by Marin Thomas
Ellen slipped behind the door and hid from sight. No way was that teen-ignorant man residing on her farm. Seth had his faults, but she loved him dearly and refused to sentence him to a summer hanging around a grown man in a big pout.
She sensed Nelson McKade was bull-headed and considered himself right and everyone else wrong. Besides, having a city slicker—a constant reminder of the life she’d always dreamed of—shoved under her nose for weeks on end was enough to give her the shakes.
“Where is she?” The question met Ellen’s ears seconds before the door met her nose.
“Yeow!”
A masculine hand grabbed the edge of the door, then a handsome face wavered in front of her watering eyes. “My God, are you all right? Where did the door hit you?”
Before she could answer, callused hands cupped her jaw. “Your nose is bleeding.” He plugged her nostril with his big thumb, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her to a folding chair next to the sink. “Get some ice, Flo.” He knelt on one knee, thumb still shoved up her nose, and smoothed a hand down her pigtail.
She would never have guessed Nelson McKade had a gentle side to him. A side she wouldn’t mind exploring if things were different. If she were different.
“I’m sorry, Ellen.” He set his hand on her thigh to balance himself, and the warmth of his long fingers seeped through the denim material and right into her skin. She shivered at the tingly sensation.
“Are you cold?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Not that she expected him to. The man had a talent for asking and answering his own questions. “Flo, bring a blanket or something. Ellen’s going into shock.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Her entire face might be numb, but she wasn’t about to pass out.
“I know it hurts. The ice should help the pain.” He caressed her cheek, his breath fanning her mouth, making her forget the pain. Making her imagine what his kiss would taste like.
How long had it been since a man had laid hands on her? Patted her hair? Her cheek? Stuck his thumb in her nose?
Flo returned from the storage room and draped a sweater across Ellen’s shoulders, then handed Nelson a towel filled with ice cubes. He let go of her thigh and carefully held the towel to the bridge of her nose.
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Flo suggested.
“My nose is fine,” Ellen insisted, sounding like an idiot, with one nostril plugged. She swung her head sideways and Nelson’s thumb popped out. Gesturing to the blood, she advised, “Wash your hand.”
He wiped his thumb on the paper towel Flo had fetched, then pressed his fingertips against her forehead, her cheekbones, her jaw. “Nothing feels broken, but you’re beginning to bruise.” His finger rubbed the skin beneath her eye.
“You better drive her out to the farm. She’s probably concussed.” Flo’s eyes twinkled.
“No one’s driving me anywhere.” She swatted at the ice pack. “Let me up. The cows need to be milked.”
“I’ll follow in my car.” Nelson stood, then offered a hand.
Intuition warned she could argue with Nelson McKade until her whole face became black and blue, and he still wouldn’t back down. Fine. Let him follow her. One look-see at the farm and he’d tuck tail and run. “Suit yourself.” Ignoring his outstretched hand, she marched from the kitchen.
COWS?
Wishing the steering wheel were his grandfather’s neck, Nelson squeezed until his knuckles threatened to pop out of joint. Would there never be an end to the old man’s surprises? First, Nelson had expected Ellen Tanner to be an elderly widow, not a pretty young widow. Second, he assumed he’d be harvesting corn or alfalfa, not milking dairy cows.
As he followed the rattletrap truck through the entrance gate, he noticed that the wooden sign, Tanner Farm, hung crookedly from the corner fence post. “Whoa!” He swerved, avoiding a huge pothole in the drive. A moment later, he swung the wheel in the opposite direction to evade another crater. He should be driving a 69-ton Abrams tank to navigate this maze of landmines. He guessed at least five years had passed since a fresh layer of gravel had been laid down on the driveway.
Ellen parked next to the barn, left the truck and disappeared inside the structure. Nelson stopped the car, now covered in a coating of gray dust, by the front porch. He shut off the motor and stared out the wind-shield. Some quintessential farmhouse—an architecturally boring one-story white box. Where were the shutters, the wraparound porch with rocking chairs facing west and the hound dog lounging in the sun? There wasn’t even a welcome mat on the cement stoop. Except for the healthy hundred-year-old oak tree shading the yard, the place had a depressing feel.
A quick scan of the barnyard netted no chickens pecking the ground. No pigs rolling in the mud. Still no dog. Didn’t every farm have at least one dog and several cats wandering around? There was nothing homey or warm about the residence, as though the people living here would rather be someplace else.
A flash of pink caught his attention. Ellen left the smaller, graying white barn through a side door, crossed under a covered walkway, then entered a larger, rectangular, green steel barn. He noticed the structure had two-foot vents running along its steeply pitched roof. A moment later she reappeared in cover-alls, leading a cow into the white barn. For several minutes he watched her repeat the process, until she’d retrieved eight cows.
Obviously, she planned to ignore him. Might as well put an end to her wishful thinking. He left the car and pocketed his keys. Halfway to the barn, he cursed. A brown glob oozed from the sides of his shoe. Cow poop. He should have stopped at the Farm and Fleet he’d passed earlier in the afternoon and purchased a pair of sturdy boots.
Dragging his heel against the ground, he continued to the barn. He paused inside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The scent of disinfectant greeted his nostrils first, followed by an earthy mixture of animal and hay.
In the middle of the barn, Ellen rubbed a big, black, wet nose and murmured nonsensical words. Between every two animals sat a trolley containing two stainless-steel canisters with four rubber suction hoses attached to the cow’s teats. The quiet slurp of the mini milking machines hummed in the air.
Fanny Farmer moved up and down the aisle, cooing to her charges. Petting their heads. Like good little kids, the cows remained quiet during the milking process. He had to smile at Ellen’s attire—a jumpsuit that resembled something an auto mechanic would wear to protect his clothes. She’d stuffed her pigtails under a blue paper cap and clean black rubber boots covered her feet. “What’s up with the outfit?” he called out.
The cows immediately mooed and shifted in the stalls. Pressing a finger to her mouth, Ellen commanded, “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” he whispered.
“Nervous cows don’t give milk,” she explained as she moved toward him.
He stepped in her direction, but froze when she held up a hand.
“Stop right there. You can’t enter the milking barn dressed like that.”
“I have to put on that getup?” He nodded to her outfit.
“Yes. The barn should be kept as germfree as possible.”
“All right. Where do I find another jumpsuit?”
Her mouth dropped open.
Had she hoped that after he’d seen the cows and sniffed the air in the barn he’d scurry back to Chicago? Boy, was she in for a big surprise. “Consider this, Ellen Tanner. Whether you choose to pay me or not, I’m here for the summer. It’s your call. I lounge around your house and do nothing, or you teach me to milk cows.”
“I think there’s something you should know,” she hedged.
“What?”
“I lied to your grandfather.”
“You’re not a widow?” He glanced over his shoulder, expecting a hulking giant to jump out of a dark corner and threaten him with a pitchfork.
“No. I mean, yes, I’m a widow.” Her gaze attached itself to the barn door. “I fibbed when I told your grandfather I needed a man to do chores.”
“If you don’t require the help, then what do you want a man for?” Her attention shifted from the door to his body. A flash of heat raced through Nelson. No way! She’d hired him to…to…have sex with her?
She must have read his thoughts, because she snarled, “I need someone to keep tabs on my son.”
The sting of disappointment surprised him. “You desire a babysitter?” But not me?
“Not a babysitter. A companion.”
“Lady, I’m thirty-seven years old. I don’t hang out with teenagers.”
“Suit yourself.” There went the chin in the air again. “If you won’t keep track of Seth, then you can just drive that fancy car of yours back to Chicago.”
The woman was serious. For the first time in a long time, Nelson wasn’t sure how to proceed. He’d faced some heated moments in the boardroom over the years, but nothing compared with the fire spitting from the two big blue eyes five feet away.
The longer he studied Ellen, the more he saw through her false bravado. His chest tightened with compassion. The woman single-handedly ran a dairy farm, worked a second job and was raising a son alone. His employees didn’t toil that hard and he paid them a hell of a lot of money. “I’ll supervise your boy on one condition.” Oh, hell. His grandfather insisted he learn how to take orders, not boss the boss.
“Condition?” A cute crinkle formed between her eyebrows and he resisted the temptation to smooth it away with his finger.
“You allow me to help with the cows.”
“But—”
“If your son is anything like I was at thirteen, he’ll sleep for twelve hours a day. I might as well be useful until he wakes up.”
Expecting her to balk at his demand, she surprised him by ending their sparring match. “Fine.”
He should be grateful she hadn’t put up a fuss, but in truth he found her stubbornness a challenge and had anticipated going another round with her. “Where do I find a pair—”
“In there.” She nodded to the doorway on Nelson’s right. “Scrub your hands with the antibacterial soap. Don’t forget a cap. And—” she frowned at his feet “—never, ever, walk through the milking barn with poopy shoes. Buck’s old boots are under the sink. Wear those.”
Five minutes later, Nelson emerged from the washroom feeling like a…a…
“Who’s the dweeb, Mom?”
Dweeb? Nelson admitted he probably did look like a doofus in blue coveralls and a fast-food hair net. If his brothers could see him now, they’d split their guts laughing.
Wearing a the-world-sucks glare on his face, Nelson’s new charge lounged in the barn doorway with a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Seth, be polite.” Ellen’s reprimand sounded muffled. Probably due to the fact she was lifting one of the large stainless-steel milk cans from the trolley.
Forgetting about the kid, Nelson rushed over to help. As he relieved her of the heavy burden, he noticed a purple bruise forming beneath her right eye and felt like a schmuck for having smacked her face with the door.
“This is Mr. McKade. I’ve hired him to help out this summer.” She didn’t have to act so resigned. “Mr. McKade, this is my son, Seth Tanner.”
“Hello, Seth. Pleasure to meet you.” He couldn’t very well shake the teen’s hand until he dumped the milk somewhere. “Where does this go?”
“Over here.” She led the way to the rear of the barn, where four large canisters lined the wall. “These are the collecting cans. When the can is full, we insert an in-can turbine cooler to bring the temperature of the milk down.”
Now that Nelson thought about it, the container in his hand felt warm. “What’s the temperature of the milk when it leaves the cow?”
“Around 101 degrees. The turbine coolers lower the temperature to forty degrees and keep it there until the milk truck arrives. The truck picks up every two days or so.”
Careful not to spill a drop, Nelson poured the milk into the canister. “Any of the others ready to be emptied?”
“Not yet.”
“What should I do now?”
“Nothing. Wait here.” Ellen went to her son, leaving Nelson to twiddle his thumbs. Deciding he should become better acquainted with the cows, he wandered over to the one named Betty and patted her rump.
“How did the band party go?” Nelson overheard Ellen ask the boy.
“Okay, I guess.” The teen sneered at Nelson. “He don’t act like no farm hand.”
Smart kid.
Ignoring the rude comment, Ellen asked, “What finals do you have tomorrow?” She lifted a hand to ruffle her son’s hair, but the boy moved his head away.
“English and art.”
“Get a snack in the house, then go hit the books.”
“I’ll study later. Brad got a new video game. His mom said I could—”
“School first, Seth. There’ll be plenty of time to play video games this summer.”
As soon as the grumbling teen exited the barn, Ellen hissed, “Step back.”
Ignorant of what barn rule he’d broken now, Nelson shifted away from the cow’s rear end.
Cheeks flushed with fury, she warned, “Don’t ever stand behind a cow. Cows see everything around them except what’s immediately in back of their hindquarters.”
“Aren’t dairy cows tame like house pets?”
“The cows know me, my voice and my touch. You’re a stranger to them.” She rubbed her forehead. “This isn’t going to work.”
No way was he giving her a reason to boot him off the farm. “If I have to make friends with them before they trust me, then I’ll do it. Tell me how.”
After a long pause, she instructed, “Keep your voice low and calm. Approach the animal from the front and use slow hand movements when you touch them.”
“That’s it?”
“And don’t stand to the side of the cow, either. When they get nervous, they lash out to the front and the side. The last thing I wish for this summer is a call to 911 because you got yourself kicked in the head.”
A hoof to the head was exactly what he deserved for agreeing to appease his grandfather. He signaled to the animals in the stalls. “So this is what you want me to do every day?”
“No. You’ll wash the equipment and haul the milk to the holding cans. I’ll clean the cows’ udders and hook them up to the suction tubes.”
“Why do you get to have all the fun?”
“Try doing it for twenty years and then tell me if you still think it’s fun.” She walked down the aisle, detaching the suction tubes from the udders. When all the cows had been unhooked, she pushed a button on an electrical panel in the wall and the stall doors opened automatically. Like trained circus performers, the animals moved forward and exited the barn into a grazing pasture.
“How many cows do you have?” he asked.
“Right now, twenty-four.”
“How often do you milk them?”
“Twice a day.”
He added up the time she’d spent on the first eight cows, subtracted fifteen minutes for interruptions, and figured the milking took Ellen at least a few hours to do by herself. She spent six hours out of each day in this barn. And that didn’t include cleaning the equipment, the barns or feeding the cows. Then she waited tables for five or six hours and somehow managed to take care of her son’s needs. Crazy lady. It was only a matter of time before she collapsed from total exhaustion or suffered a nervous breakdown. “Should I get the next group of cows?”
“No. But I’d appreciate you checking on Seth.” Her challenging stare stopped the protest in the middle of his throat.
“All right. I’ll see if he’s studying, then return to help clean up.”
“Don’t bother. There’s not enough time today to show you how to wash the equipment.”
His first instinct was to challenge her, but then his grandfather’s face popped into his mind and he snapped his mouth shut. He’d show the old man he could follow an order. “Fine. Where do you want me to put my
things?”
“Things?”
“Clothes. Toiletries.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I fixed up a room for you in the other barn.”
No. “You’re making me sleep with the cows?”
“I’m sure you’ll get along just fine with your new roommates.”
Chapter Three
Acquiescence. Acquiescence. Acquiescence.
Nelson wondered whether there were any how-to books on self-hypnosis. If repeating the word in his mind didn’t brainwash him, the process would at least calm his growing irritation with Fanny Farmer aka Ellen Tanner. In a controlled voice, he insisted, “You honestly expect me to sleep in a barn.”
An unladylike snort rewarded his calm demeanor. “Sorry, but the local Hilton is booked for the summer.”
“I assumed the room-and-board offer in your Help Wanted ad included decent accommodations. Isn’t there an extra bedroom in the house?”
“You can’t sleep in the house with Seth and me. What would people think?”
“I wouldn’t be sleeping with you or Seth.” He shuddered when he imagined her waspish tongue in bed. On the other hand, the notion of kissing her unruly mouth into submission intrigued him.
“Typical big-city mentality.” She planted her fists on her hips and glared. “I have to set an example for my son.”
He admired her for that, but—
“And I don’t want to give him another reason to be at odds with me.”
At odds with her? “He’s thirteen and he lives on a farm. He knows about sex, Ellen. I’ll make sure he understands that we aren’t having it.”
Her face paled, causing the freckles across the bridge of her nose to pop out like leopard spots. “This isn’t going to—”
“I’ll sleep in the barn,” he blurted, the concession souring his stomach.
Her fists slid off her hips and her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Maybe he wasn’t what she’d hoped for in a hired hand, but he deserved a chance.
Why should you warrant a second chance when you’ve never give your employees the same opportunity? “Shut up,” he mumbled to the voice in his head.