Till the Cows Come Home (10 page)

The straw needed time to soak up the water before I could scrape the mess out of the barn, so I headed to my office and called Granger’s Welding. They were usually open by seven, so I figured someone would be around. I was right.

“Granger’s,” Jethro said. He sounded chipper.

“It’s Stella. How’s Zach?”

“No worse, no better. Mallory, too. But doc says they’ll be better by this evening, and I’m counting on it.”

I wasn’t about to contradict him. “Does that mean you got a free hand?”

“What’s up?”

“I need a new pipe in the barn. I figured you guys know a little about welding, maybe you could fix it.”

“Sure. I learned a lot when I re-did our bathroom last year. Can it wait an hour or so? I got a trailer needs fixing, and they want it this morning. I’m kinda behind from the last coupl’a days.”

“An hour’s fine. I gotta let the straw do its work, anyway, before I can clean it up. I’ll try to have it ready for you by…say…nine?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

I hung up, then reconsidered and looked up Pam Moyer’s number.

“Hello?” Pam’s father sounded weary.

“Mr. Moyer. Stella Crown here. Your daughter around?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry, honey, she’s not home right now. She’s out working with those doctors and whatever.”

“Right. Sorry to bother you. Can you please let her know I called?”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

I hesitated. “You doing okay over there, Mr. Moyer?”

He coughed into the phone. “Sorry, darlin’, just haven’t talked much yet this morning. Sure, I’m doing just fine, just fine.”

“Keeping your gate closed against those developers?”

“Aw, shucks, they ain’t no match for me.”

I laughed, because he seemed to expect it. “Well, you take care of yourself, now.”

“Oh, I will, honey. And you keep them cows healthy.”

I said good-bye and went out into the parlor. Howie was on the last cows, and they had all been fed, so I unclipped the first few, got them out of their stalls, and picked up the pitchfork.

“You still mad I’m taking care of the flood?” I asked Howie.

“Nah,” he said amicably. “I suppose you can use the experience. Being a girl and all.”

Chapter Thirteen

I restrained myself from throwing my pitchfork at Howie, and we got the stalls cleaned out in relative peace. I soon exchanged my pitchfork for the broom, and grabbed the lime.

“Thanks for helping out, Howie. I wish you could’ve slept, instead.”

He made grumbling noises, but I was pretty sure he’d missed milking the night before and was glad to get back in the parlor again. He probably also felt guilty that Gus had died while he was off getting stitches, and wanted to do some penance. For myself, Howie was a heck of a lot better company than Miss Fancy Pants.

“You calling the cops about the water?” Howie asked.

“I don’t think it was Them. We would’ve heard something last night. I think it really was just the pipe.”

He was silent, sweeping rhythmically.

“You think I should?”

“What?”

“Call the cops.”

“You maybe want to at least mention it to Willard when he calls.”

“Okay, I will.” I felt my shoulders seizing, and stopped sweeping. “God, Howie, what are we doing? We’re going on like everything’s normal, but it just isn’t. How do we know they’re not out there right now planning something else?”

He propped his broom against the wall and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. When he glanced up at me, his face looked old.

“What can we do, Princess? We can’t afford professional protection. We can’t hardly pay ourselves. Although we’re somehow finding money for the eye candy working on the heifer barn.”

I felt my face flush. “He’s tons cheaper than security, and you know it.”

He continued, ignoring me. “We stay in touch with the cops, take turns guarding at night, and keep our eyes open during the day. What else is there?”

I swept another patch. “I thought of asking the Grangers to help guard, but if they’re not at their jobs they’re sick or taking care of sick kids. I’m not asking them here till I know this new aflatoxin theory is it. Maybe I’ll try Bart and Lenny again today.”

Howie shoved his hanky back in his pocket. “I’m with you about the Grangers. Bart or Lenny would be great. Scare folks off just by bein’ here.” He looked like he was going to say more, but didn’t.

We were almost done sweeping lime onto the floor when Howie stopped and gave me a forced grin. “Remember you got the co-op dinner tonight.”

“Tonight? Since when?”

“Since they sent you that invitation two weeks ago. Don’t tell me you forgot.” He became more and more amused as I tried to think of excuses I couldn’t go.

“You’re coming with me, right?” I finally asked.

“Now, Stella, think back a few minutes. Are we really going to leave the farm unattended so I can attend a co-op meeting?”

I stared at him. He just smiled.

“Do I really have to go?” I asked.

“You’re the farm owner. It’s your responsibility.”

“At least tell me it’s at a good restaurant.”

“Meyer’s.”

“Well, I guess I’ll get something decent to eat…not frou-frou salads and crap like that.”

Howie started to whistle along with the radio and ducked the roll of paper towels I grabbed off a shelf and threw at his head.

Co-op meetings were important, but I never liked having to take the time to go. Especially when I’ve got more pressing business at home.

The co-op is the marketing agent of the dairy farmer—they make sure our milk is picked up and taken where it needs to go. Sometimes the milk from my farm ends up in Florida, if that’s where it’s needed. Sounds crazy, but that’s the way it works. I never have to worry about getting a milk check, and the buyers are getting the amount of milk they need. The best part is I don’t need to know anything other than how to farm—the co-op takes care of the rest. They even use direct deposit, so the money appears in my account without me having a chance to mess things up in between the mailbox and the bank.

The co-op meetings, no matter how tedious, tell me where the market has been and where it’s going. We, as dairy farmers, actually own the co-op, so it’s in our best interest to know where we stand with the government, finances, and marketing. I’d prefer not to deal with any numbers at all, but to be a responsible farmer I at least need to show my face at the meetings.

Howie was just headed out the door when he froze. “Who’s that?”

I hadn’t heard a car pull up, since Queenie wasn’t around to announce it, so I was surprised to see a man standing in the middle of the driveway. He stood by a white Lincoln Continental, staring up at the house. Nick’s truck sat to one side of the lane, but he wasn’t anywhere in view. I was a little less eager than usual to see him after our intimate conversation the night before.

The guy, a youngish fellow wearing a suit and shiny shoes, held a folded-up umbrella looped around his wrist. Howie and I exchanged glances. Maybe this weirdo had been the one jinxing the weather—we hadn’t had rain for at least two weeks. In his hands, the guy had a notepad and pen and was making notes while he looked around.

“Hmm.” I laid down my pitchfork and made my way outside, where I leaned against the barn, crossing my arms over my chest. I watched the suit as he casually walked from building to building, making notes and peeking around corners. He didn’t look dangerous, but then the last thing we needed was someone casing the place for more ways to wreak havoc.

Nick had appeared at the heifer barn and was now six feet off the ground on a ladder with a hammer and a tool belt. The guy approached him, and we could see him gesture with his pen at the house. Nick looked where the guy was pointing and shrugged, probably explaining he didn’t own the place. When the guy had his nose in his notebook, Nick looked my way. I put my finger to my lips and Nick nodded.

Howie soon joined me, and together we watched the guy pick his way around the garage. I could feel Howie’s tension as his home was being examined, and it transferred to me when the guy walked up and began looking in my windows.

“Down, girl,” Howie whispered. It took a lot of will power to keep myself from running over and grabbing the guy’s throat.

After an incredibly stupid eternity, Mister Bad Manners noticed us standing at the barn. He looked over his shoulder, as if hoping for back up, and eventually made his way down to us.

“Miss Crown?” he said. He stuck out his hand. I saw him notice the tattoo on my neck, and could tell he was trying very hard not to stare at it.

“What of it?” I said.

Flustered, he angled his hand toward Howie, who suddenly found something more interesting to look at toward the road.

“Um, Richard Cramer,” the guy said. He dropped his hand and dug around in his suit pockets until he came up with a card that he held out to me. I didn’t take it, but got a look at it, even though it was shaking ever so slightly.

“Real estate lawyer?” I said. “Do I need one?”

“You’ve got a lot of money in this farm, Miss Crown. You would be smart to have someone like me on your side going into negotiations.”

“Negotiations?”

“For the sale of your property.”

I remained completely still except for my left eyebrow, which raised half an inch. Cramer stumbled on.

“I came to offer my services, which I hope.…” He stopped and looked at me with growing horror. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Hubert sent you, didn’t he?” I said. I had no doubt—as I had with the dead cows—that this was Hubert’s doing.

“Well, uh, he, uh—”

I snapped the card from Cramer’s hand and without looking gave it to Howie, who stuck it in his shirt pocket. I put my hands down at my sides and stepped so close to Cramer I could almost feel the sweat spouting from his pores. I leaned over so my mouth was right by his ear. His jugular pounded at the speed of light as he braced himself.

“Hubert Purcell was found in a Dumpster and raised by barn cats,” I said.

I stood back and Cramer looked at me like I was a lunatic. I smiled and waited a few moments until he felt comfortable enough to give me a wavering smile in return.

Still smiling, I said, “You tell Hubert Purcell that the next person he sends onto my farm is going to return with a backside that’s become very familiar with my twenty-two.”

Cramer’s smile froze.

“Think you can give him that message?”

Cramer nodded.

“Then you can leave.”

Cramer swallowed and stumbled over his feet, backing all the way to his car. The Lincoln didn’t start on the first try and Cramer put his head down and closed his eyes until it finally did. I think he was praying.

Chapter Fourteen

A woman answered at the Biker Barn.

“Where’s Bart?” I asked. “He’s not sick, is he?”

“No. Him and Lenny are in Jersey at a swap meet till tomorrow morning.”

Great. Guess they wouldn’t be helping to guard my farm.

“You want I should give them a message?” she asked.

“No, thanks. I’ll call tomorrow.” When Howie and I were the walking dead and wouldn’t be able to stay awake another night.

I was in the middle of supposedly doing paperwork in my office after a few hours of scraping wet straw out of the barn and watching Jethro fix the pipe, but in actuality I was cursing the day Hubert—or any developer, for that matter—was born. So he wasn’t sabotaging my farm. He was still a pain in the ass. I hung up the phone and was staring at the new aerial photo on my wall when I heard someone come in.

“That better not be you, Hubert,” I said, “or my lunch menu just got bigger.”

“Sounds inviting,” Nick said.

I spun my chair around and took in the view. “I hope you’re not here to ask more deep, dark secrets.”

“Nothing so interesting. I just wanted to know how you’d like to work things with supplies. Should I get things on my own and bill you at the end, or do you have a tab somewhere?”

“Tab. Go to Schlectic’s, down the pike. Little mom and pop store. They’ll have paint and whatever else you need.”

He jutted his chin at the photograph. “That new? I noticed it when I came by the other day, but it wasn’t on the wall yet.”

“Yeah, got it on Saturday. My birthday.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Whatever. I think it’s beautiful.”

“Your family picture.”

I gave him a sharp glance, but he was checking out the photo.

“So where were we last night?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure exactly which aspect of the evening he was referring to, so I made a choice and stood to run my finger down the field’s irrigation row to somewhere off the picture. “Above the frame, about here.” I slid my finger along the wall in a big rectangle. “The whole property would really take up this much space.”

He stepped closer, and I could feel his breath on my neck. I pretended to look at something on the photo until I realized he wasn’t looking at the photo either, but was running his finger along the lines of my cow skull tattoo. I shivered.

“Sorry,” he said.

I turned to go back to my desk, but he didn’t move. “Stella, I know we hardly know each other—”

He stopped talking, because I kissed him. I kissed him because I didn’t want to hear the rest of what he was going to say. Well, also because I’d been dying to ever since the moment he walked into my office two days before.

“Wow,” he said when I broke away. He slid his arms around my waist and kissed me back. Completely and thoroughly. I am far from twenty-nine-and-never-been-kissed, although not as far as I might like. Howie always said my dates—few that they were—were afraid to touch me for fear I might break their legs. I don’t know where he got that idea.

Anyway, my back must be connected to my lungs, because Nick’s hands were starting to run up and down my spine in a way that made it awfully hard to breathe. I was starting to return the favor when I heard someone calling my name.

“Damn,” I said, and pulled away. “I wish I knew where Queenie was. Our alarm system’s gone without her.”

“Stella?” the voice said.

“Oh, God.” I had just enough time to push Nick away, get to my chair, and smooth out my shirt before Abe was standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Abe,” I said, trying not to sound out of breath.

Abe looked from me to Nick, taking in my face—which I’m sure was flushed—and Nick’s casual air and wicked smile. Nick was leaning against the filing cabinet, his arms crossed in front of him, looking like nothing so much as a gorgeous kid caught cleaning up the cake.

I compared the two men in front of me—Nick with his Nordic, playboy look, and Abe with his darker, serious one. Complete opposites in every way, as far as I could tell. Except that both made my insides do calisthenics.

“Um, Abe, this is Nick. Nick—Abe.”

Abe gave Nick a short nod. Nick continued to smile.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Just thought I’d stop by to see what’s going on.” With this he shot Nick another quick look through narrowed eyes. “And to say thanks for showing Missy the ropes last night.”

“She okay? Things got a bit messy—in more ways than one.”

“She’s fine.” From his look I could tell she’d told him about our fight. “Where’s Queenie? She didn’t meet my car.”

I felt a twinge in my temple. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

He looked at me, concerned. “I hear Jethro was out here today.”

“Exciting news travels fast.”

“He get everything fixed up?”

“Good as new.”

We stared at each other for a few moments before he spoke again. “You talk to Zach today?”

“I’ve stayed away—I’m not his favorite person right now.”

Abe nodded. “He’s pretty upset.” He stood there, apparently not quite sure what else to say.

I steepled my hands in front of my face, resting my elbows on the desk. “So did you stop by
hoping
to make me feel more guilty? Gee, thanks a lot.”

“No, I.…” He eyes flicked to Nick, then back to me. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out for ice cream tonight. Catch up.”

I hesitated. The idea of having some time alone with Abe sounded great. But we probably wouldn’t be alone. Abe’s new
girlfriend
would probably be there.

“We’d love that, Abe,” I finally said, “but there’s a co-op dinner. Nick and I probably won’t be back until late.”

“Oh.” He looked at Nick one more time. “I guess you’ve got plans then.”

Nick kept on smiling, going along with my story, thank God.

Abe’s face hardened and he pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll get going, then. I can see you’re in the middle of something.”

He caught my eye for a long, searching gaze, and was gone before I could think of anything else to say.

Silence descended for a moment before I spun my chair toward Nick.

“So. Want to go to a dinner?”