15

Trevor had groaned, pushed back his desk chair, and checked the clock. Eight-thirty. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d forgotten to eat supper. On the way to his compact kitchen, the blinking message light on the landline caught his attention. He pushed the button.

“Hey, Trevor, it’s Mom. Just wondering if you’re OK, since we haven’t been able to get hold of you. Working late?”

Yeah, he sure was. Not his choice. Then his mother’s smooth voice continued. “We’re fine here, except a yearling heifer’s in trouble…”

His gut clenched. Where was that Max guy? Why wasn’t he there?

Trevor grabbed his coat and car keys and ran to his Jeep. Visions of his dad collapsed in the barn shoved aside the motorcycle design he’d been working on. He shouldn’t have turned off the ringer on his phone. He slapped the steering wheel. No police cars in sight, Trevor pressed the accelerator as he left the city. No time to phone his mom back. He had to hurry. Less than half an hour later, he drove past the house to the outbuildings, stomped on the brake, and jumped out. He ran into the barn, expecting the worst, and ran into…Hayley?

“What are you doing here?” The words burst from his lips before he could think.

She blanched and stumbled back, dropping the water bucket. She was a mess. A filthy, bloody, glowing wreck.

Trevor couldn’t move. His mind refused to function. This was the city girl who’d sabotaged his concentration all week.

He tore his gaze from Hayley and noticed the heifer he’d taken to the barn earlier in the day, and her obviously newborn calf. He shook his head. He hadn’t been needed after all.

His dad peered over the edge of the hayloft, and a thread of steel laced his voice. “Hayley, take the flashlight and go clean up. Relax. Trevor will help me finish here.”

She looked up, eyes wide, and nodded. She handed the bucket to Trevor, grabbed the flashlight, and walked out. The barn seemed dimmer, and the flashlight hadn’t even been on.

Franklin pitched some hay into the stall and climbed down the ladder, breathing hard. He stalked up to Trevor and pinned him with a glare. “What was that about? Didn’t you get our message?”

Trevor hadn’t heard that tone from his father for many years. It made him want to shuffle his feet and look away. Instead, he lifted his chin. “Mom said you needed help. That’s all I heard before I rushed out here.”

Franklin thrust the bucket at him. “Go get some water for the new mama. Then we’ll talk.” He turned his back and began to spread fresh straw in the stall.

Trevor stomped to the faucet, opened the valve, and watched water gush into the pail. Its churning echoed the sensation in Trevor’s chest. Where was Max? He said he’d help with chores. And why was Hayley even at the farm?

Yeah, he’d barked at her, but only because she’d caught him off guard. Water splashed onto his jeans and spilled on the ground. Trevor shut the valve with more force than was necessary and retraced his steps to the stall and his father.

“You were rude.” Franklin leaned on the pitchfork, and his shoulders heaved.

Trevor stopped and more water sloshed onto his shoes. He mentally rewound the scene and what he’d said. No wonder she’d stepped back as if he’d slapped her. He hadn’t meant…

“Didn’t you get our text? We phoned, but you didn’t answer either call. So we left a text message to let you know Hayley agreed to help your mom. And when I needed help with this breech, she stepped right up. Did a fine job too. Pretty impressive for a city girl.”

Trevor emptied the bucket into the trough. “I’d muted my cell and turned the ringer off the landline. Sorry.” He straightened and took in his father’s sagging shoulders, the exhaustion etched on his face. “What happened with Max? Shouldn’t he be here?”

Franklin hung up the pitchfork, pushed back his cap and wiped an arm across his forehead. “Not until tomorrow. He needed to go out of town for a few days. As agreed, remember?”

“I missed that part.” He looked at the cow as she nuzzled her newborn. He tried to picture Hayley working to turn the calf. The vision did not compute. “Seems like I’ve missed a lot. I really am sorry I snapped at Hayley.”

“Apology accepted, from me. But she needs to hear it.” He clapped Trevor on the back. “Let’s go in. Your mom’s probably wondering what’s keeping us.”

A couple of minutes later, they left their footwear in the warm mudroom and shrugged out of their coats.

“Franklin?” Laureen called from the kitchen. “I’m making hot cocoa. It’ll help you warm up.”

Trevor followed the sound of her voice. “Hey, Mom, got enough for me too?”

Laureen swiveled, wobbled, and grabbed the edge of the stove. “Trevor! When did you get here?”

His throat tightened at his mom’s weakness. What if something happened when he was away? No. He couldn’t think that. He straightened. “Just a few minutes ago. I got your message—at least part of it. I ran out of the house when I heard Dad needed help. Apparently he didn’t. He’s washing up, by the way.”

Laureen pulled out a chair. “Of course. Have a seat. You should have listened to the whole message. And what about the text we left this morning?”

“Sorry. It’s been crazy at the shop, especially today. I shut off the sound on my phones so I could get stuff done.”

“Why? What happened?”

Trevor tilted his chair back, caught the look from his mother, and plopped it down again. “Remember the newspaper contest I told you about, where readers vote on their favorite custom bike? Well, today’s paper featured my interview. And pictures of both the Indian and the Honda. Phone rang all day, and between congratulations and answering questions, I didn’t get anything else done. Then I got an email from Vince Starr in Toronto.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “He wants me to have two new designs ready to build when I get there next weekend.”

“Next weekend?” His mom’s face paled. “Already?” She took a deep breath and picked up the whisk. “Right. I guess I’d imagined time would slow down. I really hoped you’d be here for Easter. We’re going to a special Good Friday service in the city. We thought you might come with us.” Her smile wavered, and then disappeared.

Trevor uncrossed his arms, trying not to appear defensive. “Sorry. Can’t. Time seems to have sped up since I gave my notice. And new designs? I don’t know how I’m gonna manage. Plus, I’ve been hearing some stuff about Lowrider.” A deep sigh escaped, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Mom, what if I made the wrong choice?”

~*~

Hayley shut off the shower in the second floor bathroom and heard Trevor’s voice drift up through the heat ducts. She automatically checked the lock on the door. Good. He’d never deliberately barge in, she was sure. His mother had raised him right. But mistakes could happen.

She grabbed a towel from the rack, rubbed herself dry, and pulled on clean jeans and a green turtleneck sweater. She had to face Trevor—and his challenge—so she needed to look as capable as possible. Hayley wiped off the mirror and crinkled her nose at her reflection. With no makeup and her red hair at attention all over her head, she could scare small children. A giggle escaped. At least her cheeks were rosier than they’d been in ages. Must have been the hard work. Not because of Trevor.

A few minutes later, she descended the stairs, hair tamed and a touch of mascara emphasizing her green eyes. Ready or not, it was time to face him. But as she neared the kitchen, Trevor’s voice muffled and faded to silence.

There was a catch in Laureen’s voice. “Oh, honey.”

Not a good time. Hayley turned to sneak back upstairs.

Franklin shuffled out of the master bedroom. “There’s my farm girl.”

The approval on his face and in his voice warmed her all the way down to her toes. Hayley halted and grinned. “That was amazing.” She rubbed her arm, rubbery from its workout. “I still can hardly believe it.”

Franklin patted her shoulder. “You were amazing. I know you grew up in a big city, but I’d say you’re a natural farmer.”

She hadn’t enjoyed champagne since before the accident, but now the same kind of bubbly pleasure zinged through her. Without thinking, she pulled the older man into a quick hug. Just as quickly, she stepped back. Her face burned, and she stuttered. “I-I…”

Laureen appeared in the doorway. “There you are. Cocoa’s ready.”

Franklin’s eyes lit up. “Sounds good. Come on, Miss Hayley, let’s celebrate.”

But Trevor waited in there. The guy who’d made her feel special, and then, when she’d finally done something really good, barked as though she’d trespassed. How could she face him now?

Franklin turned, looked at her with one eyebrow raised, and motioned with his head.

Hayley inhaled, squared her shoulders, and followed Trevor’s father into the kitchen. Or was it the lion’s den?