He shifted from foot to foot. “Sorry about that. I was going to call you back.”
She batted her lashes. “I would’ve called you back, but I’ve been busy getting poor Sadie Case’s house ready for the market. My dad said you were interested in selling your father’s farm?”
He hesitated, and the hesitation itself irritated him. He’d been humoring Summer Tomlinson with this idea of a horse-rescue center funded by a magic hair potion, but he didn’t really have a choice.
“That’s right,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to get it on the market as soon as possible. Would you be interested in listing it?”
“Of course. If I remember correctly, the property shares a boundary with the State Park, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “At one time, my father said he’d been approached by someone with the state to buy the property for the limestone cave spring.”
“I’ll look into it,” she said, her eyes gleaming with the promise of a sale. “Will you be home later? There is some paperwork you’ll need to sign, and I’ll have to take a few photos.”
“You can bring the paperwork, but if you’ve seen the house, you know the property isn’t very photogenic at the moment. I’m cleaning it up now.”
“The photos can wait,” she agreed. “But it’s a date—see you later!” She gave him a toodle-loo finger wave, then twisted away.
He stared after her, guilt gnawing at his gut. But it couldn’t be helped, and it’s what he’d come here to do. The sooner the farm was listed, the sooner he could return to New York.
The errands had taken longer than he’d planned. By the time he got the supplies unloaded and organized, it was late afternoon. He decided to hook the bush hog to the tractor and make a few passes at the front pasture to improve the curb appeal of the farm. Truman kept him company, but maintained a safe distance from the mowing machine.
The weather had held, and the temperatures were still high. It was slow going—Andrew had to jump down from the tractor often, to remove rocks or branches that were too large to safely skim. Remorse plagued him. He’d forgotten how much work it was to maintain even a small farm. No wonder things had fallen into disrepair. He should’ve been more attentive, should’ve noticed his aging father needed help.
It didn’t take long for him to work up a sweat and shed his T-shirt. He used it to wipe his neck and glanced around from this slightly higher vantage point. From here, he could see the Tomlinson house, and just like that, Summer was crowding his thoughts again. He wondered why a sweet, pretty country girl like her wasn’t married, then reminded himself for all he knew, she might’ve been married a dozen times. And besides, what did her marital status have to do with him?
He continued mowing, but the mindlessness of the work combined with the unaccustomed activity of his body kept his mind fixed on Summer in that fetching green dress. And her out of that fetching green dress. And her in that fetching green dress…but mostly out of that fetching green dress. And her hair… Lust seized his body when he thought of running his fingers through that satiny blond curtain.
Truman’s bark interrupted his thoughts. Andrew looked to see what had captured the dog’s attention and saw Summer walking down the path toward the stables. She lifted a hand to wave, and he waved back. Truman abandoned him, making a beeline for her. Andrew couldn’t blame him. Determined not to stare, he turned to proudly survey the work he’d done and bit back a curse—the strips of mowed grass were crooked and he’d missed wide swaths of weeds he’d have to redo. Summer was probably laughing at his haphazard job. Forcing his mind back to the job, he tackled the ground again. Later, when he drove the tractor back to the barn next to the stables, at least he was satisfied he’d put in a good day’s work.
With a start, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said that.
He turned off the tractor and jumped down to the dirt floor. The barn housed the tractor and a host of dusty implements, plus crates of old tools and miscellaneous clutter—more stuff to sort through and discard. As he exited the old wood structure, he was starting to feel the weight of his father’s life pulling on his shoulders.
Truman appeared at the door of the stables and barked a welcome. Except for cleaning around the building, Andrew had managed to ignore the stables thus far, but decided he probably should check out the inhabitants. And saying hello to Summer was only polite.
He hung his T-shirt over his shoulder and walked through the open doorway of the faded red structure. On either side of a straw-covered hallway were rows of stalls, ten in all. The doorway at the other end of the stables also stood open. Summer stood there grooming a tired-looking brown horse whose hocks and knees were wrapped with gauze. She was crooning in the horse’s ear…and she was spectacular.
The late-afternoon sun slanted in behind her, casting her slender figure in a golden halo. She wore slim jeans tucked into knee-high boots, and a gauzy white shirt that was transparent in the light. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, leaving the ends to brush the top of her buttocks as she stretched to groom the horse, whose big eyes were nearly closed in abject appreciation. Eight more heads of all shapes and sizes were stuck out over the stalls, gazing at their savior. Max whinnied and tossed his big gray head as Andrew walked closer.
Summer turned toward him and smiled. “Hello.”
“Hi.” His jeans suddenly felt tighter. Could she be any more beautiful?
“You’ve been busy,” she said. “The yard looks nice.”
“It looks better,” he corrected. “I’ve barely made a dent.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“No, you’re doing plenty by taking care of the horses.” He gestured to the forlorn group. “Where did they all come from?”
She nodded to the corner stall. “Max’s owner died, so Barber took him in. Same for Fila here, who came to us in pretty bad shape, as did Pippen, the little mare down on the end. Jax and Henna were found after a flash flood, caught in barbed wire. No one ever claimed them. Kuppa, the one wearing the bell collar, is blind. She used to belong to a customer of Barber’s, and the lady just couldn’t take care of her anymore. Same for Striker, Topper and Atlas. Their owners asked Barber to take them.”
Andrew looked from animal to animal. Every story tugged on his heart. It had been kind of his father to take in the horses…but taking care of them had nearly cost him his home.
“I know you have a lot on your mind,” Summer said, “but have you had time to think about your father’s formula?”
“Some,” he said, hedging. “I—”
“Yoo-hoo!” a woman’s voice called. “Is anyone home?”
He turned to see Tessa Hadley come into view. She had changed into a red dress that was cut low and riding high.
“Andrew, there you are.” Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare torso, and she fanned herself. “My, my…I didn’t realize advertising was such a physical job.”
“Hello, Tessa,” he said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. “Do you know Summer Tomlinson?”
Tessa looked toward the end of the barn and straightened. “Of course. Hello, Summer.”
“Hi,” Summer said. “What brings you out this way, Tessa?”
Andrew’s stomach cramped.
“Andrew asked me to list his father’s farm,” Tessa said, teetering on high heels.
Summer looked at him and drew back, her gaze accusing. Andrew wanted to defend himself, but what could he say?
“I brought the paperwork to sign,” Tessa continued, then she patted the dish she cradled. “And since Andrew liked my Mexican dip so much, I brought my Mexicali casserole for dinner!” She bit her lip and eyed Summer warily. “There might be enough for three if you want to join us.”
“No, thanks,” Summer said with a little smile. “But I’ve heard about your casseroles—I’m sure Andrew will love it.” Summer gave him a pointed look, then led Fila back to his stable.
Frustration welled in Andrew’s che
st. He didn’t want to leave Summer, wanted to make her understand he had no choice but to put the farm up for sale. “Do you need any help with the horses?” he asked.
“No, I’ve got it covered.” Her body language was stiff. “You and Tessa have fun.”
“We will,” Tessa sang. She took a step and wobbled in her shoes.
Andrew reached out to keep her from toppling, realizing too late he’d missed a chance to ditch the casserole.
Tessa clung to his arm and laughed throatily. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Andrew, but are you sure you want to sell this place? You would certainly improve the landscape around Tiny if you decided to stay.”
Andrew’s gaze flicked to Summer. She was in profile, stroking the throat of the blind horse, Kuppa, but he could tell she was listening.
Andrew looked back to Tessa and gave her a tight smile. “I’m sure.”
6
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Andrew avoided Summer and assumed she was avoiding him, too, since she never ventured from the stables to the house. He kept his mind and body occupied with sprucing up the property. There was still plenty left to do, but he finally felt as if he was making headway. As difficult as Tessa had been to get rid of the night he’d filled out the paperwork to list the farm, she had been helpful in rounding up a crew of laborers to haul away the piles of debris and items for charity, and to prep the house. If the dry weather held, the crew would be back in a couple of days to finish the painting, then Tessa would be back to take photographs.
Today he’d made it out to the rear pasture on the property to bush hog the area around the limestone cave spring in case the state sent a representative to take a tour. It was, however, the one area his father had kept relatively clear. Barber was fond of putting his arthritic feet in the warm, deep aqua-colored pool that had formed underneath a shelf of limestone. In his lifetime, Andrew had never known the pool to be any larger or any smaller, come drought or flood.
He glanced around and acknowledged it was a beautiful place—the ornamental trees and plants his parents had planted around the spring were thick and mature from the warm water table. He hoped the state would agree the spot would make a popular tourist destination. Tessa had pressed upon him that his best hope of getting a selling price to clear his father’s debt was if the Tiny Caves State Park annexed his father’s farm into their property. If that happened, his hope was that the state would then agree to Summer’s plan for the horse-rescue center.
Then everyone would be happy, including him, ensconced in his condo in Manhattan.
He was getting antsy about the work he was missing, experiencing withdrawal from his laptop because there was no internet connection on or near his father’s property. Managing emails on his phone was becoming increasingly frustrating with the slow network speed and spotty reception.
Then again, just about everything about being in Tiny frustrated him.
When he drove the tractor back to the barn, he strained for a glimpse of Summer, but she wasn’t in the stables. He did notice, however, that the horse trailer was missing.
He went inside to shower, picking his way through the boxes of clothes and other items he’d packed to be donated to charity. In his bedroom, the boxes were sitting in a row along the wall, filled with items from his childhood he hadn’t taken with him when he’d moved away, but his father had never bothered to dispose of. He stripped off his work clothes and showered, then popped a couple of pain pills for his aching muscles. He winced when he flexed his arm, conceding that a gym workout couldn’t compare to a day of hard work on the farm.
After he dressed, he noticed the blond hair still wrapped around the stem of his watch. He crossed his bedroom to the desk where he’d spent many hours doing homework, and opened drawers, looking for a pair of scissors. In the bottom drawer, he found a pair. When he removed them, though, he spotted something on the bottom of the drawer that stirred a memory chord. He pushed aside various relics from schooldays past—combination locks, headphones, a ball of rubberbands—to reveal a Valentine’s Day card. When he picked it up, his pulse jumped. It was the card Summer had given him—he did the math in his head—eighteen years ago.
Even then, she’d been crazy about horses, as evidenced by the image on the front of the card, a cartoonish horse with a heart in its mouth braying, “Be Mine.” On the inside she’d written, Andrew, I think you are awesome. Summer.
He smiled, then gave a little laugh. Had she been crushing on him back then? She didn’t think he was so awesome now. He set the card on the top of the desk, then cut the strand of blond hair from his watch, marveling over the strength of it.
The woman’s hair would probably support her weight—or even his. His mind skimmed over the implications if the Mane Squeeze conditioner really had made her hair that strong. It would be a bestseller, assuming they could cut through the retail noise to sell it. But who knew if the formula his father developed was the reason, or if Summer was using some other hair product with it, or maybe taking a supplement. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be purposefully dishonest, but she wanted so badly to believe it worked, she might see a cause and effect where there was none.
He stopped in the kitchen to grab a beer, then wandered out onto the front porch to enjoy the view. Furniture sat stacked and pushed up against the house the way his father had left it. Near the rail sat an aged rocker. Andrew realized, with a jolt, that it was the chair Barber had been sitting in when he’d died. But instead of being repulsed, he was drawn to the chair. He sat down gingerly, then slid his hands over the smooth wood of the armrests and settled back. It was a well-made piece—sturdy and comfortable, with a gentle rock. As he drank his beer, he looked out over the valley tinged with the metallic glow of the sinking winter sun and realized, all in all, this was a pretty nice spot to take your last breath.
He understood why Barber wanted his ashes spread here on the Mane Squeeze, but he couldn’t, in good faith, spread his father’s ashes across the land then sign the deed to the land over to someone else. He’d find a nice place to store his father’s urn.
The headlights of a truck came down the road and the vehicle slowed. When it pulled off and headed toward the Mane Squeeze, he realized the driver was Summer…and she was pulling the missing horse trailer. He pushed to his feet and watched as she drove around the curved drive, then veered onto the grassy road leading to the barn and the stables. She parked, then hopped down and walked back to the horse trailer. She was wearing a cowboy hat over her luxurious hair. His body reacted, just watching her move.
He set down his beer and started toward the trailer, wondering if one of the horses had taken ill and she’d had to transport it to the vet. But when the horse emerged on a lead line, he squinted.
A new horse?
Perhaps “new” wasn’t the right word—the white swaybacked horse took lumbering steps, with its head hanging low.
“What’s this?” he asked as he walked up.
Summer turned her head. “Hi…I didn’t see you. This is Sallie.”
“Summer,” he chided, “we can’t take in any more horses.”
She bristled. “There’s room for one more.”
“That’s one more we’ll have to find a home for! One more that will eat its weight in feed every week until we do!”
Her eyes narrowed. “Sallie belonged to Sadie Case. Miss Case was my teacher and she loved this horse. I wasn’t going to just let her be put down.”
Andrew bit the inside of his cheek, contrite. “Miss Case was my teacher, too.” He sighed. “Okay…Sallie can stay.”
Summer smiled and led Sallie toward the stables, although he had the feeling the horse would’ve stayed with or without his permission.
His phone rang at his waist. He glanced down at the caller ID to see Charles Basker was calling. Curious, he connected the call.
“Hi, Charles.”
“Andrew, hi. Listen, I’m pressed for time, but I have an opportunity you and your friend migh
t be interested in for this hair conditioner of your father’s.”
“I’m listening,” Andrew said.
“A vendor backed out of a fifteen-minute spot on a home shopping channel during beauty hour. If you can get a spokesperson to Nashville tomorrow before four o’clock, it’s a sweet deal—three million impressions at eighty percent off the normal rate.”
He told Andrew how much the spot would run and Andrew was impressed. The gasoline to drive there would cost more. “But we don’t have inventory.”
“That’s the beautiful part,” Charles said. “You have six weeks to fulfill orders. You can sample the market without committing to inventory.”
Andrew pressed his lips together. Should he tell Summer about the opportunity, or simply pass? A successful advertising spot might open a can of worms and involve him in the project more than he wanted to be.
On the other hand, if the public didn’t respond, maybe Summer would concede the Mane Squeeze conditioner wasn’t a winning idea.
“Hold on, Charles. My friend is here, let me ask her.” He put the phone on mute and strode inside the stable where Summer had coaxed the new horse into the remaining stall. She was scooping corn into a feeder.
Andrew explained that he’d sent the bottles to his associate and the opportunity being offered.
“You did that?” Summer asked, her face lifting in appreciation.
He nodded, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “It’s your decision. Are you interested in the spot?”
“But we don’t have a spokesperson.”
“Sure we do…you.”
Summer’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“Who else are we going to get on such short notice? Besides, you’re the one with the hair.”
She shook her head. “I can’t go on television.”
He shrugged. “Then I’ll tell Charles we’ll pass.” He held up the phone to push the button, but Summer stilled his hand with hers.
“Wait.” She worried her lower lip. “Okay…I’ll do it.”
Once Upon a Valentine Page 4