by Zuri Day
Retrieving her phone, she touched the screen to light it up. There had been one missed call. She read the number and frowned. Not one that she recognized. But since it wasn’t unusual for someone to call her cell instead of the office phone with dairy questions, she immediately hit redial—and regretted it as soon as she heard the voice on the other end.
“Cedric? How did you get my number?” she seethed as he shared how he’d lied to Alice. “If you call again, I’m going to report it as harassment. Got it?” The sound of his voice offering an explanation grated on her ears and made her hands shake. She ended the call while he was in midsentence, threw the phone into her bag and rode away.
Moments later she reached her ranch house. That it needed a fresh coat of paint did not go without notice. But the hydrangeas were flourishing and the beauty of those bushes alone, with their blue, pink, white and purple flowers, covered a multitude of faults.
“About time,” Griff grunted as soon as she walked in the door.
“Something smells good,” Charli responded.
“Something called supper. Which you missed. Some of the guys wanted to wait but couldn’t. They had chores.”
“Sorry!” she yelled from the kitchen.
Minutes later, she walked into the living/dining area and sat at the table. Smells from the plate of piping-hot chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, green beans and sliced onions, all from their land, tickled her olfactory senses and made her stomach growl. She dug in.
Griff got up from his well-worn recliner, passed her and walked into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a large glass of lemonade and a saucer of rolls, which he set in front of her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.
He walked back into the kitchen, returned to the dining room with a slice of homemade apple pie and sat at the table.
“This is good, Griff,” she said, pausing to wipe her mouth and have a drink of lemonade.
Griff grunted.
“Did Bobby tell you about the cow?”
He nodded. “More meat for winter.”
“Hated to lose it, though. Was hoping we might get another calf out of her, or two.”
“We could have used ’em. Going to have to sell another chunk of the stock as it is.”
Charli set down her fork. “Why?”
Griff took his time cutting off a bite of pie and eating it. “Water tank’s leaking. And we need to put a patch on the roof. Heard birds or rats or something flitting around.”
“Oh, man.”
The sketchy economy in the last few years had not been kind to dairy farmers, which was one of the reasons Charli had moved back from Oakland. Her grandfather had worked hard for this farm and on this land. And while she’d received a good many offers to buy her out, she was determined not to sell.
“I’d rather not lose any more livestock, especially heifers. What about a loan?”
“Don’t like owing nobody. Charles didn’t, either.”
“Well, he isn’t here. And I’m determined to keep up our head count. So give me a couple days to try and figure something out.”
“Don’t worry about it, Charli. We’ll be okay.”
“I know we will, Griff.” She placed her hand over his and felt her throat constrict. With her mother remarried and living in Canada, Griff was the closest thing to a relative that she had in the West. “Somehow, we always manage.”
They continued to eat, mostly in silence. When they talked, it was on lighter topics: the weather, baseball—Griff’s favorite sport—and current news. They didn’t return to the subject of money or the ranch. But for the rest of the evening, this very real dilemma was very much on her mind.
* * *
Money, or specifically the lack of it, was not a concern for anyone living within the guarded, gated community rather appropriately called Golden Gates. This fact was no more evident than in the Drake household as members of Ike and Jennifer’s family sat around the table feasting on Russian osetra caviar and toast points and drinking pricey champagne. A rack of lamb was warming in the oven and would be accompanied by organic root vegetables and a spicy couscous. This balmy Friday evening saw some of their children enjoying plans of their own, dates and the like, but four of the eight in their brood—Niko, Warren and the twins, Terrell and Teresa—joined Ike and Jennifer at the table.
“I hear you had a run-in with your neighbor,” Niko said, pouring more champagne into his flute. “You know we’ve got a history with the Reeds.”
Warren gave his parents a look before responding. He did this even though he knew that with few secrets within this close-knit clan, having his siblings all up in his business was to be expected.
“I do now. And I wouldn’t call it a run-in. It was more like a misunderstanding.”
“She sure did grow into a beautiful woman,” Niko continued after enjoying a bite of caviar. “I hadn’t seen her in years, almost didn’t recognize her when I saw her at the dance.”
“She was there?” Terrell asked. “What does she look like?”
Warren would have supplied this information except Niko beat him to it. “She was the tall sister in that strapless, slinky dress, with those well-defined arm muscles and legs for days.”
“The one that you were dancing with, Warren?” Teresa asked. Warren nodded.
“Damn, she is fine!” Terrell exclaimed. Jennifer’s brow raised. “I mean, darn. Sorry, Mom.”
“Yes,” she teased. “I just bet you are.”
“How’s your house coming along?” Teresa asked.
“Jackson thinks it will be finished ahead of schedule. And thanks to Dexter, the harvest is right on schedule as well. So far so good with everything I’ve planned.”
Except my progress on a friendship with Charli.
Ike sat back, watching as the housekeeper came in and removed their appetizer dishes. “Jackson still here?”
Warren shook his head. “He’s left the work in the capable hands of his foreman for this region, a nice family man named Brandon. He said he’ll more than likely be back next week, once they get ready to install the pool.”
“It sounds as though your home will be lovely, dear. Would you like my assistance in planning the housewarming?”
“I don’t know, Mom. Hadn’t even thought about having a party.”
“That’s what moms are for, my sweet, to think of these things for you. Until you get a wife, that is. And then she’ll do it.”
Warren almost spewed his bubbly. “Wife! Where’d that come from?”
“Don’t say the word like it’s poison, son,” Ike said, his voice filled with humor. “Eight kids and only one of y’all married. You’ll be thirty years old next year. It’s time to start thinking about your legacy.”
“I’ll think about mine after Niko thinks about his.”
“Don’t pull me into it,” Niko said, smiling at the housekeeper as she sat down a silver tray holding the rack of lamb and vegetables. He reached for the serving spoon and passed it to his mom. “I’m going to be a bachelor for life!”
“Me, too,” Warren added.
“That’s what we all say,” Ike commented, lifting his plate to receive a serving of lamb. “Usually right before we find the one that makes us want to marry!”
As soon as he said this, an image flashed in Warren’s mind: of dusty jeans and sweat-stained tees, a straw cowboy hat and scruffy boots. It made no sense, but the more he thought about it, he couldn’t help but wonder if just such a woman for him might be as close as his next-door neighbor.
Chapter 14
It had been an exceptional week at the office and by Thursday, when Warren took a break to check out the progress on his new home, he was in a cheerful mood. Even as the housing market continued to waver in light of the nation’s economy, the family business, Drake Realty Plus, had shown steady profits for the past six months.
Most of this was due to the Paradise Cove expansion and the condominium complex that had been built o
n the town’s north side. That and the newest subdivision, Seventh Heaven, with large, energy-efficient homes competitively priced and built almost exclusively by Warren’s cousin-in-law Jackson’s company, Boss Construction. The subdivision was nearly sixty percent sold, with most being purchased from the blueprints stage. And finally, he would see the first yield from his grape crop divided up and sold to a jelly and jam processing company and a grape juice manufacturer, with the balance sent to Dexter for another brand of Drake wine. Yes, the Drakes had a lot to be thankful for. This was going to be another stellar year.
Just as he was about to turn off onto the two-lane highway leading to his ranch he saw a sign: Cows for Sale. Charli. He bypassed his turn and continued on down the road, following the crudely drawn arrow underneath the words. About a mile down the road was another sign, about thirty yards from a tarred driveway, announcing this as the place to buy prime beef.
Warren turned into the drive and stopped in front of a white rambling farmhouse with black stucco trim. Just beyond it was a red gambrel-roofed barn with stark white trim that looked straight out of an episode of Little House on the Prairie. He exited his car, walked up to the wide, wraparound porch and knocked on the door.
Within a half an hour he’d made his purchase, arranged for delivery and continued down the road. When he passed Charli’s ranch he smiled, imagining the look on her face when the farmer showed up on her doorstep with his purchase. A superior breed, according to the seller, with a long German-sounding name and a pedigree that the farmer swore went back to the year 1541.
Well...all righty then. Warren had to take the man’s word for it. The most he knew about those four-legged creatures was the type of cut he preferred on his plate.
* * *
Charli had just returned from a run to the feed store when she saw the black pickup with high side rails ambling down their long driveway. That looks like the Dohertys’ truck. Wonder what they want. She quickly went through their inventory in her head, trying to remember if a bill for any of their livestock had gone unpaid. She stood by her truck until they’d parked, then walked over as old man Doherty and a young man who Charli guessed might be his grandson got out of the truck.
“Afternoon, Charli!”
“Afternoon, Mr. Doherty. What can I do for you?” She looked at the little boy, smiled and nodded and could now see the head of a cow through the rails.
“This is my grandson, Harry. Harry, say hello to Ms. Reed.”
“Hi, ma’am.”
“Hi, Harry.” She looked back at Mr. Doherty. “What brings you out our way?”
Mr. Doherty motioned her to follow him. “Brought you something,” he threw over his shoulder.
Charli fell in step behind him, her brow furrowed in curiosity. Once she saw what was in the back of his truck, her curiosity turned to confusion. “A heifer and a steer,” she said, reaching her hand between the rails to pet one of them. “Vorderwalds, right?”
“You got it.”
She whistled. “I know they’re worth every penny, but they’re too rich for my blood.” She walked around the truck, inspecting the beef, trying to figure out how she could buy when her somewhat precarious financial situation said that they needed to sell. “How much are you asking for them? Wait, let me rephrase that. How much are you asking for one? I could really use that heifer.”
Mr. Doherty had gone around to the back of the truck, raised the slide on the railing and unhooked the gate. “Won’t cost you nothing.” He looked up as Griff came out on the porch. “Hey there, partner.”
“Hey, Joe.” Griff continued down the steps and joined them at the back of the truck. “You’re doing door-to-door cow selling these days?”
“No,” Mr. Doherty said with a chuckle. “Came to drop these off.”
Both Griff and Charli’s heads shot up.
“What do you mean?” Charli asked.
Griff simply stared.
“Wait, you must have heard that I had to put a cow down last week. But how?”
“Harry, get up there and rope ’em up. Then pull down the ramp so we can walk ’em off of it.”
“No, wait, Harry.” Charli looked at Mr. Doherty. “I appreciate you coming over, but we can’t afford these.”
“Don’t have to. They’re paid for.”
“What? Who? How?” Now Charli was totally flustered.
“Your neighbor, Warren Drake.”
Charli’s jaw dropped.
“He said he saw my sign and came over. Of course, he’d planned to buy only one, but you know what a salesman I am.” Mr. Doherty’s blue eyes sparkled. “I made him an offer that he couldn’t refuse.
“Didn’t I, Harry?”
“Yessir!”
Charli was stunned. She knew her mouth should be moving but couldn’t think of one thing to say.
Griff could. And did. “Tell you what. You take those cows right on down the road to his place.”
“What?” Charli’s voice was incredulous. She hadn’t even had to think; the word seemed to come out of its own volition.
“We don’t need charity.” He shot a stream of tobacco at a vibrant blue, perfectly formed hydrangea. Bull’s-eye. “And we don’t need to be in debt to a Drake.”
“But, Griff—”
“No buts.”
Charli looked at Mr. Doherty. “Excuse us a minute.” She took Griff’s arm and pulled him several yards away from where the Dohertys were standing. “What are you doing?”
Griff’s eyes narrowed. “A better question is what is he doing?”
“Perhaps he’s just trying to be a good neighbor. He was there when I had to put her down.”
Griff spat again.
“We didn’t ask him to buy the cattle.” Silence. “Griff, this is a blessing, an answer to a prayer that I didn’t even send up!”
If there was a way for silence to deepen, Griff had found it.
“Aren’t you the one who taught me not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”
Griff shifted from one foot to the other. “I also taught you that nothing in life is free.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him, set up some kind of payment arrangement.”
“Have you considered that money may not be the means of exchange he has in mind?”
The question gave her pause. “What are you saying?”
Silence once again. But no matter. The look that he gave her spoke volumes.
“We’re keeping those cattle, Griff. Whatever the payment, we’ll work it out.”
“You take those cows and your grandfather is liable to not only turn over in his grave, but to jump up out of it.”
“Well, if he does,” Charli said after a long pause, “then he can take the cows to Drake!”
Chapter 15
Charli swore that the only reason she’d changed into her nice jeans and pink ruffled top was because of the shift in the weather, and that she wore gloss because her lips were dry. Her hair, well, a girl had to wash it sometimes, right? It hung wild and loose, the curls swinging around her face as she bounced down the road in her trusty pickup, and after much argument and cajoling, one of Griff’s freshly made apple pies sat in the passenger seat.
She turned into the Drake driveway and saw a flurry of activity happening up ahead. Her stomach fluttered. Maybe I should have called. But at the exact moment she thought to turn around, Warren looked up. And waved. No way to back out now. She parked next to a shiny new SUV, reached for the pie and jumped down from the cab before nonstop thoughts made her lose her nerve. Before she cleared her truck bed, Warren had broken away from the group of men and was walking her way.
“Hello.”
It was just a word, but the way he delivered it made her want to see the eyes hidden behind dark shades. He looked manly and rugged, adapting to the countryside in his beat-up jeans and cowboy boots. Who was this buckaroo, and what happened to the tux-wearing, diamond stud-sporting Fred Astaire she’d danced with two weeks ago?
“Thank you.”
Warren removed his glasses, looked down at the box she held and then back at her. “You’re welcome.”
“This is for you.” Charli held out the pie box and cursed herself for the breathy way she was talking, the way her hands were shaking, and the way her heart was getting ready to beat right out of her chest.
He took the box. Their fingers touched. Sparks flew. Muscles clenched in hidden places.
“Did you make this?” he asked, raising the lid and sniffing the contents.
“No. Griff is the main cook in the house. But I can hold my own,” she added, lest he think that she couldn’t boil an egg.
“It smells delicious.”
“It is.” A brief, awkward silence and then, “Why’d you do it?”
“Buy the cows?” He shrugged. “You lost one. I saw the sign.” She frowned. “It’s Thursday and I’m in a good mood. Heck, I don’t know! I didn’t think about it. I just did it.”
“I can’t accept them as a gift, you know.”
Warren’s expression changed from one of relaxed camaraderie to mild frustration. “No, I don’t know.”
Charli swallowed, trying to find courage in the face of his stare. “If you’ll just tell me how much you paid for them, I can set up a plan to pay you back.”
Warren’s eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with the beef—no pun intended—that supposedly happened between our grandfathers? Because I can’t think of any other reason that you’d act this ungrateful.”
No, he didn’t just talk to me like I was twelve. Anger flashed, hot and immediate. Charli was thankful. Anger was good. Anger would put her back in a place that was familiar and take her out of the murky emotional waters that she was now treading.
“How dare you! I am not ungrateful! I came over here to thank you, to show my appreciation, the expression of which you are now holding in your hands!”
“What I’m holding is a pie that somebody else made. So it would seem that Griff is thankful. Am I to assume that he speaks for you?”
How in the world was what she thought could be a potentially flirtatious occasion now going to hell in a handbasket?