A Family After All
Noah, a spongy-looking redhead with a sparse goatee, crossed his arms and squinted. “You said this started a month ago?” When Cal offered up a curt nod, Noah’s gaze slid to Marcus. “Isn’t that about the same time he started working the register?”
Marcus didn’t flinch. He’d been waiting for this. He met Cal’s gaze squarely, and after a moment his heart bobbed back up to the surface. How long would Cal be able to hang on to the respect Marcus was seeing in his eyes?
“Yes,” Cal said simply. “But I trust Marcus as much as I trust each of you. Which is what makes this so hard.” He went on to tell them he was available at any hour of the day, for anyone who wanted to talk. Then he went into his office and shut the door.
“Why don’t you stay away from the register?” Eyeing Marcus, Noah folded the envelope containing his paycheck and slid it into his back pocket. “That way, if money goes missing again, we’ll know you’re not the thief.”
“And if it doesn’t go missing, everyone will think he is.” Patricia pursed her lips. “Nice try, Noah.”
He let loose a smirk. “Maybe no one’s stealing at all. Maybe someone’s getting confused and making too much change. Maybe Cal shouldn’t let anyone over fifty near the register.”
Patricia’s lined face went gray.
Rachel fisted her bony hands. “Shut up. Just shut up. How old do you think Cal is, you moron? Anyway, you’re the one who can’t inventory five boxes of steaks without using a calculator.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Marcus growled. When everyone went quiet, he struggled to hide his surprise. He pushed away from the counter he’d been leaning against and angled his chin toward the office. “Cal’s right. We’re family. Instead of turning on each other, we should be helping each other out. I don’t believe any of us is stealing, so let’s work together and figure out what is going on.”
“Who put you in charge?” Noah demanded. “You turn twenty-one and suddenly you think you’re calling the shots?”
“Excuse me?” A hesitant voice reached them from the front of the diner. “Could I get a refill on my tea?”
“Be right there, baby doll,” Patricia called. She scowled at Noah and bustled out of the kitchen.
Rachel’s thin shoulders bounced. “So what if he’s only twenty-one? You’re only twenty-three.”
“And you’re, like, twelve, so get out of my face.”
“There a problem here?” They all turned to see Cal standing in the doorway to his office. No one answered. With abrupt motions, Cal finished tying the strings of his black apron. “Marcus, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes, sir.” Marcus pulled his own apron over his head. He usually cooked in the evenings, but Cal had given him the rest of the night off. He’d worked a double over the weekend when Noah had called in sick, and Cal had insisted.
Which meant Cal would be cooking for what was left of the shift.
The diner’s owner turned to his other cook. “You have your check. How about you let Rachel get back to work?”
With a nod, Noah scurried toward the back door. Rachel made a clumsy gesture toward the front, then spun and hurried to join Patricia.
Cal studied Marcus. “Usually when you have a date with Liz, you’re out of here so fast all anyone can see is a blur. Everything okay?” When Marcus hesitated, Cal held up a hand. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked. But in case your lady needs softening up, I put aside a little something for you in the walk-in.”
Marcus shook his boss’s hand. “I appreciate that.” Though a few cinnamon rolls wouldn’t even start to make up for the hurt he was about to inflict.
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, Marcus parked in front of Snoozy’s Bar, where Liz waited tables. He eased the wheezing pickup in between two SUVs and let the engine idle. His palms were slick on the steering wheel, and his throat felt as though he’d spent an entire week breathing in flour.
She’d called him late last night. She’d said she needed to know more about him and asked that their date tonight include an exchange of secrets. He’d balked at first, but she’d been insistent.
Her voice had been soft, sleepy, coaxing. He’d pictured her curled up on her couch in flannel pajamas, sipping a cup of that chai tea she liked. How could he say no?
After their conversation, he’d barely slept. He’d struggled with what to say to her, with how much to reveal. By sunrise he’d known what he had to do. He’d keep his end of the bargain, and then he’d say goodbye.
The passenger door opened and he jumped.
Liz peered in, her face wary. “You look like you’re about to make a quick getaway. Do you want me in or out?”
“In,” he said, though that was the trouble. She’d already worked her way into his heart, and lately she’d been running a strong campaign to work her way into his bed. He could almost picture them building a life together.
Not going to happen, dude. She had no idea what she’d be getting into.
Sweat seemed to shoot out of his palms and he scrubbed his hands on his jeans. He glanced at Liz as she settled in her seat and did a double take as he noticed the heels on her sandals. They had to be as high as his hand was wide.
“You didn’t tell me what to wear,” she said, in half accusation, half challenge.
“Would it have mattered?”
She rounded on him and he tensed, but she didn’t fire back. Instead she wore a delighted smile. “You have been paying attention.” She made a satisfied sound, flopped back against the seat and started to hum as he backed out of the parking lot.
A funny, unfamiliar feeling settled between his ribs. She was right. He had been paying attention, since the day they’d met here at the bar after Joe Gallahan had cornered him in his motel. Marcus had been a homeless stalker with more attitude than sense, but Joe had ended up treating him to lunch. One look at the crinkly-haired blonde with big blue eyes taking their order and Marcus had wanted to stay in Castle Creek forever.
“How are things with Joe?” she asked, as if she’d read his mind.
“Better.” Joe had lost it there for a while, letting guilt drive him to the whiskey bottle, but he’d managed to turn things around. It helped that he’d fixed things with Allison.
C’mon, Marcus. Don’t go getting wistful.
“Have you talked to him lately?” Liz tried for an offhand tone and failed miserably.
Marcus shot her a look. “I take it Allison shared their news at your meeting last night?”
“Yes!” Liz bounced around in her seat, her grin wider than Lake Erie. “A baby! Isn’t that exciting?”
He dragged in a breath. So that was what this was all about. Her friend was pregnant and now Liz was feeling domestic.
Shit.
“Well, I think it’s exciting,” she said. Her hand rested on his biceps, heating his skin through the sleeve of his shirt. “Where are we going?”
He blinked back a round of baby-ass tears and offered up a muttered “You’ll see.”
Twenty minutes later, he parked at an unused entrance to a golf course, divided from the lake by a strip of woods that, thanks to erosion, was a lot skinnier than Marcus remembered. Dusk was on its way. The autumn evening had taken on a grayish tinge, which meant the woods would be murky. He got out of the truck, grabbed a flashlight from behind the seat and tipped his head toward the lake. “Want to give it a go?”
“Is there a path?” She cast a doubtful glance at her heels. “Maybe I should take these off.”
“There used to be a trail covered in pine needles. If it’s overgrown, we’ll turn back.”
“Used to be? When was this?”
“When I was a boy.” After she slipped out of her shoes, he hesitated and shook his head. “Wait. This is a bad idea. Your feet will get cold. How about we go grab a hamburger and I’ll show you another time?”
“No way. We had a bargain. You’d show me yours and I’d show you mine.” The naughty in her voice and the alluring curve of her lips thickened the breath in his lungs.
“I don’t think our bargain included an X-rated show-and-tell,” he said lightly.
Her smile sagged. She opened her door and hopped out. “When we’re done here? You owe me that hamburger.”
Wincing at the disenchantment in her tone, he joined her where she stood on the faded pavement in front of the truck. Her head was cocked. He heard it, too. The constant heavy rumble of a waterfall. His pulse kicked into an awkward sprint.
“Show me,” she said.
He didn’t have to use the flashlight. Not yet. He guided her along a path that led to the stream feeding the falls. The rich smell of damp earth rose up around them, and the rumbling grew into a thunderous rush as the woods opened up. He captured her hand, and together they stepped out onto a bluff that rose a good thirty feet above Lake Erie.
“I’d come to this spot whenever I could,” he murmured. “The foaming fury of the waterfall next to the calmness of the lake—it fascinated me. Called to me, too.” He looked over at her, admiring her pale features, flushed peach by the disappearing sun. “More than once I came close to jumping.”
Her whole body shook—briefly, violently. She released his hand and swiped at the shocked tears that sprang into her eyes.
“All I wanted was to feel normal,” he said, pushing the words over the hot swell of emotion in his throat. “You can’t feel normal when everyone looks at you like you’re a freak.”
“You’re not a freak. Your stepfather? The other men who molested you? They’re the freaks.” She swiped again at her cheeks, wiped her palms on her jeans and took a deep breath. “And anyway, if it’s normal you want to feel, I can help with that.”
A split second later, she was on him, her hands sliding around to the back of his neck, her breasts getting cozy with his chest.
CHAPTER THREE
EVEN AS HIS body yelled, Hell, yeah, his brain shouted, Bad effin’ idea. Marcus backed away but Liz followed. When a tree blocked his escape, she pushed even closer. He slid sideways, dropping the flashlight and grabbing on to her waist for balance. Her shirt had ridden up and the feel of her soft bare skin made him dizzy.
He froze. She froze. They stood chest to chest, zipper to zipper, and he could hardly hear the waterfall over the breaths ripping out of his throat.
She whispered his name and her mouth sought his. Before their lips could connect, he turned his head and reached for her hands. “I didn’t bring you here for this.”
“Maybe I came for this.”
“You’re sorry for me. I get it.”
“I’m not sorry for you, Marcus. I hurt for you. I want to...to...”
“Ease my pain?”
“Show I care.”
“This isn’t happening.”
“Tonight? Or ever?”
He nudged her away from him, intent on finding the flashlight so they could get out of there. He hadn’t handled this well. He hadn’t handled this well at all. She pressed close again and nuzzled his throat.
“Please, Marcus,” she murmured. “I’ll make it good for you.”
His lungs seized. He shoved her away, harder this time, so hard she stumbled and fell. His hands—hell, his entire body—shook. He collapsed back against the tree and struggled for air.
Don’t fight it, Marcus. You know you want it, Marcus. Hold still and I’ll make it good for you...
“What’s wrong?” Liz was crying, gasping as she got to her feet. She peered through her hair at him, eyes wide as she swatted at the debris that clung to her jeans. “What did I do?”
“Those words. I don’t want them in my head. Especially when I’m with you.”
“I’m sorry, I... How could I know? I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he gritted. “It’s not your fault.”
She wiped her face on her sleeve and crossed her arms. “It feels like it’s my fault.”
He found the flashlight and scooped it up. The dark was falling fast. He reached for her, thought better of it and faced her instead, hands awkward at his sides. “Liz, I’m not ready for this. I thought you understood.”
“I wanted to show you how much I care. How much you mean to me.”
“If you cared, you wouldn’t try to manipulate me.”
“Manipulate you?” She kicked at the freshly fallen gold-and-russet leaves. “I want to please you.”
“Why? What do you want with me? I’m damaged goods. You have no idea how damaged. I have a minimum-wage job, I live on the second floor of an old lady’s house and I drive a truck that’s older than I am.”
“I know all that. None of it changes how I feel about you. I like you, Marcus. A lot.”
“Here’s something you don’t know. I’m an ex-con.”
Her head came up at that. “You were in prison? What happened?” When he didn’t answer, she frowned. “Am I supposed to guess?”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“Tell me you’re a serial killer and I’ll worry. At the same time I’ll wonder why you’re already out of jail.”
His turn to frown. “I didn’t kill anyone. It was a fight. I started it. Pulled eighteen months for aggravated assault.”
“Why did you start it?”
“I was angry.”
“Because?”
“Point is, I’m an ex-con. You need to stay away from me.”
She snorted, then laughed when she saw his outrage. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re trying to scare me off because you’re scared yourself.” She moved closer and tugged at his shirtsleeve. “Tell me what started the fight.”
He hesitated, then leaned against the tree again. She stayed where she was, and he breathed a little easier. “I worked in a kitchen. At a restaurant. The owner had a thing for one of the busboys.”
“The owner was a man.”
“Not a man. A monster. One day he cornered the kid in the storage room and tried to make him—” Marcus fisted and unfisted both hands. “So I beat the shit out of him.”
“Was the kid okay?”
“Yeah. He was okay.”
“Did the monster go to jail?”
Marcus grunted. “Got out before I did.”
“When did you get out?”
“A few months before I came back to Castle Creek.”
“You came back to burn down the motel.”
“And Cal recognized me. You know the rest.”
“Do I?”
He didn’t know what she meant.
Her spine sagged, as if he’d failed some kind of test. “How are things with Cal?”
Marcus shrugged. “He’s still the same man who fed me whenever I ran away from the motel and ended up at the diner. He’s the one who called the cops, the one responsible for getting my stepfather arrested.” Too late to do much good, but at least the man had tried.
He stared through the gloom at the woman who was naive enough to think she could free him from his past. “Why are you still here?” he growled. “Why haven’t you run screaming for the truck?”
“One, I’m not wearing shoes. Two, you have the flashlight.”
He thrust the flashlight at her. She took it but didn’t move. He paced away, paced back, picked up a stick and started breaking pieces off and tossing them to the ground. Snap. Plop. Snap. Plop. Still she didn’t speak.
“How can you want me?” he said finally, hating the need behind his words. “After what I’ve done?”
“It’s true I don’t know what you’ve been through,” she said softly, her voice strangled. “But I do know it was bad. I also know it’s not so much what you’ve done but what’s been done to you. You’re a survivor. I respect that. I’m awed by that.”
She clicked the flashlight on, then back off. “The first time I saw you,” she whispered, “it was like I—I recognized you. Not your face but who you are. Inside.” She turned the flashlight back on. The white-yellow glow illuminated her perfect features. “I can be patient, Marcus. I admit I’m feeling less than sexy, but I can wait. You’re worth it. You’re so worth it.”
He had no idea what to say to that. To any of it. He couldn’t have talked anyway, since it felt as if that same big-ass tree he’d leaned against was lodged in his throat. As if to demonstrate that she meant what she said, she remained silent, waiting, as he tried to speak.
“Liz,” he said finally, his voice guttural. “You deserve better. I think it’s time we both moved on.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her response to be, but a dismissive sniff wasn’t it.
“Why?” she demanded, one hand on her hip. “Because you’ve been in jail?”
He nodded, and she exhaled loudly.
“Whew,” she said. “That’s okay, then.” Her grin outshone the flashlight’s beam. “We’re perfect for each other...because I’ve been in jail, too.”
* * *
IVY’S EARBUDS SERENADED her with the latest from Nickelback, which helped mask the mechanized roar of the Bobcat. Up and down the aisle between the bedding stalls she drove the loader, pushing manure, sand and wastewater toward the opening in the floor at the back of the barn. The opening led to a storage chamber underneath, where a horizontal auger pressed the manure into a pit. Thus Ivy had year-round access to her own fertilizer supply. She sold some of it, too—Parker used it for her greenhouses.
One more run down the center and she could start rinsing away the remaining manure with the pressure washer. Yeah, it was a dirty job. A twice-a-day one, too, because 110 Jerseys produced a lot of poo. Not as much as Holsteins, oddly enough, which was one reason Ivy was letting her Holstein population fade out. Sixty percent less poo to push.
Wade had teased that she enjoyed this part of the job way too much, but it made her feel good, spiffing up the place for the girls. She’d switched from organic bedding to sand for that reason—it was cleaner for the cows. Not that the barn stayed clean for long. Jersey girls knew how to party.
She steered the Bobcat out of the barn and into the sunlight, planning to park it near the milking shed, which was next up for a cleaning. She and Dell had already mixed the feed, fed and milked the cows and the calves, and washed the milkers after settling a cow into a separate pen when she’d come up lame. Ivy planned to check her out as soon as she finished with the Bobcat—hopefully, the poor animal had nothing more than a stone lodged in her hoof, which would easily be fixed with a hoof pick and a foot bath. But with Ivy’s luck, the prognosis wouldn’t be so straightforward. Already this morning she’d discovered she’d forgotten to order supplements and a truckload of sand. It had also slipped her mind that she’d agreed to board a friend’s horse for two weeks, and she didn’t have a stall prepared yet.
More mucking. Yay.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Castle Creek’s librarian waving at her from the driveway. In fact, the big man was waving at her so hard he was creating a breeze. Ivy turned off the engine and jumped to the ground, glanced down at the sorry state of her boots and jeans, and shrugged.
No one should expect a dairy farmer to look fresh or smell sweet.
“Noble Johnson.” When Ivy reached the paved drive, she peeled off her right glove and held out her hand. “What’s my favorite python wrangler up to these days?”
Noble grinned, and despite the day she was having, Ivy found herself grinning back. With his massive frame and shoulder-length hair, the same white-blond as hers, he did not resemble the stereotypical librarian. Or book minder, as he liked to call himself.
The sound of an engine signaled someone else coming up the drive. Noble and Ivy both watched as Allison’s gray Camry came into view. Allison parked beside Noble’s pickup and Ivy bit her lip.
She had an apology to make.
“My snake-herding days seem to be behind me,” Noble said, and turned back to Ivy. “Joe hasn’t called to report any more exotic critters hiding out in his walls.” Allison walked up and he flashed her a smile. “But I do hear your motel menagerie will soon be expanding by one.” He pulled Allison close in a one-armed hug. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Noble.”
When Allison turned to Ivy, the latter spread her arms, revealing all her sweaty, dirt-streaked glory. “I’d hug you, but...”
Allison laughed and held up her hands. “Thanks. I’ll pass.”
“Decided on names yet?” Noble rubbed his chin. “I can give you a few suggestions.”
“Let me guess.” Allison winked at Ivy. “For a boy, Perry.”
“That’s right.” Noble’s face beamed with pleased surprise. “Can’t do a boy a better honor than naming him after ol’ Oliver Hazard.”
“You told me all about the Battle of Lake Erie, remember?”
Noble nodded and narrowed his eyes. “Now, for a girl...” He tapped a finger against his chin and ignored the mock trepidation on Allison’s face.
“How about naming her after Mary Boone?” he finally suggested. “She was born in Erie and was a huge influence in the New York art market in the ’80s.”
“Mary or Perry,” Allison mused, and patted his brawny shoulder. “Not bad. Tasteful, even. I was expecting something along the lines of Cornelia or Epenetus.”
“I have taste.” Noble sniffed, running a palm down his lime-green velour tie.
Ivy eyed his pristine khakis and burgundy button-down shirt, which provided an interesting backdrop for his tie. “You are looking spiffy today.”
“If you’re impressed now, you should stop by the library tomorrow. Check me out in my suit and tie.”
“What’s tomorrow?” Ivy asked.
He frowned. “The new-member reception for my book club, remember? That’s what the cheesecake is for.”
Ivy clamped both hands on her head as a prickly heat surged up her throat and into her cheeks. “The cheesecake. Oh, Noble. I forgot all about it.” His crestfallen expression made her feel worse.
“That’s okay,” he said slowly. “I’m sure I can pick something up from the diner. Unless...”
She ignored the panic roiling in her belly and concentrated instead on the fresh hope in his eyes. “Yes. Absolutely. I’ll make it tonight and drop it off before the reception tomorrow.”
By the time Noble finished pumping her hand in gratitude, her shoulder ached. After he left, she turned to Allison as she rubbed the sore spot.
“I owe you an apology. I should have called you yesterday to follow up after the meeting. I really am happy for you and Joe.”
Allison reached out and squeezed her elbow. “I know you are. But I’m the one who should apologize. I should have told you first, in private. Instead the words were coming out of my mouth and I couldn’t take them back and I knew I’d done a hateful thing. Please forgive me.”
“You were excited. Of course you were excited—having a baby is a big deal. You were surrounded by your friends and you wanted to share your news. There’s no need to apologize for that.” When Allison quirked an eyebrow, Ivy let loose a sigh. “Okay, fine. Yes, I was hurt you hadn’t told me first. Now that we’ve both said we’re sorry, can we call it even?”
“Ivy. I was there. I saw your face. There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
Ivy’s arms and legs felt suddenly heavy and she shivered.
Allison gave her arm a final squeeze and stepped back. “If you ever want to talk about it,” she said softly, “I’m here.”
“Thank you,” Ivy muttered, and cringed when she barely recognized her own voice. She cleared her throat. “You do realize I’m going to throw you one hell of a shower?”
“I’m counting on it.”
“I never did ask about Joe. How’s he handling all this?”
Allison’s smile was a beautiful thing to behold. “He can’t wait. He’s already changed his mind three times about the paint for the nursery. The good news is, he gets to do the painting.” She poked Ivy in the shoulder. “Now. About those cheesecakes. Want help making them?”
“Them?”
“If I’m going to help, I should get something out of it, don’t you think?”
A rush of gratitude warmed Ivy’s chest. “That would be fabulous, thanks.”
“Ivy.” Allison winced. “I also wanted to apologize for bringing up Evan last night. I know he’s a sore subject, and then we ended up having to explain to Parker who he was, and...well, I hope I didn’t sound like I was trivializing what happened.”
Ivy shook her head. “You were right. He’s a big part of the reason I’ll never be anything more than casual with a guy. It’s not worth the heartache of finding out your boyfriend’s a scheming asshat who only wants you because you can help boost his bottom line.”