Heat Wave (Riders Up) (4 page)

“Sit down. Sit
down.” He gestured towards a chair. “Would you like some coffee?”

His mouth was
smiling, but his eyes weren’t. Maggie shook her head and remained standing. “No,
I really need to be going, Mr. Prater. I have a lot of errands to run before
getting back. Please be quick.”

She pulled her
jacket tighter around her torso. She had never trusted Prater—his dark, narrow
features and fixed smile always reminded her of a mortician. Her dad hadn’t liked
him either. The two of them had grown up together. Apparently they were never
great buddies.

Prater folded his
arms and leaned back against the corner of his desk. “You know Con-Ex Farms
continues to be interested in your dad’s farm.”

“It’s
my
farm, Mr. Prater. Has been for the past five years, since Dad and Mom died.” She
scowled. “And it’s still not for sale. How many times do I have to tell you
that?”

“Everything is for
sale one way or another. Your brother would sing a different tune if he were
here.”

“He’s not here, and
he doesn’t own enough of the land to make any difference. How we manage things
is our business.”

The banker moved
away from the desk and towered over her with a smile stilled glued to his face.
“Maggie, I just meant that there comes a point when wisdom should prevail over
loyalty. I know all about your love for your heritage and that particular piece
of ground of yours. Times change. In addition to Con-Ex Farms, there’s another
party interested in your farm.”

Maggie took a step
back.

“You, young lady,
can be very rich, very quick. There will be a bidding war between two giants if
you but give the word.”

“And how much
commission do you stand to make from this bidding war?” Maggie’s mouth turned
up a little as the banker paled, reached for his glasses and began polishing
them. “My answer is simple, Mr. Prater. Let me spell it out for you. N, O! What
part of that two letter word don’t you understand?”

Maggie hurried
toward the door and grabbed the doorknob before turning to face Prater. “Please
don’t bother me with any more offers. I’m not in the least bit interested.”

Prater’s voice
rose. “You must be out of your mind, young woman. You just turned down over a
million dollars. You’re not acting in the best interests of your children. Do
your in-laws know how arrogantly stupid you’re being?”

 Maggie rushed out
of the bank. How dare he bring her children’s interests into this as if she
didn’t consider them! And her in-laws shared no commitment to the land. Mason’s
mother had always believed it was beneath her son’s station in life to live on
a farm.

Out on the
sidewalk, she breathed deeply and wished there was another bank in town. It was
very tempting to move all of her accounts to Walker. But that small community
was an eight mile drive out of her way. She grinned. Did Prater have any idea
she’d stashed the bulk of the life insurance money in the Walker bank?

She could hear her
dad’s voice: “It’s often wise to divide your assets among several banks.” Had
he distrusted bankers in general, or Prater in particular?

Glancing
over her shoulder, she saw Prater staring at her from his office window. She hastened
her steps. Why did that man seem so eager to get her to sell? Was it just the
commission?

And why did she
mistrust him? He was a well respected member of the community. He supported
local charities, funded a high school scholarship, sat on the board of the
small, local hospital, and was a church trustee. The only knock against his
reputation was that he seemed harsher with area farmers in financial trouble than
with small businessmen. Whatever his motives, she was tired of him leaning on
her.

CHAPTER THREE

Maggie couldn’t get
away from him. He was too close; too much a man. They’d worked side by side for
two weeks refurbishing the barn, making plans for purchasing horses, and
developing a vision for the long term growth of Anderson Stables. Harrington had
proven to be a good teacher.

Though he could be
gruff and sparse with words, he exhibited much more patience with her than she
had imagined possible. His knowledge of thoroughbreds and what was required to
turn them into competitive race horses was expansive. And her pulse quickened
when his eyes caught fire with the awe and thrill he clearly felt for the
challenge of horseracing. There was no question she’d hired the right man for
the job.

But she couldn’t get
away from him. Snap! “Shit,” Maggie blurted, examining the spatula she used for
scraping dishes. She avoided glancing at Harrington, who was sitting at the
table finishing his last cup of coffee, oblivious to her turmoil.

As was part of the
original agreement, he ate his meals with her family. But he also slept in the
same house and used the same bathroom. Hers was a farmhouse, not some expensive
home in the woods built by people trying to escape the city for fresh country
air.

His scent invaded her
space; it was as simple as that. Not that they were unpleasant smells, but they
were man smells, and they were undeniably Harrington smells.

Occasionally, she
would peek across the table or over a newspaper to find him staring at her. Seldom
would he turn away. Her privacy was compromised. He bothered her. Not on
purpose, she was sure. He probably never even noticed her discomfort.

- o -

Ed sighed heavily
watching temptation scraping dishes as if her life depended upon getting them
spotlessly clean before stacking them in the dishwasher. Thank God, the loft
would be ready to move into in another week. He hoped he could last that long. He
hoped
they
could last that long. He tried his best to ignore her, but
the damn woman was getting under his skin like a boil that wouldn’t go away.

She was quick learner
and a hard worker; he’d give her that much. But she cooked too good. And she
was a fine, creative mom. It had been comical, at first, to see how she out
maneuvered her children, and then his heart wrenched as she patiently meted out
wisdom along with kindness and discipline. Too bad she hadn’t been around to
teach his folks about parenting.

But she could be
cantankerous, stubborn, pesky, annoying and downright pushy at times. She was
the boss, but that didn’t give her the right to praise him for just doing his
job. And he didn’t need her encouragement in his fight against the booze. He
didn’t want her thinking he was some damn emotional cripple.

And then there were
all those women things about. Was there any place else to hang robes and
nightgowns than in the bathroom? And why did she always have to look so damn
innocently sexy? It didn’t matter if she wore a sweatshirt and baggy pants or a
thin blouse and shorts—she was as tempting as the devil herself.

And he had to stop
noticing. He needed blinkers like some horses to avoid distractions.

Did she know her
upturned smile and peppy personality served only to tease him? Her hair could
stand on end and she would still look like a woman who needed to be touched and
caressed and yes, dammit, pampered.

Pushing away from the
supper table he frowned at Maggie’s back one last time before muttering, “Thanks
for the meal. I’ve got to be going.”

Hurriedly, he exited
and climbed into his truck. For once it started without protest. Ed was
grateful for that as he eased the pickup toward the dirt road that would lead
him back to civilization…and to some measure of sanity.

- o -

Maggie watched the
faded pickup lurch along the rutted road. He was headed to a twelve step
meeting. He wouldn’t discuss what went on at those meetings, but she was
pleased he went. It was good for him, and it was good for her to have some
distance from the man.

When she’d first met
him outside the Resting Arms, she wouldn’t have bet a bent penny that he’d
straighten out enough to come work for her. She’d hoped. She’d even put up
thirty bucks as a challenge, but she would never have bet on it.

But he’d gotten
himself together. And he was working out better than she’d imagined. Watching
the pickup tail lights disappear in the darkness, Maggie hugged herself tightly
as waves of heat coursed through her body only to be followed by a riptide of
chills. He was gone, but his scent filled her nostrils.

- o -

Ed used the end of a
shovel to tamp dirt tightly around the fencepost while Maggie held it in place.
They’d been building fencing for the paddocks for days; this was the last post.
It was the post they’d both been looking forward to.

“Done,” Ed said. “There
are still a lot of rails to attach, but that’s it for digging post holes.” He
cast his gaze over the half dozen acres they’d been dividing into pastures with
an eye for how it would change over the next few weeks. “It’s looking good. Won’t
be long now and you’ll see some horses out there.”

“It can’t happen too
soon,” said Maggie, stretching her arms high above her head and scrunching her
shoulders. “I just hope this works.”

“You having second
thoughts?”

“Third and fourth,
probably. Don’t worry. I’m not going to back away from our plans.” Maggie
squinted against the morning sun. “I just wish we could get on with it. Waiting
is the hardest.”

“It’s not like we’ve
been sitting around watching the grass grow these past weeks,” said Ed, bending
to pick up his tools.

“I know. I know. But
it still seems…so unreal. Having horses running around these paddocks is going
to make it much more real.”

“Yeah, I can think of
something else that will make it real enough.”

“What’s that?”

“Bills.”

“Right. That part of
reality is already happening. I don’t really want to think about that now,”
Maggie said, removing her cap. “It’s time to sample Carolyn’s lemonade. She put
it in the shade of the maple tree. How does that suit you, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Just fine,” Ed responded,
dusting off his pants. “We’ve earned it this morning. It’s as hot as blazes and
it’s not even noon yet.”

Slowly, he drank his
fill of Carolyn’s lemonade. With pride, he admired the corral fencing he and
Maggie had nearly completed. It was new vinyl. Hardly cheap, but barbed wire
fencing was too dangerous for race horses—or any other horse, for that matter.

Out of the corner
of his eye, he considered the woman sitting on the grass beside him. Maggie
Anderson did not shy away from work. She probably didn’t shy away from much, if
anything. They sat in the shade of a maple tree. Even though it was only
mid-morning, the heat of the day was intensifying. It would be a scorcher, and
it was still only early May. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky. They could
sure use some rain.

At least he could
get away from her now—well, some of the time. The loft had quickly become his
own personal cave for retreat, and he welcomed that a lot. For the first time
in a long time he was beginning to feel like a human being. His chest filled
with air as he contemplated working with horses. Soon. A couple more weeks, a
month at the outside and they would be ready. He wondered how Ms. Anderson and
her kids would take to caring for thoroughbreds.

Had they been too
adventurous? Had he?

“The call of the
mourning dove sounds so wistful this morning,” Maggie said quietly.

“Huh.” Her voice
startled him. He listened and heard the bird cooing. Sounded like any other
morning, to him.

Maggie lay back on
the grassy incline. “I wonder if she’s lost her mate. There’s no response. Usually
there’s a response.”

Ed couldn’t avoid
hearing the sadness in her voice. But they were only birds. “Maybe,” he said,
shrugging noncommittally. Light laughter greeted his ears.

Maggie sat up
abruptly, watching him closely. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

Ignoring her
question, he tried to keep his features passive. He might think her crazy, but
he didn’t want her knowing that.

“Do horses have
feelings?”

“Of course they do.”

“Well then, why not
birds?”

“Don’t know. Hadn’t
thought about it, I guess.”

“Well, I have, and
I’m certain they have feelings. Losing a mate is hard for any creature.”

“You still miss
your husband,” Ed said, not quite believing he wanted to further this
particular conversation. He knew the woman had her troubles. But then so did
he, and it was best if they dealt with their own, privately.

Maggie tipped her
head to the side as if considering his statement. “Of course I miss Mason. We
loved each other very much. I see him in my children, particularly Johnny.” She
paused.

“I don’t know,” she
added wistfully, “I expect there’ll always be a hole in my heart somewhere. It’ll
get smaller—it already has, but there will always be a hole.”

“Expect you’re
right about that.”

“What would it say
about what Mason and I shared if I just completely forgot him? That wouldn’t be
right.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“So, how was your
meeting last night?” Maggie asked softly.

“Fine,” Ed grunted.
He stood and pulled on his gloves, eyeing what yet needed to be done to finish
the fencing.

“I dunno, Maggie. He
seems so, so masculine,” Flo Zimmerman stuttered. “How can you work side by
side so much of the time and not be attracted to him. He might not be the best
catch…”

“Humph. Ed
Harrington is a means toward an end. That’s it. No romantic interest on my
part, or his. No way.” Maggie heard her voice and confidence waver a trifle. It
must be the lemonade.

“I’m not so sure—Dolly
and Kenny were singing
Islands in the Stream
when I left the church for
your place. It must be a sign of something.”

Maggie snickered. “Girl,
you’re going to drive me batty with all that stuff.”

Maggie leaned back
in her chair and closed her eyes. It was Sunday afternoon and she had invited
Flo home for dinner after church and had also asked Harrington to join them if
he liked. Putting shy Flo and cryptic Ed at the same dinner table had not made
for scintillating conversation, but at least it should have satisfied her
friend’s curiosity about the new hired hand. Flo had been so afraid Maggie was
putting herself and her family at risk by hiring an unknown man. Ed had gone
back to his loft as soon as dessert was finished, leaving the women to talk
about whatever they wanted.

“He’s awfully
quiet, but he does seem like a nice enough man,” Flo said, sipping coffee,
gazing from the porch to the barn. “And the kids seem to be taking to him
nicely.”

Opening her eyes,
Maggie gazed at her friend, whose long fingers were playing idly with strands
of dark hair escaping her tight bun. Maggie thought the gangly woman actually
looked like she’d been smitten by Harrington. “If you think he’s nice enough,
maybe you ought to try and get him to ask you out.” Maggie winced at her own
words.

“Oh, my, I wouldn’t
think of doing that,” squeaked Flo. “He’s…he’s your hired man.”

Tucking a leg under
her torso, Maggie nodded. “Yeah, he is that. A hired man. Not a hired lover or
anything like that.”

She sat back again and
closed her eyes. It seemed so important to keep the man in his place, yet it
was dangerous to even have him around. She was a woman. He was a man. He could
definitely be a problem; she could feel it in her bones.

“Do you think we’re
going to get any rain soon?”

Maggie smiled at Flo’s
attempt to find a safer topic for discussion. “I sure hope so. We need to get
some pretty soon or there’ll be trouble for everyone in Beaverhill.”

“I remember the
last bad drought.” Flo stretched her long legs out in front of her, crossing
them at the ankles. “Sarah kept me on, but had to lay off two of the other
girls. And the tips dried up just like the ground.”

“Maybe it will rain
soon.” Rocking back and forth, Maggie prayed that the rain gods were kind this
summer. They had to be. They just had to be. What would she do if she couldn’t
get a decent cash crop?

- o -

Two weeks later, Ed
stood beside his boss at the end of the barn driveway overlooking the paddocks.
Removing his work gloves, he said, “Nothing fancy, but it will be functional
and safe.”

With reconstructed
stalls and paddocks, the barn and corrals could handle a combination of eight
racing age horses, along with four broodmares and ten yearlings and weanlings. Not
bad. And it hadn’t cost an arm and a leg either. It had required a lot of hard
work, but now they were ready for some horses. At last.