Falling for the Lawman

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Piper shook her head. “He’s not. He’s a small breed, and he’s smaller yet because he wasn’t properly fed, but he’s probably two years old. Luke thought the girls would love him. And he was right. We have room. And forage. And he’s so little and cute.” Her voice went soft. Sweet. Maternal. But one snap of her hand to her thigh brought back the dogged farmer within the pretty, petite woman. And Zach had enough of farms and farmers growing up to last a lifetime. “I’ve got to get back to that oil leak. Zach, I appreciate what you did.” She tipped her hat and held up her grease-stained hands as evidence. “I’d shake your hand but that’s pretty undesirable right now, so I’ll just thank you again for Beansy’s safe return.”

  * * *

  Despite the sheen of grease on her palms, Zach didn’t find her hands one bit unbecoming, but he shoved that opinion into his “don’t go there” file. “You’re welcome.” He started walking away, but something―manners, interest, guilt―made him turn back. “Do you need help, Piper? I know a few things about tractors.”

  She turned and met his look. For long seconds they stood separated by a matter of ten feet, but the look in her eyes said they might as well be light-years apart. “You’re kind, but no. I’m fine.”

  Cool. Concise. As if she were shouldering him off because she loved working with smelly, greasy engines?

  No.

  Because she didn’t want to work on the engine with him.

  Zach reached into Beansy’s enclosure, gave the fuzzy fellow a nice ear rub, then headed toward his house. Helping on a farm ranked dead last on his list, so most of him was glad she’d rejected his offer. But he’d glimpsed the tired, frustrated look in her eyes when she first turned his way in the barn. And it had deepened when she’d been unsure of the girls’ whereabouts.

  A part of him longed to ease that frustration, but he’d grown up witnessing that look on his father’s face. It wasn’t a game he ever wanted to play again.

  * * *

  “You didn’t need to take time off.” Marty Harrison poured a cup of coffee, gaze down, grinding the words that evening. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Dad, I—”

  “And I don’t need someone hovering over me 24/7. What I need is...” Marty stared out at the fields beyond, the adjacent dairy farm a reminder of all he’d lost due to a medical error, a mistake that had triggered a bunch of wrong decisions. Decisions made by Zach.

  His father’s grim expression increased Zach’s guilt. “I didn’t take the time off because of you, precisely. I realized that if I’m going to get that deck done out back, I’d better do it before summer ends. I thought I might be able to enlist your help with it. If you want to, that is.”

  “Keep the old man busy?” Bitterness deepened his father’s already cryptic tone. “That way I won’t get into any trouble?”

  Easing Marty back into a semblance of normalcy was going to be harder than he expected, Zach realized. His father’s flat gaze deepened Zach’s concern, but other than good old-fashioned time, how could he help Marty’s mental and physical recovery? “We could drive down to the lake,” Zach suggested. “Or take a walk.”

  “A walk to nothing is still nothing.”

  Zach knew that wasn’t true. He’d often walked on his own as a kid. He continued the habit now, as an adult. Quiet walking time cleared his head. Eased his mind. The measured pace allowed him to be at peace. Notice the birds, the winged creatures chronically busy but generally unworried.

  In a job that dealt with the seamier side of humanity too often, walking soothed him. If Marty Harrison wasn’t walking to something, to be somewhere, the walk wouldn’t make sense. But things were different now, and—

  Marty’s shoulders squared. His jaw softened. He held the coffee cup higher. Tighter.

  The sound of children laughing drifted across the evening air. A host of them, from what Zach could hear. Another shout of laughter had Zach noting the time. Almost eight o’clock. That must mean ice cream at the dairy store. He moved to the back door and swung it wide. “Dad, come on. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

  “I’m not walking down to the lake for ice cream.” His father’s ludicrous look said Zach was crazy and annoying. “It’s nearly a mile.”

  “Come on.” Zach pointed southeast and gave his father a lazy smile. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Marty’s face darkened. His eyes looked down for several beats, but Zach had outwaited tougher guys than his father lots of times. He stood, patient and persevering, allowing his father time to take that first step forward. Shouts of childish laughter tempted Marty outside. By the time they skirted the near pasture and worked their way around the closest barn, the sight of children laughing, playing and shrieking paused Marty’s step.

  “What are they doing here?” he asked.

  “Ice cream after the game.” Zach pointed toward the dairy store tucked on the protected side of the barn they’d just rounded. “Just like you did with us when we were kids.”

  Not exactly. His father hadn’t been a mainstay at soccer games or Friday night football. On a farm there was always something to do, fix or tend. Running kids to games had fallen to his mother.

  That brought to mind Piper that afternoon, hanging over the tractor, trying to put big, heavy things right when she should have been spraying crops or turning cut hay. Guilt speared him for not taking the time to help. He knew farm equipment. And his size made tractor parts a whole lot easier to handle, although she’d probably jab him in the solar plexus if he suggested such a thing. And she’d done all right on her own to this point, so why was he torturing himself about it?

  Kids of all ages dashed here and there. Some sported baseball attire. Others were dressed in soccer gear. Parents sat or stood in small circles across the wide yard, watching the antics with small-town comfort. “I wonder if they’ve got Parkerhouse cherry?”

  Marty’s hopeful expression made Zach wince inside. Whatever this cherry thing was, he was pretty sure the inviting ice cream window was about to disappoint his father. Frankly, Zach wasn’t sure how many more downturns his father could handle, which was exactly why he’d taken emergency leave for the next couple of weeks. Maybe just having Zach around would help Marty through the worst of this adjustment period.

  The short lines moved quickly. Lights lit up the parking area, while the scattered picnic tables set beneath sprawling farmyard trees remained more shadowed. When they got to the front of the line, Zach was surprised to see Piper, Lucia and the same college girl he’d seen yesterday all inside the window. “You work here at night?”

  The sound of his voice got her attention, and unless Zach had lost his policing skills in the twelve hours he’d been off duty, she looked happy to see him. Excited, even.

  Which made two of them.

  Her smile inspired his, but he felt a moment of abject fear when Lucia asked, “What can we get for you, gentlemen?” Zach dreaded the thought of Marty’s disappointment over something as simple as ice cream.

  “You got Parkerhouse?”

  Lucia’s quiet frown said they didn’t. Zach was ready to point out the long list of flavors they did have, but Piper’s voice interrupted him. “Sir, do you like amaretto-based Parkerhouse or vanilla?”

  Marty’s eyes lit up. “The almond stuff.”

  She threw him a smile, winked and scooped a generous serving onto a cold stone set off to her left. Taking a tong’s worth of cherries with just a little juice, she worked the ice cream between two flat paddles for about thirty seconds. She arched a glance back toward Marty. “Did you say cone or dish?”

  “I didn’t,” he replied, the more appreciative tone in his voice making Zach breathe easier. “A cone,” he decided. “One of those.” He pointed to the waffle cones and Piper’s smile said she approved.

  “These waffle cones are the best,” s
he told him as she plied the ice cream mix into the cone. “In my humble opinion...”

  Lucia’s cough said Piper’s opinions might not be as humble as she thought. Her timing deepened Marty’s smile, which then eased some of Zach’s concern.

  “...the cone makes the treat,” Piper declared. She sent Marty an arch look. “Too soft, too sweet, too well-done.” She shrugged narrow shoulders clad in a T-shirt beneath the ice cream apron. “The best ice cream deserves a solid cone.”

  “I concur.” Marty took a taste of the cone she handed him. She watched, waiting, clearly hoping she’d pleased him, and in that moment Zach discovered more to like about her. Patience in an impatient world. Concern, as if Marty’s satisfaction mattered. And a hinted joy as if she loved the task at hand, taking care of business after working in hot fields and barns all day.

  “Delicious. And an almost perfect balance of cherries to ice cream.” Marty smiled at her, and Zach was pretty sure that was the first genuine smile he’d seen since bringing his father home postsurgery five days before, even though the smile was accompanied by veiled criticism with the word almost.

  Zach had lived with those “almosts” for a long time. Almost smart enough, almost good enough, almost strong enough...

  But Piper just laughed out loud. “You come back tomorrow or whenever and I’ll add more, okay? Although the secret to a perfect Parkerhouse cherry ice cream—” she shortened the distance between them by leaning out the window. Marty bent closer “—is to make the palate long for that next bite of fruit. Too much and the texture is messed up. It’s all about ratio, but you come back,” she repeated, “and I’ll use more cherries. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Marty confirmed the pact with a brisk nod.

  “Zach. What can I get for you?” She turned her attention his way while Lucia and the girl handled two other customers.

  “Vanilla.”

  She almost burst out laughing, but held it in with effort. “You’re serious? That’s it? With thirty-one flavors at your disposal?”

  “I’m very serious about my ice cream, Piper. Why taint a perfect blend with nonessential additives?”

  “Oh, brother.” Skeptical, she made a face, reached for a cone, then paused. “Clearly I’m forgetting myself when you’re around. Or maybe your adorable father has me flustered. Cone or dish?”

  Adorable? Marty Harrison? Industrious, ambitious, driven, forceful, yes, Zach reasoned mentally.

  But nothing about the hard-core farmer could be labeled adorable. Could it? “First, I like that I fluster you. Second, you’ve made my father’s night and that makes me grateful beyond words. Third, I’d like the same kind of cone my dad has because you did a great sales job.”

  She angled him a saucy “I do what I can” kind of smile.

  “And fourth, does Luke Campbell come around to bring you animal gifts on a regular basis?”

  * * *

  Piper’s hand paused.

  So did her heart.

  And when it started again, she knew exactly what he was asking, and why all she wanted to do was flirt right back with him.

  But her emotional scars stopped her.

  Intellectually, she knew her former fiancé’s misdeeds had nothing to do with the broad-shouldered trooper at her ice cream window, but family embarrassment had dogged Piper for over a decade. She couldn’t―wouldn’t―put herself in the hot seat again. When she put cops in the “no dating” category, she’d meant it. But Zach didn’t know that, and she could simply let his assumption about Luke ride. Easier on both of them.

  And so she smiled softly and said, “Luke’s a great guy, isn’t he?”

  Zach’s gaze scanned her face. His eyes took in her easy expression, her gentle smile, and she let him read what she wanted him to see. Let him think she was off-limits. Because, despite the fact that Luke was just a good friend who lived on the opposite side of Kirkwood Lake, she was okay having Zach consider her off the market because she utterly refused to be fooled by a cop ever again. No matter how nicely he smiled.

  Chapter Three

  “There is a bicentennial committee meeting tonight.” Lucia tapped the calendar page with one blunt finger the following morning. Her voice said attending the meeting didn’t make her short list, but they both knew one of them needed to be there to represent their farm.

  “We can have Noreen stay late and help at the ice cream window.” Piper tugged on socks, hating the heat but knowing her boots would chafe if she didn’t layer up. “Can you check with her, see if that’s okay? I’ll go to the meeting,” she continued. Lucia’s quick smile rewarded her decision. “It’s at seven, so just make sure I don’t forget. And remind me in time to grab a quick shower, okay?”

  “I’ll text you. And Piper...” Lucia compressed her lips, a sure sign of trouble.

  “What? What’s happened?”

  Lucia dipped her chin toward the west-facing window. “The Hogans are putting their farm on the market.”

  No.

  Lucia breathed deep, watching her, because she understood the implications. Kirkwood Lake was becoming more populated. The beautiful lake, nestled between the rise of Enchanted Mountains and the lake plains of Lake Erie, had been overlooked for years during a depressed economy, but Piper had been approached by developers twice this past spring, both offering big bucks to turn McKinney Farm into an upscale subdivision with lake rights on the upper northwest shore.

  Piper and Lucia had declined both offers, but Vince and Linda’s farm sat above hers. The lake and quaint town sat below. As the Hogans aged, Piper’s father had leased nearly eighty acres from them, acreage Piper used for corn. If the Hogans sold their farm, where would she find acreage for next year and the years to come, especially if increasing land values tempted more farmers out of the game?

  “We’ll figure this out.” Lucia made the promise as if they had choices.

  They didn’t.

  Piper crossed to the milking barn quickly. She’d oversee the morning chores with Berto, hope that Chas showed up to the dairy room on time, and try to accept the things she could not change, like the imminent For Sale sign in front of the neighboring farm.

  Trouble was, she’d never grasped that life lesson well.

  “Need a hand this morning?”

  The disembodied voice startled Piper. She bit back a girly screech, then recognized Zach’s father moving her way. “Mr. Harrison?”

  “Call me Marty.”

  She raised one shoulder in acknowledgment, but the adrenaline rush of having him here in the shadowed dawn kept her heart pumping. “It’s early for ice cream, isn’t it?”

  His smile reassured her. Dimmed hints of Zach’s good looks and humor came through the softened expression. “Is it ever too early for ice cream?”

  Piper shook her head, trying to feel the situation out and coming up short. “No. Not in my world, anyway.”

  Marty motioned to his right. “Zach’s got a massive backyard project scheduled, so he’s gone to the Home Depot. I’m an early riser, I hate television and I worked on a farm for years. I’d like to help if you’ve got stuff to keep me busy.”

  Did she have stuff?

  And then some.

  But a cash shortfall made her keep the staff minimal to the point of negligible. “There’s always work here. Compensation for that work is another matter,” she told him as she moved into the barn. Berto lifted a hand in greeting as he tended the initial group of Holsteins, then he stood straighter, shoulders back, as he spotted the strange man at Piper’s side. He moved their way, protective but open, qualities Piper loved about her middle-aged step-uncle.

  “I don’t need money,” Zach’s father told her.

  Piper might be young, but she’d never met anyone who didn’t need money. And Marty’s clothes―which were somewhat loose and d
ated―said if he had money, he didn’t spend it on his appearance. Which made his assertion more doubtful.

  “Free help?” Berto defused the moment with a smile and waved Marty his way. “And I heard you say you have worked on a farm, no?”

  “Yes.”

  Berto’s expression said Marty had come to the right place. “He can work with me here,” he told Piper.

  Piper read what Berto wasn’t saying, that he’d keep an eye on Marty and make sure things were on the level. Having a strange guy, a new neighbor, show up out of the blue wasn’t the norm in Kirkwood.

  It’s not the norm anywhere, her brain scolded.

  Mixed feelings made Piper hesitate. She didn’t know this man.

  You’ve met his son, the cop. How bad can he be?

  “I’ll take this side.” Moving with more grace than Piper had observed the night before, Marty took a spot on the milking row opposite Berto. Without a glance in either direction, he began prepping the cows with a dexterity Piper almost envied.

  Berto met her gaze. “We’ve got this.”

  Dismissed.

  Which meant she could move the unfreshened heifers onto new pasture earlier than planned. She climbed into the pickup truck, headed west, turned the young cows out in record time, and was back to the house ninety minutes earlier than usual.

  “You are back.” Lucia frowned her way as she ladled pancake batter onto a hot griddle. Plump blueberries sizzled and burst in the heat, filling the air with sweet, summer fragrance. “The milking is done or the vacuum machine is broken?”

  “Neither. Zach’s dad came over to help. He and Berto are doing the milking.”

  “The policeman’s father is working here?”

  Piper made a face. “Weird, huh?”

  Lucia set her gaze hard. “I have little trust for those who butt in to another’s business.”

  “And yet you help so many, Lucia.” Piper shrugged, grabbed coffee and buttered a steaming pancake. Then she took a sifter of powdered sugar, generously applied it to the pancake, rolled the whole thing into a cylinder and raised it to her mouth to bite. “You’re always first in line to help with church functions or folks down on their luck.”