My Lucky Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  I’m okay. Ben had thought so before when she’d likely looked her worst—and had certainly acted it—on that mountaintop, so what was to keep him from being her friend now? She smiled at her reflection and stepped out of the Jeep.

  The house wasn’t any more impressive up close, though it wasn’t bad either. She’d known a few career bachelors who were total slobs, and from the look of the yard, at least, Ben didn’t fall into that category. Remembering the way she’d seen him work during those few days at Christmastime, she wasn’t surprised that the patch of lawn was neatly mowed, the flower beds groomed, and the walk swept.

  More important was the surprising lack of farm smell. She’d caught more than a few whiffs of animal on her way here and was pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t reeling with the stench of dozens—or hundreds—of pigs.

  How many does Ben keep, anyway? Looking in either direction past the house, she didn’t see much indication of farming at all, aside from a rather battered cornfield, which even she knew was long past due to be harvested. Since everything else appeared so tidy, this puzzled her.

  Maybe he’s better with animals than he is with crops. But looking around, she couldn’t see any indication of the animals, other than an enormous red barn on the side of the house opposite the cornfield.

  On unsteady legs—from the long car ride, she told herself—she made her way to the front porch and climbed the few steps. She ran her fingers through her hair once more then took a deep breath. As she lifted her hand to knock, she heard the sound of glass breaking, followed by a shout. The front door banged open, just missing Tara as she jumped out of the way. An enormous, pink potbellied pig lumbered past, grunting loudly with each step.

  He keeps them in the house? Her eyes followed the pig as it left the porch and crossed the yard, headed toward the barn.

  “Ben’s not out there, either, you stupid—” A man in the doorway stopped abruptly, his eyes sweeping over Tara. “Oh, hey. I didn’t realize anyone was here. Sorry for shouting.”

  “That’s okay,” Tara said. She tried not to gawk at the pig, which was shaking its head savagely and running circles in the drive.

  The man followed her gaze. “Persephone’s been a real pain today. She gets upset when Ben’s not home.”

  “Oh.” Pigs have moods? She turned her attention to him. “So, Ben isn’t here?”

  The man shook his head. “He and Deb went shopping, but they should be back any minute.”

  Deb?

  “C’mon in and wait. I’m sure you’re better company than the pigs,” he added, grinning at her.

  “I’d hope so.” Instead of accepting his offer, she looked toward the Jeep—and the large pig standing between her and escape. While she wasn’t eager for a confrontation there, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay. In all the possibilities she’d considered about her reunion with Ben, she hadn’t imagined one where other people would be there when she first saw him. This guy and someone else—a woman.

  My mistake, she thought glumly.

  Ben had never said that he lived alone, but that was the way she’d thought of him. She’d imagined driving into his yard and seeing him out on his tractor—or possibly a horse—then looking at her and . . . What? What had she really expected him to do? She sighed inwardly. This is what comes of reading too many of Jane’s romance novels over the summer.

  “I should be going,” she said. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “Can I tell Ben you stopped by? I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask your name.”

  Jane. Old friend from school. The lie was on the tip of her tongue. In the past, lies had never hesitated to roll right off, saving her from unwanted attention or getting her out of dates she didn’t care to go on. Occasionally, she’d used one in reverse to get access to someone she otherwise wouldn’t have been able to meet. But now . . .

  “Tara,” she mumbled. “I’ll write down my cell, and maybe Ben can call.” She reached for the pen in her purse. It would be better this way. He could call her. They could arrange to meet somewhere by themselves, and she could ask him then.

  “You’re Tara?” The man sounded surprised. “On-the-way-to-Denver Tara?”

  Her face heated under his gaze. “Yep. That’s me.” She could only imagine the things Ben must have told his friends about her. She hurriedly scribbled her number on a scrap piece of paper. No way she was coming back tomorrow. She’d just talk to Ben over the phone. And if he had a problem with her request, then she’d ask Peter to baptize her.

  What I should have done in the first place.

  “Here.” She held the paper out.

  “Oh, no.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the open doorway. “Ben would kill me if I let you walk away. I’m sure he had no idea you were coming, or he wouldn’t have gone to town. Don’t you live in California?”

  “Used to,” Tara said. I used to do and be a lot of things that I’m not anymore, she wanted to add. Though she didn’t know this guy at all, she hated that he obviously knew her—or the past her—based on whatever Ben had told him.

  “I’m Josh.” He shook the hand he still held. “Come on into the kitchen. Persephone broke a glass, so watch where you step.”

  “Persephone is the pig I saw?” Tara’s hand dropped back to her side, and she followed Josh through a front room and into a spacious kitchen. Just inside, she paused, taking in gorgeous maple cabinets, what appeared to be an antique farm table, and wide-plank oak flooring. “Wow. This is nice.” Nicer than I expected.

  “Well, you know, Ben and his wood.”

  She didn’t know, but with a backward glance at the room they’d passed through, she started to guess. Resting above a large stone fireplace was one of the most beautifully carved mantels she’d ever seen. Matching crown molding ran the perimeter of the room, and an antique rocker rested in the corner opposite the fireplace. Ben’s home might be plain on the outside, but the inside was impressive. With regards to furniture, at least, he had good taste. But this place could use some art on the walls.

  “He’s friends with the Amish?” she said, only half joking as she rolled a solid wood pocket door back and forth.

  “Most of the time.” Josh grabbed a broom and began sweeping broken glass from the floor. “I sensed a little more than friendly competition at the fair last month.”

  “Oh.” She imagined Ben parading around a center ring, his best, shiny pink pig at his side. “How did he do?”

  Is there a big prize for winning? Does he count on that for part of his income?

  “He beat out everyone,” Josh said, as if that were a normal occurrence.

  While he continued sweeping, Tara walked around the room, looking at the few pictures on the walls. She recognized one that had to be Ben’s family. At least fifteen kids were crammed into the photo, gathered around a couple that appeared more like grandparents than parents. Ben, looking tall and gangly, and with a mouth full of braces, stood beside a teenaged Ellen. Fascinated, Tara moved closer, staring at the photo, wondering how it would be to have a family like that, to be connected to so many people.

  Leaving the picture on the wall, she walked closer to the mantel and noticed another framed photo on the end. It was a recent picture of Ben, his arm looped around the shoulder of a pretty blonde. Deb?

  “No one can come close to touching what Ben’s got in that barn,” Josh was saying. “And, in spite of that, everyone around here loves him.”

  “I’ll bet.” With a last look at the picture, Tara turned away from the mantel and walked into the kitchen.

  Josh opened the pantry door, and another large pig lumbered out. “Ham! You big pig. Have you been eating the cookies again?”

  Ham rolled his head around and grunted a reply that sounded a lot like laughter. Josh swatted him lightly with the broom before putting it away.

  “Does Ben name all his pigs?” Edging to the side of the kitchen, Tara kept her eyes glued to the animal. It had to weigh a couple of hundred pounds easy. She w
ondered how fast pigs could move, if their teeth were sharp, and if they were prone to biting.

  “He does. That makes it a little harder when they’re gone—he misses them, you know. But while they’re here, he treats them like family.”

  “Naming a pig Ham is treating it like family? Seems kinda sick to me.” Thinking of the pig parading around in front of her being turned into a Christmas ham did make her feel sick. She made a mental vow to swear off all pork products. It’d be easy compared to everything else she’d given up lately.

  Josh laughed. “Not that kind of ham. He got the name because he’s always hamming it up; Ham’s a clever pig—and a mischievous one too.”

  As if to prove Josh’s point, Ham came up to Tara and nudged his snout under her purse just enough to lift the strap from her shoulder and send it sliding down her arm.

  “He’s hoping you have mints,” Josh said. “Deb always keeps some in her purse, so now he expects that.”

  Tara clutched her purse to her chest and looked down. Ham nodded his head and grunted as if to say, “Well?”

  “Tic Tacs okay?” She looked to Josh for approval.

  “He’ll be your friend forever.”

  “Just what I always wanted.” Tara lifted the tiny plastic box from her purse and held it up. Ham stuck his tongue out, and she shook a few mints onto it. Ham slurped them into his mouth, let out an appreciative grunt, and trudged off.

  She watched him go, wondering what kind of pigs Ben had in the barn that the other farmers around here couldn’t touch. The pigs she’d met so far were smart enough to miss people when they were gone and to steal cookies from the pantry. Who knew what the rest of them were capable of?

  “Lemonade?” Josh offered as he pulled a pitcher from the fridge.

  “Sure.” Tara took a seat, and Josh poured two glasses and set them on the table.

  “So what exactly has Ben—” Tara’s question was cut off by a beeping horn and the sound of a car on the gravel drive. She tensed, her eyes on the doorway leading to the front room.

  Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance? Why did I even come in the first place? A flurry of butterflies erupted in her stomach. Feeling the need for fortification, Tara automatically reached for her drink before remembering that it was only lemonade. Though, if it had been a martini, she wouldn’t have had any.

  “One hundred and . . . twenty-six days,” she reminded herself. She’d gone that long without drinking any type of alcoholic beverage, and she wasn’t about to let herself down now. It was nice to be free of that crutch, and she’d learned there were better ways to deal with stress.

  But man, sometimes this new gig is hard. Right about now, her nerves could have done with some soothing.

  Josh flashed her a grin from ear to ear. “This is gonna be great. I couldn’t have imagined a better surprise if I’d planned it myself.”

  “I could.” Tara was dismayed to hear the croak in her voice.

  Outside a car door slammed; seconds later footsteps sounded on the porch. She heard the front door swing open.

  Ben was home.

  Thirty-Seven

  Tara was still trying to decide whether or not she should stand up when Ben came into the kitchen. He carried a couple of bags of groceries in each hand and headed straight for the table then stopped abruptly when he spotted her.

  “Hello, Ben.” She tried to smile but wasn’t quite sure she was successful.

  “Tara?” The bags’ momentum shifted, slamming the groceries back into his sides. Ben didn’t even flinch but continued to stare at her in a very confused, disbelieving sort of way.

  So this is what someone looks like when they think they might have seen a ghost. She knew she was smiling now. “I’m real, and I won’t bite. Come put your groceries down.”

  He made no move to follow her instructions. Expressions scrolled across his face, as easily readable as if he’d been shouting them out. Shock. Disbelief. Curiosity. Suspicion. And for a fraction of a second—happiness? Please let him be glad I am here, she prayed silently.

  At last he returned her smile, and she nearly sagged against the wall with relief. He came forward, put the bags on the table, and held out his hand.

  “Tara.”

  She took it, remembering the last time she’d touched him, when she’d grabbed onto his shirtfront in the moving van as they were parked in Ellen’s new driveway. She’d pulled him close then and planted her lips on his, not because she felt any overwhelming desire—well, maybe she’d felt a little—but because she’d wanted to give him a boost of confidence just before he had to face a Christmas with both his ex–best friend and ex-fiancée.

  Thinking of that kiss brought a blush to her face, so she pushed the memory aside and studied Ben as he stepped back from the table, hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, an untucked flannel shirt fitting nicely across his well-toned arms and chest. What had she found wrong with that attire last December?

  “I can’t believe you’re here—in my kitchen.”

  “You guys are going to have to move the feed.” The woman Tara had seen in the photo on the mantel entered the kitchen. “It’s too heavy for me to lift.”

  “Ben’s got a visitor,” Josh said, reminding Tara that he was still in the room.

  “Hi,” the woman said. She moved around Ben and set the bags she was carrying next to his on the table.

  “Deb, this is Tara,” Ben said. “Tara, this is Deb—” A loud grunting cut him off, and Deb jumped out of the way just as Persephone the pig charged into the kitchen and straight at Ben. Instead of moving out of its path, he turned to face it then knelt so he was closer to its height.

  “Missed me, did you, Persephone?” He allowed the pig to nuzzle him with its snout then petted its head as if it were a dog or something.

  Seriously weird farming technique, Ben. Half-amused, half-disgusted, Tara watched as he lavished attention on the animal.

  Deb must have noticed her staring, because she tried to explain. “Persephone is very possessive of Ben. Watch this.” She held out her hand to the pig, palm up, a piece of candy plainly visible. “Here, Seph. I’ve got a treat for you.”

  Instead of accepting the treat, as Tara guessed Ham would have in a second, a low grumbling rose from Persephone’s chest, and she swung her gaze around to Deb, a kind of fierceness in her eyes.

  “Intense pig,” Tara said. And that’s some intense rock on your finger. It was impossible not to notice the brilliant diamond sparkling on the third finger of Deb’s outstretched left hand.

  “If you think that’s bad,” Deb said, “you should see her if I touch Ben. Seph goes nuts.”

  “I thought she was going to eat Deb alive last week.” Ben stood again. “Naughty pig.” But his voice didn’t sound reprimanding as he looked down on Persephone.

  “I’ll remember to watch myself around her,” Tara said. Not that I’ll be touching you again anytime soon. Her happiness had deflated a bit with Deb’s arrival.

  “Let’s get the rest of the food so we can get dinner started. I’m starved,” Josh said.

  “What else is new?” Deb teased. Josh elbowed her.

  “Can I help you bring something in?” Tara asked.

  “That’s okay. We’ve got it.” Deb gave a dismissive wave as she headed back outside. Ben and Josh followed, the latter whispering louder than he probably realized after they’d left the kitchen.

  “Craziest thing you ever did, kissing a woman in the middle of a Colorado—”

  The front door closed, cutting off the rest of Josh’s sentence.

  Tara pressed herself further into the wall, wishing she could disappear into it. That wasn’t an option, but leaving quickly was. She needed to be alone, to think things through. She still wanted Ben to baptize her, but she couldn’t talk to him right now, couldn’t ask him in front of other people. She wasn’t sure she should ask him, as he was obviously in a relationship, and Tara wasn’t sure how Deb would feel about Ben flying across the country to bapt
ize some other woman.

  I probably wouldn’t be okay with it, she admitted to herself.

  Rising from her chair, Tara picked up her glass then took it to the sink. Out the window she could see Ben and Josh hefting bags of feed from the truck. Several feet away, Deb was busy collecting tomatoes from the garden.

  With a last glance around the quaint kitchen and front room, Tara went outside. Ben and Josh had disappeared. Tempting though it was to leave without saying good-bye, Tara thought she’d better do at least that. And maybe Ben could call her later.

  Maybe I can still ask him. For weeks she’d been imagining herself in white, walking toward him in the baptismal font the missionaries had shown her. She’d known, ever since Jane had suggested seeing him again, that Ben was the one she wanted to baptize her. And though he would be the one doing something for her, she felt in some small way it might do something for him as well. He needed to know that last December he’d touched her life. He’d shown her a glimpse of an honest, caring man, and she hadn’t been able to forget that. Or him.

  The door of a shed near the house was ajar, so Tara headed toward it, hoping she’d find Ben there. As she got closer, she heard the men’s voices again.

  “She’s the last thing I need right now,” Ben said. Tara froze.

  “She’s exactly what you need,” Josh said. “A smart, savvy, easy-on-the-eyes woman to—”

  “She may be easy on the eyes, but it ends there,” Ben said. “I’d have to be insane—”

  Josh appeared in the doorway, saw Tara, and held up his hand, cutting the rest of Ben’s sentence short.

  It didn’t matter. She’d heard enough. Turning away from them, she began walking quickly, toward the front of the house, the driveway, her car.