Reece slowly retreated until he touched the back wall. Twelve charged. Reece faked right, then cut to the left and sailed over the wooden partition headfirst. His body scraped from chest to knees over the rough wood, and he landed, with a thud, on his side.
“Oh my God! Reece, are you all right?”
He eased over onto his back, gulping air into his lungs. A brown-haired angel hovered over him. He peered at her through pain-squinted eyes. Surely, he’d died and gone to heaven. But did angels wear designer jeans and form-fitting shirts?
Lanie knelt beside him, fumbling with the scarf that held her hair in a now-bedraggled ponytail. She freed the red cloth and gently—ever so gently—blotted the perspiration from his face. She tried to recall what her first-aid book said to do in a case like this. Mouth-to-mouth? No, he was breathing, however belabored. With each ragged breath he took, she ached for him. Had she the ability, she would gladly suffer his pain to spare him.
“Reece, can you hear me?”
Weasel wormed his way between them. He leaned close and peered at Reece. “Is he dead?” the boy asked matter-of-factly.
Karl easily lifted the youngster into his arms. “No, he’s not dead. Just got the wind knocked out of him.”
“Can I call 9-1-1? Can I, Dad? I know how to do it.”
“No, but you can go ask your mom to get out the cream we put on your boo-boos.” Karl set his son down and affectionately swatted his small behind as Weasel took off for the house.
Lanie unfolded the cloth and dabbed at the mixture of sweat and blood that stained Reece’s chest.
“Aaagh!” Reece forced himself to a sitting position and stopped Lanie’s ministration with a hand on her wrist. “Don’t you know … better than to rub … salt into an open wound?” he panted.
Lanie sat back on her heels, startled yet pleased that he was conscious and able to sit up. But he didn’t have to be such a grouch. “I was only trying to help,” she said, unable to keep the peevishness out of her voice.
He released his iron-hard grip on her wrist and leaned back, his elbows resting in the clean straw. “Please don’t kill me … with your kindness.”
At that, Karl burst out laughing. “Don’t worry about him, missy,” he said, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be just fine. C’mon, let’s get the ol’ cattle dodger up.”
With much groaning and straining, Reece allowed them to help him to his feet. They guided him to the barn door, but as soon as he set foot on the red clay path leading toward the house, he waved them off. “Don’t want the kid to think I’m hurt.”
Lanie hid a smile as she thought of Weasel’s disappointment over not being allowed to call the rescue squad.
When they reached the porch, Reece grasped the rail and eased himself up one step. With the other hand, he reached for Lanie’s shoulder. Despite the heat, his touch sent shivers down her spine. Instinctively, she looped her arm around his waist to steady him. She tried to ignore her feeling of contentment at the intimate contact and mentally chastised herself for finding pleasure in the situation.
True, she had vowed to herself to keep a respectable distance, physically and emotionally, from the man.
But this was the charitable thing to do, she rationalized. However, it was something other than charity that made her aware of the firm abdominal muscles expanding and contracting under her fingertips as Reece labored up the steps.
Karl opened the screen door, and Reece stepped away from Lanie. There was little time to mourn the void it left, for Lou hustled Reece to a chair in the kitchen and thrust a warm, wet washcloth into Lanie’s hand.
“Clean him up while I get the salve,” Lou said. “And Karl, would you rock the baby to sleep?”
“Can’t. Gotta check on the calf.” He turned to Lanie and Reece on his way out and lifted his thumb in salute. “You guys are all right.” Then he was gone. Like a shadow, Weasel was close behind his father.
Lou came back with the cream and handed it to Lanie. “That was man-talk for ‘we appreciate what you did to protect Weasel.’ I don’t know why men can’t just say what they feel.” She went to the oven and took something out, talking all the while. “Weasel told me what happened. You two make quite a team.”
When she came back, she placed two plates of what looked like some kind of cake on the table near them. The aroma was heavenly. “Better let this cool a minute. Do you suppose you cracked any ribs?”
Reece straightened in his chair and gently eased the washcloth from Lanie’s grasp. “No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t hurt bad enough to be a crack. Probably just bruised.”
“You ought to know. I’ll never forget that game in our senior year in high school when half the Lakeview football team piled on top of you and broke two of your ribs.”
Lanie recalled how Reece had dodged the maddened cow and gave silent thanks for his football experience.
“What I don’t understand,” said Lanie, “is why Number Twelve charged us. Before that, she had been so gentle, even with all the things Karl and Reece did to her.”
Lou took the washcloth from Reece and flung it toward the sink. “This was Twelve’s first calf. Maternal instinct must’ve kicked in kind of strong. It happens sometimes.” She lifted the baby from the playpen and took her from the room.
Lou’s singing drifted to them from the baby’s room. Reece handed Lanie the tube of antibiotic cream. A barely suppressed grin deepened the creases of his cheeks. “It hurts when I move.”
Lanie wondered if he was faking. She dismissed the notion with the reasoning that he was probably in too much pain to enjoy her doctoring.
Even so, she felt uneasy about it. Slathering a washcloth over that stupendous chest had been one thing. But without the barrier of the fabric—a defensive shield—between her fingers and his skin, she feared she might want to touch more than his chest.
She remembered his kiss, the feel of his lips on hers, his fingers gently resting on the small of her back. Even without a mirror, she knew her cheeks were pinkening.
Gritting her teeth, she squirted a glob of cream onto her fingertips, then smoothed the salve over the reddened areas of his chest.
He never flinched.
“Don’t forget here,” he said, pointing to an angry red nipple. When Lanie hesitated, he feigned innocence. “It hurts,” he insisted. “You don’t want it to get infected, do you?”
She sighed. He knew all the right strings to pull, and he wasn’t above using that knowledge. But to what end?
She honestly didn’t know. Reece had no interest in her. She’d known that since the day he’d adamantly rejected his mother’s suggestion to ask Lanie to the banquet.
True, he’d joked around with her and made teasing innuendos as he had the day he’d removed her splinters. But as much as she tried to downplay the attraction that sparked between them, she couldn’t explain away his reaction to their kiss. He’d been as deeply affected as she was. Of that, she was certain.
She recalled Howard’s words the day he’d accidentally intruded on their conversation. It’s about time. Had Reece been without a woman’s company for so long he would have reacted that way with any female?
She pushed aside the thought and touched the cooling salve to his skin. Massaging the spot he indicated, she worked the cream past the thick sprinkling of golden hairs and into the scrapes.
Reece reached out, his fingers closing around Lanie’s hand and placed her palm above the unhurt left side of his chest. She could have danced a Mexican hat dance to the fast-paced beat of his heart.
Lanie frowned. “I had no idea your run-in with Number Twelve frightened you so. Your pulse is racing like a runaway train.”
Reece closed his eyes and drew in a slow, harsh breath. When he opened them again, he turned his chocolate-brown gaze on Lanie. He seemed only fractionally more composed as he removed her hand from his heart. He cupped her small hand in both of his.
“Frightened? No.” He shook his head. “Terrified is more like it.”
A sad smile touched his lips.
“It’s like your whole life flashes before your eyes,” he said, “and you think, ‘I’ve lived thirty-one years, and it has to happen like this.’ One wrong move and, wham! she almost rips your heart out. Kinda makes you wonder if God’s just playing a big joke.”
Lanie wasn’t certain who she was, but she doubted Reece was referring to the cow. Their eyes connected. Windows to the soul, her grandmother had called them. Lanie couldn’t name what she saw in those windows, but for some reason the glimpse unsettled her.
An uncomfortable feeling passed through her, and she slowly withdrew her hand from his.
Lou entered the room and crossed to the refrigerator. “I made that banana nut bread especially for you, and you haven’t even tasted it.” Retrieving the butter and two colas, she then plucked a knife from the drying rack and set the lot on the table between them. “You expect me to treat you like company or something?”
Lanie and Karl unloaded the Wertzles’ order from the truck. The rest of the deliveries were made quickly with Lanie and the farmers doing the lifting.
A disgruntled Reece waited in the truck cab at each stop, barking instructions to Lanie. She shrugged off his gruffness, chalking it up to his aching ribs and feeling of helplessness.
Lanie steered the truck to the back of the shop and braked to a slightly jerky stop. She smiled in satisfaction at the progress she’d made with just a half-day’s practice at driving it. She might win the bet after all.
Walking ahead of Reece, she reached out to open the door for him. But before her fingers touched the knob, the heavy metal door swung open. Violet emerged and tossed the gray cat like tepid dishwater onto the grassy lawn.
“Go catch a mouse,” she admonished. “Make yourself useful.” Violet briskly brushed her hands together as if ridding herself of an unsavory pest.
Tucking a stray hair under her trademark triangle scarf, she turned to Reece. “Don’t ask,” she said. “Just follow me.”
Lanie and Reece exchanged glances and followed her into the store. Lanie got the sinking feeling that, whatever had happened, Winnie was behind it.
Sure enough, Winnie stood tied to Lanie’s desk. The long rope allowed the animal to roam outside the office, but when Violet picked up a broom, the little horse quickly retreated.
“She’s kinda skittish ’cause I swatted her once on the backside,” Violet explained as she turned her attention to the grain sacks cluttering the floor.
Lanie groaned.
Reece muttered something unrepeatable.
Since Lanie had started bringing Winnie to the store, the staff had made certain there was always a pile of bags for the animals to curl up on. Usually it was grass seed or fertilizer where they’d found a place to sleep. Today it had been horse feed.
Grain spilled from a dozen or more bags onto the speckled tile floor.
Lanie put a hand to her forehead and surveyed the mess. She knew Reece wouldn’t be out of line if he fired her for this.
Her glance flew to the obvious culprit of this crime. Winnie’s ears perked forward, but the black mischief-maker dared not step a foot out of the office, not with Violet wielding the broom so close by.
Reece picked up a new shovel from the rack and started scooping the loose feed into a wheelbarrow. Lanie could see him grimace with pain each time he lifted the heavy weight.
She put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Please, Reece, you shouldn’t exert yourself. Let me do that. It’s the least I can do.”
He hesitated long enough to throw her an angry look and went back to shoveling. “Why don’t you just take your horse and go home,” he said.
She was right. He was firing her. But she couldn’t let that happen. This job was too important to her. It would be impossible to earn enough at a temporary agency to pay the mortgage on her house. And that was if she could get a job at all after losing three jobs in a row.
But there was more at stake than money. This was the first time she’d worked for a small, family-owned company. Here, in the course of only two weeks, Lanie felt like an integral part of the operation.
She’d already implemented a few procedural changes that had streamlined inventory control. And she was thinking ahead to ways in which the accounts could be computerized. Reece couldn’t let her go now. He needed her, even if he didn’t know it yet.
But even more, Lanie knew, she needed this job. What other company would let her bring her horse to work with her? Still, after today, even if she managed to talk Reece into changing his mind about firing her, she might no longer be able to enjoy that fringe benefit.
And more than missing the fringe benefits and job satisfaction, Lanie knew that leaving Reece—not seeing him every day, not looking for him, however surreptitiously, when she arrived each morning—would hurt the most. She’d no longer wake up each morning full of anticipation and eager to start the day.
How had it come to this point in just two short weeks? It was wrong for her to feel this way about Reece, she knew. They were too different, too incompatible. Even their sun signs said so.
Maybe it was best that it end this way. In the long run, she’d be freed of a lot of agony.
Lanie stepped over the scattered grain. In the office, she picked up her coffee mug and unfastened the lead from Winnie’s halter. “Come on, nuisance. Let’s go home and replan our future.”
With a heavy heart, she left the tiny office that had become her domain. She had even heard Reece tell Howard one day to leave some order forms in “Lanie’s office.”
She stiffened her back and slowly walked past where Violet and Reece were still cleaning up. Winnie gave wide berth to Violet and her broom.
“Reece…”
He lifted another shovelful and dumped it into the wheelbarrow. Breathing hard, he set the shovel down and rested one forearm on the handle. The eyes that held hers were no longer angry, but neither were they cordial. They looked weary, and Lanie knew she was to blame.
The feeling of togetherness they’d experienced in the barn today and afterwards when she’d tended his scrapes had dissipated. Now, Lanie felt like the enemy.
“I’ll pay for all the broken bags. My checkbook is at home…” She trailed off as she suddenly realized her account held nowhere near enough to cover the cost. Maybe he’d let her pay for it over a period of time. Now, however, was not the time to ask.
“Wait a minute.” He dug into his pocket and extracted the truck keys. “Would you mind driving me home? I’m not exactly in shape to shift gears.” He tenderly touched his side.
“Sure, I’d be glad to, but my car—”
“It’ll be fine here,” he said, handing her the keys. “Besides, you’re going to need the weekend to practice driving the Masardi-mobile. Howard, you’ll close up for me, won’t you?” he called out. “Thanks. I’ll see you Monday.”
Howard gave him an incredulous look. “You’re not working tomorrow?”
“Nah. I’ve got a project to take care of.” He touched a hand to the small of Lanie’s back and guided her outside to the truck.
When he opened the truck door, Winnie leaped in and clambered over toward the driver’s side.
“The horse rides in the back,” said Reece.
Lanie got in and poked the keys into the ignition. “Don’t be ridiculous. Winnie always rides up front with me. Of course, it appears that there are only two seat belts. I don’t suppose you could share yours?”
Reece flung her a scowl that could have melted granite.
“I didn’t think so.” Lanie glanced back at the truck bed. The missing tailgate left an opening that looked as dangerous as a mountaintop precipice.
She could easily picture her curious horse nosing close to the edge and then being pitched out as the truck took a curve.
“No. I can’t let her ride back there,” she said finally.
Reece peered at her from behind the hand he’d rested his forehead on. “Why not? Barney always rides in the back.”
“Barney?”
“The cat. We found him in the barn behind the shop.”
“Oh.” An odd feeling of relief settled in her at the knowledge that Reece had named the cat. At least he wasn’t so rigid that he’d let his pet go without the social amenity of owning a name. “Why don’t you let Barney ride up front?” she countered.
“Did once. He got under the brake.” Reece straightened and then leaned against the elbow support on the door. “The big dent on the right front fender is my memento of the event.”
He took a deep breath and sank into the seat, closing his eyes as his head came to rest against the cracked red vinyl upholstery.
As big as he was, his posture reminded her of a little boy of long ago. A picture of her younger brother filled her mind. Her family had driven home at dusk, after a picnic supper following an exhausting day of swimming at the lake. Donnie’s eyes, puffy from sunburn and water, had slowly drooped closed.
When the six-year-old’s head had nodded forward against his chest, Lanie had slipped her arms around his small shoulders and cuddled him close. Though only ten at the time, she’d felt protective toward both of her brothers.
For some unfathomable reason, she felt the urge to slip her arms around Reece’s shoulders and lay his sleepy head against her breast.
Lanie sighed. Dragging her eyes away from the sleeping man, she cranked the engine. It took three attempts to find first gear, but the rest of the drive home was uneventful.
Walter’s Lincoln occupied the driveway across the road. Lanie thought she noticed a movement of Dot’s curtains but ignored it as she hopped out and focused her attention on opening the truck door for a groggy Reece.
“Thanks,” he said, and she handed him the keys.
She stood for a moment, wondering whether to follow him in and … and what? Tuck him in?
What was the matter with her? Here it was, less than an hour after she’d been relieved of her job, and what was she doing? Trying to play nursemaid to her ex-employer! It led Lanie to wonder which she was more deficient in—common sense or pride.
Probably both.
Reece had unlocked his front door, but he didn’t go in. His eyes caught hers and held them. For a long moment they regarded each other until Reece broke the silence.
“I assume you did okay driving us home since it looks like we arrived here in one piece. Maybe you’ll win that bet after all.” A weak smile touched his mouth but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll feel more like coaching you tomorrow, but right now, I’m bushed. Guess I overdid it with the shovel.”
How could he do this—act like nothing had happened? He had fired her, for crying out loud.
“Look, Reece, why don’t we just forget this silly bet. I’ll ask Dot to give me a ride to my car. There’s no reason for you to—”
“We made a bet,” he said firmly. “If you back out now, you forfeit, and I win. Are you prepared to pay up?”
The terms of the bet had been that the loser deliver one huge favor. If she won, she could forget the paint job and demand a second chance at her job. And since the bet only ran until Monday, she might not even miss a day of work.
“We made a deal,” she said. “If I win, I’ll expect you to pay up as promised.”
“Masardis never welsh.”