by Carly Bloom
“So, is everything okay? You’re not calling me from a hospital bed, are you?”
Worth laughed. “Nah, man. It’s all good. I’m in my truck heading south. But I am looking for a job. What ranches are hiring right now?”
“How about coming to Rancho Cañada Verde?”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Nothing glamorous. I’m talking miles of fence work. But we could use the help.”
“I don’t mind. I need the money.”
“When can you be here?”
“Weekend after next. I’ve got some business to tie up in San Antonio.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“I’ll be there with bells on, brother.”
Ford hung up with a grin. It would be good to spend time with Worth. He was a hard worker, and Ford was proud of him. In a way, he felt almost fatherly toward him. It wasn’t like their dad had ever been very invested in the role.
Ford clenched his jaw.
Johnny Jarvis hadn’t been around much. And the checks they’d depended on to pay rent and buy food were few and far between. Ford’s mom had worked two jobs just to make ends meet. And that had meant Ford was often in charge of watching Abby.
And he hadn’t been very good at it.
Coco had come to a stop. The animal did that sometimes when Ford revisited certain memories. He refused to believe the creature was psychic. But the horse definitely picked up on something. Maybe Ford’s breathing changed, or his muscles tensed. Hell, maybe it was his heart rate. Whatever it was, at times, Coco would pause in his tracks. As if respecting a moment of grief.
Ford rubbed Coco’s neck and urged him to continue down the trail. Carefully. Slowly. Deliberately. It was the horse’s nature.
They were well suited for each other.
Chapter Sixteen
Claire sat at the counter organizing the supplies needed for the flower arrangements while Maggie perched on a stool and watched.
“You’re really serious?” Maggie said. “I don’t want to put Petal Pushers on the market unless you’re absolutely certain you don’t want it.”
Claire bit her lip and sorted the bluebonnets from the Indian paintbrushes. “I want it, but I can’t have it. At least not right now.”
“Are you sure?”
The idea of buying Petal Pushers and turning it into a boutique still thrilled her, but the thought of losing Rancho Cañada Verde crushed her to the depths of her soul. “I’m sure,” she said. “My family needs me.”
Maggie sighed. “I don’t blame you. It’s just that you’d have a rocking awesome shop, and you know it.”
Claire did know it, but what could she do?
“I wonder if anybody is going to show up today?” she asked. “Nothing is back to normal yet.”
The bell over the door jingled. “Here we go,” Maggie said, peeking over the cash register. “It’s Alice.”
Alice rushed in and headed straight for Claire. “Oh my God. Are you okay? I woke up on Saturday morning to the news that Claire Kowalski had been washed away at a low-water crossing! Then later, I heard you were okay, but that Alison Mendoza was missing. Then I heard that Alison was okay, but that my library was unsalvageable. It’s been a roller coaster of emotions.”
“It really has,” Claire said. “When can we get off this ride?”
“Hopefully soon,” Alice said. Then she looked Claire up and down. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Claire leaned over and gave Alice a hug. “I’m fine. The only things that washed away with my car were my Laurence Decade heels.”
“I don’t even know what those are,” Alice said.
“I imagine they’re super expensive torture devices that could probably also be declared lethal weapons. Kind of like the ones she’s wearing now,” Maggie said, eyeing Claire’s feet.
Claire held a foot out. “These aren’t Laurence Decade. They’re—”
“Impractical for working in a nursery and garden center,” Maggie finished. “I keep telling you that. They’re more suitable for working in a boutique, no?”
Claire produced a tiny pout.
“Sorry,” Maggie said.
Claire could tell from Maggie’s hopeful expression that she hadn’t fully accepted the fact that Claire wasn’t going to buy Petal Pushers.
“Did you have to walk all the way home?” Alice asked. “And barefoot, at that?”
Claire set out floral shears and wire. “No. Someone picked me up and gave me a ride.”
“The someone has a name,” Maggie said. “And it’s Ford.”
“Oh?” Alice asked, leaning against the counter. “The fancy-tickler?”
Claire tried not to grin. “The one and only.”
Maggie crossed her legs, grunting with the effort. Then she raised an eyebrow and began bouncing her foot.
“What?” Claire asked.
“Has there been any tickling?” Maggie asked. “Of your, erm, fancy?”
Claire was absolutely not going to blush over a euphemism in front of a pregnant lady and a librarian. “My fancy has not been tickled, amused, or even mildly entertained,” she said.
It was, however, slightly titillated. And whenever Ford was in the general vicinity, it was downright throbbing.
Her friends looked disappointed, and for a moment, Claire considered telling them about Oscar and the towel, the wayward kiss at the dam, and whatever the holy hell it was that had happened this morning before the drone had interrupted. But they’d respond with squeals and giggles, as if it were juicy gossip and fun times, when it was actually…
What was it?
She couldn’t begin to know. But it wasn’t silly. It was private. Personal. And Ford had looked her square in the eye and said he wouldn’t let her lose the ranch. That they weren’t going to let it happen. As in the two of them.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Maggie asked, her eyebrow cocked suspiciously.
Time to change the subject.
“I’m thinking about the library. Were they able to save anything, Alice?”
Alice untwisted a tissue that had been balled up in her hand, flattened it out as best she could, and blew her nose into it. Her eyes were puffy and red. She’d probably been crying on and off since the flood.
“I feel so guilty crying over the library when people have lost their homes,” Alice said. “But I just don’t know how we’ll replace everything. The books especially.”
“You’re a librarian,” Maggie said. “It would be weird if you weren’t terribly upset. You spend more time at the library than you do at home.”
“I’m only here because I have nowhere else to go,” Alice said softly. Then her face crumpled. “JD and Bubba are tearing it down today.”
JD Mayes and Bubba Larson owned L&M Construction, and the aftermath of the flood would be keeping them plenty busy.
“The building?” Maggie asked. “Was it damaged that badly?”
Alice nodded her head and blew her nose again. Maggie reached over and patted her on the back. “There, there,” she said. “Just think. A new library will be amazing.”
Alice shook her head. “I talked to the city manager this morning. There’s not enough money to build a new one.”
“Oh no!” Claire said. This was horrible news.
“Why on earth not?” Maggie asked.
“The building was underinsured,” Alice said.
Claire tried to imagine Big Verde without its library and simply couldn’t. It was too important to the community. “What we need is a fund-raiser,” she said. “A big one.”
“And someone to chair it,” Maggie said. “We’re all too busy. Who in this town has plenty of idle time on her hands and would love the attention?”
The little bell over the door jingled. Maybe someone else was coming to the craft class.
“Let me go see who that is,” Claire said.
She walked to the front of the store, and there stood Annabelle Vasquez, also known as someone with pl
enty of idle time on her hands who loved attention. And she was shaking out an umbrella all over the floor.
Ruben had been right again.
“When did it start raining?” Claire asked.
“The minute I got out of my car,” Annabelle said with disgust. “If I didn’t have this umbrella with me, I’d have gotten soaked!”
“We’d hate to have you melt all over the parking lot,” Claire said.
Anna narrowed her eyes.
“You know, like sugar,” Claire added.
Or the Wicked Witch of the West.
“Your parking lot is a freaking mess,” Anna said, wiping a clump of mud from her shoe onto Petal Pushers’ pretty welcome mat.
Claire shrugged. “Sorry. We had a natural disaster.”
Anna didn’t pause long enough to accept Claire’s apology on behalf of Mother Nature. “This horrible weather has knocked all the petals off my posies.”
“Oh,” Claire said. “How…tragic?”
“I need a few flats to replace them.”
“They’ll probably recover if you give them time,” Claire said.
“I don’t have time. I’m hosting book club soon. I want my yard to look perfect.”
“Of course you do.” If the woman wanted to spend unnecessary money, Claire would sell her some posies. “Come out to the patio and we’ll see what we’ve got.”
Anna followed her out and then spent ten minutes being hypercritical of every leaf and petal on every plant before deciding on some flats of pansies that looked exactly like all the rest. Then she watched Claire load them on the cart and push the squeaky monster to the counter.
The bell over the door jingled again.
“Girls, I’m glad you’re open,” Bubba Larson said. “I need help.”
* * *
Bubba was covered in kids who were covered in umbrellas. One smacked him in the face, but he hardly seemed to notice. He had a toddler in his arms and a medium-sized kid wrapped around each leg. Those two were using their umbrellas as swords, and one came precariously close to Bubba’s crotch.
“Watch it,” he said, dodging another smack to the head.
“Where’s the other one?” Maggie asked.
“The other what?”
“Kid. You and Trista have four, and you’re only wearing three.”
“Aw, shit,” Bubba said. Then he and his many appendages lurched back out the door, presumably to look for Kid Number Four.
“Would you like to stay and make a pretty wildflower arrangement?” Claire asked Anna.
Anna raised an eyebrow. “Are you sticking them in those tacky milk bottles?”
“We have other vases to choose from,” Claire said.
Maggie reached beneath the counter and then plopped a cheap glass vase down in front of Anna. “Here you go. Straight from Tiffany’s.”
Anna looked at it like it was straight from the dollar store. Which it was. “I guess I’ll stay. It’s not like there’s anything else to do today, thanks to this dreadful flood.”
“I wonder if Bubba found his other kid?” Maggie asked. Her brows were furrowed, and she walked to the door. Then she started laughing.
“What is it?” Claire asked, rushing to join Maggie.
Bubba was chasing a small child wearing nothing but galoshes. He still carried one, and the other two were jumping in mud puddles.
Alice joined them at the door. “Should we help? I mean, I’m not even sure I know how…”
“I don’t think we want them back in the store like that,” Claire said, watching as one child pushed another into a large puddle. That child retaliated by slinging a handful of mud.
Maggie shoved the door open. “Hey!” she bellowed. “Knock it off!”
All four kids, five if you counted Bubba, froze.
Maggie pointed to a spot in front of the door. “Y’all come line up right here.”
Bubba, carrying the toddler, was the first one to obey. Next came the naked kid, and finally the last two climbed up out of the mud and took their places.
Alice ran to the counter and came back with a roll of paper towels, which seemed woefully inadequate for the job.
“Listen,” Bubba said. “It’s Trista’s birthday.”
“You need flowers?” Claire asked.
“Yes, and probably some other stuff.”
“I like how you always plan ahead,” Maggie said.
On any given anniversary or birthday, Bubba could be found wild-eyed and covered in kids, desperately buying whatever item was nearest. If Trista was lucky, this meant an oversized nightshirt that said GIRLZ JUST WANNA HAVE FUN from Cathy’s Closet. But in other years, it had meant an air freshener for her minivan (from the Pump ’n’ Go) or a pair of leather work gloves (from the tractor parts store).
“You guys stay out here,” Maggie said. “We’ll handle this.”
They went back inside Petal Pushers and started looking around. Trista was their friend, and they didn’t want to let her down.
“I’ll get some red roses,” Claire said, heading for the flower cooler.
“I’ll find a pretty wind chime,” Maggie said.
“I wonder if he’s considered a vasectomy?” Anna asked. “That would be the gift that keeps on giving.”
Claire kind of wanted to laugh, but she didn’t. For one thing, it was one of her cardinal rules to never laugh at Anna’s jokes, even if they were funny, and for another, she happened to know that Trista and Bubba were as blissfully happy as two sleep-deprived humans knee-deep in diapers could be.
Five minutes later Bubba held a toddler, a dozen red roses, and a little gift bag.
“Thank you, ladies. You’re lifesavers, every single one of you.” He glanced over their shoulders to where Anna sat at the counter, mindlessly sticking flowers into her vase. “Well, three out of four of you anyway. Me and JD have been crazy busy, and this birthday got away from me.”
Bubba’s stubbled cheeks turned a bit pink, indicating he knew it got away from him every year.
“How is your parents’ place coming?” Claire asked.
Bubba’s folks owned the Corner Cafe, and it had been flooded.
“They’re pulling the sheetrock out today. Got these big old fans in there drying everything out. Mom’s kind of pumped over the insurance paying for new tables and whatnot. She’s been wanting to freshen up the place for years.”
Claire felt Alice wilt next to her.
“How much do I owe you?” Bubba asked, reaching for his wallet.
Maggie waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure? Need any construction-type favors?”
Maggie shook her head. “Nah, we’re good—”
“Actually,” Claire interrupted. “I’m going to need a front-end loader to fill in a huge trench in front of my gate. I can’t get to my trailer.”
“That’s easy. JD and I will get out there as soon as we can. It might be a week, though.”
That was fine. She really wanted to be close to her parents right now anyway. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Bubba said. “Maybe it will cheer JD up to get out and play in the dirt.”
“What’s wrong with JD?” Maggie asked.
“He’s been quiet and broody,” Bubba said. Then he raised a hand to the side of his mouth and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Between you and me, there may be trouble in paradise.”
JD and Gabriel Castro were newlyweds, and they seemed perfectly happy together. What the heck was Bubba talking about?
“Maybe he’s not gay anymore,” Bubba said. “And if that’s the case, he’s got himself in a real pickle.”
“Oh, good grief,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Bubba raised an eyebrow as if maybe he knew better, which he most definitely did not.
Chapter Seventeen
Ford pulled in front of Petal Pushers and parked. It had been two weeks since the flood. Two weeks of working side by side with Claire. Only f
our more weeks to go.
He ran a hand over his shirt, noting the way his chest tightened uncomfortably at the thought of leaving Big Verde for West Texas.
“You’re a pretty decent Uber driver,” Claire said, pulling her bare feet off the dash of his truck and slipping them into a pair of high heels. “Although you could probably use an air freshener. Not everyone appreciates the scent of leather mixed with the subtle undertone of cow manure.”
Claire wasn’t picking her new truck up until next week, and so Ford had been playing taxi and not really minding it at all. He liked having her at his side, whether it was on the ranch or running errands.
“I’ve just got the one customer. Seeing as how she rides with her bare feet on the dash, I figure she’s not too offended by odors.”
Claire gasped. “My feet don’t stink!”
Ford raised an eyebrow and shrugged, repressing a grin. “If you say so.”
After two weeks spent working side by side on the ranch, they’d become irritatingly comfortable around one another, and their conversations often slipped into ribbing and teasing.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
“It was no problem. I needed to come into town to get some supplies anyway. Worth should be arriving at the bunkhouse any minute, but I can drive back in and get you if you need me to.”
“I’ll get a ride from Maggie. Or maybe Alice. She’s been helping us mark down our stock and pack things up since the library is, you know, gone.”
Damn. Claire must be tired. She’d been getting up at the crack of dawn, along with the rest of the hands, and working her sweet little ass off.
The outer perimeter of the ranch was secure. The guys were working on the interior fence lines. The cattle were sorted, and only a few were still unaccounted for. They had rotation schedules set for the next two months, and a truck was coming to haul some bulls to the processor tomorrow.
And throughout all the bustling activity, they’d managed to keep their clothes on.
Part of it was because they were too tired to even think about it. But the other part of it involved the fact that they’d been having fun doing other things. Claire had come by the cabin a couple of times under the auspices of checking on Oscar. On Thursday they’d ended up watching a stupid movie on TV. Saturday had found them partying down with a game of Scrabble. Claire had faked falling asleep after Ford came up with a six-letter word that earned him sixty-six points.