My Lucky Stars (6 page)

With a silent groan, Tara flung her arm across her face. Soft flannel partially covered her eyes but not before she noticed Ben and Cadie tiptoeing behind the sofa.

“Shh.” Ben held a finger to his lips, motioning for Cadie to be quiet.

“Is the grumpy lady still asleep?” Cadie asked.

“Yes,” Ben said. “And we don’t want her to be more grumpy, so let’s be very quiet. Show me where your shoes are, and you can come with me to pick up the truck.”

Grumpy lady. Ha! You haven’t seen anything yet.
Tara could tell by the gray light filtering through the half-closed blinds that it was still very early. And
early
she did not do—at least not without a strong cup of coffee laced with a little morning pick-me-up. Here in good old Utah, it wasn’t likely she’d be getting either.

I’ll show you grumpy. And who wouldn’t be, being woken at this insane hour?
She moved her arm so she could get a better peek at Ben. Today he wore a different plaid shirt, this one more faded than yesterday’s. And even worse—the shirt was tucked into a pair of denim bib overalls.
Overalls!
Hadn’t the fashion police outlawed those at least a few decades ago? “Yesterday a lumberjack, today a farmer.”

“What was that?” Ben stopped mid-stride and looked back at her.

Oops. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.
A second ago she’d been ready for a fight, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure. She was used to saying what she thought and not worrying about it, but maybe—here—that wasn’t the best way to proceed. She leaned up on one elbow. “I was just noticing your overalls.”

“Do you like them?” Ben came around to the front of the couch, thumbs hooked under his straps, as if he were proud of his attire.

“Sure. If you’re headed out to milk cows or something.” That wouldn’t have surprised her all that much. She’d discovered last night that this family had a menagerie of pets—two dogs, one bunny, a hermit crab, and a tank of goldfish.

“I suppose fuchsia leopard print is more in fashion,” Ben said wryly.

“Where I’m from, yes.” Resigned to the fact that her opportunity for sleep was past, she swung her legs over the side of the sofa and sat up.

“And that would be . . . working as an exotic dancer somewhere?”

“No.” Tara stood and met his bemused gaze with her own furious one. “That was rude.”

“It was.” The smile he’d been trying to contain faded. “What you said was rude too. But my mother taught me better. I apologize.”

“A farmer with manners,” Tara said sarcastically. “How refreshing.”

“A big city girl with none, how unusual.”

“I got my shoes. Can we go now?” Cadie skipped between them.

Didn’t they ever teach that kid to
walk
?
Tara noticed the little girl’s shoes were on the wrong feet and tied rather strangely.

“Sure,” Ben said. “Just as soon as I milk my cows.”

“Ooooh. You have cows on your farm?” Cadie beamed. “Uncle Benji had a farm, ee-i, ee-i-oh. And on this farm he had some cows. Ee-i, ee-i-oh.”

“I don’t really have cows, Cadie.”

Well that’s a relief. Might have been bad if he really was a farmer.
Even as the thought came, Tara wondered why it would have mattered. After today she was never going to see this guy again. If she’d offended him . . . well, he seemed plenty capable of dishing out insults himself.

“Come here, Cadie. Let’s fix those shoes before you trip and fall.” Ben knelt and opened his arms to the little girl. She stopped in front of him and stuck one foot out.

“If you don’t have cows or horses or unicorns on your farm, what
do
you have?”

“Well . . .” Ben switched her shoes to the correct feet and glanced up, meeting Tara’s gaze. She turned away, irritated he’d caught her listening.

He finished tying Cadie’s shoes and stood slowly. “Pigs.” He stared at Tara with a severe look that dared her to say anything negative—anything at all.

“I have pigs—on my farm.”

Six

Ben flipped the piano bench upside down and stacked it on top of the piano in its spot in the moving van then headed back to the house for more boxes. Ellen passed him on the way, followed by two men from her ward, each laden with a box or two.

“That’s the last of the furniture,” he called to her.

“Great. Thanks, Ben.” Ellen walked up the ramp, and Ben entered the house through the open garage door. He passed through the kitchen, where Tara paced back and forth, one hand pressed to her ear while the other held the phone.

“You don’t have
any
idea when it will reopen?”

Ben pressed his lips together to keep from chuckling until he’d left the kitchen. He wasn’t sure why, but Tara was really starting to amuse him. He knew it was wrong—
so wrong, Benji
, his mother would have said—to have fun at another’s expense, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The woman was simply so . . . bossy, arrogant, and needy. And none of her many needs were being met at the moment.
Probably for the first time in her life
. For some reason it did him good to see her brought down a notch. Too bad he wasn’t going to be around long enough to see the end result.

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.