by Marin Thomas
“No thumb, Lily.” Amy feared if her daughter didn’t kick the nasty habit, she’d end up needing braces and there wouldn’t be any money in the budget for orthodontic visits for years to come.
“Who got all this stuff?” Rose climbed onto a chair to watch the unpacking. Lily followed her sister’s lead and claimed her own chair.
“Mr. Cartwright picked up a few things at the store for me.” That wasn’t a lie—not really. Besides, it wasn’t either of her daughters’ business who paid the grocery bill, which by the number of bags must have cost Matt a small fortune.
Lily spotted the bananas and clapped her hands. “Nanna! Me nanna!”
Amy washed a banana, peeled the fruit and handed it to Lily. “What would you like, Rose? Grapes?”
“Okay.”
While the girls ate their snacks, she stowed the food. Good grief, Matt had purchased laundry detergent and a bottle of Mr. Bubble for bath time.
“Look, Lily!” Rose squealed, when she spotted the Silly Nilly box—fruit-chew snacks Amy had stopped buying when she’d tightened the budget.
“Lily, if you let Rose help you use the potty and wash your hands afterward, then you two can have a fruit chew and sit outside on the swing while I make supper.”
“Okay.” Lily stuffed the rest of the banana into her mouth, slid from the chair, then waddled off.
“She went, Mama,” her eldest daughter announced five minutes later.
Amy crossed the room and straightened Lily’s pants, then handed out the treats and warned, “Stay on the swing.”
As soon as they stepped outside, Lily shouted, “Car!”
Not now. Payton Scott and his flashy red Mustang drove up the road. She followed the girls onto the porch and waited. The bank manager got out of his car and stood for a moment, staring at Matt’s truck and horse trailer.
“What can I do for you, Payton?” Amy called.
A moment later he joined her on the porch. “Whose rig is that?”
She’d rather not discuss Matt in front of the girls. “C’mon in.”
No sooner had the screen door closed than he demanded, “Whose horses are those?”
“They belong to Matt Cartwright. A friend of Ben’s.” Until she understood the reason for the visit, she refused to reveal any details of her and Matt’s agreement. She motioned for her guest to sit. Payton chose to stand, one hand shoved deep into his trouser pocket. “What brings you by?” Amy asked.
“Bad news, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?” She retrieved a cutting board and knife, then went to work chopping vegetables.
“I spoke with my father and he’s decided against granting you a ninety-day reprieve on your mortgage payments.”
“Why?” Amy had asked for the extension while she took a government-sponsored training class that began a week from tomorrow. The three-week data-entry program would hopefully lead to a job and a steady source of income until she figured out SOS’s fate and resumed boarding horses. She’d hoped not to have to make a mortgage payment until September.
“You should have taken the job I offered you at the bank,” Payton said, avoiding her question.
The job came with strings—strings that led right to Payton’s bedroom. That’s why she’d declined. Yes, she was desperate to keep her farm, but not desperate enough that she’d sleep with a potbellied pig. “I can’t afford child care,” she lied.
“I assumed you’d be stubborn, so the bank contacted Wineball Realty to begin the paperwork to put the property on the market.”
Amy set the knife aside, lest she be tempted to use it on Payton rather than a tomato. “The farm isn’t for sale.”
He flashed a sinister smile. “It will be if you don’t come up with the money for your May mortgage payment.”
HIDDEN IN THE SHADOWS of the barn door, Matt had a clear view of Dapper Dan and his flashy sports car. Ignoring the girls, who’d been sitting on the porch swing, the visitor had followed Amy inside the house.
Matt had a hunch the man’s visit wasn’t a social call. Don’t get involved. Shoot, Amy would tell him to butt out, too. He set the pitchfork aside and headed for the house, believing his curiosity about the visitor had to do with being neighborly and not territorial. He wouldn’t intervene unless Amy wished him to, but at least she’d know he stood in her corner.
“Hello, ladies,” Matt greeted the girls with a grin as he climbed the porch steps. The older child offered a solemn stare, but the toddler flashed a red-stained smile, then removed a half-chewed piece of food from her mouth and held it out. “Nilly.”
They were eating the fruit snacks he’d purchased at the grocery store. “I don’t believe we’ve officially met.” He whipped off his hat and bowed. “Matt Cartwright. You can call me Mr. Matt.” The older girl frowned. He wracked his brain, but her name slipped his memory. A flower. Yeah, that was it. Both girls were named after flowers. “So, Daisy—”
“Daisy’s not my name.”
He frowned. “Well, now, Daffodil, I—”
She giggled and shook her head. “Nope. I’m not Daffodil.”
“Marigold?” he guessed.
“No, silly, I’m Rose.”
“That’s right—Rose.” He snapped his fingers. “And your sister, Violet—”
More laughter, this time the toddler joined in and clapped her hands.
“I mean, Tulip.”
“Her name’s Lily.”
Matt chuckled at their belly laughs. Drool dripped off the little one’s chin and Rose’s eyes twinkled. He was taken aback that a little kidding tickled the funny bones of a couple of pint-size cherubs. “I need to speak to your mother. You flower buds stay here.”
He thought about knocking before entering the house, then changed his mind when the visitor’s raised voice carried through the screen door.
“You have no other option, Amy, but to sell.”
“What’s the reason your father won’t allow me a grace period on my mortgage payment? The bank will hardly miss my sixteen hundred dollars each month.”
“You’re a bad risk.”
“Ben was the bad risk. I’m not.”
“You’ve got no income. No one’s going to board horses here until you send that beast in the barn to the glue factory. Even that won’t be enough. You’ve accumulated too much credit card debt.”
“Ben’s doing, not mine.”
“Same difference.”
Matt had heard enough. He entered the kitchen unannounced and crowded the banker’s personal space. “Matt Cartwright.” He held out his hand.
“Payton Scott.”
Matt eyed Amy. She stood in front of the stove, her mouth stretched into a thin line. “It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Olson is interested in selling at the moment.”
Scott’s brow furrowed. “Mrs. Olson is running out of options.”
“The girls and I have nowhere to go, Payton. You can’t kick me out of my own home.”
Scott didn’t bat an eyelash. The jerk had no qualms about putting a woman and her two daughters out on the street. “The farm is yours as long as you keep up with the payments.”
“You didn’t tell him?” Matt asked Amy, hoping she’d play along.
Scott’s head bounced between Matt and Amy like a Ping-Pong ball. “Tell me what?”
“I’m paying Mrs. Olson a stud fee for Son of Sunshine.” He rubbed his whiskered jaw. “What did we agree the fee would be again?”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Sixteen hundred dollars.”
“W-what?” Scott sputtered.
“You heard Mrs. Olson. Sixteen hundred dollars.” He lowered his voice. “The exact amount of her mortgage.”
Scott balled his hands into fists and straightened his shoulders until the buttons threatened to pop off his dress shirt. “You’re wasting your money, mister. That horse is worthless.” Scott stormed out. A minute later the Mustang motor revved and the banker sped off.
“Can we come in now?” Rose held Lily’s hand on the
other side of the screen door.
Matt pushed the door open and the girls went straight to Amy, wrapping their sticky hands around her legs. Had they sensed their mother’s distress? Amy’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. He came to her rescue. “What smells so good?”
“Fajitas. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Bathroom’s down the hall if you want to wash up.”
He took one step, then stopped and considered his boots—boots that had been in a dirty barn all day. He returned outside and tugged off his Ropers, then padded through the narrow hallway.
The bathroom was the size of a closet—room for a sink and a toilet, nothing else. He squeezed in, shut the door and locked it, then sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t condone men harassing women. Scott was nothing but a big bully.
After scrubbing his hands he bent over the sink and splashed water on his face. He hadn’t signed on to be the widow’s caretaker. All he wanted was to breed his mares with the stallion, then hit the road. So why did he have this annoying urge to protect the three females in the kitchen?
He’d rescued a needy female once before and that had blown up in his face. He was done with the white-knight routine. He’d make Amy’s mortgage payment because it was the right thing to do and nothing more.
When he entered the kitchen, Rose was seated at the table—Lily in the high chair. “Where would you like me to sit?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Amy delivered a large bowl of stir-fried veggies and meat to the table.
Matt picked the chair between the two girls. Lily grinned. “Hi, you.”
“Hi, you,” he answered back.
Lily giggled.
“She always says that.” Rose rolled her eyes.
Amy sat across from Matt. “Two-year-olds tend to repeat everything you say,” she explained, then grabbed both her daughters’ hands.
Head bowed, he waited. And waited. Then he cracked one eye. All three females stared at him. “What?”
“We’re supposed to hold hands, Mr. Matt,” Rose explained.
Feeling stupid, he gently grasped Rose’s fingertips and darned if Lily didn’t offer her chubby paw covered in baby spit.
“Lord, we ask that you bless this food and…bless Mr. Cartwright for providing us with groceries today. Amen.”
He allowed the comment on the groceries to pass. He decided if Amy did the cooking, he’d supply the food.
“Mr. Matt.” Rose chewed with her mouth open. “How did you know we liked Silly Nilly’s?”
He didn’t dare confess he’d stood in the cereal aisle for five minutes before he’d gathered the courage to ask a female shopper to suggest a treat for little girls. He shrugged. “You two look like Silly Nilly girls.” Rose giggled and made a funny face. Lily mimicked her sister, then banged her spoon on the tray.
“Quit, Rose, or you’ll have Lily all worked up and she won’t eat.” Amy passed the warm tortillas to Matt.
“Thanks for making supper.” He loaded his plate with food. He’d skipped lunch, wanting to get to work cleaning the barn.
“How did things go today?” Amy asked.
“Good. I scrubbed the stall.” Matt had disinfected everything that the stallion came in contact with including the cement floor. He wanted the animal to smell him and nothing else in the barn.
“Is SOS eating?” Amy’s gaze dropped to her plate. He had a hunch her financial situation had forced her to scale back on feed for the stallion.
“Ate everything in sight today.” Matt had stocked up on carrots and sugar cubes to reward SOS for good behavior.
This afternoon he’d set a piece of carrot on the stall door and stood nearby, assuming the animal would be wary of approaching the treat. Surprisingly the stallion hadn’t balked at snatching the carrot from the top of the gate with Matt close by—which didn’t make any sense if the horse had been mistreated. At that moment, with SOS munching in Matt’s ear, he’d suspected Ben’s death had been an accident. His gut said something or someone had set the horse off. But what?
After SOS had eaten the carrot, Matt had decided to examine the animal’s hide for wounds or scars that might signal abuse, but when he’d opened the stall door the stallion had gone loco. SOS had danced sideways, stomped and swung his head from side to side. As soon as the stall door closed, the stud had quieted. Darndest thing Matt had ever witnessed.
“Rose, tell Mr. Matt what the rule is about the barn,” Amy said.
“Lily and I can’t go into the barn.” The girl sighed dramatically. “Ever.”
Although Amy put on a brave face, fear darkened her eyes. He understood and sympathized. She had a right to worry about the girls’ safety. Whether accidental or not, she’d lost her husband to a violent death and was determined the girls wouldn’t suffer a similar fate.
“That’s a good rule, Rose. I bet you help your mom by keeping tabs on Lily and making sure she doesn’t wander close to the barn.”
“Rose is a big help around the farm.” Amy smiled, sweeping the bangs off the girl’s forehead.
The maternal gesture reminded Matt that his mother had left him and his sister when they’d been toddlers. He’d grown up with his father’s love and had basked in the attention of Juanita, their housekeeper, but by the time his father had remarried, Matt had reached his teens and hadn’t wanted a mother hovering over him.
“I done!” Lily announced.
“Yuck.” Rose pointed to her sister’s high chair.
The tray was smeared with mashed bits of food. Hardly any of the rice, beans or shredded tortilla pieces had made it into Lily’s mouth. Food stuck to her hair, eyelashes, ears and Matt spotted a grain of rice protruding from her nose.
“I don’t understand why she refuses to use her spoon.” Amy blew out an exasperated breath.
Rose grinned at her sister. “Lily’s a pig.”
The word pig triggered a snort from the toddler and the speck of rice shot from her nostril like a pellet from a BB gun, hitting Matt in the chin.
“Sorry.” Amy sprang from her seat, wet a dishcloth and attempted to wipe her daughter’s face—not an easy task with the two girls engaged in a pig-snorting contest. Amy gave up, tossed the towel into the sink and ignored the ruckus while she ate.
Matt was content to sit on the sidelines and observe the three females. Amy’s habit of taking a deep breath after every bite drew Matt’s attention to her bosom, which she had plenty of for a small gal. He tended to gravitate toward tall, leggy redheads, not short, curvy blondes. But Amy’s womanly softness snagged his interest.
“Are you finished?” Amy asked.
Had she caught him ogling? Matt tore his eyes from the front of her shirt. She nodded to his empty plate. “I’ll warm up more tortillas—”
“No, thanks. I’m full. The food was great.” Actually the meat was a bit on the tough side and made him wish for Juanita’s cooking. He scanned the kitchen. The room looked as if a food bomb had exploded inside it.
Pots and pans stacked in the sink. Dirty dishes and utensils scattered across the counter top. Food on the floor around the high chair. Leftovers waiting to be stored in the fridge. He eyeballed the door, contemplating a quick escape. Then he caught Amy rubbing her temples. Tired or upset? Probably both. The bank manager’s visit had been a low blow. Then she’d slaved over a meal. And now she was faced with a massive cleanup and a dirty kid. Was it any wonder she was at her wit’s end?
“Rose and I will tackle the kitchen if you want to give Miss Lily a bath,” he offered.
She crinkled her nose. “What did you say?”
“I’m not much of a cook, but I’m a whiz at washing dishes.” He’d noted the absence of a dishwasher among the kitchen appliances.
“You’re sure?” she hedged as if fearing he’d rescind the offer.
“Positive. Go ahead and get the little one cleaned up.”
Eyes glistening, Amy choked, “That would be great. Thank you.” Then she cleared her throat. “Rose, you help Mr. Matt. Show him where thi
ngs go.” Amy lifted the grubby toddler from the high chair, and Lily shoved her sticky fingers right into her mother’s curls before pressing a slobbery kiss to her cheek.
As soon as Amy left the room with Lily, Rose announced, “My daddy never washed dishes.”
“Guess I’m a sucker for damsels in distress.”
Chapter Four
Friday morning Amy stood in the kitchen, phone to her ear, attempting to convince her neighbor that Matt Cartwright was harmless. A week had come and gone and Matt had yet to work with SOS long enough to determine if the stallion was safe. Neither he nor Amy had brought up the agreement Matt had struck with her…“If the stud remains untouchable, I’ll load up my mares and retreat to Oklahoma.” Matt was determined to win over the horse and for reasons she refused to delve into, Amy was determined to let him.
“Mary, Matt Cartwright is on the up-and-up,” Amy assured for the umpteenth time. Not once had he stepped out, over or under the line with her or the girls.
More importantly, he’d kept his promise. This past Monday he’d stopped at the bank in town and paid her May mortgage along with the late fees Payton had tacked on. She intended to pay back every penny as soon as she landed a job and saved enough for the upcoming June payment.
“Phone Jake Taylor,” Amy said. “He’s been checking in with Matt. He’ll attest to the man’s reputation.”
Amy’s neighbor droned on about how people couldn’t be too careful these days—a drawback to living in a small community. Folks tended to be overly suspicious of outsiders—often for no good reason. Amy searched for the words to persuade the woman to allow her daughter to babysit the girls.
Her data class began Monday. Amy had hoped Mary’s fifteen-year-old daughter would ride the school bus home with Rose each day, then watch the girls until eight in the evening when Amy returned from class.
“Mary—” Amy interrupted the woman’s ramblings. “Would you allow Kristen to babysit if I arrange for Mr. Cartwright to be absent from the farm while she’s here?” Amy had no idea how she’d convince Matt to leave the premises for five hours a day. Mary agreed to discuss the situation with her husband and call later that evening. Amy thanked her, then hung up. “Darn it!”