Dragging his focus back to the road, he turned off the state highway onto the county road that climbed the hill leading to his farm. The narrow road wound past rolling pastures broken up by fences or dense stands of sugar maples tapped for their sap in February and March.
Her head swiveled between the view ahead and the passing scenery. “How far out of town do you live?”
“About five miles. Once we get over this next rise, you’ll be able to see the place,” he added with a sense of pride. After the army he’d struggled to find a purpose until he began working on the historic farmhouse. Once he started, he decided the house deserved restoration, not renovation. Now he spent hours tracking down the right piece of hardware or learning to recreate what he needed. He’d gone from breaking down and reassembling his carbine to retrofitting plumbing.
“You live alone on this farm?” She scrutinized the passing scenery.
“Yep. It affords me all the privacy I need, plus the land to bury all those dismembered bodies.” Oh, man, he was the devil himself teasing her, but he enjoyed that quick grin he’d glimpsed in the ER and the way it lit up her face. He raised an eyebrow. “That’s where your mind was going, wasn’t it?”
“Yeeaahh,” she admitted, her mouth curving into a smile, her face red. “Sorry. Too many late nights watching Investigation Discovery when Elliott was a newborn.”
When was the last time he’d considered a woman’s blush sexy? He shifted in his seat. “S’okay. Besides, Tavie knows you’re here, and if Tavie knows it, the whole town knows it, including Deputy Cooper. We’ll be the talk of the town before sundown.”
She turned to him, a mischievous grin playing around those full lips. “I’ve also seen shows where the whole town is in on the cover-up.”
He chuckled, enjoying her playful side. “Have you given any thought to watching cooking or decorating shows instead of true crime?”
“I think you’re onto something there.” She laughed, but it was replaced with a sharp intake of breath and a pointing finger. “Is that your place?”
He didn’t need to follow the direction of her finger to know what she was seeing, and his lungs expanded as he took in several deep, satisfied breaths. His pride and joy, the white two-story farmhouse, with its newly replaced red metal roof gleaming in the sun, sat on a large tract of relatively flat land. A covered porch ran across the front and wrapped around one side, and, although he couldn’t see it from here, the porch ceiling was painted sky blue. The big red barn had white-painted split rail fencing extending from the back. The smaller chicken coop with wire enclosure was hidden by the barn, as was a smaller bunkhouse that now stood empty. “Yup, three years of hard work.”
“It’s beautiful.” She brushed a curl off her cheek, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.
“How’re you holding up?” He resisted the urge to reach out and take her hand in his. What the heck was wrong with him?
“Guess I’ll have a headache for a while.” She dropped her hand to her lap. “Did you restore all of it?”
“The house and part of the barn. The rest is still a work in progress.” For the past three years, he’d thrown himself into the restoration, keeping anchored in the present, not getting mired in the past or facing the future. A twist of fate had proved how little control he had over his life or his choices. Mary and Elliott’s arrival was a reminder he wasn’t immune to fallout from choices made by his family.
“I don’t see any cultivated fields. What do you grow?” She gestured to the surrounding grassy areas.
“Grow? I don’t grow anything.” Well, he baled hay every summer and sold what he didn’t use himself, but he didn’t consider that a crop. Not like grain or potatoes.
She turned to face him. “Then what kind of farm do you have?”
“The usual kind.” He lifted a hand off the steering wheel to run a finger under his collar. The term “gentleman farmer” came to mind, but he shied away from saying it out loud.
“I’m a city girl through and through, grew up in Bridgeport and moved to Hartford for college. Help me out here. What’s the usual kind?” She tilted her head and studied him.
“The kind with a cow and a few chickens.”
She raised a bruised brow. “Okay, I may be a city girl, but even I know farms need lots of...something. Like herds of dairy cows. Isn’t that one of the things Vermont is famous for?”
“No herd.” He’d come here looking for isolation, not a career as a dairy farmer.
“Okay. How many chickens do you have?”
“A half dozen.” He was an adult. He could have as many or as few chickens as he chose. Besides, his chickens laid so well Meg Cooper came every other week to get the extras for the soup kitchen. Her farming questions took him by surprise. The restoration contractors who’d sought him out at the farm hadn’t been interested in his animals, just in his advice or to see how he’d recreated unavailable pieces.
“Not enough to produce mass quantities of eggs.” She rubbed a finger across her lips. “Hmm, what else do you have?”
He cleared his throat. “A horse and two alpacas.”
“Alpacas? You mean, like those late-night commercials I used to see about alpaca farming?” She laughed, glancing back at Elliott once more.
“Yeah, except you don’t see those anymore, and with good reason. People who didn’t know what they were getting into sank a lot of money into alpacas, and when the bubble burst, some walked away.” And who was he to throw stones? He’d walked away from his family and then his army career when they wanted him to sit behind a desk, not that he blamed his superiors for that decision. His compromised eyesight had endangered the others in his unit. Even if what happened wasn’t his fault, he carried the guilt for injuries sustained by his fellow soldiers.
“You mean someone abandoned their animals? Is that how you ended up with them?”
He dragged his attention back to alpacas. “They sold all but one.”
He didn’t go into detail about how sick that animal had been. And he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if that one had died while he did nothing. Oh, yeah, he was a sucker for an animal in distress. He glanced over at Mary. Looked like that extended to damsels, too.
“One? You said you had two.”
He shrugged. “They’re social animals and never do well alone. I had to locate a companion.”
“That’s so sweet,” she said.
He shook his head but her comment shifted something in his chest, satisfied some unknown need. “It’s just a fact.”
The truck’s tires rumbled over the metal cattle grid as he turned onto the half mile dirt driveway that led to his home.
“Ooh, is that one of the alpacas in that fenced-in area?” she asked, leaning forward to look past him.
He stopped the truck and glanced to his left. “Yeah, that’s Lost.”
She chuckled. “Is the other one Found?”
He shifted in the seat, warmth rising in the back of his neck. “It was just a silly—”
“It’s perfect.” She reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze, all traces of laughter or teasing gone.
She captured his attention and he swallowed, hard. Undone by the tenderness in her eyes, he glanced at her fingers on his arm. They were free from adornment, but they were feminine, slender and elegant. He resisted the urge to touch, but he’d bet those hands could turn a man to putty. Clearing his throat, he eased his foot off the brake.
“What’s your horse’s name?”
“Patton.”
“I like—Oh, looks like you have company.” Mary dropped her hand.
He dragged his wayward thoughts away from her and his reaction and gazed at his house. Sure enough, two teenagers unloaded items from the bed of a truck parked in front of the house, while a barrel-chested older man, dressed in denim overalls and a Vietnam vet ball cap,
supervised. Ogle Whatley.
Brody slowed his truck and pulled up beside Ogle’s restored cherry-red 1949 Mercury M47 truck. His chest tightened as memories of Sean, one of the guys in his unit, assailed him. The first day they’d met, Sean had bragged about restoring one belonging to his grandfather. Sean was one of the guys whose life had changed that day due to traumatic brain injury. Brody pushed the memory aside. Now wasn’t the time for old wounds.
“I thought you said she was sending over some clothes.”
Mary’s voice broke into his morose thoughts, and he turned off the engine. What the...? He gave a low whistle and got out. His porch looked as if a Kmart had exploded.
Going around the front of his truck, Brody opened the passenger door and took Mary’s hand to steady her as she stepped down. Maybe she would be worth the complications. Now where had that thought come from? She pulled her hand away, and he stepped back. Complicated never had a good outcome.
Ogle sauntered over and nodded. “Afternoon, folks.”
“This is Ogle Whatley. He runs the garage in town. Ogle, this is Mary Carter.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Whatley.” Mary shook hands and smiled.
Brody grinned at Ogle’s flustered reaction to Mary’s smile. Yeah, I feel ya, Ogle.
“It’s just Ogle.” The older man hooked his thumbs under the bib of his denim overalls. “As promised, I’ll take a look at your car and see if it’s salvageable.”
“Thank you.” Mary nodded, then canted her head. “Wait...you promised?”
“Yeah.” Ogle hitched his chin in Brody’s direction. “Brody here asked me to check into it.”
“I figured you’d want someone to take a look at the damage to your car.” Brody slipped his hands into his pockets. Mary’s expression was apprehensive, and once again he had the urge to reach out. “Ogle’s the best mechanic in town.”
Ogle laughed, his belly jiggling like a department-store Santa. “Mebbe because I’m the only one. But don’t you worry, the young feller I hired knows all about them new cars and all their fandangled computerized parts.”
“No problem. My car isn’t brand-new or...fandangled,” she replied, a smile lighting up her face.
Kevin Thompson, a tall, gangly kid with spiked black hair and an eyebrow piercing, hefted a box marked Portable Crib. “Hey, Sergeant Wilson, you want Danny and me to take this on into the house and get it set up?”
“May as well. The door’s not locked,” Brody told him and nodded to Danny Simmons, who was waiting on the porch. Both boys hadn’t had the best starts in life but Riley and Meg Cooper had been mentoring them about making better choices.
Kevin shifted the box and grinned. “Yeah, we know, but Mr. Ogle said to wait till you got here anyway.”
“Start bringing the boxes in and I’ll be in to decide where to put everything,” Brody told Kevin before turning his attention to the older man once more. “Ogle, where did all this come from?”
His thumbs still hooked over the bib of his overalls, Ogle flapped his arms, elbows turned outward. “The baby things were left over from all the items we collected when that young family, the Dodges, got burned out of their place. ’Member that fire last winter?” Ogle didn’t wait for a reply. “Anyway, folks who’d donated said to go ahead and keep things for the next family that needed help.”
Brody glanced at the chaos on his porch. “But that’s an awful lot of stuff.”
“Yeah, ain’t it amazing how much stuff a tiny person requires?”
Eyes wide, Mary stared at the stack of baby merchandise. “I can’t possibly accept all this.”
Ogle shook his head. “You’ll have to take that up with Tavie. I don’t argue, just follow orders. Kinda like the years I spent in the corps. She says you’re gonna need all this, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past fifty years, it’s that Tavie is usually right.”
Brody tugged his ear. “I don’t...”
Ogle clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, son, a baby changes everything.”
* * *
Mary surveyed the makeshift nursery on the second floor of Brody’s two-hundred-year-old farmhouse. With Brody’s help and Ogle’s supervision, the boys had set up a portable crib, a rocking chair and even a changing table in what had been an empty room. What was with this town? It was as if she’d returned home or something. With all the furniture, the room looked as though she and Elliott intended to take up permanent residence. She winced. Brody had tried to hide his reaction, but seeing all the baby paraphernalia the boys were unloading had thrown him. He clearly hadn’t realized picking her and Elliott up at the hospital and offering them a temporary place to stay was going to cause such an upheaval in his life. She hadn’t meant to barge into his personal space. At least Brody had attempted to hide his consternation. Roger hadn’t tried to hide anything. Told her flat out he had no time or inclination to make room for a baby in his life.
Mary sighed and rubbed Elliott’s back while he slept in the crib, unaware of all the commotion he’d caused. She went into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that connected this room to the one she would be using.
She bent to splash water on her face, and a wave of dizziness hit her. She gripped the edge of the counter, straightening with care.
“What were you thinking, just showing up like this?” she asked her reflection in the mirror.
Poor Brody had looked as if he’d been struck by a tornado. And who could blame him? She patted her face dry with a towel from the rack, taking extra care around her glue patch. Ogle was right when he said a baby changed everything. She’d had nine months to prepare, and she often felt overwhelmed and unqualified. She and Elliott had been thrust on Brody with no warning whatsoever. Despite her fatigue, she hung the towel back up and went downstairs to look for Brody.
He was standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and staring out the window above the sink, his broad back to her.
She paused in the doorway and admired his wide shoulders and the thick black hair that curled over the top of his collar in the back. Would it feel as silky as it looked? She cleared her throat. “I apologize for disrupting everything like this.”
He refilled the glass from the faucet before turning. “Don’t worry about it.”
He hadn’t reacted to her presence. Had he seen her reflection in the window? If so, he’d caught her staring at him. Warmth rose in her face. Even with Roger she hadn’t felt like a middle schooler in the throes of a crush. Looking back she could see her mistakes. Charm and good looks had been the sum total of Roger Wilson, but that realization had come too late.
Brody turned toward the bags piled on the wooden farmhouse table, and a muscle in his cheek twitched. More unwelcome chaos?
She needed to make things right. Brody and Elliott could get to know one another just fine without living together. “I’m sure Elliott and I can find a place of our own within the next few days.”
“There’s no rush. I have plenty of room here.” He sipped the water.
“But we’re imposing on your privacy and...and...” She shook her head, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut when the paramedics had arrived at the accident scene.
“It’s okay—it’s not as if I had plans to walk around naked...for the next few days, anyway.”
His statement set off flutters in her stomach. The picture of Brody Wilson naked did things to her that she had no business exploring. He was off limits as the brother of her ex. Her face hot, she coughed. “Well, I don’t have any plans for that, either.”
“Then we’re good.” He set the empty glass in the sink and leaned against the counter.
They stood in the silent kitchen, Brody staring at his feet and Mary’s stomach churning at the plastic bags strewn on the table. How often had she collected her few possessions in a black plastic trash bag to take with her to the next foster home? To this day, she hated
the smell of those black bags, and she’d sworn she’d never do that again. And yet here she was. Not quite the same situation, but close enough to sour her stomach.
The refrigerator’s motor kicked on, and he straightened, stepping away from the counter. “I’ve got to check on the animals. Why don’t you get settled? Take a nap. After I finish with the chores, I’ll see if there’s something in the freezer for supper. If you get hungry, feel free to help yourself to whatever you can scrounge up.”
Mary crossed the kitchen to the window over the sink as soon as the back door shut. Brody sauntered across the yard to the bright red barn and rolled open one side of the giant double doors. He stood in the entrance and stared back at the house. Had he needed to see to his animals, or had he been in a hurry to get away? She couldn’t blame him if it was the latter. She and Elliott had descended on him and disrupted practically his whole house. That nurse at the ER had made it sound as if Brody enjoyed being out here alone on his farm, so it stood to reason he wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. She stared at the open barn door after Brody had disappeared inside.
Sighing, she turned away from the sink and opened the bags until she located clothes the deputy’s wife had sent. At least she could take a nap, then change into something decent while Brody checked on his animals.
He cared a great deal for those animals, going so far as to locate a second alpaca to keep the first one company. He’d tried to laugh off their names as a joke, but she didn’t think they were a joke or even random. Although their names may have been subconsciously chosen, they were a clue to Brody. And telling herself she wanted to get to know him better for Elliott’s sake alone was an outright lie.
* * *
The Sergeant's Unexpected Family Page 4