Reece

by Lori Wilde

  “Well, you don’t have to get so melodramatic about it. I hear it’s not that difficult to learn.”

  “Yeah, and I’m the lucky guy who gets to teach you.” Reece didn’t even attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “Ten bucks says I can learn to drive this piece of junk.”

  “Without stripping the gears or wrecking it?”

  “Sure. I may be klutzy, but I’m not dangerous.”

  Reece sat up and turned to face her. “If you’re so sure of yourself, let’s raise the ante. If you can’t drive this truck by Monday, you’ll owe me one huge favor, payable on demand.”

  Lanie’s mouth opened. What was he suggesting? “You don’t mean—”

  “Nothing illegal or immoral.” He held his thumb and forefinger close together. “Just one itty-bitty huge favor. Deal?” He stuck his hand out for her to shake on it.

  Lanie didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Not about the illegal part. But common sense told her it was safest to rule out the immoral stuff, as well. She ignored his gesture and situated her purse on the seat between them. A safety barrier.

  “And if I win?”

  “Same deal. One itty-bitty favor. But nothing illegal.”

  His grin was one of such pure mischief that Lanie had to wonder which was the real Reece—the stern, solemn-faced employer or the devilish little boy she’d seen surface in him several times. She admired the reliability of the employer, but she sure did enjoy the little boy in him.

  “One huge favor, and you can rule out immorality.” His crestfallen look didn’t faze her. Her house needed a fresh coat of paint, and here was just the man for the job.

  Reece pretended to spit in his palm before they shook hands. He seemed smugly certain she would lose this bet. But Lanie was determined to win. This was the perfect opportunity to show him that she didn’t turn everything she touched into a mess.

  Howard came out to give Reece the clipboard with the delivery slips attached. As Lanie, following Reece’s directions, slipped the truck into gear, he hollered for Howard to stand clear. That was all it took to rattle her nerves. The truck lurched, shuddered once, and then stalled out.

  Once she got the vehicle on the road at cruising speed, driving it wasn’t so difficult. She had to keep reminding herself not to ride the clutch.

  Actually, Reece did plenty of reminding, too. He had scooted to the middle of the seat, presumably to help, but Lanie suspected he wanted to be close enough to take over the controls at a second’s notice. She tried to ignore the virile male hovering at her elbow.

  “You’re acting like this is a brand-new Lamborghini. Relax. I won’t put any more dents in your precious truck.”

  Reece leaned back against the seat and made an impressive attempt to look relaxed. In an almost-casual tone, he said, “My father gave me this truck when I got my driver’s license.” He chuckled softly. “I used to call it the Masardi-mobile.”

  Lanie slowed down as they rounded the bend at Folsbee’s Market. No wonder he was so uptight. As beat-up as it was, this truck must be a reminder of happier days, before his father had gotten sick.

  “Was it pink then?”

  He made something of a snorting laugh. “Yeah. No amount of polishing would make it red again. It’s a good thing I was on the football team, or I’d have never lived it down.”

  Lanie was uncomfortably aware of Reece watching her downshift as they approached the intersection where she was to take a left. She was a little long coming off the clutch, but otherwise she was catching on quickly. He finished giving her directions to the Wertzle farm, and she pulled in with a minimum of grinding.

  A woman with long brown hair came out of the white farmhouse. She was holding a baby and had a small boy by the hand.

  “Reece,” the woman called, “I thought it was you. Karl’s in the barn with Number Twelve. He’s been out there since sunup, but she hasn’t dropped it yet.”

  Reece got out of the truck and crossed the yard to the porch. It was too hot to wait in the truck, so Lanie hopped out and joined them. Reece tweaked the baby’s bare toe, then lifted the boy over his head before introducing the two women.

  “Lou and I have known each other since grade school,” he said, apparently trying to ignore the other kid that was jumping up and down and jerking his arm.

  “Uncle Weece, let’s go see the calf get borned. Mama said maybe it’s twins!”

  Reece turned the question to Lanie. “Wanna go see a calf ‘get borned’?”

  “In real life? I’ve never seen anything give birth before!”

  “Y’all go have fun. I’ve got work to do,” Lou said, waving them on. “But come inside for a cola after you’re done.”

  Reece shook himself free of the boy long enough to tease his friend. “Add some banana nut bread, and we might consider it.”

  Lou smiled and retreated into the house.

  The kid yanked his arm again and half dragged him toward the barn. “Come on, Weece, before she pops it out.”

  Lanie gasped. Certainly, he wasn’t going to let the child witness such an event! Reece stopped on the path to the barn and turned around to wait for her.

  “Don’t you think he should wait outside?” she asked. “A three-year-old is too young to be watching Mother Nature in action.”

  “I’m four and a half,” the kid insisted. “And her name is Number Twelve, not Mother Nature.”

  “It’s okay,” Reece said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “Weasel here has seen it a dozen times already.”

  “Millions of times,” Weasel corrected. The little tyke arrogantly thrust his chest forward. “I’ve been helping my daddy pop ’em out for years.”

  Lanie didn’t like it—not one bit. But she wasn’t the child’s mother. She had been sheltered from the earthier aspects of life until she’d reached her teen years, when her father could no longer put off telling her about the birds and bees.

  Although she knew there was nothing wrong with his witnessing the birth, she still felt the urge to cover the child’s eyes.

  “Well, I guess farm kids grow up faster,” Lanie muttered in resignation. She followed them into the barn and hesitated at the box stall until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She opened the door and stepped inside.

  When her eyes focused on what was happening, she wished Reece had decided to stop at this farm last. Preferably after the calf was born.

  The cow’s head lay at Lanie’s feet. Its eyes showed bewilderment, but no fear. A short, stocky man was tending to the animal. Lanie considered getting sick but opted for keeping busy as a means of distraction.

  She knelt behind the cow’s black-and-white head and soothingly stroked its knobby forehead. Then she called Weasel away from the animal’s legs lest it kick out in pain. The boy came and knelt beside her.

  “You sure you never saw nothing get borned before?” he asked Lanie.

  She shook her head, trying not to notice what was going on at the other end.

  The boy was clearly astonished. “Are you kidding?”

  A masculine snicker drew her attention to Reece, who was kneeling beside her at the animal’s midsection, his hands splayed out on its heaving flank. Reece grinned, his eyes never leaving Karl. “Hey, Weasel, she can’t drive a truck, either.”

  “Hooo, man! Where’d you find her?”

  This time, both Reece and Karl laughed.

  What was with these men? Did they think no other lifestyle existed outside their own? She figured they’d certainly feel out of place on her turf.

  “Well, answer me this, how many of you boys have ever slid down a laundry chute? Can you ride a wheelie and do doughnuts on a skateboard? Hmmm?”

  “We don’t have laundry chutes,” said Weasel. “And there’s nowhere to ride a skateboard.”

  “Just as I thought,” said Lanie. “I’ll bet none of you have ever ridden a bus downtown, either.”

  “Au contraire,” Reece said, lifting one finger. “When I was
Weasel’s age, my parents drove me to Southside Plaza. Then we rode the bus downtown to a fancy department store to see Santa Claus.” He winked. “The real one.”

  Lanie was amazed. That must have taken well over an hour and a half, one way. For her, the trip to see Santa had been a five-minute wait at the bus stop and a ten-minute ride downtown.

  No wonder Dot saved all her errands for an all-day trip to town. And no wonder so many home gardeners were willing to pay the slightly higher prices at Masardi’s to save themselves a trip to the bigger stores in town.

  “Damn.” Karl wiped his arms and hands on a towel and sat back on his heels. “She’s going to lose it if we don’t do something quick.”

  Reece rubbed the cow’s belly. “Breech?”

  “No. It’s in position, but I could only feel one hoof. The other must be down near its chest.”

  Number Twelve groaned as if in response to the hopeless sound in Karl’s voice. Lanie stroked the animal’s sweaty neck.

  Why did she have to come with Reece, today of all days? If anything happened to the cow or her calf, Lanie knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. She couldn’t help it. She was that type of person. She cried at sad movies, too.

  But this was different. This was life and death. This was reality. In reality, Number Twelve could be steaks on the Wertzles’ table if she didn’t make it through this. Veal, if the baby didn’t make it.

  Lanie looked down at the bovine’s face, its gentle brown eyes full of trust. They couldn’t just sit here and wait for them to die. They had to do something.

  “Let’s call the vet,” said Lanie. “You know, the one who specializes in … cattle.” She cut herself short.

  Weasel was trying, without success, to tempt Number Twelve with a handful of hay.

  Reece stood and started unbuttoning his shirt. “He’d never make it in time. Karl, let me try.”

  They switched places. Lanie considered it a wise move. From up close, she could see just how short Karl’s arms were. She thought Reece tactful not to have mentioned that fact.

  Once again, Lanie was awestruck at the sight of Reece’s bare chest. The Shirtless Wonder. Beads of perspiration gathered and trickled down the middle of his abdomen. Lanie felt the strangest urge to wipe it off. Her grandmother had once said, “Horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies glow.” Lanie decided she must be phosphorescent by now, and she knew it came from more than the August heat and humidity.

  “When I say ‘pull,’ you get out of there. If you don’t, the contractions could break your arm.” When Reece nodded his assent, Karl positioned his hands on Twelve’s abdomen. “You hold her by the halter,” he told Lanie, “and whatever happens, don’t let her get up.”

  Reece noticed her grim-lipped determination. Satisfied that she wouldn’t panic under fire, he did as Karl directed. His fingers touched a nose, then a tiny hoof. He pushed farther. Feeling the chest, he searched for the other leg. The pressure tightened on his arm, and Karl told him to “pull.”

  On the next try, Reece wasted no time. He searched desperately for the retracted leg. The heavy barnyard smell filled his nostrils. Sweat trickled down his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze.

  Once again, Karl gave the order to pull out. “The contractions are coming harder and faster,” he told Reece. “If you can’t get it this time, we’ll have to sacrifice the calf. Number Twelve is young and healthy. She can have more.”

  Reece thought he heard a gasp, but in the next instant, he was back inside, groping for the calf. “Come on, Masardi,” he muttered to himself. “Three strikes and you’re out.” His hand closed around something. He prayed it was the leg he’d been searching for and tugged. At the back of his mind, he imagined he heard a lullaby.

  “Pull,” said Karl.

  “I’m pulling, I’m pulling,” Reece huffed.

  “No, dammit, I mean pull out!”

  The pressure on his arm was excruciating, but after what seemed like an eternity, he felt something give. In the next instant, the calf glided smoothly toward the light of day. With a soft plop, it landed in the straw.

  “You can let her go now,” Karl told Lanie. It was then that Reece realized she had been singing a lullaby to Number Twelve.

  The cow lumbered to her feet and sniffed her new baby. She went about the business of cleaning the bull calf.

  “Wow! He’s a big one,” Weasel squealed.

  In a flash, the youngster darted past Number Twelve to take a closer look at the newborn. But the new mother didn’t see it that way. The boy’s jerky movements must have seemed threatening to the mother cow. She lowered her head toward the little intruder and pawed the straw in warning. In his eagerness to pet the new calf, Weasel appeared not to notice the danger.

  Reece moved toward the boy, hoping to get between him and the cow. There wasn’t time; she was lunging for him! Reece grabbed for the halter, knowing he was too late. She was almost upon him when she stopped short, as if startled by something. From the corner of his eye, Reece saw Lanie yank the cow’s tail again with all her might.

  When Twelve turned her attention to Lanie, Reece grabbed the boy and tossed him to Karl like a sack of grain. Karl set Weasel on top of the stall partition and quickly hoisted himself over. Reece heard the stall door slam shut. Number Twelve had barely avoided a collision with the door after Lanie had escaped.

  Now the cow turned a wild eye on Reece.

  8

  Reece slowly retreated until he touched the back wall. Twelve charged. Reece faked right, then cut to the left and sailed over the wooden partition headfirst. His body scraped from chest to knees over the rough wood, and he landed, with a thud, on his side.

  “Oh my God! Reece, are you all right?”

  He eased over onto his back, gulping air into his lungs. A brown-haired angel hovered over him. He peered at her through pain-squinted eyes. Surely, he’d died and gone to heaven. But did angels wear designer jeans and form-fitting shirts?

  Lanie knelt beside him, fumbling with the scarf that held her hair in a now-bedraggled ponytail. She freed the red cloth and gently—ever so gently—blotted the perspiration from his face. She tried to recall what her first-aid book said to do in a case like this. Mouth-to-mouth? No, he was breathing, however belabored. With each ragged breath he took, she ached for him. Had she the ability, she would gladly suffer his pain to spare him.

  “Reece, can you hear me?”

  Weasel wormed his way between them. He leaned close and peered at Reece. “Is he dead?” the boy asked matter-of-factly.

  Karl easily lifted the youngster into his arms. “No, he’s not dead. Just got the wind knocked out of him.”

  “Can I call 9-1-1? Can I, Dad? I know how to do it.”

  “No, but you can go ask your mom to get out the cream we put on your boo-boos.” Karl set his son down and affectionately swatted his small behind as Weasel took off for the house.

  Lanie unfolded the cloth and dabbed at the mixture of sweat and blood that stained Reece’s chest.

  “Aaagh!” Reece forced himself to a sitting position and stopped Lanie’s ministration with a hand on her wrist. “Don’t you know … better than to rub … salt into an open wound?” he panted.

  Lanie sat back on her heels, startled yet pleased that he was conscious and able to sit up. But he didn’t have to be such a grouch. “I was only trying to help,” she said, unable to keep the peevishness out of her voice.

  He released his iron-hard grip on her wrist and leaned back, his elbows resting in the clean straw. “Please don’t kill me … with your kindness.”

  At that, Karl burst out laughing. “Don’t worry about him, missy,” he said, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be just fine. C’mon, let’s get the ol’ cattle dodger up.”

  With much groaning and straining, Reece allowed them to help him to his feet. They guided him to the barn door, but as soon as he set foot on the red clay path leading toward the house, he waved them off. “Don’t want the
kid to think I’m hurt.”

  Lanie hid a smile as she thought of Weasel’s disappointment over not being allowed to call the rescue squad.

  When they reached the porch, Reece grasped the rail and eased himself up one step. With the other hand, he reached for Lanie’s shoulder. Despite the heat, his touch sent shivers down her spine. Instinctively, she looped her arm around his waist to steady him. She tried to ignore her feeling of contentment at the intimate contact and mentally chastised herself for finding pleasure in the situation.

  True, she had vowed to herself to keep a respectable distance, physically and emotionally, from the man.

  But this was the charitable thing to do, she rationalized. However, it was something other than charity that made her aware of the firm abdominal muscles expanding and contracting under her fingertips as Reece labored up the steps.

  Karl opened the screen door, and Reece stepped away from Lanie. There was little time to mourn the void it left, for Lou hustled Reece to a chair in the kitchen and thrust a warm, wet washcloth into Lanie’s hand.

  “Clean him up while I get the salve,” Lou said. “And Karl, would you rock the baby to sleep?”

  “Can’t. Gotta check on the calf.” He turned to Lanie and Reece on his way out and lifted his thumb in salute. “You guys are all right.” Then he was gone. Like a shadow, Weasel was close behind his father.

  Lou came back with the cream and handed it to Lanie. “That was man-talk for ‘we appreciate what you did to protect Weasel.’ I don’t know why men can’t just say what they feel.” She went to the oven and took something out, talking all the while. “Weasel told me what happened. You two make quite a team.”

  When she came back, she placed two plates of what looked like some kind of cake on the table near them. The aroma was heavenly. “Better let this cool a minute. Do you suppose you cracked any ribs?”

  Reece straightened in his chair and gently eased the washcloth from Lanie’s grasp. “No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t hurt bad enough to be a crack. Probably just bruised.”