by Fiona Lowe
Now, as he attached the milking cups to a docile Holstein’s udder, he wished that the routine of work could vanquish the humiliation of last night. Good luck with that. So far nothing was working. Not the cross-pasture run to the parlor, not his single-minded focus on the list of today’s jobs, which was a mile long, nor the elephant in the room that was milking alongside his father.
As a single man in the dating pool, he prided himself on being charming and entertaining, and all the while focusing solely on the woman he wanted to bed, making her feel unique and special. Which she was. All of the women he’d been with over the years had been unique and special in their own way. The fact he didn’t stay with any woman for very long was more to do with him but it didn’t make any of them less singular. Over the years, he’d perfected a seduction style and he knew what worked for him and what didn’t. As a result he never deviated from it.
Except for last night.
Except for last night when he’d screwed up big-time. With women, timing was everything and he’d let the memory of one kiss upset his timing and lead him down the wrong path. A path that had ended in briars and a sink hole of sucking mud. A hole he had to dig himself out of and still keep his dignity intact. Exactly how, he had yet to work out.
“Why have you got sunflowers growing in the top field?” His father’s voice broke into his thoughts.
Luke’s hand paused on the trigger hose he was holding to clean the cow’s teats. Erin wasn’t the only mistake he’d made last night. “To increase milk production.”
“Humph.”
“You disagree with my decision?”
“You gave up a field of corn to do it. Come winter, you’ll miss it.”
He breathed in slowly, like he always did when the older farmers in the district questioned him. “Maybe, but then it will be my mistake, Dad, not yours.”
His father faced him for the first time. “I might have been okay with that if I wasn’t the one who was going to have to step in after you and deal with your mess.”
Vernon’s words hit him in the chest. Unlike Wade, Luke had always shared a close relationship with his father—one cemented by his decision to follow in his father’s farming footsteps. “I’m not asking you to come out of retirement.”
“The hell you are.” His father twisted the suction hose to release the milking cups, catching them with his other hand. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Luke, but right now the cows are more organized. I’m on Arizona time and I managed to get up at five. What’s your excuse?”
A picture of chestnut hair, emerald eyes and the lushest mouth he’d ever experienced on any woman formed in his mind.
You forgot attitude.
True, Erin had that in spades. Either way he wasn’t telling his father any of it and his carefully controlled temper unraveled. “Jeez, Dad. Nobody held a gun to your head to make you get up early. You were the one who told Brett he could take the mornings off for the next week because you wanted to milk.”
His father glared at him as if Luke had asked him to give up his vacation to work on the farm. “Your priority is this farm, Luke. Since you were ten, it’s what you’ve always said you wanted. I waited for you to grow up, go to college, travel and sow your wild oats before you returned to farm. You have no right to walk away from it now.”
Before Luke could reply, the milk truck blasted its horn and Vernon stomped off into the dairy.
The lead mass that had been pressing hard against Luke since spring intensified, gaining more weight.
* * *
“And finally, I want to thank you all for the warm welcome to Whitetail.”
Tony Lascio gathered up his papers to the sound of polite applause from the town meeting. He was about to step down from the lectern when John Ackerman leaned into the mike and said, “So any questions for our new fire chief?”
An older woman with short gray hair tipped in pink rose to her feet. “I’m not surprised you wanted to come to Whitetail after living on the Jersey Shore. We might not have the ocean but we have a lovely lake and you’ll be much better off here.”
Tony was a bit taken aback. Surely the senior knew the television show wasn’t the real Jersey and yet her expression hinted at a caring pity and a real joy that he’d got out. He spoke into the mike. “Ah, thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
He glanced around expectantly, encouraging anyone else to step up and ask a question.
“And have you come to Whitetail alone?”
His head swung back as his mind was telling him he must have misheard the blatantly non-PC question. “Excuse me?”
The woman, who looked to be in her late sixties, continued to beam at him. “Are you married?”
Not anymore. “No.”
“A bachelor in the wedding town.” The woman sighed with delight. “You do know Whitetail’s all about weddings, don’t you?”
Tony was seriously questioning if he’d moved galaxies rather than just across six states. Back in Jersey, he’d been a fireman for a lot of years and the community had only ever questioned him on protocol and safety. This woman, with her benign looks of a sweet, elderly lady, was more terrifying than fighting a roaring inferno. Next she’d be asking him his jock size.
“Mrs. Norell,” a quiet voice spoke from the back of the hall. “I’m sure the chief’s well aware of Weddings That Wow.”
Tony instantly recognized Nicole’s voice. He hadn’t seen her since he’d driven away from the park, although he’d thought about her. Thought about her way too much given she had a child and wore a wedding band on her left hand. Two big signs that said not available, leave well enough alone.
For a time, his marriage breakdown had totally screwed with his head and his ethics, and he’d done some things he wasn’t proud of, but coming out here to Wisconsin was a new start. He wasn’t risking that by hooking up with a married woman in a town the size of a pocket handkerchief. Only there was a vulnerability about her that had touched something deep down inside him. Something he’d locked away two years ago.
Nicole stood up, her white-blond hair brushing her shoulders. “If no one else has any questions that are pertinent to Chief Lascio’s job, perhaps we can wrap this up now? I know a lot of people are keen to try your chocolate beet cake, Ella.”
“Oh, yes, good idea, Nicole. I’ll make sure you have the first slice, Chief.” Mrs. Norell waved at him before hurrying away to the reception room where he knew a scrumptious spread of food lay waiting.
The sound of chair legs scraping against the wooden floor filled the meeting room and chatting people drifted through the now open concertina doors. Tony found himself ushered forward by John, presented with coffee and instantly surrounded by a group of older ladies. They pressed platters of sandwiches and cake on him, and peppered him with questions such as where he grew up, how long he’d served as a firefighter, what was his favorite food and did he want to get married. He was also introduced to a Melissa and an Emily and their single status was emphasized vehemently and often.
He quickly realized that dealing with these women of Swedish descent wasn’t any different from how he treated his nonna’s friends at the senior center. With some gentle flirting, complimenting each lady on her baking prowess and then shoving food into his mouth, he managed to dodge the super-personal questions, although at this rate he’d be bench-pressing well into the night to burn off the massive calorie load. The words of his ex-chief rang in his ears about firefighters going country and going soft.
“So, Chief,” Mrs. Norell said with genuine concern in her voice, “aren’t you lonely living out on old creamery lane? I mean it’s quite removed from the buzz of the town.”
Somehow, he managed not to inhale the moist, rich beet cake as he stifled a laugh. Whitetail was basically six blocks by nine, with scattered housing beyond that and a permanent p
opulation of around twelve hundred. Buzz didn’t come close to describing it, which was exactly why he was here. He wanted quiet. He needed peace and quiet after the high-octane drama of life with Loretta.
“It’s fine, Ella,” he said with a wink. “And if I ever get lonely, I can always come into town and visit you.”
“Oh, you’re a wicked one,” she said, giggling like an eighteen-year-old.
When he’d finally tasted something that every senior had made, he managed to excuse himself and as he strode around the table toward the exit, he met Nicole.
“And after that baptism of fire, Chief, I think you’ve survived your first town meeting.”
The smile in her voice made him grin. He put his arm under hers, propelling her forward another few steps until there was some distance between them and the seniors so their conversation couldn’t be overheard. “Is it always like this?”
“An inquisition with a food chaser? Absolutely.”
She laughed and the tinkling sound washed over him, making him think of the chimes his nonna kept in her trees. Wind chimes? God, next he’d be breaking out into song.
You’ve only been out of Jersey two weeks. Stay tough, man.
“Exactly how often do I have to attend?”
Still laughing, she patted his arm as if he was a small child needing reassurance. “Once a month.”
Her honey-tanned hand looked pale and tiny against his swarthy forearm and he had an overwhelming desire to cover it with his and keep it safe.
She’s married, genius. Ask about her kid. “How’s Max?”
Her hand instantly fell away. “Except for bed and bath time, he hasn’t taken that hat you gave him off of his head.”
“Good to hear.” Tony loved kids. Loved seeing the enthusiasm and joy on their faces that life hadn’t yet crushed out of them. “You should bring him over to the station one day so he can sit in engine seven. It’s a real fire truck.”
Her laughing eyes instantly sobered and she suddenly looked embarrassed.
Hell. Had he crossed a line talking about her kid?
She tugged at her ear. “Perhaps you can talk to the vacation camp coordinator.”
Oh, yeah, he’d crossed the marriage line. “Sure. I’ll talk to her and organize it.”
“I’m sure the children will love it.” She checked her watch and then gave him a brisk nod, as if she was concluding a business meeting. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Chief.”
And the moment of connection he’d felt sure they’d shared at the start of the conversation had disappeared and it was as if it had never happened. Chief. That’s all she’d ever called him, despite the fact he’d introduced himself as Tony the first time they’d met. It was a line in the sand. A place keeper.
As he watched her walk away, hips swinging and her black pencil skirt skimming her sweet behind, he knew he was going to be adding a long run and a cold shower to those bench-presses.
* * *
“Mommy?”
“Hmm?” Nicole glanced up from studying the seating plan of the Ambrose wedding, wondering what Jenna was thinking sitting her divorced sister at the same table as her now ex-husband and his new girlfriend.
She turned her attention to Max who was looking at the photo album she’d made for him after Bradley died. She’d gathered together as many photos as possible that had been taken of Max and Bradley together, although in the past couple of years, there hadn’t been many. “Why isn’t there a photo of you and Daddy in here?”
She couldn’t stop the flinch of pain that caught her under her ribs. Because your father stopped loving me. “Because it’s your and daddy’s special album.”
“You should be here. I want a picture of you with Daddy.”
She breathed out. “Okay. What about one on the day we got married or the day you were born?” If he was insisting on a photo of her and Bradley together, then it would be one when they’d been happy together. When they’d fit like two pieces in a puzzle and had shared the same vision of their life together.
Max’s forehead creased in thought and then he announced, “The day I was born.”
She smiled at the memory of that wonderful and momentous day. “Good idea. Go choose one from your baby album and I’ll print you another copy.”
As Max ran off to his room, Nicole returned to the seating plan and tried to find a way of seating two acrimonious ex-lovers as far away from each other as possible without destroying twelve other perfectly matched tables. Every attempt to move someone was like dropping a pebble into a pond and watching the ripples radiate outward to impact and upset the next table. She tried a few different permutations and combinations but her mind wasn’t up to the task. Tony, with his inky eyes and Italian good looks, kept intruding into her thoughts by seating himself at every table instead of the woman she was trying to move.
She pressed the heels of her hands into her forehead as if that would help remove him from her head. She’d thought if she only ever called him by his title or thought about him as the chief, she’d be able to get over this thing she couldn’t quite define. She certainly didn’t want to call it a fascination, and an obsession was not only way too far from the mark but way too creepy, so she was sticking with thing. Only, somewhere along the line she’d started to think of him as Tony.
And that was bad.
What on earth had possessed her to intervene on his behalf at the meeting? He was a grown man and more than capable of fending for himself—he had to be if he was going to survive the well-intentioned but nosey Whitetail community. Intervening and protecting him from Ella’s questioning was one thing and could be passed over as easing him into dealing with the town’s citizens. The flirting, not so much. Why had she done that? It wasn’t as if she was an expert or that flirting even came naturally to her. It didn’t. Far from it, in fact, and if truth be told she hadn’t flirted with a man since...
As she thought back, she realized that she hadn’t flirted with any man since her senior year of high school. Even then, it had been Bradley flirting with her and her return attempts had been inept at best. She dropped her hands back to the desk with a groan. Nothing had changed. She was still clumsy and inexpert and the image of her hand resting on Tony’s deeply tanned, olive-skinned arm—ivory on ebony—was burned on her retinas. Permanently there to remind her of her folly.
Only, it wasn’t just the image. Her palm kept tingling with the memory of the tickle of his black hair, the solid feel of the tautness of his arm muscles, and the heat of his skin. She rubbed her palm with her fingers as if it was still resting on his arm and her cheeks burned hot.
Not only was she embarrassed that she’d touched him in an intimate way as if she knew him very well, her ensuing panic at what she’d done ended up making her rude, brusque and officious. Tony had merely been making polite conversation, inquiring about Max and issuing an invitation which would thrill him to the core. An invitation that meant she had a valid excuse to see him again and that would thrill her.
And that was the problem on so many levels it didn’t bear thinking about.
“Mommy, what about this one?” Max slammed his baby album onto the table, his finger pressed hard against a photo. It showed Bradley gazing down at a newborn Max with love in his eyes and Nicole gazing up at Bradley with love shinning in hers.
Her heart dropped to her feet and nausea pummeled her. Even then he hadn’t loved her. How had she not been able to see it until just now?
“Mommy?”
She stiffened her spine and snapped to attention, just as she always did when she felt herself tumbling backward into the dark and dangerous black hole of grief—a grief everyone who knew her assumed they knew the cause of and yet utterly misunderstood. “It’s perfect, buddy. Let’s print it now.”
Chapter Eight
Luke pulled the tr
actor to a halt as he saw the unanticipated sight of Keri waving a picnic basket at him. He and Brett were chopping grass for silage while his father and Wade took over the milking. He glanced at the sun. Scratch that. They’d have finished milking by now. He on the other hand would be working well into the night and returning to the house for a sit-down supper wasn’t an option.
He jumped to the ground, leaving the tractor idling, and met his sister at the fence line. She’d spread a rug and arranged a meal of cold chicken and salad subs, fresh apple juice and a cheesecake.
He raised his brows at the unexpected feast and wondered if it came with an agenda. Erin and her meal immediately sprang to mind, although after spending mind-numbing hours driving up and down a field, pretty much every association to anything made that happen. “That’s quite a spread you’ve got there, sis.”
Keri handed him some hand wash. “Mom’s in her element feeding us.”
He bit into the sub, letting the combined flavors of grainy mustard, chives, egg mayonnaise and chicken roll around his mouth. He loved this recipe of his mother’s and realized with surprise how much he’d missed it. “I thought you were leaving first thing this morning and heading back to Phil and the kids.”
She watched him eat, fiddling with a loose thread on her light sweater. “I’m leaving in the morning but I wanted to talk to you first.”
He kept chewing, knowing she’d say what she wanted to say without any encouragement from him.
“Did you get Axel to price the entire farm or just the beach acres?”
And there it was.
He took a long slug of juice, welcoming the coldness against his throat. “I didn’t even ask Axel to price the beach acres. He took that upon himself.”