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Authors: Lois Greiman

Finding Home (21 page)

BOOK: Finding Home
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C
HAPTER
21
T
he interior of the barn was dim, but Casie saw Sophie in a moment. She was scooping grain from the ancient chest freezer where the oats were kept safe from rodents.
Sophie glanced up but didn't stop what she was doing. Her lips were compressed in a hard, straight line. Her body language looked lethal.
“Hey . . .” Casie steadied her hands against her thighs. “I know you're disappointed that your dad's not taking you on vacation, but we can have fun here without him if you just—”
“Fun?” Sophie jerked toward her, eyes flaring. “You must have me mistaken for one of your trailer-trash friends.” She snorted and turned away, but Casie grabbed her arm.
“Listen,” she said. “I know things are kind of crappy for you right now, but that doesn't mean you can take it out on others.”
“Let go of me!” Sophie demanded, but Casie kept her grip firm.
“Because as far as I can see, things have been crappy for Ty all his life.”
“Really?” Sophie scoffed and jerked her arm free. “Well, I guess that's a good enough reason for him to become a felon, then.”
“He's not a felon.”
“So you know everything about him.”
“I . . .” Casie floundered, and Sophie laughed.
“I knew it. You don't know anything about his past, do you? What do you think my father's going to say when he hears that I'm living with a criminal? You think he's going to let you keep that money he gave you to—”
“I don't give a damn,” Casie said and felt sweet relief flood her at the release of the words.
Sophie blinked.
Casie smiled. “I don't care if he wants his money back plus interest. I don't care if he tells everyone between here and the Mississippi that I harbor fugitives and have head lice. But I'll tell you this. . . .” She leaned in, adrenaline pumping. “As long as you're on this property . . .
my
property . . .” She pointed to the earth beneath their feet. “You'll behave like a decent human being.”
“You can't—” Sophie began, but Casie caught her arm again.
“You'll treat every living being on his ranch with respect. You hear me?”
“I—” She looked pale, tried to back away.
“Say yes,” Casie ordered, “or you and your daddy's money will be packed out of here before dinnertime.”
The girl's lips turned down.
“Say yes,” Casie said again, but softer now. The edge of her anger was beginning to wear down, leaving her feeling weak in the knees.
“Yes.”
Casie nodded, considered backing away, but remained where she was. “And you'll work,” she added. “Right along with the rest of us.”
“But the grullo . . .” The girl's voice was very small now. “He needs—”
“You'll have time with the colt when the rest of the work is done.” She paused, holding her gaze in steely confinement. “You understand?”
“Yes.”
Casie felt a little light-headed. A little giddy. A little sick to her stomach. “Okay,” she said and, releasing the girl's arm, turned and left the barn.
The morning sunlight was nearly blinding as she stepped outside.
“Hey.”
She jerked to the right. Colton stood just outside the wide-flung doors, his eyes bright as agates, his lips twitched up just a little at the corners.
“Whatever happened to that cute little pigtailed girl that used to blush whenever I looked at her?”
“She grew up!” she snapped and swung back toward the house.
“Damn straight,” he said and grinned as he watched her walk away.
 
“I'm going to plant a thousand of those when the weather warms up a little,” Emily said.
Casie continued peeling the carrot she held in her left hand. It was the approximate width of a pencil. Apparently, Clayton hadn't had his wife's gift for gardening. But they'd found a barrel of root vegetables buried in sand in the fruit cellar, and the old adage of “Waste not, want not” had gained new relevance since she'd realized the Lazy's dire financial state. “Do you think you could get them to grow bigger than my thumb?” It was her turn as sous chef, and she'd never been particularly patient, or talented, in the kitchen. But being the assistant came with a few privileges. Well . . . it came with one privilege: she got to pick the music. Trace Adkins crooned from the tinny radio that sat atop the refrigerator. Brad wasn't a country-and-western fan, so she hadn't kept up with Adkins's unique brand of honky-tonk, but this particular song held universal appeal.
“What exactly is a badonkadonk?” Emily asked and scowled at the radio.
Okay, so maybe the song's appeal
wasn't
quite as widespread as she had thought. “I think it's a state of mind,” Casie said, and with an exaggerated country twang, added her voice to the chorus.
“Holy crap,” Emily said. “I thought
I
was a bad singer.”
“You are. In fact—”
“Casie!” Sophie's voice shot through the house like a bullet. Five days had passed since their last major confrontation.
Casie dropped the carrot she'd been peeling and swung toward the doorway, where Sophie appeared like a drowned rat, hair plastered to her head, mud splattered halfway up her legs. “The cows are gone.”
“Wh—”
“The cows!” she rasped. “They're gone.”
Casie glanced at Emily. She held a paring knife in her right hand like an impromptu weapon, but her tongue seemed to have lost its edge.
“What are you talking about?” Casie rasped. “They can't be gone. It's dark. They're probably just down by the creek where—”
“I checked by the creek!”
“If this is your way of getting out of cattle check—” Emily began, but Sophie stopped her, practically spitting with angst.
“They're gone, you hippie twit! I think they're in the alfalfa.”
“No!” Casie said, but she was already pulling on a sweatshirt, stepping into her Wellingtons. “Did you see them out there?” Since the spring rains had begun, the alfalfa had become as tempting as pralines.
“I couldn't see anything. It's like pea soup out there and it's raining and—”
“Come on,” Casie said and yanked open the door. Sophie dashed through ahead of her. “Emily—”
“Coming!” she yelled and appeared beside them, barefoot and anxious.
It took them ten minutes to find the first cow, fifteen to locate the rest of the herd. They were knee-deep in hog heaven. Jack yipped once, then rounded them up, but it was darker than Hades, and the cows, loving the feel of freedom, scattered like leaves in the wind, running hell-bent across the lush alfalfa, calves racing beside them.
There was nothing they could do but keep at it, flapping their arms, yelling, running until they felt their legs quivering like noodles.
By the time they won the battle, all three women were winded and mud-spattered, but at least the cows were finally contained within the wooden fences. A preliminary count put them at one hundred and seventy-seven total head. The second count gave them three more. The next two more than that.
“They're multiplying,” Emily said.
“It's impossible to see anything out here,” Casie complained.
“Do you think we found them all?” Sophie's voice was strained. She'd been told a dozen times to make sure the gate was closed.
“I think so,” Casie said. “I guess we'll know in the morning.”
“But that'll be too late.”
“Let's just take a look at the ones we have,” Casie said. They glanced around them. They stood in a vacuum between two groups of milling bovines. Mist rolled up in tattered, ghostly waves. The yard light above the barn barely penetrated the first fifteen feet.
“What are we looking for?” Emily asked.
“Bloat.”
“Explain.”
“They'll look like balloons. Overinflated balloons. And their right sides . . . No. I think it's their left sides . . . might be expanded more, so that it rises above their spines.”
“Their spines? Are you kidding me?” Emily squinted into the darkness. “I can't tell a head from a tail, much less see their spines.”
They'd discovered an additional flashlight while cleaning Clayton's bedroom, but they still only had two and both were weak.
“Here,” Sophie said and handed Emily her light. “You guys go stand over there.” She pointed vaguely toward the area that was best illuminated. “Jack and I will chase them your way.”
Which meant sloshing back through the worst of the muck that threatened to tear the boots from their feet and possibly their legs from their hip joints.
“I'll do that,” Casie said. “You—”
“No. You know what you're looking for,” Sophie said. “Besides, I was the one who left the gate open.”
Casie considered arguing, but there was something in the girl's face . . . a steely resolve that made her stand a little straighter, seem a little kinder.
“All right,” Casie said. “But yell if you see Bear.”
“Count on it,” Sophie said. Her face looked pale as she turned away. In a second she was swallowed by the darkness. Shortly after that, the animals began to mill again, siphoning past as Casie and Emily squinted into the darkness, checking each one as thoroughly as they could. The yard was loud with cows searching for their calves. Jack added his occasional yip.
“All right,” Casie said finally. The three of them stood in a rough triangle in the darkness. “I think that's all we can do. I'm sure I've seen every cow about four times.”
“Or one cow about four hundred times,” Emily said. “It's impossible to tell Horny from Granger from—”
But in that second Sophie shrieked and jerked.
“Bear!”
A dark shape torpedoed out of the darkness toward them. Sophie tried to dash out of the way, but her boots were stuck fast. She squawked again, arms flailing, then fell with a soggy splash just as an anonymous cow rushed past for a happy reunion with her calf.
Casie stared, trying breathlessly to gather her wits. But Emily didn't seem to have the same problem.
Bending practically double, she laughed like a hyena. “Damn, Soph,” she gasped, finally marching over to stand above Sophie's felled form. “That was the funniest thing I've ever . . .” She had to pause to catch her breath. “Bear!” she mimicked and windmilled her arms.
“So glad to amuse you,” Sophie said.
“Freakin' hilarious.”
“Quit your cackling and help me up,” Sophie ordered.
For a second, Casie thought she would refuse, but maybe the team effort had helped them bond because Emily grinned and offered her hand. Sophie reached up. Their fingers met, and then the younger girl yanked Emily into the mud beside her. There was a shriek, a splash, and a chorus of curses.
By the time they stumbled up the hill to the house, their laughter sounded winded and a little certifiable.
“Geez, you look like you've been dipped in manure and hung out to dry,” Sophie said.
“You're no princess yourself, cupcake.” Emily grinned.
“Holy cow,” Casie said, seeing them in the full light as they stepped into the house. “Your parents would shoot me dead if they saw you right—” she began, but just then Emily gasped. Sophie cursed, and Casie turned, premonition filling her like fog.
C
HAPTER
22
“B
radley?” Casie rasped his name, certain he was some type of illusion brought on by muck saturation.
“Cass.” He was standing near the doorway to the kitchen, Dockers neatly pressed, button-down shirt pristine.
“Bradley.” She said his name again for lack of something more inventive. She felt her face redden, felt her mouth go dry. “What are you doing here?”
He skimmed his gaze sideways, scowled at Emily's filthy face for one silent, elongated second, then zipped his attention back to her. “I had a little time off. Thought I'd surprise you.”
“Oh, well, I . . .” She shook her head, trying to adjust. “Consider me surprised.... How long are you staying?”
“Not long. Hey,” he said, taking a step toward Sophie. “I'm Dr. Bradley Hooper.” He raised his hand as if to shake. She did the same, but when he saw hers he drew back and shook his head, grinning a little. “I'm Dr. Brad,” he repeated.
“Hi.” She lifted her peaked chin and gave him an appraising glance. The princess was back, manure not withstanding. “I'm Sophie Jaegar.”
He stared at her a second, then turned toward the other girl. “And you must be . . .”
“Emily,” she said and glanced momentarily toward Casie. “It's . . . nice to meet you.”
The ensuing silence was stilted for a moment, then, “You girls doing some mud wrestling or something?” He cracked a charming grin. He hadn't been number one in pharmaceutical sales for nothing.
“Oh . . .” Casie glanced down at herself. It was worse than she had imagined, though that hadn't seemed possible just moments before. “No. We just . . . I'm sorry. The cattle got out and we had to round them up.”
“Couldn't it have waited until morning?”
“They'll bloat,” Emily said. Her expression was unusually somber. “And die, if somebody doesn't take care of them.”
“He knows that,” Sophie said. “He's a doctor.”
He pulled his gaze from Emily and grinned at Sophie. “Medical doctor,” he said. “I'm afraid I haven't had much time to study digestive disturbances in cattle.”
Emily watched him and Sophie, bright eyes narrowed slightly. “Listen,” she said. “I was just about to put supper on the stove. But don't worry.” She laughed. The sound was a little off. “I'll wash my hands before I get started. How about Casie and I get cleaned up first, then I'll hustle down and get cooking. You can entertain the good doctor for a few minutes, can't you, Soph?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Come on, Case,” Emily said and motioned her toward the stairs.
“Oh, well . . . okay,” she said. “I'll just be a few minutes.”
“I think you'll need longer,” Bradley said, eyeing her up and down.
Emily laughed and hustled her toward the stairs. Casie could hear their voices from below.
“So, Dr. Brad . . .” Judging by Sophie's voice, you would think she was dressed to the nines and entertaining royalty “Are you fully accredited or are you still in your residency?”
“Still a resident, I'm afraid.” His tone was level, confident, relaxed. Pure Brad. “I wish I was done. It's hard on Cass . . . me being at the hospital twenty-four seven, but I've decided to continue with my education. With scores like mine . . .” She could hear the modest shrug in his voice. “Well, it wouldn't make sense not to become a surgeon.”
Casie blinked. A surgeon? They'd talked about it, of course, but she'd thought they'd decided against it. She almost hurried back downstairs, but Emily touched her arm.
“Wow,” she said. “I didn't know Dr. Hooper was like . . . a genius or something.”
Casie blinked, scowled. “Yes. He's very bright.” But shouldn't he have consulted with her before making such an important decision?
Emily's eyes were round and innocent, seemingly devoid of guile for once. “And well groomed.”
She scowled, not quite ready to try to unscramble the younger woman's meaning. “Thank you.”
Em was leading her toward the bathroom like a lost pup. “He must not have been raised on the farm, huh?”
“His father was a district attorney out east.”
“Wow.” Her tone was funny. “Well, you'd better get spiffed up, then. You shower first.” She shoved her into the bathroom, put her hand on the knob. “I'll bring you some clothes.” The door closed in Casie's face. She stared at it for a moment, then gave herself a mental shake and stripped naked. She was in the shower in a matter of seconds. The pressure was poor to nonexistent, but the water still felt warm and soothing against her skin. It washed across her face, reviving her, awakening her to possibilities. Bradley was here. True, she didn't normally like surprises, but something had changed in the last few weeks. Despite everything, she was proud of the work she'd done here. And he would be, too. She was sure of it, even though he was a city boy and . . .
Her thoughts stopped as she stepped out of the shower and noticed the cowgirl duds Emily had laid out for her. The back pockets of the low-cut jeans sparkled at her. Not Brad's type of clothing, she knew, but they had been a hit with Philip Jaegar, and it wasn't as if
he
was Jesse James or anything. It also wasn't as if she had anything better to wear.
Hair wet and curling slightly, she stared at herself in the mirror and made a face. She'd never been particularly pretty, but Brad had always said he didn't care. He was looking for a wife, not a stripper. In the end, she left her hair loose to air dry and wandered down the stairs.
“I sold pharmaceuticals for a while,” Brad was saying. “But I always knew I would become a doctor someday.”
“It's a calling for some,” Sophie said. Her voice was smooth and urbane. “My father would like me to go to medical school. Mom's a psychiatrist, you know, but I don't think that's something I want to pursue. I'm considering becoming a news anchor.”
Casie stood dumbfounded in the hallway outside the family room for a second. She hadn't heard the girl string that many words together in the entire time they'd known each other. But maybe that was because most of her sentences were interrupted by spewing vitriol. Or maybe the difference lay in the fact that Sophie viewed Brad as a possible conquest.
She scowled at the thought, but just then she heard a noise from above. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping like a pimple-faced teenybopper, she stepped into the family room.
“You'd look good on—” Bradley began and glanced up as Casie made herself known. “Well, there you are.” He skimmed her with his eyes. “My little cowgirl.”
“Oh.” She felt flustered and out of place. “I just . . . This is all I had that was clean.”
“It looks fine,” he said, and rising to his feet, crossed the floor to kiss her cheek.
“Well . . .” Sophie rose, too. “I'll get cleaned up. It was nice to meet you, Dr. Brad.”
“Yes, thanks for keeping me company,” he said and watched her for an instant as she crossed the floor to the stairs.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Casie said.
“No problem.” He pulled his gaze down to her face. “She seems like a bright kid.”
“Yes,” Casie said. “She's—” but at that second, Emily clattered down the steps behind her, humming something that might have been a tune in another universe.
“Supper will be ready in a jiffy.”
“I'll help you,” Casie said, but Emily held up a hand.
“Absolutely not. I've got it.”
“You shouldn't have to—”
“It's Emily, right?” Bradley said.
Her expression was somber as she raised her gaze to his. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled. “I'd love to have a little time with my fiancée.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I owe you one,” he said, and taking Casie's hand in his, he led her to the couch and pulled her down beside him. “It's so great to see you.”
“Yes. I've missed you.”
“Well, that's good to know.” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I thought maybe you were so busy here, you hadn't noticed we were apart.”
She laughed. His unwavering attention had always made her a little nervous. “Hardly.”
“So what's going on?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I'm just trying to get everything taken care of. You know. It's a busy time of year with the calving and stuff. And then there are the horses. . . .” She paused. She'd never mentioned the horses to him. They weren't going to be easy to explain. But it wasn't as if he wasn't going to notice them in the morning. “They need—”
“Yeah, what's up with that?” He squeezed her hand.
“What do you mean?”
“You've still got the cows?”
She scowled at him, surprised he could sprint right past the subject of horses. “What?”
“The cows. I thought you would have sold them by now.”
“I told you, they have to calve first. We can't haul them out pregnant. They could abort or . . .” She paused, readjusted her line of thinking to that clear-minded fast track he had taught her. “We'll make more money on them after they've given birth.”
He thought about that for a second. His reddish blond hair was artfully mussed, his intelligent face solemn with thought. “So this Emily . . .” He kept his voice low. “She's just helping out?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
He glanced toward the kitchen, expression thoughtful. “No reason.”
“She's been great.”
“Sure. I can see that. But wouldn't it make more sense to get a . . .” He shrugged. “A farmhand or whatever they're called. Instead of an inexperienced girl to do the work?”
“Well, she needed a place to stay for a while, and I needed . . .” She shrugged.
“My Cassandra,” he said. “Always taking in strays.”
“She's been a huge help. Makes all the meals. Helps clean up the place. She's learning to fix fence. And you should see the things she's planted in the garden.”
“Like petunias and daffodils?” he asked and grinned as he danced his thumb up her arm. She shivered. He often called her his little daffodil and tickled her when they didn't see eye to eye.
“Carrots, onions.” She smiled a little, thinking of the patch of ground they had tilled together. “We'll have enough potatoes to last a lifetime.”
“A lifetime of potatoes. Wow. That would be worth almost three dollars at Costco,” he said and grinned.
She lowered her gaze a little and tried not to feel cheapened. “Well, these potatoes are organic. And there's something really nice about having your own fresh produce.”
“When I'm a surgeon, we can have it delivered to our door first thing every morning.”
She tried to figure out how to explain that that wouldn't be the same thing at all, but she didn't know how to convey the idea to a man who had never planted so much as a kernel of corn.
“Listen, I'm glad you're having a good time here, honey,” he said and smoothed his thumb over her knuckles.
She stifled a scowl. “It's not as if I'm sitting around eating bonbons and watching soaps, Brad.”
“I know it's not,” he said. “Believe me, I could see that as soon as you walked in the door.” Reaching up, he flicked away a speck of mud she had missed in the shower. “I'm just thinking if you put this much effort into your job in Saint Paul, you could probably have worked your way into management by now.”
“Management.” She lost the battle with her scowl. “I thought we agreed I'd be going back to school as soon as you were done with your residency.”
“Well, sure, but that's going to be a while yet.”
“And what's this about becoming a surgeon?”
“Were you eavesdropping?” he said and raised his brows at her.
“No. I—”
“Tell me you're jealous,” he said and moved a little closer. “You know how hot it makes me when you're jealous.”
She laughed a little, successfully diverted, and he leaned in to kiss her, but something rattled in the kitchen, startling them both.
“I should really go help Em,” she said.
“I'm sure she understands that we want a little time alone,” he argued and leaned close again.
She glanced toward the kitchen. She'd never been comfortable with public displays of affection. Or maybe affection of any sort.
BOOK: Finding Home
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