She was pretty. Not beautiful. Not even striking. Simply pretty. Fair hair, creamy skin, a broad face and a sturdy frame. Not fat, not skinny. Just strong. She was standing in front of the house, her hand acting as a brim over her eyes to shield them from the sun. She wore a cotton housedress, and Keds sneakers on her feet. Her smile was shy, and it was clear she was embarrassed to have her picture taken.
The wife, Claudia surmised. He was right. If this woman was his type, then Claudia was the exact opposite. She didn’t know why that should make her feel sad, but it did.
“My wife.”
Startled, Claudia jumped. Ross was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The light was behind him, shadowing his features, but at the same time it emphasized his size. Boy, he was big, Claudia thought each time she saw him. Not bodybuilder big, though. His size was a natural thing, not one he’d purposefully created. Manual labor had built that chest, not weights.
“I could tell. She was very pretty. I’m sorry for your loss.” Claudia shook off the feeling that she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She’d simply been sizing up the competition…uh…uh…admiring the photograph. That’s what she meant.
“We don’t talk about her much. My daughter and I. Mostly because we’re too busy. But we talked about her over dinner tonight. She says that’s thanks to you.”
It was hard to tell if he was upset by her interference or not. His face was grim, but she hadn’t seen any other expression directed at her since she met him.
“I…uh…”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she responded. She stepped a little closer. His voice had been softer, and she wondered if his expression had softened to match it. It hadn’t. But his eyes—green like the fields outside—bore into hers, conveying his appreciation in addition to his words. Those eyes! Claudia felt her stomach drop.
“Are you hungry?”
Loaded question. Don’t go there, Claudia ordered her hormones. You saw the picture of his wife. You heard what he said. You are not his type. And despite his large body, he is not your type. He is Farmer Ted and you are a sophisticated New York nail artist. That decided, it was time to get down to serious business.
“I’m starved,” she answered.
Ross moved back into the kitchen, and Claudia followed. She sat at the large oak kitchen table situated in the middle of the room. A hand-embroidered place mat was laid out for her with a fork and knife on opposite sides of the mat. Ross removed a plate from the oven and set it down in front of her.
Mashed potatoes. Fried chicken. Gravy on both. And broccoli. It’s what they had last night, too. Leftovers, Claudia assumed and dug in with gusto. While she was eating, Ross sat down at the table with a pad of paper and a pencil in his hand.
“I thought maybe now would be the best time to go over your schedule. I assume you’re ready to work.”
Her mouth wrapped around a chicken leg, Claudia could only nod.
Taking that as a yes, he continued. “Breakfast is served at 5:30…a.m.,” he added in case she didn’t understand. “You’ll need to eat then. On a farm breakfast is the most important meal of the day because most of the heavy labor is done in the morning.”
Heavy labor! Claudia gulped her chicken down in one swallow.
“What chore do you think would best suit you?” Ross asked. He was willing to be magnanimous enough to let her pick her own tasks. After all, she hadn’t really asked to be here. But then he didn’t ask to have her.
Wiping the gravy from her chin, Claudia considered the question. “I could braid Rosie’s hair in the morning.”
Ross sighed. She wasn’t quite getting the picture. “Rosa May braids her own hair. And I was thinking more along the lines of a real chore.”
A real chore on a farm. Claudia wasn’t too sure what that was. “Maybe you could give me a few choices.”
“Have you ever milked a cow?”
She shook her head.
“Ridden a horse?”
Again, no.
“Mucked a stall?”
Mucked? Claudia didn’t even know what that meant. “Never.”
Ross dropped his pad on the table. “Maybe the best thing would be to let you try a lot of different chores tomorrow. Then you can pick which one best suits you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Claudia concurred.
“Do you have any clothes…” Ross paused, trying to phrase his question delicately. “More suited for work on a farm?”
“You mean like jeans?”
“Yes, jeans would be all right. Do you have jeans?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t have jeans?”
Ross nodded, satisfied that at least that issue was settled. He feared that all her clothes would resemble the ensembles she’d been wearing about the house. Tight pants, high heels, revealing blouses that made him want to reveal more. It didn’t do his daughter any good to see her dressed so scantily. It didn’t help him, either. Not that he was having a problem controlling his hormones. But a pair of old jeans, and maybe a sweatshirt, would reduce her to the status of any other woman.
“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Claudia watched as Ross stood and left the room. She heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs above. Finishing the last of her meal, she looked at the clock above the stove. It was only nine, but the house was already asleep. She, on the other hand, wasn’t tired at all after her nap.
Hmm, what to do? Maybe she could catch a movie on television. Hopefully a boring one that would put her to sleep. She dropped her plate into the sink and headed off in search of a television. “Oh TV, where are you?” she called.
Wandering about the house, Claudia located it in the living room. It was a huge room that took up most of the bottom floor. Comfortable chairs to ease a man after a hard day’s work were spread out about the room. There was a couch that beckoned her, and a TV tucked into an entertainment unit. Quite a change from the days of Little House on the Prairie, Claudia mused. A flip of the remote control and she was in business. Immediately, she could see that they had cable, and cable meant they had the shopping channel. A few hits of the remote and she was staring at a one-of-a-kind porcelain cow pitcher, perfect for cream in the morning, and a model that needed a touch-up on her French manicure.
Five hours later the cow made a second appearance. And Claudia was up to see it.
3
“MOO COW. Moo cow. Got to milk the moo cow,” she mumbled incoherently.
“Miss Bertucci,” Ross said, as he nudged her arm, desperately trying to not laugh at her outrageous mumbling. “Miss Bertucci wake up. Claudia!”
“Whaaat?” Morning never came easy to her. Not even when she was a little girl, and she knew that if she didn’t wake up in time she would be late for Sister Mary’s first-period class. Sister Mary didn’t abide tardiness. Claudia’s knuckles had never been the same since. However, even after such stringent conditioning, she’d never quite learned her lesson. Today was no different.
“You’re late.”
“Fifteen more minutes.”
“It’s already after five o’clock,” Ross told her.
“Five o’clock?” Claudia rolled over and smothered her face in the couch cushions. “Five more hours,” she mumbled.
Rosa May joined her father who was sitting on what little couch space Claudia had left. “I don’t think she’s ready to get up, Dad.”
Ross gazed down at the impossibly tiny figure tucked into a ball on his couch. Apparently she’d fallen asleep watching the shopping network. He felt no pity. He’d told her when the day began. “She doesn’t have a choice. Now, Claudia, or I get serious,” he warned.
“Fifteen more minutes.”
The time for games was over. Ross stood and backed away from the couch. He crouched over his victim and tucked his arms underneath her. She mumbled. She grumbled. But she still didn’t move. With little effort he lifted her off the couch and turned her body so that she was forced to either s
tand or collapse into a heap on the floor.
“Heeey!” Claudia protested. One minute she was asleep on the couch. The next she was standing upright, being held by two of the strongest arms she could imagine. Then the arms were gone, and Claudia was forced to gain her balance.
“You have exactly thirty minutes to get ready and get your butt to the kitchen table. No excuses.”
Since she was already standing on her feet, it was pointless to keep her eyes closed. Slowly, she cracked them open. Then it came back to her that she was on a farm in Wisconsin, not her beloved Brooklyn. That it was only five in the morning, still mostly dark outside. That she was expected to prepare herself for the day in thirty minutes, an impossible task. And shortly after that she would be expected to perform farm chores, a ridiculous concept.
“III waaant to go baaack to beeed,” she whined.
Ross grimaced. Her accent was bad enough but the whining was enough to wish for deafness. He looked down at her. She was shorter today, and it took him a minute to realize that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. What a difference three-inch heels made. Her hair was pressed against the side of her head. Her makeup was smeared beneath her eyes. Her red silk blouse was untucked and the tights she seemed to favor were still…tight. Even at her worst, she was a vixen. For a moment he felt a tug deep in the pit of his stomach.
“III’mmm stiiill sleeepyyy!”
The tug was gone. “Upstairs. Take a shower. Join us in—” Ross glanced at his watch, “—twenty-five minutes.”
“Again with the orders,” she mumbled, but did as she was directed.
It was thirty-five minutes later, after a poor attempt at a makeover and with hair slightly less than full, that Claudia made her appearance.
Sun was now shining through the windows, bouncing off a glass pitcher that held orange juice. Claudia reached on top of her head for her sunglasses only to find that she must have left them in her room. Darn it. She didn’t have the energy to make it back up the stairs.
“You call those work jeans,” Ross growled. The material was sucked to her body, acting like a second skin. She wore a tight white cotton T-shirt with the words Brooklyn Academy of Beauty written across her breasts. He supposed it was more practical than silk, but it still wasn’t a loose-fitting sweatshirt. It wasn’t improving his mood, either.
“Whaaat? They’re C.K. jeans.”
“C.K.?”
“Calvin Klein,” Rosa May informed her father.
That was good, because cows tended to be impressed by fancy labels, Ross thought facetiously. He noted the time. “You’re late.”
“I’m here,” Claudia warned, not prepared to deal with his mood. “I was up until two last night.”
“Watching the shopping channel,” Ross quipped disdainfully.
It came back to her. “That’s right. There was this adorable porcelain cow pitcher. I wanted to buy it for you, but I couldn’t find a phone.”
“I’ve hidden the phone,” Ross explained. “There will be no calls unless approved by me. A good thing, since the last thing I need is a porcelain cow.”
Claudia bristled, but she didn’t have the energy to fight back. Not this early in the morning. So she’d have to remember what he said and get him back for it later.
“Are you ready for breakfast?” Rosa May asked. “Dad made his special blueberry pancakes.”
There was a note in the girl’s voice that made Claudia smile. Obviously, Rosie thought she should feel honored by the feast. Claudia supposed that Ross didn’t prepare his special pancakes for just everyone. She hated to disappoint the girl, and Ross, too, if he went to the trouble for her, but pancakes at five-thirty in the morning were a bit too much to stomach.
“Thanks honey, but I couldn’t. A latte and some dry toast should do the trick.”
“A latte?” Rosa May asked.
“A latte?” Ross wondered.
“A latte,” Claudia repeated. “You know espresso, steamed milk, maybe a little vanilla syrup if you have it. But if you don’t that’s okay, I’m not fussy. But, I have to tell you, I’ve gone two days without one and I’m getting a little antsy.”
“We have coffee. That’s it. Plain coffee.”
She’d been sentenced to hell. That’s all there was to it. And the devil was a big dude, who seemed to constantly have a burr in his saddle. “Fine, if you don’t have what I need here, maybe you could drive me to the nearest Starbucks.” She was willing to compromise.
“Star what?”
Uh-oh. That wasn’t a good sign. “Coffee, huh?”
“Coffee. Milk and sugar if you need it.”
With a sigh she sat. Rosie plopped two pancakes on her plate, and Ross filled a coffee cup for her. Claudia dropped four sugars into the black froth and hoped that it would do the trick. It didn’t. The coffee was horrible. The pancakes sat like lead in her stomach. Her head hurt from lack of sleep, and to top it all off she was having a bad hair day.
“Ready?” Ross asked expectantly.
Trying to keep a stiff upper lip, Claudia smiled big when she answered, “You betchya!”
“Rosa May, why don’t you take Miss Bertucci outside and show her around the farm? Start with the barn. I’ll be moving the girls in from the field if you need me.”
Rosa May leaned over to Claudia. “That’s what Dad calls the cows.”
“I guessed he wasn’t talking about his harem.”
Rosa May giggled. “Dad doesn’t have a harem. Dad doesn’t even date except for Miss Harkim, but that was almost a year ago.”
“That’s enough,” Ross growled.
“He’s a little sensitive about the subject,” Rosa May continued, much to Claudia’s delight. “I tell him the women won’t just come to the farm, that he’s got to go out and find them. But look, here you are.”
Ross didn’t like where his daughter’s thinking was headed. Claudia was a witness in hiding, not a potential date. He thought he’d made that point clear last night. He would have to talk to her again. “The barn, Rosa May. And mind what I told you last night.”
“Yeah, Rosie. Better not stand too close to me, you might catch whatever it is your father thinks I’ve got.” Claudia saw the red creep up his collar, but when she met his eyes they were hard. He refused to be embarrassed. So she refused to feel guilty for eavesdropping.
“What you’ve got is a big mouth and bigger ears,” Ross said candidly. She wasn’t supposed to have heard his words to his daughter, but he wasn’t cowardly enough to lie about it. “You worry me, Miss Bertucci,” he said honestly. It helped him to call her by her last name. It created a certain amount of distance in an impossibly intimate situation. After all, what was more intimate than having someone live in his home with him and his daughter? Only his beloved wife had been given that privilege. “Your attitude, your clothes, your language…these are things I don’t want my daughter exposed to.”
“Oh, Dad,” Rosa May complained, “You’re such a stuffed shirt.”
That wasn’t true. Was it?
“First, I’ve already apologized for the H-E double L situation. I told you I was rattled and in my neck of the woods it’s not the worst thing to pop out of a body’s mouth, if you know what I mean.” The coffee was starting to kick in. “Second, my clothes come from the finest establishments in the greater New York area. For example, Bloomingdale’s. I am a walking picture of what is fashionable, something you, in your jeans and generic chambray shirt would know nothing about.”
What in the world was chambray? Ross wondered.
“And finally, my attitude is pure New York, buddy. Something that over one million other people share. That many people with the same attitude, it can’t be all bad. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal.” He tried not to, but he couldn’t help but smile. She was a spitfire. And maybe his daughter was right when she called him a stuffed shirt. There was a time, when Ross worked for the FBI, that he used to love traveling the country. He used to anticipate meeting people fro
m all over, and used to enjoy the differences in their mannerisms, speech and dress. But that had been a long time ago.
Susan had convinced him that this farm was his home. His father had helped her. The two of them showed Ross that it was the farm that was truly important. And they were right. In that time he transformed himself into a true farmer. In the process maybe he had become a little intolerant of other people’s ways. Ross realized that he wasn’t completely thrilled with that change. But he wasn’t going to back down to the spitfire. For whatever reason, there seemed to be a line drawn in the sand between them. That line meant war, and war meant no surrender.
“The barn, Rosa May,” Ross instructed. He rose from the table with his own plate in hand. He placed it in the sink, spritzed some soap on it and washed it. He frowned when he spotted Claudia’s plate from the previous night. “House rules, Miss Bertucci. Everyone cleans their own plate. Whoever cooks sits while the other washes the pans.”
“It was a soaker,” Claudia asserted.
Rosie giggled. Then under her breath she whispered to Claudia, “Five point six. Lacks originality.”
“Always the critic.”
“Let’s wash our dishes, Claudia, then we can go to the barn together.” Rosa May picked up her plate and washed it. Claudia followed suit. Then the two headed through the mudroom where Rosa May packed her tiny feet into some serious rubber boots that rode up to her thighs.
Powder-blue Vans, Claudia’s idea of farm shoes, probably weren’t much of a defense against whatever was out there.
“Here,” Rosa May said, reaching into the mudroom closet. “These were my mom’s. They should fit.”
They were black, rubber, big and the ugliest foot apparel she’d ever laid eyes on. “What do I do with these?” Other than handing them off to the nearest homeless person who could really use them.
Rosa May giggled. “You wear them, silly. Over your shoes. They’re kind of like oversize galoshes.”
The Doc's Double Delivery & Down-Home Diva Page 19