Inheritance of Love

by Linda Ford

  "Of course you didn't." But Darcy could guess Aunt Betty wouldn't be anxious to take a restless child with her again. "Come on. You can help me put away groceries and then I have to make my dinner. You can help if you want."

  Amy ran ahead of her and threw open the unlocked door. Darcy vowed she'd be more careful in the future. She set the groceries on the counter. Amy peered into the bags.

  "Vegetables. Didn't you get any good stuff?"

  "You'd be surprised how good vegetables taste when I'm done with them."

  Amy turned big eyes toward Darcy. "Whatcha' gonna have?"

  "Stir fry steak. Have you eaten?"

  Amy made a gagging sound.

  Darcy leaned down to eye level. "Why do you do that?"

  Amy looked stubborn. "'Cause I hate macaroni."

  Darcy hated to pump the child for information about what went on in the other house but she wondered about this unusual reaction every time Amy was asked about dinner. "Why do you hate macaroni?"

  Again that gagging sound and Amy covered her mouth. Darcy got the distinct impression Amy's reaction wasn't fake. "It's all sticky. It tastes like—" She pressed her fingers to her mouth again.

  "But surely there's something else to eat? What about potatoes or rice, vegetables or meat."

  "Aunt Betty says she doesn't like cooking."

  The picture Darcy got was distressing. "How often do you get macaroni?"

  "All the time."

  Darcy made up her mind. "Why don't you help me cook my dinner, and then you can share it with me."

  Amy looked doubtful. "Is it only vegetables?"

  "And steak and rice. Has Blake eaten?"

  "He didn't come home yet."

  Darcy decided then and there to save some of the meal for Blake, ignoring the tremor of excitement the thought gave her.

  But hours later Amy slept on Darcy's bed, and Blake still hadn't shown up. Darcy worked up a good head of steam as she watched, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together. Finally the truck drove up to the other house. Blake went inside, emerged a few minutes later and headed toward her place. Before he reached the steps, she had the steak strips frying. She could at least feed him before she tore a chunk out of his flesh.

  At Darcy's invitation, Blake stepped into the kitchen, his taste buds shifting into overdrive at the aroma of frying steak. Seeing her tight smile, he ground to a halt. Why did he get the feeling she was displeased? She couldn’t possibly have a reason. He hadn't even seen her since yesterday in the supply room. He'd been far too busy.

  First, a cow had needed to be moved home so he could doctor her. He didn't like how thin she'd grown. Then he'd spent the better part of the day fixing fences. Some idiot cut the wires in several places probably for the pleasure of snowmobiling last winter. Little did they care about the work they caused and the dangers. If he missed a spot, his cows could wander away. Even onto a road.

  He and Rob had built that fence together and as he repaired it memories assaulted him. Good memories, but still hard to deal with. It was one of those days when he missed the man so much it felt like a giant toothache.

  And then Matt, the neighbor to the south, called to say someone left a gate down and their herds were mixed up. They'd worked until dark to part the cows into the right pastures.

  On his drive home he'd been aching for a soft place to stretch out. He'd decided he was too tired to eat. Leftover macaroni had all the appeal of. . .

  But as Darcy stirred the meat, his stomach gnawed at his backbone. He was hungry enough to eat anything. He quickly amended that, anything but macaroni.

  "You have Amy here?"

  "She's sleeping on my bed. I've saved you some supper." Darcy said.

  He swallowed hard. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the pan on the burner. "Sounds good, but I have to warn you, I'm starving."

  "There's lots." She scooped out the meat and dropped in a colorful array of vegetables. "Have a chair." She tilted her head toward the table.

  He sat where he could watch. She moved with a smoothness reminding him of her grace when she ran. She was a woman easy on the eyes. He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. When had his feelings toward her shifted from antagonism to admiration? Perhaps when she'd been such a good sport about helping him? Or when she made him laugh as she played with Amy? Or seeing the gentle way she held the newborn kitten? To be honest, all of them made him open his eyes a little wider. But he knew the moment his interest changed from generic to something more personal—back in the supply room when he stroked the kitten in her palm and his fingers brushed her soft hand.

  She pulled a bowl of fluffy rice from the microwave and put it in front of him, handed him a plate, waited until he'd scooped out a generous portion of the rice, and then slid the stir-fry mixture on top. He could barely swallow the saliva back fast enough.

  "Go ahead. I hope you enjoy it."

  His mouth was already too full to answer.

  "Can I make you coffee or tea?"

  "I'll take a glass of water, if you don't mind."

  She filled a tall glass with ice water and set it before him.

  "Sit with me and talk."

  "Okay." She sounded wary.

  He gave her a good hard look. Did his presence remind her of all that wrong stuff she believed about Rob? He longed to clear up her misunderstanding. "I couldn't stop thinking of Rob today."

  "Strange. I never thought of him once."

  She obviously hadn't thought of him in years, but he didn't voice his thoughts. They'd been over that territory already. He needed to come at it from a different angle. "How come your mother and Rob got divorced?"

  She blinked with surprised. "Because he left us."

  "But why? There must have been some reason."

  "Yeah. He didn't care about us."

  Blake shook his head. "I don't buy that. That wasn’t Rob. He was a devoted father."

  "Huh. Try being a little kid wanting to understand." She leaned back into her chair and looked disinterested.

  Blake couldn't tell if she pretended the look or if it was real, honed from years of believing what she said."You need to get over your prejudice. It keeps you from seeing the truth."

  Her eyes narrowed. "The truth about what?"

  "About Rob."

  "Blake, the truth is it appears he was a good father to you and Amy. But you have to accept he walked out when I was five and never once came to see me."

  "It's a long ways from here to Seattle, and he was busy getting the ranch back on solid ground."

  "A convenient excuse."

  He hated to admit the reality of her words. Why hadn't Rob visited his eldest daughter? He couldn't imagine treating Amy that way. "Why didn't you visit him?"

  "Because I couldn't face any more rejection."

  Did he detect her lips trembling? She clasped her hands together on the table, squeezing them hard enough to turn her fingertips red. He ached for the pain she constantly denied. He wrapped his hand around her cold fists.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  She gaped at their hands, then slowly lifted her gaze to his face, her expression guarded, questioning.

  "Sorry you've been hurt."

  Her eyes turned cloudy. She looked so vulnerable he wanted to kiss her. Drive away all that uncertainty about being loved. This woman was made for loving. He'd seen it in the way she touched Amy, making her laugh, cuddling her at every opportunity. He saw it every time he watched her run. A woman full of grace and beauty. He saw it now in her trembling lips and the catch in her breath. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry you missed having Rob as a father." His voice turned husky as he said, "Sorry it's now too late to change things." He leaned forward intent on capturing her mouth and kissing away all her hurt.

  She jerked her hands away and sat up straight. Her eyes went from wide and warm to narrow and hard in a blink. "You're right. I can't undo the past. But I can speak to the present. You can't keep running from reality, burying yourself in your work—"


  Feeling like he'd been thrown into an icy stream, Blake jerked back. "What are you talking about?"

  "You're always working. Like a man possessed." She paused. "Or trying to outrun something."

  "I'm not running from anything. The pure and simple fact, for your enlightenment, is the ranch has been neglected for the better part of a year. I don't know what it's like in the city. Out here, if someone doesn't do the work—meaning me—it doesn't go away." He was on a roll. She was going to hear all the hard realities of his life before he stopped. "It sits there waiting until I do. So with a little imagination, you can see I have twice as much work to do as normal." He glowered at her in angry defiance at the accusation of her words. "You make it sound like I'm making excuses to be away from the house." Not for the world would he admit, even to himself, that he did prefer to be out working to being around the house dealing with the constant reminder of the death and dying of the past several months. "The work has to be done. I have no choice." He told himself those words daily.

  "I have no idea how much work you have to do or how long it takes." She shrugged as if it didn't matter. "But I do know a couple of things. First, you can't bury your emotions forever."

  "You didn't hear a word I said. Listen to me; I am not burying myself in work. In fact, if anything, the work is about to bury me if I don't get it under control."

  She barely flicked an eyelid as she waited for him to finish, then went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Secondly, you have busied yourself almost out of Amy's life."

  "You don't know—"

  She held her palm toward him, ignoring his interruption. "I've seen her wandering around bored and unsupervised. Who would be spending time with her if I weren't here? You say she's well provided for but—" Darcy leaned close, her eyes bright and challenging. "She needs more from you than a roof over her head. She needs your time and attention."

  "You only met Amy a few days ago. What do you know about her needs?"

  She returned him stare for stare. "I know what it feels like not to matter enough for someone important in my life to give me a few hours of his time."

  They glared into each other's eyes, both breathing hard.

  He shook his head. How had this deteriorated from wanting to kiss her to feeling an urge to strangle her?

  He pushed to his feet. "Where's Amy? I'm going to take her home."

  She led him into the bedroom. He scooped his little sister into his arms. She smacked her lips twice then burrowed her face against his chest. Fierce protectiveness burned through his veins. Darcy didn't know zip all about his baby sister. Where was she when Amy was born? Where was she when the child ran a high fever and had them all worried to death? Where was she when he and Rob explained over and over to Amy why her mommy was never coming home again? Where was Darcy when Rob died? She should have been at his side.

  He strode out the door. Just before the screen slapped shut, he heard Darcy's soft words. "You can't run forever, Blake."

  7

  Long after he'd tucked Amy into her bed and long after he'd turned out all the lights and gone to his own bed, Blake lay staring into the darkness, mulling over the events of the evening. How had his attempt to help Darcy understand Rob gone wrong so fast? He dug his toes into the covers and jerked them down so they weren't bundled under his chin.

  Sure he was busy. Everyone understood that. Except, it seemed, Darcy. He had cows to move. Calves to process. Bales to haul. Fields to work. On top of that, he had to go to a couple of auction sales trying to find a good used rake. That didn't even take into account the paper work waiting in the office, which he'd been putting off because it involved sorting Rob's personal stuff and clearing it from the office.

  He thought of a way he could take care of two things at the same time, then flipped to his side and fell asleep.

  Darcy ran toward home. She'd added a couple miles to her daily workout, building her endurance without undue effort. It surprised her how much she enjoyed running in the country. Today the fields were velvet carpets of brown and gold and silver. The sun shone in a satiny blue sky, unseasonably warm for April. She'd heard Blake muttering about a spring storm.

  Blake. Last night ended in an argument. Not that she expected he'd be happy at her interference.

  A swirl of dust down the road signaled a vehicle. It looked like Blake's. The truck pulled to the edge of the road and stopped. Blake swung out the door and leaned against the fender, his fingers tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, his cap shoved back as he watched her approach. At the warmth in his brown eyes, her heart rate zoomed into the red zone.

  She slowed her pace. What did he want? She'd seen the way he looked at her lips last night, hnew he meant to kiss her. She stopped him by talking about Amy. Did he still want to kiss? She faltered. Or argue some more?

  He didn't speak until she drew abreast. "You're going farther every day."

  She nodded, surprised he noticed. "I'm training for a race when I get back."

  "I've been thinking about what you said. You know, about me being too busy. Like I tried to tell you, I can't help it. There's just too much to do."

  "Maybe you should think about getting help."

  He nodded. "I've thought of it. Unfortunately some of the stuff can't be handled by strangers. You're family. Maybe you could help."

  "Me?" she squeaked. When had he ever considered her family?

  "Sure. You could sort the stuff in the office. Would you consider doing that?"

  He'd invited her into his family? His house? What next? His heart? She pushed back the lurch of emotions at the idea. She allowed no dreams leading to futile hopes. Wasn't that the lesson she'd learned from her father? But there was no harm, no risk in helping Blake, giving him more time to spend with Amy. She wouldn't allow herself to think she might like to spend more time with him.

  "Sure. I'll help if I can." She wiped her hand across her forehead.

  He grinned, brushed his fingers along her jaw. His gaze followed the path of his fingers as they trailed along her cheek. His skin had a roughness that caused her nerves to tingle after the path of his fingertip.

  She couldn't breathe. Without conscious thought, she leaned forward.

  She let him tip her chin toward him, held her breath as he lowered his head. She allowed one flicker of hesitation, knowing this might change things between them in a way she couldn't control, and then she welcomed his kiss. She brought her hands up to his arms, reveling in the feel of his biceps, hard and round beneath her palm. Oh how she admired a man with well-defined muscles.

  He pulled back.

  She swayed toward him. The touch of his mouth had warmed her lips, started a wash of emotions surging through her. She felt keenly the loneliness and longing she'd lived with all her life, wanting what she couldn't have, followed by a tidal wave of something warm and sheltering like finding a safe harbor. Blake. Her safe harbor? He was all she could hope for, a good man who loved his family. Uncertainty edged in. What did Blake mean by this kiss? Was she safe harbor for him? Or was it gratitude for her offer to help? Appreciation for the way she kept Amy amused?

  She settled back on her heels. Forced her emotions back into a calm sea. She wasn't ready to ride the crest of that wave. She wasn't ready to open herself up to the possibility of rejection.

  He looked as surprised by the kiss as she was by her reaction.

  They stood inches apart gazing deeply into each other's eyes, searching, exploring, wondering. He smiled. "I'm off to town but when I get back, meet me at the house and I'll show you what you can do."

  "Okay." She watched his mouth as he talked, liking the way his lips flashed a smile.

  He leaned forward, hesitated, then climbed into the truck.

  She waved at him in his rearview mirror. Without turning, he lifted his hand. She jogged slowly back to the ranch. She grinned at a crow flapping by. Blake had kissed her. She liked it. Liked the feeling of being wanted. Her steps slowed. Was she playing house? Looking for som
ething her father had denied her? Belonging. Home. Family.

  God, Blake seems like such a good man but I don't want to be substituting one long ache for another. Give me wisdom to see clearly what I should do.

  She lengthened her stride, promising herself she would be cautious.

  By the time she showered and dressed in a pair of cool cotton shorts, a t-shirt and a pair of matching flip-flops all in teal blue, Amy was at her door.

  She spent time with Amy, braiding her hair and reading her a book. At Amy's interest in Darcy's flip-flops, Darcy promised herself to buy her sister a pair next time she went to town. And maybe some new bright short sets.

  Usually when she played with Amy, she had her undivided attention but this morning, she strained to hear Blake's return. It was almost noon before he drove into the yard and parked by the big house.

  "Let's go see what Blake's doing," she suggested to Amy.

  Amy bounced out the door and raced toward her brother. Blake braced himself and caught the little girl as she launched into his arms.

  Darcy squeezed the bridge of her nose. The affection between the two was touching. She envied Amy her assurance of Blake's love. She slowed her steps. It was only because Blake was Amy's father figure. Except that wasn't what she was thinking. She was wondering what it would be like to feel such assurance of love from Blake as a man. Caution, she reminded herself.

  Blake smiled over Amy's shoulder as the little girl clung to him. "It took me longer than I planned. Seemed everyone picked today to go to town."

  She nodded, her eyes feeling too bright. "I wasn't waiting." She tried to tell herself it was true, that she was only curious about what he wanted her to do.

  He unpeeled Amy and set her on the ground. "You can take these into the kitchen." He gave her two grocery bags. "You want to help?" he asked Darcy, holding out a bag in each hand.

  "Sure." She slipped her fingers into the handle, brushing her knuckles along his. Flesh against flesh. The bags hung suspended between them. The moment froze as she looked into his eyes, a tiny pulse making itself felt high in her chest.