After the shock last night of seeing her without a pound of makeup, with a normal hairdo, and wearing something besides her ridiculously flashy clothes, he’d begun to think that maybe there was a regular person in there. But, nope, he’d been wrong. The Wicked Witch of the West whom he’d accidentally woken that morning showed no signs of normal human behavior. And when she’d discovered that Cadie had gone through her purse and gotten into her makeup . . . whoa. Tara’s true colors had come out, along with her dagger fingernails. The way she’d twisted up her lips and squinted her eyes had scared even him, and it had sent Cadie bawling to her room. All over a lipstick or something.
Ben retrieved a box from the stack in the hall and retraced his steps through the kitchen.
Tara was still on the phone, really giving it to the person on the other end.
“You expect me to believe you don’t know your supervisor’s name? Do you even know your own name? What kind of—”
He had one foot on the garage step when her verbal tirade turned serious, unleashing profanity that made his face red—with anger. He could only imagine what it would do to Sam and Cadie—watching a DVD in the next room—if they overheard it.
Pivoting around, he walked across the kitchen and placed the box on the counter. Leaning across the sink, he grabbed the phone cord and yanked it from the wall. Tara, facing away from him, did not immediately realize her call had been disconnected. She continued to berate the airport employee another ten seconds before pausing then holding the phone away from her ear and frantically pushing buttons.
“Great. I lost the call.”
“What you lost is your temper.” Ben picked up the box again.
Tara whirled to face him. “Excuse me?”
“Those kids in the other room don’t need to hear your potty mouth.”
“My what?”
“You heard me,” Ben said. “The toilet around here is cleaner than your language. I don’t appreciate the profanity and neither would my sister who’s been very generous with you.”
Tara planted one hand on her hip and gave him a completely unapologetic stare. “I’m sorry if Miss Jump-on-the-furniture-and-steal-my-makeup overheard me, but sometimes swearing is the only way to get through to people. The guy at the airline wasn’t getting it.”
Ben shook his head in disbelief. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t get it. Haven’t you ever heard the saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar?”
“I’m not after flies. It’s a flight I need—right out of this godforsaken place.”
“Of all the many places God might be inclined to forsake, I’m pretty certain Bountiful, Utah, isn’t at the top of the list. Now LA, on the other hand . . .”
“Don’t start,” Tara held her hand out, palm facing him. “Just because I don’t live on a farm.”
“This isn’t about where anyone lives.” Ben took two steps closer to her so that the box he held was the only thing separating them. He lowered his voice. “This is about those kids in the other room and my sister who’s been so kind to you. You don’t deserve her kindness, and if you expect it to continue, you’d better watch your language. Either that or get out.”
Ben turned to leave the room and ran straight into Ellen, just coming in from the garage.
“Benji! What do you mean by telling our guest to get out?” Ellen looked from Ben to Tara, whose face was a mask of shock.
“She—” Ben started, but Tara cut him off.
“It’s my fault,” she said to Ellen. “He didn’t do anything. It’s me. I’m sorry.” Blinking back tears, she pushed past him, headed for the family room.
Ellen started after her, but Ben put a hand on her arm, holding her back. “She’s fine. Let her be. You’ve got a houseful of boxes to load.”
“What happened?” Ellen said.
“Nothing worth rehashing. C’mon.” He handed his box to Ellen and went to the hall for another one. A few minutes earlier and he would have gladly tattled on Tara, no doubt scandalizing his sister, who hadn’t heard words like that in a very long time.
But—as she had last night—Tara had surprised him. She’d apologized—sort of. And he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes as she walked past him. He’d have never pegged her for a crier. Or, if he had, he’d have bet she’d use those tears to her advantage. But she hadn’t . . . at least not yet. Still, her apology unsettled him more than the profanity he’d heard come from her mouth in the first place.
He was surprised and, against his better judgment, intrigued.
* * *
By late afternoon Tara had given up on getting a flight to Denver anytime soon. The airport was still officially closed as the snowstorm continued, and she’d been told that when it did reopen, there were so many flights that had been canceled, and so many people stranded, that there was no guarantee she would be able to get on a flight for another day or two. As she poured sodas and set out pizza slices for those who’d come to help Ellen move, Tara mulled over the idea of renting a car. She could take a couple of days to drive home, maybe stop in Vegas on the way, and forget the whole doomed Boulder spa plan.
When she really thought about it, she didn’t feel all that sad at missing the trip. The whole point had been to avoid being alone for Christmas, which she could do just as easily if she timed her driving so she was in Las Vegas for the holiday. The thought of being surrounded by slot machines on Christmas Day was depressing, though not as depressing as being alone in her condo. She wondered what the chances were that she might meet someone in Vegas. Someone decent enough to spend Christmas Day with, anyway. She let out a weary sigh just as Ben and Ellen came into the kitchen.
Ben grabbed a slice of pizza and lifted it toward his mouth.
“We haven’t prayed yet,” Ellen said.
He stopped, the pizza millimeters from his mouth. “Sorry.”
Tara watched, both amused and surprised that he let his sister boss him around like that. At the least she expected him to roll his eyes, but instead he set the pizza on a paper plate and folded his arms, waiting as the rest of the helpers filed into the kitchen. When everyone had gathered around the island, they bowed their heads. Tara closed her eyes briefly as Ellen started praying.
During the prayer Tara peeked, checking out the crowd—mostly guys—surrounding her. They all appeared to be middle-aged and not in particularly great shape. She’d noted earlier that most had rings on their fingers, not that it would have mattered if they didn’t. Honestly the only one who seemed to have any potential in the whole group was Ben. And since his earlier announcement that he was a pig farmer, that potential had washed right down the drain.
When the prayer ended, she slipped from the kitchen, away from the sweaty, hungry swarm attacking the pizza. She walked to the far end of the family room, near the fireplace radiating warmth into the now-empty space. Standing at the picture window, she looked at the mountains that rose up steeply behind the house, practically in the backyard. Snowflakes fell, adding to the layer of white already on the ground and providing a stark contrast to the brown, rocky mountain.
Ben was right, she thought. Even with her dislike of snow, she had to admit this place was beautiful, not a place God had forsaken.
Maybe Ben was right about LA, too. Or me, at least. “Forsaken” certainly described the way she felt right now. Christmas was two days away, and not only was she stranded here, but there was no one who even cared—or knew, for that matter. The girls in Boulder hadn’t returned her call, and she doubted they would. Her mother probably wouldn’t call over the holiday at all, using the excuse of poor reception or the expense of calling from the ship. Her father—wherever and whoever he was—wouldn’t be searching for her either. Though that had been her fondest wish each and every Christmas since she could remember.
Tears stung the back of her eyes again, and Tara angrily blinked them away. What had Ben started, scolding her like that, making her cry? She hadn’t cried in a long time—not since she’
d moved from Seattle. She’d left both the rain and her tendency toward tears behind, vowing that LA would bring more sunshine to her life, both literally and in her relationships. Too bad she hadn’t figured on the smog.
A lone tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away since she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Cadie had all but destroyed her mascara, giving it to the dog to chew on. Her foundation and lipstick hadn’t fared any better. Ellen hadn’t been much help, offering only a new tube of Chapstick as replacement.
Chapstick, flannel, kids, and overalls . . . only in Utah. Maybe someday she would laugh about this, but right now none of it seemed remotely amusing. Breathing in deeply, she tried to pull herself together and began mentally practicing the request that she was going to have to make. She hadn’t been able to get her credit cards replaced yet, nor had she been successful in getting money wired from her credit union. And with tomorrow being Christmas Eve, she didn’t imagine her luck would change. Which left her having to ask Ellen or Ben for enough money to get a hotel tonight and a rental car home. She’d worry about money for Vegas later. Somehow she just knew Farmer Ben wouldn’t be on board with that plan.
“It’s not looking good, Sis.”
Speak of the devil. Tara kept her position facing the window as Ben’s voice, followed by Ellen’s, drifted from the kitchen.
“Oh, where’s your faith, Benji?” Ellen’s voice was light, but even this far away, Tara could detect a stressed undertone.
“Where’s your common sense?” Ben retorted. “Colorado’s one giant blizzard right now, and you expect me to drive a woman and her children right into the middle of it?”
“You’re exaggerating,” Ellen said. “The blizzard is in Denver, and I’m sure it will be cleared up by the time we get there.”
“Portions of the highway have been closed.”
“They have. East of Denver.” Ellen sounded defensive now. “I’ve been checking too, you know.”
But Ben wasn’t backing down. “If we had another guy, El, but we don’t. How do you think Dallin would feel if I let something happen to his family?”
Ellen let out a frustrated groan. “Is that what this is about? You’re still worried what Dallin thinks of you, how he sees you?”
A lengthy silence met this remark, and Tara dearly wished she could see their faces. After a good minute had passed, Ben spoke again.
“I’m worried about getting my sister and her children safely over the Rocky Mountains. And with the weather the way it is right now, it seems mighty foolish to attempt such a thing with a moving truck and a minivan. If we get stranded—even if we just need to put chains on, I wouldn’t have anyone to help me. You’d need to stay in the van to take care of the kids.”
“But it’s Christmas. Dallin can’t be without his family on Christmas. And would you have Cadie and Sam and Chloe spend it away from their dad? Here, in this empty house?”
Tara heard Ben’s sigh and tried to decipher if it was one of frustration or defeat. “If we had another adult . . .”
“Well, we don’t. And no one’s going to want to join us on a road trip the day before Christmas. I mean they’d have to be going to Denver themselves, and where are we going to find—hey, what about Tara?”
Tara’s head snapped up at Ellen’s suggestion.
“She was headed to Colorado, anyway, and the airport still hasn’t reopened. Maybe she’d be willing—”
“Have you lost your mind?” Ben let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-choking. “’Cause I’d sure lose mine, being in a car with her all day.”
That’d be because you don’t have much mind to lose. Tara’s earlier melancholy disintegrated in a burst of anger. Like I’d want to go with you, anyway.
“You wouldn’t have to ride with her,” Ellen said. “She could come in the van to help me with the kids.”
“Lot of help that would be,” Ben said sarcastically.
He’s got a point, Tara admitted to herself. She had no desire and no clue how to play nanny to a bunch of kids confined in a car. But how hard could it be? And it would get me to Denver. The possibility of still making the spa trip tempted her. At least she’d be with people she knew for the holiday. In Vegas it’d be up to her to find someone. And that would take energy and effort. Effort she didn’t feel like putting forth right now.
“You’re not being fair—or nice,” Ellen said.
And you’re just figuring this out? Tara turned away from the window, heading toward the kitchen, intending to join them. Ben’s disparaging comments aside, she decided the idea was worth discussing.
“I’m being completely fair,” Ben said. “I should have said, ‘If we had another man to come with us.’ Because if we hit a storm, I’m the one who’ll end up needing help. And I’m pretty darn sure that woman couldn’t change a tire to save her life.”
It was the nudge she needed to make up her mind.
“Actually,” Tara said, smiling sweetly as she stood in the wide doorway between the family room and the kitchen, “I can.”
Seven
“Have fun,” Ellen called, waving from the front step.
Fun. Oh yeah, shopping with Farmer Ben should be real fun. Tara picked her way down the icy driveway. She’d hinted to Ben that he might want to change his overalls before going out, but his only response had been a rude comment about her attire.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Ben didn’t bother to hide his irritation as he climbed into the van and started the engine.
“That makes two of us,” Tara said, getting in on her side. But I’m desperate, and hitching a ride with you will get me to the girlfriends in time for Christmas. But she couldn’t hitch a ride dressed as she was now. If she was freezing here in the city, traveling through the mountains might literally kill her—or give her frostbite on her legs, anyway. She reached for the seat belt, buckling herself into the front passenger seat of Ellen’s minivan as Ben backed it out the driveway.
He drove in silence and a little too fast, winding his way through holiday traffic to the nearest mall. Privately, Tara was impressed with his skill. He could have held his own during rush hour in LA. Not bad, considering he probably spent most of his time driving a tractor.
A few minutes later she lurched forward then back as the van came to an abrupt halt in front of Sears. Her heart sank. She couldn’t remember ever having shopped at Sears, but she was pretty certain they were known for things like drills, saws, and riding lawnmowers.
“You want me to wear a tool belt?” She wasn’t trying to be funny.
“They sell clothes here,” Ben said.
Eying his plaid shirt, she imagined just the kind of clothing he was talking about. Turning around in her seat, she searched the store names on the building, hoping against hope there was a Saks or Nordstrom nearby—or at least a Macy’s.
“I’ll be back in an hour.” Ben pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it, taking out the few bills inside. “Here’s forty-seven dollars.” He slapped the cash into her hand. “I’ll meet you here at 7:30.”
She stared at the money. He’s kidding, right? “One hour? Forty-seven dollars?” And Sears? she wanted to add but didn’t. “You can’t be serious.”
Ben gave her a look that said he was. “Fifty-nine minutes,” he said, glancing at the dashboard clock. “I’ve still got to help Ellen with some things, and I want to get to bed early. We have a long drive tomorrow.”
Tara shook her head. “I’m sorry, but what you’re asking is impossible. Do you know nothing about shopping? First of all, look at this parking lot. The line at the register is going to be a half hour by itself.”
“Better choose your clothes fast, then,” Ben said unsympathetically. He rolled down the driver’s side window, waving another car around them. “I’m blocking traffic, and you’re wasting time.”
Tara didn’t budge. “When was the last time you set foot inside a mall?” she demanded. “I’ll be doing good to get socks and underwe
ar for forty-seven bucks. There’s absolutely no way I’ll be able to get jeans and a sweater too.”
“At Sears you can.” Ben’s forehead wrinkled, and he pressed his lips together as the driver behind them honked. “And if by chance I’m mistaken, then I suggest you get long johns. Now are you going to get out or not?”
“Not.” Tara folded her arms across her chest. “I know you think I’m being difficult, but you really don’t understand.”
“You’re right. You’re extremely difficult—a real pain.” Ben drove forward. “And I don’t understand how I let my sister talk me into taking you with us. But if she wants to do this so bad, she can take you shopping. I’ll stay home. Dealing with three cranky kids beats this any day.”
Tara felt her anger rising to match his, but she tried to remind herself he was just an ignorant farmer. It was up to her to educate him on the ways of the world—or the way of the mall, at least.
She reached out, placing a hand on his sleeve. “I’m grateful you’re taking me shopping. Really, I am. And I know I must seem unappreciative.”
“I’ll say.” Ben turned to look at her then her hand, which she hastily removed from his coat sleeve.
“I’m sure that wherever it is you buy your overalls, they probably don’t charge much. But women’s clothing is different. A decent pair of jeans, a sweater, socks, shoes—and everything else I’ll need for a day or two—is going to cost at least $200.” And that’s really pushing it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d purchased an outfit for so little. “I’ll repay every penny—with interest, if you’d like. I make good money. In the last quarter alone, I—”
“You don’t have to tell me what you make.” Ben pulled the van into an empty stall at the far end of the lot.
Right. It’d only hurt your ego. Tara wondered what the average salary for a pig farmer was. If money was really tight for Ben, then this could be a problem. She’d tried talking to Ellen about borrowing a little money for clothes, but every time, one of her needy kids had interrupted.
My Lucky Stars Page 5