A Family After All

She jerked away from him, the warmth sparked by his “you deserve love” comment vanishing faster than an apple under her stallion’s nose. “You don’t know that.” Her hang-up when it came to kids might not be rational, but she had her reasons—reasons she didn’t plan on sharing with anyone, let alone Seth.

“You don’t know me,” she continued.

“You won’t let me.”

“But there are so many incredible things I will let you do.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Come on. This is about more than sex. You like me. You look forward to my visits. We have fun together. My kids don’t bite.” He flashed a grin that threatened her knees all over again. Damn that dimple. “All right, they do, but not often, and never when there’s a chance they’ll talk someone into playing Uno. Look, you have a lot in common. All three of you love horses, hate Brussels sprouts and live to cause me grief. Why not give this a shot?”

“Because I’m looking for sex, not a happy-ever-after.”

“Got it.” He put his hat back on and reached again for the hay bale, his motions smooth but his stubble-roughened jaw as hard as the steel toes of his work boots. “Olivia over at the DMV has been asking me out for a while now. Guess I’ll take her up on it. Maybe it would be better for both of us if I split your deliveries with Bradley.”

“Did you warn him about me? Tell him not to turn his back on the cougar at the dairy farm?” She was being unfair. She wasn’t winning any points, either—there was no mistaking the disgust in Seth’s expression.

Time to pretend the past fifteen seconds of conversation had never taken place, because otherwise she’d dissolve into tears right in front of him. Besides, she knew how busy the feed store kept Seth and his part-timer... Chances were their delivery schedule would stay the same.

She also did her best to ignore the sudden scorch of indignation she had no right to feel. Olivia Duncan was a petite, bubbly brunette with big breasts and a notorious affection for children, if not for their teeth. She kept a bottomless bowl of candy at her window for the kids whose parents had dragged them along on their errands. No way could Ivy compete with that, even if she wanted to.

“Wise choice,” she finally managed.

“Bradley? Or Olivia?”

“Olivia. I didn’t think Bradley was your type.”

Seth gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. “You know her?”

“Not personally. But I’m sure, after you wine and dine her once or twice, the next time you go in to renew your license she’ll wave you right up to the front of the line.”

He never cracked a smile. “It’ll be nice to have a woman put me first for a change.”

* * *

THE MOMENT HE placed his left boot on the long-faded pavement, Seth heard the arguing. Two all-too-familiar voices, raised in earsplitting fury. He shook his head and shoved the pickup door shut, heading toward the noise. If he was honest, playing referee was exactly the distraction he needed.

Damn Ivy Millbrook and her lovely blond hide.

A shriek echoed inside the building. He winced at the faded brick structure he’d owned just over a year, an investment that made him alternately proud and scared shitless. Tweedy’s Feed and Seed. The worn wooden sign was placed strategically over the strip of etched cement that read Castle Creek Fire Company No. 6.

He’d fallen hard for this two-story slice of history, with its boxy shape, bell tower and masonry arches that curved like eyebrows over tall white-framed windows. The pair of fire engine–sized bays behind white mullioned doors provided more than enough space for loading and unloading supplies. The oversize front door, capped by a battered aluminum awning striped with white and green, added a welcoming retro touch.

The rat-infested interior, Seth hadn’t been so impressed with. The old guy who’d turned the firehouse into a feed store had run it for decades before eventually getting too sick to manage it. His daughter had kept it going for a while, but she wasn’t all that young, either, and by the time Seth had come along, the place had contained more dust and droppings than merchandise.

But after everything that had happened the past few years, he’d been desperate for a distraction. He’d been wanting to get the kids out of the city anyway. The opportunity to own his own business in a country community by the lake? Too good to pass up. The weeks he’d spent hauling and scrubbing and hammering and painting—and sweating bullets at the bank—had been worth it.

Now he just had to convince his kids he’d made the right decision.

“Da-ad!” Nine-year-old Grace emerged from the nearest bay, hands steepled against her forehead to protect her eyes from the afternoon sun. She was all legs and nut-colored hair, just like her mother. He grinned through the usual hot prod of regret and pulled her into a hug. Her little body remained stiff—she wasn’t liking him much these days.

She wriggled free, her eyes on Joe’s pickup. “The truck broke down again?”

He didn’t know whether to be amused or bothered by her world-weary tone. “The brakes need work. Joe’s letting us use his until Bertha’s out of the shop.”

Her on-the-warpath gaze returned to his face. “Travis took my marker. My favorite marker. The purple one. How am I supposed to finish my project? I have to turn in a weather report and I’m drawing a rainbow and without purple it’ll look stupid and I’ll fail.” Her voice ended on a squeak shrill enough to shatter glass.

“I hear you, G, I hear you. Take it down a notch, all right? Let’s go inside and talk to your brother.”

She flounced back into the store, her bright turquoise tennis shoes smacking the concrete. Seth followed more leisurely, blinking in the dim interior. He nodded at Bradley, the lean, shaggy-haired, just-turned-twenty part-timer who’d opted out of community college in favor of another year of playing video games on his mother’s couch. He was slouched behind the counter, a bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Didn’t take a genius to figure out which he’d been using.

The kid might be lazy, but he had good business sense and Seth liked him. More important, Grace and Travis loved him.

“Everything good?” Seth asked. Another argument erupted from the office in the back and he grunted. “Besides the noise level, I mean?”

“Old Mr. Katz called. He’s on his last bucket of feed. Wants to know if we can make a special delivery.”

“Got time to swing by on your way home?”

“I guess.” He frowned. “You ever going to make him pay his bill?”

“That horse of his is all he has left of his farm. The odd bag of feed won’t kill me.”

“You, no. Your business, yeah. I lose this job and I won’t be able to pay my phone bill.”

“Your concern is touching,” Seth said wryly. “But I’m not going anywhere. You won’t, either—” he lifted an eyebrow at the glass cleaner in Bradley’s hand “—as long as you do your job.”

Bradley grinned, snatched up a rag and flicked at the countertop while humming in a falsetto tone.

“Smart-ass,” Seth muttered, and continued on to the office, a half-wood, half-glass corner structure left from the building’s firehouse days. A battered metal desk took up one half of the room, and waist-high shelving lined the other. In the center stood a rickety round table Seth had set up as a homework station for the kids. The school bus dropped them off about half past three and they were stuck at the store until six, when Seth closed for the day. They hadn’t been thrilled with the arrangement at first, but they’d settled into a routine—snack and playtime until four thirty, homework till closing. Most days they finished their assignments before piling into Seth’s truck for the short trek home, which meant that once dinner and cleanup were behind them, they could veg in front of the TV until tuck-in time. Traditionally, tuck-in time included hearing a chapter from whatever book they’d voted Seth should read them. Every now and then they veered off course and had a sing-along. Grace insisted she needed the practice for sixth-grade chorus tryouts.

Never mind she was still in fourth.

“Where is it?” Grace’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell me!”

Seth stalked into the office wearing his best “heads are about to roll” expression. “All right, what’s the problem here?”

“I told you,” Grace cried. She had both palms on the table and was leaning toward her brother, who sat steadily coloring, a fistful of crayons in one hand and half a chocolate bar in the other.

Dammit, Bradley. No wonder they loved his part-timer.

Grace opened her mouth again and Seth held up a finger. “I’d like to hear it from Travis.”

With a beleaguered exhale, his daughter pushed upright and crossed her arms over her chest. Seth waited. Grace fumed. Travis poked the green crayon back into his fist and plucked out a yellow.

“Travis,” Seth prodded.

His seven-year-old looked up from what appeared to be a drawing of a food fight. Chocolate ringed his mouth and it was all Seth could do not to grin. That would be fatal, though. Grace was already convinced Seth loved her brother more.

“Hey, Dad,” Travis said brightly, as if he hadn’t just been trading insults with his sister.

“Hey,” Seth drawled. “We’re looking for a purple magic marker. Have you seen it?”

Travis blinked but remained mute, his normal MO when talking would mean telling a lie. Seth gritted his teeth around a sigh. Either Travis had the marker, or he knew Grace had it and didn’t want to tattle. Lately G had taken to “losing” things in a bid for attention. Or maybe she just wanted to drive her dad crazy.

She was doing a good job of it.

Thing was, he could never tell when the tears and the drama were real. G’s pediatrician back in State College, along with Seth’s mother and his good friend Parker, who operated a nearby greenhouse and had her own challenges with a daughter who’d just turned ten, had advised him not to sweat it, assuring him it was just a phase. Decent advice, except that a week ago he’d spotted his checkbook in the recycling bin. Hard not to sweat that.

He’d reasoned, scolded, pleaded and suspended all kinds of privileges. He understood his daughter’s frustration. Still, there had to be a better way for her to express it.

Back to the matter at hand. His son had resumed his coloring, the tilt of his white-blond head casual, his grip on the crayon anything but. “Travis isn’t talking, G. How about we all look for it together?”

“I don’t have time,” she whined. “I need it now.”

“Can you use a different color?”

She dropped her arms and snatched up her drawing, a tidy rendition of a rainbow arching behind a soggy pair of trees and a horse. She stabbed a finger at the innermost arch of the rainbow, currently colorless, and shot him a look that screamed, Duh!

He surveyed the markers scattered across the table. “If you mix red and blue, you get purple. Maybe use red, then color over it with blue?”

“Good idea,” Bradley said behind him. G’s shoulders lost some of their height, though she shot a dirty look at her brother.

“Whatever,” she muttered. She grabbed the red marker and dropped into her chair.

Seth turned away and bumped knuckles with Bradley. “Remind me to give you a raise.”

“You can’t afford it.” He shoved a message pad at Seth. As per usual, there were more doodles than writing on the paper. “Pete Lowry called again. He needs another payment for the work he did on the truck.”

This was the work he’d done the last time Bertha was in the shop.

“I’ll take care of it.” Somehow. Seth noticed Bradley fighting a grin. “Something else on your mind?”

“Olivia Duncan’s on the phone again. Want me to take a message?”

Seth pictured the curvy brunette with the open smile and kind eyes. Last time they’d talked, she’d offered to arrange a picnic lunch for Seth and the kids. Sandwiches and Frisbee by the lake.

“You three should enjoy the beach more often,” she’d said. Like a normal family, she’d meant.

He glanced over his shoulder at his kids, one secretive, the other sullen. Thought of the hell they’d been through the past few years.

They could use some normal.

His brain flashed from Olivia to Ivy, whose elegance, beauty, stubbornness and lusty sense of humor were far from ordinary. Ivy. Who’d made it clear she’d put up with children only if they arrived on a school bus and left the same way, in ninety minutes or less.

He didn’t want to date anyone else. Hadn’t wanted to date at all after his divorce, until he met her. But he had to make it clear—to himself and to her—that what little they had wasn’t working anymore.

“No.” Seth took off his cap and tossed it at his desk, rolled his shoulders and headed for the door. “I got this.”

* * *

IVY SWEPT THE rubber currycomb over the stallion’s gleaming coat, over and over, each circular stroke carrying her closer to calm. She still had a long way to go, though, because she hadn’t quite managed to convince herself that Seth Walker didn’t deserve a good, swift kick in his stupendous ass.

She knew he hadn’t been playing hard to get. But it ticked her off that he’d simply up and walked out on the game. The jerk.

What ticked her off even more? The burning sensation behind her eyes. She blinked, cleared her throat and focused on the one male in her life she knew would never let her down.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing, does he, Cabana Boy?”

The dark bay’s coat rippled and he scolded her with a snort. She was brushing too hard. Ivy lifted the comb away.

“Sorry about that.” She moved to the corner where she’d stashed the plastic grooming tote and exchanged the currycomb for a soft-bristled body brush. She hesitated and stared down at the fresh straw covering the floor. Her shoulders ached from mucking out stalls—she’d gotten a little too carried away with the pitchfork. And she still had to close up the milking shed, pay bills and record the production numbers before she could call it a day. A tuna sandwich would have to do for dinner. She didn’t have the energy to manage anything more exciting.

Crap, did she even have mayonnaise?

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against the iron grill forming the upper half of the stall. The slim bars provided better lighting and ventilation than a solid floor-to-ceiling wall and saved Ivy—and her horses—from claustrophobia. She closed her eyes and breathed in the rich, sunshiny scent of dried straw and the mint toothpaste she used every time she washed her hands to get rid of the smell of manure.

She pictured Seth with Olivia, and regret knotted her stomach. Maybe he’d understand if she explained why she couldn’t have children in her life. And maybe he’d hate her forever.

It wasn’t worth the risk. Seth was right. He and his kids deserved a woman who’d put them first.

Would he really stop playing deliveryman, though?

She opened her eyes, pushed away from the wall and turned back to Cabana Boy and his soothing beauty. He was brown, and his points—mane, tail and lower legs—were black, but Ivy’s favorite feature was the bright white star on his forehead, a star that looked more like a backward comma. Her parents had brought the stallion home as a sort of consolation prize for leaving Ivy behind while they cruised the Mediterranean. One month later, they were both dead.

That had been eight years ago.

Cabana Boy nudged her shoulder. “I should have brought an apple,” she murmured. Her stomach grumbled, and she huffed a laugh. “For each of us.”

A scuffing sound behind her had her swinging around while her heart bounced against her breastbone. Wade leaned over the stall door, and Ivy struggled to keep the disappointment out of her face. How pathetic, that she’d think for even a second that Seth might have changed his mind.

“Hey there,” she said. “Heading out?” It was late, but he’d made it into work only a couple of hours ago.

He nodded, gaze locked on the stallion. “I fixed that one pulsator. Just needed to adjust the pressure. We’re back to ten milkers again.”

“Bless you,” she said, and got the first inkling of trouble when his lips thinned under his gray-flecked mustache. She patted Cabana Boy’s flank and turned toward her farm manager. “Everything okay with Becky?”

He shrugged, still not looking at Ivy. “Her brush with death has got her to thinking. What she wants to do with her life and such.”

“Brush with death?” Ivy gaped. “Wade, she backed into a Dumpster at the dollar store. She broke her collarbone after slipping on a half-eaten egg-salad sandwich when she got out to check the damage.”

“There are people who can take something like that in stride. Others feel the need for the kind of understanding only a family can provide.”

He stuck out his lower lip, signaling his disappointment in her reaction. Ivy sighed. Such a fine damned line between being judgmental and showing righteous scorn. Apparently she’d crossed the line. Again. Then Wade’s words registered. Oh, God.

“You’re moving back to Montana?”

“Soon as we can get packed.”

An icy dread coated Ivy’s stomach. “Does that mean you’re not giving any notice?”

“Like I said, she needs her family.” He sucked his lower lip back in and raised conflicted eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I really am.”

Shock held her immobile, and her heart felt heavy in her chest. Becky had obviously put her foot down, and Wade had never been able to tell his young bride no. Somehow, she willed a smile to her lips. “I’ll miss you,” she said thickly. “You’ve been a top-notch manager and a good friend.”

How the hell am I going to replace you?

He shuffled inside the stall and held out a thick, scarred hand, but Ivy ignored it and drew him into a hug. He stiffened, then squeezed her hard, and squeezed even tighter when she made to step back. Once he finally released her, he was blinking rapidly. He turned his head and took his time plucking a piece of hay free of his shoulder.

Ivy concentrated on giving Cabana Boy’s head a good solid scrub. “Do you need a reference? I’d be happy to write one up and email it to you.”

Wade moved to the other side of the stallion and started stroking the bay’s ears. “I appreciate the offer, but I won’t need it. We’ll be helping out at her folks’ ranch.”

“Cattle?”

“Dude.”

She almost laughed aloud at the disgust in his expression.

He met her gaze, his pale blue eyes brimming with doubt. “Sure wish I didn’t have to leave you in the lurch like this.”

Me, too. “Don’t give it another thought. Everything will work out. It always does. Of course Becky should come first. Give her my best, okay? Anyway, lately you’ve been mooning over Montana like I’ve been mooning over that robotic milker that feeds the cows and mucks out the barn at the same time.”

Wade’s mustache stretched as he grinned. “I am looking forward to getting back out on the prairie. And you can’t beat the fly-fishing.”

“There you go. Now come on into the house. You can make sure I’m caught up on everything, and I’ll print out your check.”

An hour later, after sending Wade off with another heartfelt hug and a severance check too small for her liking but too big to be prudent, she left the house in search of her two farmhands, who were no doubt fretting about the extra work they’d have to take on now that Wade was leaving. Normally, they’d have left hours ago, but Wade had asked them to stick around until he’d talked with Ivy. She bet they’d loved that—not—but there was always plenty to keep them busy, and she’d put a little extra something in their paychecks to help make up for it. She’d just have to squeeze a little extra milk out of the girls this month.

Padding paychecks might even win her some points when it came time to ask the guys if they’d be willing to take on Wade’s duties until she could hire a new manager. She didn’t even want to think about how long that could take. She glanced at the clock and closed the lid on her laptop. If Gary and Dell hadn’t left yet, she might as well get this conversation over with. Though it promised to be more of a beg-fest than a dialogue.

She grabbed a sweatshirt, stepped out onto the porch and stood for a moment, getting her bearings. Shadows crowded the outbuildings and rolled across the yard. In the distance, the band of navy that was the lake swallowed the remainder of the sun. Only the faintest curve of glimmering orange lit the sky. A barn owl bid daylight a high-pitched, rasping goodbye.

Okay, then. No wonder she was hungry.

Ivy glanced at the gravel lot beside the dairy barn. Two pickup trucks. Gary and Dell were still here. She jogged down the steps and was heading for the barn when a figure ambled out of the milking shed. Gary. If his thin, six-foot frame hadn’t given him away, the pale yellow sheen of the outdoor lights reflecting off his hairless head would have.

When he spotted her, he changed course. She met him halfway across the yard, her boots squelching over grass already slick with dew.

“Gary. I was just about to come and check in with you and Dell. Can you give me two minutes before you leave? Is Dell closing up?” If Dell secured the barns, that was one less thing she’d have to worry about before grabbing that tuna sandwich. Yay. She took a step toward the milking shed.

Gary moved in front of her. “You going to promote one of us to manager?”

Oh. Ouch. She hid a wince. “Why don’t we find Dell so we can all talk about this together?”

“That means no.” His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed. He spread his legs and planted his hands on his hips, making it clear he wasn’t going to move until he had his answer.

Fine. She’d do this twice. “That means no,” she agreed. “You and Dell are each a valuable part of the farm, but neither of you has the business experience I need in a manager.”

“You’ll have a hard time finding a replacement for Wade.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Dell and I have worked here a long time. We deserve a shot at that job.”

“I couldn’t run the farm without you or Dell. And I appreciate your loyalty, Gary. But I don’t have time to provide on-the-job training. I need someone who already knows how to manage a dairy farm.”

He dropped his arms and took a step backward. “And in the meantime, Dell and me’ll have to pick up the slack. Screw that.”

Ivy held out a hand. “Wait. What does that mean?”

“Means I’m outta here.”

This couldn’t be happening. “You’re quitting?”

“Goddamn right.”

“Gary.” The knot of frustration in her chest tightened, gathering into a dense, aching mass of dismay. “Please stay. We’ll all have to pitch in more, but it’ll be temporary. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Yeah?” Like a cardboard villain in a cheesy Western, he paraded his gaze up and down her body while tracing a slow hand over his chin. “What did you have in mind?”

CHAPTER TWO

“NOTHING CLOSE TO what you have in mind,” Ivy responded drily. Revulsion warred with disappointment. Why had it taken her so long to recognize that Gary was a sexist asshole? “Forget I said anything. You can pick up your last check tomorrow.”

Wade, she realized. He’d been her buffer, and she’d taken him for granted.

Why were epiphanies always so costly?

She watched Gary stalk toward his truck. It was too dark to make out his expression as he looked back over his shoulder, but she could guess it carried an ugly promise of payback. Just what she needed. Would he try to talk Dell into leaving, too? God. Two men out of her life in a matter of minutes. Three if you counted Seth, who would no doubt cut her off completely any day now. She was on a roll.

Her stomach gurgled again. Roll reminded her of cinnamon. And the steaming pile of cow crap that was her day explained why cinnamon reminded her of the unopened bottle of schnapps she’d stashed in the cabinet over the kitchen sink.