except for that dream. That so-vivid dream. And that one touch of their hands, more intimate than a kiss.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked, and lurched from the bed. “You’re here making love to me, and all the time you’ve got the hots for him.”

  “No! I just … I don’t …” She stopped herself, closed her eyes. Felt the shame drop on her like a hammer. “I’m sorry.” The words were barely a whisper. “Nothing happened. Just a …”

  “Just a what, Vey? Just a kiss? Just some groping? Just a roll in the hay?”

  “No! Nothing like that.”

  “Nothing?” He paced a few strides, naked and entirely unabashed. “No fantasies about”—he gritted his teeth—“skinny-dipping in the moonlight?”

  She winced as the words struck her like an arrow.

  “You slut!”

  She jerked as if struck and he glared at her, but finally he scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry.” His shoulders slumped. He stepped up to the bed. “That wasn’t fair. It’s just that … the thought of you with someone else … I’m just so …” He curled his hands into fists, then let them fall by his sides. “But it’s no fair taking my guilt out on you.”

  “Guilt?” Premonition soured her gut. “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

  “For leaving you alone. For abandoning you when you needed me. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I realize you—” He paused, blinked. “You don’t think I cheated on you, do you?”

  “No,” she said, but the truth was a little less certain. “No, of course not.”

  “Because I never would, baby. Never. Even though …” His jaw bunched. “Even knowing you allowed another man to touch you.” He shook his head as if unable to continue. “But it’s my fault. I never should have left you alone. Your grandfather was right.” Regret shone painfully in his eyes. “I don’t deserve you. I never will.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “You know it’s true.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then let me prove myself to you,” he said, and knelt suddenly on the bed beside her. “Let’s start over, Vey. Start fresh. I don’t need the full two hundred thousand. Maybe just half that for starters.”

  “A hundred thousand …” She shook her head.

  “You’re right to doubt me,” he admitted. “You never would have turned to someone else if I hadn’t let you down.”

  Guilt again, as powerful as a sledgehammer. “I’ll ask him,” she said.

  He froze. “What?”

  She exhaled heavily, going for broke. “I’ll ask Dad for a loan.”

  “You mean it, baby?”

  “Yes.” It was hard to force out the word. She had taken such pride in standing on her own two feet, on starting Saw Horse Construction without help from anyone.

  “You won’t regret it,” he promised and hugged her tight against him.

  “And I’ll …” She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’ll tell Tonk he has to move his horses.”

  He sighed, tightened his grip for a minute, then eased back. “You don’t have to do that, baby.”

  Their gazes met. “I don’t want you to have to think about … I mean, we didn’t even kiss.”

  He scowled at her.

  “We didn’t!” So why did it feel like they had? “But it wouldn’t be fair for him to be around if it bothers you.”

  He tilted his head a little, eyes boring into hers. “Are you sure that’s the reason?”

  “What?”

  “You’re sure it’s not that he’s too tempting to resist?”

  “Tempting? No. Geez,” she said, but the memory of his hand against her skin spread confused heat toward her heart. “He’s just … irritating.”

  He stared at her a moment, then laughed, relieved. “He does have that kind of I’m-all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips look to him, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Totally.”

  “Then I don’t see a reason he has to go.”

  “But what about—”

  “I mean … he’s paying, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And he’s already bought the posts and stuff for the fences.”

  “I know.” Guilt accosted her from every angle. “I guess I’ll have to pay him back for the supplies.”

  “But money’s already tight.” He shook his head. “Because of me. Because I wasn’t pulling my wei
ght.”

  “That’s not—” she began, but he stopped her.

  “You’d never feel right about going back on your word, baby.” Sliding his hands down her arms, he drew back slightly and found her eyes with his. “I know you. And I don’t want to be the cause of any more trouble. No more guilt.”

  “All right. I guess.” She scowled, confused, but maybe that was what love was all about. Being kept a little off balance. “If you’re sure.”

  He nodded, stroked the hair back behind her ear. “And you’ll talk to your dad today, right?”

  “Today?”

  “Unless you’re not sure about things.” A shadow clouded his eyes. “About us.”

  Her stomach twisted. “I’ll ask him.”

  “Thank you, baby. Thank you,” he said and, kissing her quickly, turned to retrieve his jeans. In a second, he was pulling them on. “If it would be easier, I could give him my info so he could deposit it right into my account.”

  “I don’t even know if he’ll agree to it,” she said.

  “For his baby girl?” He was already shoving his arms into the sleeves of a button-down shirt. “You know he will.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not like Gamps’s funds are going to instantly appear in his bank account. I have to assume these things take time.”

  “What things?” He fastened up buttons, tucked in the tail.

  “Wills and stuff.”

  “Well, that’s just a formality, isn’t it?” Reaching for his shoes, he shoved aside a carpenter’s level and sat on the room’s only chair. The sight of him lacing them up sent a little shiver of loneliness slicing through her.

  “What do you mean, a formality?”

  “Come on,” he said, and rose briskly to his feet. “It’s not like your old man doesn’t have the cash.”

  She blinked at him. It was strange how vulnerable she felt now that he was fully dressed and she remained, stark naked and strangely isolated. But she stiffened her back. “He works hard for his money, Dane.”

  “And you think I don’t?”

  “I didn’t say that.” But where was that money?

  “Are you changing your mind already?”

  “No, but I just feel …” She shrugged, lost.

  “What do you feel?” he asked.

  “Guilty, I guess.”

  “For asking your old man for a few bucks?” He scoffed, found her eyes. “Or for what you did with the chief out there?”

  She winced, and he softened immediately.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” he admitted, and settled onto the bed beside her, but she could feel his restlessness like a wind against her back. “It’s just …” He touched her face. “It’s just hard knowing you have feelings for someone else when I want so much to work things out with you. To make an incredible life together. That’s what you want, too, right, baby?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, then. Okay.” He kissed her, so softly, so gently, making her feel silly about her doubts. “Then I trust you.” He smiled, rose to his feet, hand dropping slowly, reluctantly from her face. “Listen, I hate to leave, but I want to check when summer classes start.”

  “Now?”

  “That’s when our new life starts, baby,” he said. “Right now.”

  She nodded, felt his influence like high test whiskey in her tipsy system. “Right,” she breathed.

  He turned away, but stopped at the door, gaze lingering. “Tell your dad thanks. He won’t regret it. And neither will you.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, but he was already gone.

  Chapter 24

  “What do you mean, he needs it done by Monday?” Vura asked, and wondered if her heart had stopped dead in her chest. It was Friday morning. There was no way they were going to finish up their current project without working all weekend and half the night.

  Glen shrugged, stout shoulders rising and falling in resignation. “Says he needs it done quicker than he thought.”

  “Well, he can’t have it done quicker than he …” Vura propped her fists on her hips and ground her teeth. She had known from the start that Rick Derby wasn’t an easy man to work for, but Saw Horse Construction had laboriously built a reputation of being a can-do kind of company, and she had no intention of ruining that hard-won reputation now. “Maynard?” she asked, and turned toward her most unpredictable employee. The front of his T-shirt read IT’S GETTING HOT IN HERE …” She could only speculate what the back might suggest. He tilted his head and gave her a lopsided grin. Maynard was an energetic prankster, who could, at times, be more trouble than he was worth. On the other hand, he might, if sufficiently motivated, achieve more in an hour than most could accomplish in a day.

  “I promised Teri I’d pick out china with her over the weekend,” he said.

  Vura held her breath, hopeful. “So …”

  He shrugged, grin widening. “So working overtime in the rain for crappy wages in bad company looks pretty good.”

  She laughed a little, loving him. “Hip?” she asked, and glanced at the old man. “You have plans?”

  “What?” He seemed to jerk from his reverie. “No. What plans would an old duffer like me have?”

  Maynard raised his brows at his guilty tone. Vura scowled.

  Hip shuffled his steel-toed boots and glowered. “I’ll be here,” he said.

  Glen pulled his gaze from Hip. “I’ll do my best.”

  Vura nodded, grateful to the core. Glen’s best was pretty damn good. In fact, a girl couldn’t ask for a better trio of go-to guys to have in her corner.

  “Thank you,” she said, and felt soppy gratitude seep into her system like warm gravy. “You’re incredible.”

  “Well, I don’t know ’bout those two,” Maynard said, and tilted his head toward his coworkers. “But I am pretty amazing.”

  She laughed. The sound was strangely watery. She’d been feeling as emotional as a prom queen all week. Certainly it had something to do with her grandfather’s death. And the fact that her stomach was queasy, making it difficult to eat, didn’t help. But she was good at hiding any girly feelings that might sneak up on her. Living in a construction fishbowl had made it a necessity.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Hip asked, gnarly brows dipping.

  Or not, Vura thought, but she did her best to fudge. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re not going to start blubbering or something are you?” the old man asked, and shuffled his feet again as if ready to make a break for it should a single emotion make itself known.

  She managed a snort. “Will you work for less if I do?”

  Maynard laughed, Glen stared, and Hip opened his mouth to speak, but she answered before he could lose whatever too-close-to-the-truth statements he might have planned. “No, I’m not going to cry. But you might once you realize what needs to be done in the next two days.”

  “How much?”

  She hit them with both barrels, holding nothing back.

  The news was met with groans and curses, but the sounds were music to Vura’s ears. She was good at getting things done. At making things happen. It was what she did.

  Still, by the time she dragged herself into her truck and rumbled off the work site, she felt as if she’d been beaten with a crowbar and hung up with the drywall.

  “Hey,” her father said, and raised quizzical brows as she stepped into his kitchen. “What happened to you?”

  “Rick Derby.”

  Quinton snorted and shook his head. “Told you to think twice before you took that job.”

  “Really?” she said, and dropped onto the high-backed stool she had made in shop class at age thirteen. It was rife with imperfections… and her father’s most prized piece of furniture. “You’re going to play the I-told-you-so game?”

  “Yup. Derby has always been a …” He paused and glanced toward the living room where Lily played.

  “A what, Dad?�
� Vura asked, and felt her mood.

  “You want something to eat or not?”

  She chuckled a little. “Whatcha got?”

  Opening the refrigerator, he glanced inside to take inventory. “Lasagna. There’s some chili left and it looks like”—he reached inside to pull the aluminum foil from a baking dish—“tuna casserole maybe?”

  “Holy frostbite, Batman,” she said, and shoved her legs out in front of her. “Dane was gone for more than a year. You think anybody delivered so much as a frozen pizza?”

  He shrugged. “Guess you have to be a helpless male to receive the bounties of—”

  “Mama!” Lily galloped into the room, riding the stick horse Tonk had given her a few months before. Bear, big as a moose and twice as hairy, ambled along behind. A pair of fairy wings had been affixed to his massive neck.

  Vura gave her father a glance, but he just shook his head.

  “Hey, Lily Belle,” she said and, setting the stick horse aside, settled her daughter onto her lap. “What’d Bear do wrong this time?”

  “Nothin’,” she said, not sparing the humiliated beast a glance. “He just felt like being a pixie today.”

  “A pixie.” She glanced at the giant mutt. He looked a little like a mix between a Newfoundland and a nightmare, but not particularly fairy-like. “You sure?”

  “Right, Pops?” she asked, and flickered her morning-bright gaze to Quinton.

  “If anyone can make him a pixie, you can, Lily Bean. You hungry?”

  She scrunched her face in thought and said, “Yup,” before plopping to the floor, grabbing her steed, and trotting back out of the room.

  He watched her go before turning back to his daughter. “So, what’s the verdict?” he asked.

  “About?”

  “Dinner,” he said and glanced into the fridge again.

  “Oh. Don’t heat up anything for me.” She crossed her legs at the ankles, feeling fidgety. She had made a promise. A promise she had not yet found the courage to fulfill.

  He straightened, turned. “Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?”