by Leslie North
Stella felt the whisper of breath that left her body as his heat began to move through her, his energy, his hope. Her mouth opened beneath his, their tongues began to dance, hands began to roam, and Stella let everything go. She let the exhaustion go, she let the expectations go, she let the despair go. Scout brought life, and dreams, and plans. While clothes were tossed aside and skin touched skin, the fire warmed them as they slid to the rug. Whispers turned to touches that turned to sheer pleasure, and Stella and Scout became something altogether new.
The sun seeped in through the gaps in the curtains, and the sounds of a dairy farm hard at work could be heard outside. Stella sat up slowly, trying to piece together the events of the last forty-eight hours. “Oh, God,” she groaned, holding a hand to her forehead. “What the hell made me think that was a good idea?”
“Well, I might have voted for it too,” Scout said from the doorway that led to the kitchen.
Stella jolted to her feet, clutching the blanket to her very naked front. “Oh! Um…” She waved, like the humiliated fool she was, and then wished she could melt into her grandfather’s wood floor.
Scout walked forward, grinning, and handed her the cup of coffee he carried. Then he kissed her on the forehead—almost brotherly about it—before backing off a few steps.
“Jean Anne has cleaned up the kitchen—and no, I didn’t let her back here to see the remains of what we were up to—and there’s scrambled eggs and biscuits ready for you. I’ll meet you at the table.”
She nodded, not sure what else to do.
Ten minutes later, clothes and the coffee had calmed her down somewhat, so she made her way to the kitchen, hunger overcoming any lingering doubts.
Scout stood from the barstool where he’d been sitting, reading some sort of booklet—Milk Delivery Systems in the Era of Global Warming—and grinned as he pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table.
She sat down and began to load her plate with food. She suddenly realized she was starving.
“Before you start into your speech,” he said, smiling as he buttered a hot, fluffy biscuit. “There’s no reason for it to be awkward. I know it didn’t mean anything, and no, you don’t have to feel guilty because you had a one-night stand at your granddad’s funeral.”
Stella burst out laughing, which was so inappropriate yet appropriate at the same time.
She shook her head, looking at the incredibly appealing man in front of her. If hooking up with someone permanent were in her life plans, she’d definitely consider him a top candidate. But her work in developing nations didn’t allow for permanent anything—not a permanent place to live, not a permanent place to work, not a permanent man to get involved with.
“Oh my God. Thank you.” The words rushed out of her, intermingled with laughter. “You really know what to say to a girl the morning after.”
“Or this girl, anyway.” Scout winked as he took a sip of coffee.
Stella felt all the tension inside her melt away. He seemed to have some sort of magical ability to make her feel better, no matter what the circumstances.
“So, now that you’ve single-handedly defused that situation, I guess we need to talk about what happens next. I’m afraid I had to leave in the middle of a project, so I don’t have time to stay right now and do all the things that I’m sure need to be done. And there’s the will…” She stopped, not certain what actually needed to happen next. She’d never been through this kind of thing before.
“So, let me tell you a story,” he began, his expression growing somber. “Nearly eight years ago, my parents both died—about a year apart. Cancer.”
She watched him, her heart aching for the pain that still showed in his eyes.
“I was in college, my middle brother was in vet school, and Bran, the oldest, was already working on the ranch with our dad. I’m only saying all this because, well, I’ve been through it—twice. And here’s something they never tell you…there’s no rush. The will is there, no matter what, and the belongings aren’t going to get up and walk away. Obviously, all this is yours now—”
“But it ought to be yours,” she said quickly. “You know I have no use for a dairy farm, and I wouldn’t have the first idea how to run it.”
He took a bite of egg and chewed thoughtfully. She grabbed one of the huge fluffy biscuits and laid some serious butter on it.
“Conveniently, I have the down payment and financing ready to buy it from you.” He smiled almost apologetically.
She grinned at him. “I bet you do. So we just need to go through the legalities of the will, then I can sell it to you, and everyone will have what they need?”
“Exactly.”
“Perfect. So, can you keep things running until I get back from Benin in a couple of months? Then I’ll have time to come down here and do all the paperwork, sort through Grandpa’s stuff, and hand the rest over to you.”
He nodded. “If you trust me to keep it going while you’re gone, it’d be my pleasure.”
Her gut told her there was nothing to worry about, and her heart told her she’d like the chance to see him again when it was time to handle the sale.
“I trusted you with quite a bit last night.” She blushed, and he chuckled. “And more than that, my grandpa trusted you with everything. You took care of him when I couldn’t, and for that, I’ll always be incredibly grateful. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll make sure you get what you earned all these years you were so loyal to George.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice gravelly as he looked down at his plate.
“In the meantime, I’ll clean up the dishes if you promise not to mention that birthmark I have on my left butt cheek.”
He roared with laughter, and they both picked up the dishes.
3
Two months. She had said she’d be back in two months. Now at nearly the three-month mark, Scout was beginning to think he’d been played. By Stella and George.
“So you still don’t know if you can sell my brother that acreage out by the road?” asked his number two guy, Lonny, as they watched the cows being brought in for the evening.
Scout leaned against the side of the metal milking barn and shook his head, while the sun began to set over the plains that spilled from the hills on the other side of the property.
“Nope. I’ve tried reaching her three times—email, phone, and the lawyers—no response.”
“Even the lawyers don’t know how to contact her?” Lonny asked, incredulous.
“Nope. Apparently, she doesn’t leave forwarding information when she’s off on one of her third-world jaunts. Hell, for all we know, she was caught by some rebel insurgents in Eritrea and…well, I don’t wish that on her, but she does do some dangerous shit.”
Lonny nodded. “I’m sorry, boss. I don’t mean to nag at you. Jose just keeps asking. He’s got more cows than grazing land, and that acreage is real convenient for him.”
“I agree, and we’ll never use it.” He shook his head. “George kept it because it had been given to him and his wife as a wedding present, but even he agreed it’ll never be useful to the business.”
Lonny squatted next to one of the old barn cats and gave her a scratch on the back. “So tell me again what the will said?”
Scout sighed. He’d been sick about the will since two weeks after George’s death, when the lawyers had finally explained the whole thing to him. It didn’t help that the old man had included a message telling him, while he’d been grooming him to take over the farm, he’d hoped Scout would understand his decision, in time. That there was more at stake than the property and livestock but what George had meant by that was anyone’s guess. The property and livestock were everything to Scout. When he’d left home, he was determined to get out from under his brothers’ scrutiny and judgment to become a success in his own right; something that had always been elusive to him as the youngest Beckett brother. As far as they were concerned, he was a screw up, but he’d proved them wrong building this f
arm up and making it profitable and what the old man did, didn’t make any sense. He’d even hired his own attorneys to look everything over, but it was clear, and it was final.
“Stella gets everything, just like we thought, but she has to live here nine out of the first twelve months after his death, or the entire thing gets liquidated and goes to charity.”
“So, you can’t buy it until the twelve months are up?”
“Yep.” Scout’s gut burned at the thought. He felt betrayed by George and hated that he was angry at the old man who’d been like a grandfather to him as well.
“And if she don’t show up in the next few days…”
“Then it’s all over,” he said. All over for the farm, and all over for him. After six years, through fair weather and foul, the last eighteen months entirely on his own as George became incapacitated and eventually unable to make decisions. If Stella damn Steadman didn’t show up in the next six days, Scout would lose everything.
She checked the stick again. No. No, no, no, no. “Dammit,” she muttered as she looked first at the timer on her phone, then at the back of the box. She slumped down onto the edge of the old bathtub, letting the little plastic stick fall on the floor with the other six that all said the same thing—pregnant.
Dropping her head to her hands, Stella finally allowed the truth to sink in—she was pregnant. Good God, she was actually pregnant. She was going to have a baby. A real live baby that had to eat, and sleep, and go to the doctor. It had to be watched twenty-four seven; you couldn’t forget and leave it somewhere, then come back later like it was a set of keys. A baby that would be completely reliant on her—Stella Steadman—for the next eighteen years.
“Oh, lord,” she wailed, “what have I done?”
She’d gone and had sex with a hot cowboy and no condom, that’s what she’d done. They hadn’t even discussed it. Neither of them. It was completely unlike her, but of course she’d been on the pill, so not a real worry. Except the same grief and chaos that had made her forget to tell Scout Beckett to cover up had also made her forget that the antibiotics she’d been on, after being exposed to some nasty bacteria in Benin, had rendered her birth control pills useless.
And now here she was—single, pregnant, and six days from losing her grandfather’s entire estate. The time since the funeral was a blur of complications that had made the Benin project run over, along with an increasing fatigue and sickness that had dulled the passage of time until this moment, when it was like she’d suddenly wakened from a dream. Only to find the nightmare was real.
“Stella, you’re such an idiot,” she murmured. She sighed as she bent to pick up all the plastic pregnancy sticks. She threw them away, then walked to the sofa—which was also her bed—and lay down, staring at the water-stained ceiling. Her apartment was tiny—four hundred square feet—and no place for a baby.
Not that it mattered much. Baby was going to be in Africa or Central America or the Middle East…with its mother.
Her head began to throb. It was too much. She couldn’t possibly figure all that out right now. She had to think about things like vitamins and obstetrician appointments, right? Wasn’t that what you did if you were pregnant? Yes, she felt certain a visit to a doctor was crucial. She was also sure that communicating with the baby’s father was standard operating procedure. She’d allowed things to spiral until she was in danger of violating the terms of the will. Well, avoidance is more like it, but as much as she wasn’t ready to return to the only home she ever knew, she also knew that she’d lose the whole farm to a charity if she didn’t. She couldn’t do that to him. She wanted her grandfather’s life work to be cared for by someone who knew how much he’d devoted to it. And for the next few months, she needed that farm. She needed a place to catch her breath and make her plans today, and she needed the money from it for the baby’s well-being tomorrow.
Yes, Stella thought as she listened to the incessant sound of cars and crowds below the one window in her New York apartment, she needed to go home.
4
The little SUV rattled up the driveway, and Scout stopped pacing and thrust his way out the back door. She was finally here. He checked his watch. Not a moment too soon. Nothing like bringing it down to the wire. Stella had finally shown up to do her nine months’ penance with eleven hours and forty-two minutes to spare. He shook his head, trying to rein in the exasperation.
She pulled the blue Honda CRV to a halt and climbed out, looking as ethereal as he remembered, but maybe a touch more vulnerable, not quite as sassy as she’d been the morning after their one-nighter. He tried not to smile to himself—that had been one hell of a good night. If she only weren’t going to be here so long, he’d ask for a repeat. But he didn’t need more complications. He had nine months to prepare to take ownership of the farm, and then he had years of hard work ahead of him to turn it into the business of his dreams. Complications weren’t part of that equation.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts and moved toward the back of the car where Stella was already pulling out bags and boxes.
“Here,” he said, reaching for the bag she had in her hand, “let me help you with that.”
She jerked it away from him. “I’ve got it, thanks.”
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond, reaching for a different bag instead.
She tried to balance a box in one hand while maneuvering a garment bag over the arm that held the suitcase. He caught the box as it began to slide toward the ground, also rescuing the garment bag at the same time.
“I said I—”
“Stella?” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm, just like he talked to his cows when they were raising a fuss. Her gaze shot to his, and he saw so much uncertainty and upset there, it took him by surprise. “Will you please let me help you?” he asked. “There’s a lot of stuff here, and we have an entire farm full of workers who can carry it all inside. It’s a long drive from New York. Why don’t you come in, have a drink, sit down for a few minutes. We’ll get your stuff moved. I promise.”
That seemed to take the starch out of her. She visibly melted, dropping the suitcase she held to the ground and nodding. Then she walked to the passenger side of the car, pulled her purse out, and marched to the house.
After getting his staff organized to move Stella’s belongings, Scout found her in the kitchen, sipping a mug of tea, looking out the window by the breakfast table, that same vulnerable look on her face. Her skin was fairer than he remembered, but her hair was vibrant. Long, silky, and a shade of red just shy of fire engine.
She also had an expression nothing like the Stella he’d seen over the years. Maybe she’d taken George’s death harder than he’d thought? Had it pushed her into depression? Or maybe she really didn’t want to have to interrupt her life for nine months to live here. It had been an uncharacteristic decision on the old man’s part, and not a very considerate one. Scout had no idea what if any message from George had been included for her. Who knew what was going through the old man’s head those last months of his life but Scout sure wished he’d have said something instead of making his decision such a surprise. Maybe that’s what was on her mind.
“You need anything to eat?” he asked, because experience was teaching him the woman didn’t eat often enough.
“No. Thanks,” she answered sadly.
He sat down opposite her. “We have a lot to talk about,” he began.
“Yes, we do,” she answered.
“As much as I’d like to give you a day or two to get settled, there are decisions that have to be made about the business, things I don’t feel comfortable deciding myself while you’re the legal owner.”
She looked at him placidly and took a sip of her tea. “Okay.”
He gritted his teeth at her apparent lack of interest. He’d hoped, once she got here, things would smooth out, she’d dig in and do what was needed for the sake of the farm, but if these first thirty minutes were any indication, that hope wasn’t going to be fulfil
led.
“While it may not seem important to you,” he began, an edge to his voice, “we have some serious water issues on our far grazing acreage. It’s the land we use for the cows that are out of circulation. They need a rest every six months or so, or their production drops off.”
She kept watching him, showing no real response.
“We lost some water rights to the river two years ago when they changed some state laws. The first year, it was fine, but this second year, we’re in a dry spell. We need to find a way to irrigate, or we’re going to lose all that grassland.”
“Why don’t you use check basin irrigation? You could put in dhoras in a couple of days, and source the water from a well if you needed.”
Scout stared at her, speechless.
“I help villages put in working farms so they can feed themselves,” she said, though he hadn’t actually asked the question. “It’s how I make my living.”
He stared for a moment more, feeling like someone had just slapped him a good one across the face. And in the back of his head, a voice whispered, you’re toast, brother.
“I, uh…I had no idea.” He began to smile.
She looked at him sympathetically. “I said I don’t want to own a farm, not that I couldn’t run one.”
Scout chuckled then. “Well, shit. I guess you’d better explain how we’re going to install this new irrigation system then, Madam Farmer.”
Stella looked revitalized then, as if her problems were forgotten for a moment. She was stunning, and it was everything Scout could do to follow her explanations about irrigation systems, as well as remind himself of all the reasons he couldn’t have her again.
“So there are downsides,” Stella finished, “but the upsides are far greater, and it’s super cost-efficient.”
Scout nodded, his eyebrows still somewhere north of his hairline. She tried not to laugh. He really hadn’t known she was an agronomist. She was a little surprised her grandfather had never mentioned it to his foreman. George had been so proud when she’d told him what major she’d picked in college. Of course, he hadn’t realized the modern ways she would use that degree.
