Leave Tomorrow Behind (Stella Crown Series) (2 page)

Chapter Two

“You sure you got this?” I watched Lucy, my farmhand, who was supervising her daughter Tess, now nine years old, as she bottle-fed the newest calf.

“I said I got it. Go. Take Zach to the fair. We’ll come later and see him, when he’s settled.”

It was too hot to do much, anyway. Even Queenie, my collie, had decided to take the day off. The last I’d seen her, she was lying on the plain cement of the barn floor, well out of the sun. If I stayed home I’d end up doing something like mowing the lawn, or fixing some rotted boards on the far side of my garage, and I really didn’t feel like doing either. Besides, I’d promised Zach, and he’d be showing up any minute, ready to transport his calf to the barn at the county fair.

“Mom!” Tess squealed. The nipple on the huge bottle had collapsed.

Lucy took the bottle, pinched the nipple until it popped back into form, and returned it to her daughter. “Nick going with you?”

“Don’t know. He seems to be feeling pretty good today, so maybe.”

“He seems to be feeling pretty good all the time now.”

Nick had been diagnosed with MS, multiple sclerosis, during the last year, which of course had taken its toll on the two of us and his family. But lately, with a new diet and medication regimen, along with exercise and Nick’s generally positive way of looking at life, things hadn’t seemed so bad. In fact, some days I almost forgot he wasn’t the same guy I’d fallen for a year before. No, that’s not right. He was the same guy. Just…different.

“He’ll probably come along,” I said. “To get away from the wedding planner, if nothing else.”

Lucy grinned. “You never know. Miranda might have a good idea tucked away in there, somewhere.”

“If you’re someone else, maybe.”

The calf hiccuped, and the bottle popped out of her mouth, sending a stream of colostrum, the mother’s first milk we couldn’t use in our regular tanks, shooting all over her face. She backed up on knobby legs, shaking her head and spraying droplets all around. Tess, giggling, used the towel Lucy handed her to wipe the calf’s face, then got the nipple back in its mouth. The calf sucked so hard she almost pulled Tess over, but somehow the girl remained standing.

I congratulated Tess on her success with the calves, and went to find Nick. He sat on the sofa in the living room, laptop open, hands on the keys.

“You have to talk to her,” Miranda was saying. She perched beside him on the sofa. Both of them had their backs to me. “This wedding is not going to happen if she doesn’t let me…if she doesn’t make any plans.”

“How do you know she hasn’t?”

“Fine. Show me a plan. Anything. Building rental. Flowers. Invitations. A date.”

“We told you a date.”

“You said, ‘We’re thinking of maybe July 27.’”

“That’s a date.”

“But nothing concrete. ‘Thinking of maybe?’ What kind of commitment is that? And it’s next month.”

“Miranda.” Nick paused, then shut his laptop and set it on the coffee table. “Look, Sister. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. No, really, I do. But you’ve got to understand, Stella is…she’s a lot different from you. In a lot of ways.”

Miranda snorted. “I do realize that. I’m not an idiot.”

“Didn’t say you were. But listen. You want to make a nice wedding—”

“The best wedding.”

“But are you wanting the wedding you would want? Or the wedding Stella would want?”

“I’m planning—or trying to plan—the wedding any woman would want. Any normal one, anyway.”

“Well,” Nick laughed, “maybe Stella’s not normal.”

“Who’s not normal?” I stepped into the room, and Miranda jumped up so fast I thought her ass was on fire. Nick merely turned and smiled at me. “You, of course.”

“Never claimed to be. So, hey, you want to go to the fair with me and Zach?”

“But…” Miranda fluttered her hands.

“You’re welcome to come, too, although you’ll have to drive separately. We can only fit three adults in my truck, and if we go by foot size, Zach is now officially a grown-up.”

Miranda’s jaw worked, and then she smiled, although it was a little like the smile adults give children when they really can’t stand being around them.

A car pulled into the drive and I peeked out the window. “He’s here. You ready?”

Nick got up and held his arms out to the side. “As long as I’m dressed okay.”

“For the fair? Before it’s even open?” I surveyed his jeans and Phillies T-shirt. “You look perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you.”

Miranda made a gagging sound and stalked to the stairwell, where she slammed the door behind her.

“Shall we?” Nick said, and we went outside.

Mallory, Zach’s older sister, climbed out of the driver’s seat of the old sedan to pet Queenie, who trotted out from the barn to see who had arrived. Mallory’s boyfriend, Brady Willard, unfolded from the car, too. All six feet of him.

“Where did that come from?” I asked.

“What?”

“You’re taller than me now.”

“Dad’s tall.” Brady’s father was the town’s one and only detective, and he’d helped me out when my farm had been threatened. And when my life had been threatened. And…well, we were friends.

“Yeah, he’s a big guy, but when did you get so huge?”

He shrugged.

Zach rolled out of the back seat. “So, where’s Barnabas?”

“Where you left him, lazy butt. It’s not my job to get him ready.”

He dropped his bag in the grass and loped off toward the barn. Queenie followed, tail wagging.

“So,” Mallory said, “Mom and Dad will probably call you, like, ten times to make sure he gets settled okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Like the fair is such a dangerous place.”

“It is,” Brady said. “Dad says cops will be all over because of everything that goes on there.”

“Like people dying from eating deep-fried Snickers?”

“No, like drug dealing, fighting, prostitution, gambling, drunk guys peeing in the fairway. Or puking.”

Mallory put her hand over his mouth. “Stop! Gosh! I’m sorry I asked.”

I glanced at my feet. “Glad I’m wearing boots.”

“You should be,” Brady said, in all seriousness.

“So are you guys going, too?” I asked.

Mallory made a face. “Not after that.”

Brady shrugged again. “Later this week. For the derby or whatever.”

Demolition derby, he meant.

“Which one?”

“Combine, of course. I got a friend in it. His ride’s called Smashmaster.”

A combine demolition derby. Yes, you heard right. It’s huge in Ohio, apparently, and now Pennsylvania had decided to get in on the fun. Farm kids use rusted, outdated combines, paint them all up, and bash them into each other in the hopes of a prize. It’s loud and muddy and fairly safe. Pretty entertaining, actually, if you like that sort of thing.

Mallory tugged on Brady’s arm. “Come on. I told Grandma we’d help with corn today, and we’re already late.”

“Right. Yippee.” He swung his arm in an “all right” gesture.

Mallory swatted him. “You know you love it.” She looked at me. “Grandma makes all these awesome desserts, and the only way you get any is to help with the corn.”

I nodded. I’d attended more than one corn-freezing day at Ma’s house. And I had eaten more than my share of chocolate cake. “Better get going then, before your dad inhales it all.”

Brady’s eyes widened, and he practically dove into the car. Because Mallory’s father, Jethro, can really pack it away.

Once they were gone, I headed into the barn.

“He look okay to you?” Zach stood in the stall beside Barnabas, the beautiful Holstein calf he would be showing. The yearling waited, chewing his cud and looking about as bored as a calf can look. He’d been born the summer before, raised right there on the farm. I’d given him to Zach as a baby, just after Zach had lost another calf, and he’d been Zach’s ever since. Zach had bottle fed him, brushed him, and named him. I hadn’t done anything except supply the barn and the feed. And the occasional taking care of when Zach was gone. Zach had been a good worker for me for years, so I was happy to offer what I could to pay him back. Beyond the cash I’d already given him.

“He looks perfect. But he’ll look even better once we get him to the fair and you wash him up.”

“I guess.”

We led Barnabas out to the trailer, which I’d already hooked up to my truck, and he waltzed right in without a fuss.

“He’ll be okay in there?” Zach peered into the back. “He won’t be scared?”

“Zach, you’re acting like an amateur. How many times have you helped transport cows?”

“I know. Sorry. It’s just, he’s so small compared to the milkers.” He trotted over to grab the bag he’d left in the grass, and met Nick and me back at the truck, where I was explaining to Queenie that she would be staying at the farm.

Zach hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” I said before he could ask. “You are not riding in the trailer with Barnabas. Get in the cab.”

After a little who’s-going-to-sit-in-the-middle dance, Zach slid onto the bench, and Nick took the seat by the window. We waved at Queenie and headed off to start Zach’s adventures at the fair.

I really wish we hadn’t.

Chapter Three

“There’s a place! No, there’s a place!”

“Zach, will you shut up? I have eyes.” I drove slowly, making my way through the grass field toward the dairy barn. Kids and cows and trailers were everywhere, and I really didn’t want to run over any of them.

Zach hugged his bag and leaned forward. “There’s Bobby and Claire! Stop! Stop, Stella!”

Bobby and Claire Kaufmann. Twins, Zach’s age. Zach knew them from school and 4-H, and I knew their folks, good dairy people from the other side of the county.

“Stella!”

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping. Give me a second.”

I eased the truck to a halt in the middle of the lane, and a horn blew behind me. I waved out the window for the driver to hold his horses. Or cows.

Nick slid out, and Zach vaulted to the ground to attack Bobby. Bobby jumped about a foot, but once he realized it was Zach, he relaxed and punched Zach’s arm. Claire’s face turned pink, and she stepped back, crossing her arms.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

Nick hopped back in the truck. “What?”

“Claire’s got it bad for Zach. Look at her.”

“She looks mad.”

“No, she’s uncomfortable. Watch her eyes.” Her eyes were flicking to Zach’s face, then away, then back again. “And her shoulders.” Up and tight, her arms hugging her stomach. “Classic signs of a shy girl who thinks a guy is cute.”

“I don’t know. She sort of looks like she’s going to be sick.”

“As I was saying.”

“Zach!” A new guy sauntered up—Randy, Zach’s buddy who would be showing a calf I’d sold him. His black eye from getting punched by his ex-girlfriend’s new squeeze had finally faded, and he looked more like himself again. I hoped he felt more like himself. I was recovering from an injury, too, but it was a bit more complicated than Randy’s eye, since it included a broken bone in my foot. But I was off the crutches and out of the boot, and healing up just fine, thank you very much. It was only at the end of a long day, or if I stepped wrong, that I had a twinge of a reminder.

I held out a fist as Randy walked past my door, and he bumped it. He was a nice kid when he wasn’t getting into stupid fights about stupid girls. Really. The girl was stupid. As was the fight. But saying “I told you so” is never helpful, especially when speaking to a teenager, so I’d let it go. Randy seemed to have learned his lesson. I certainly hoped so, anyway. Zach was going to be staying with him in his camper for the week, since Jethro and Belle were busy working and doing other stuff, like freezing corn, and wouldn’t be able to run him back and forth as often as he wanted. Plus, it would be fun for him to hang out with all the other kids. You’d think the Grangers could hold off on corn for a week and do the whole fair thing, but the corn was ready, and the freezing process was like a religion in their family. I was sort of surprised they were letting Zach off the hook at all, even for something as important as the fair.

A spot opened up in the “cow dispensing” area, so I pulled in, assuming Zach would find us. When he didn’t, I went looking. I found him in Randy’s trailer, pulling stuff out of his bag.

“Zach.” I had my head in the doorway. “Barnabas, remember? The reason we’re here? The calf you were so worried about twenty minutes ago?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll be back!” This he said to Randy and the twins, of course. Bobby was eating a Pop-Tart, and didn’t even notice Zach was leaving. Randy grunted. Claire was the only one who seemed to care. She glanced up at me, then looked away, her ears turning red this time. Zach bounded down the stairs, not giving the poor girl a second glance.

Claire wasn’t bad to look at. Pretty nice, actually, but maybe that was through my “farming genes are good genes” glasses. She was as tall as Zach, maybe a little taller, with broad shoulders and a wide, friendly face. Her coloring was all brown—her hair and eyes, I mean—and her skin had that ruddy, fresh, pink look you get when you work outside. She wore the same sort of stuff I had on—jeans, boots, a Got Milk T-shirt. I liked her, and I wished Zach would at least notice she was there.

“Find a place to park?” Zach asked.

“Right next to the barn.”

“Awesome.”

Zach checked in and received his stall assignment, in a nice spot toward the front of the barn, where he and Barnabas would get at least a little breeze. The stall on the right was still empty, and the one on the other side had a fresh layer of wood chips on the floor, awaiting its occupant. We took a few minutes to gather up some of the free chips the fair offered, and spread them in Zach’s little space. When that was done, we led Barnabas down the trailer ramp and into the barn. He trotted along behind us, like he did it every day, like he was just happy to be there. I was thankful for his easygoing personality—but then, when your whole life consists of a teenage boy who dotes on you, what would you have to be uptight about?

“Hey, Austin,” Zach said to the guy who had moved into the next stall, where we’d seen the wood chips. He was a couple of years older than Zach, and a member of Zach’s 4-H club. Being a senior, this would be his last opportunity to show at the fair.

Austin smiled and paused in brushing his calf, holding out his fist. The same teenage-guy hello ritual I had just performed with Randy. It felt nice to be accepted as one of their pack.

“How you doing, man?” Austin said. “Awesome that we’re next to each other. You let me know if you ever need anything.”

Zach bumped his fist. “Same here.”

Austin nodded at me and Nick, and went back to brushing. His pretty Holstein calf—named Halladay’s Dream, according to the sign on the board—stared into space, chewing his cud like Barnabas had been doing that morning. The two bovine boys should get along just fine.

Nick attached Zach’s official certificate to the board above the stall, using the zip-ties Zach had packed in his bag, then hung up another one, which Zach had made, using some old wood siding from my farm. It showcased photos of Barnabas from when he’d been born, right up to the present, as well as the logo for Royalcrest Farm. My home.

“Hey, thanks, Zach. I appreciate the acknowledgement.”

He smiled, and gave a little shrug. “Here, Nick, can you put this up, too?” Zach handed Nick another homemade sign with Barnabas’ name in rainbow bubble letters.

Nick raised his eyebrows.

Zach’s face told it all, and I laughed.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Mallory made it. I decided I’d better stay on her good side and use it.”

“You’re a wise man,” Nick said. “Keeping your sister happy makes life better all around.” Nick tied it up next to the other one, and stepped back, eyeing his work. “Very…”

“Nice,” I said. “It’s very nice.”

Nick cleared his throat. “Just what I was going to say.”

“Now, Zach,” Austin said, pausing in his brushing, “that is truly you.”

Zach threw some wood chips at him, and Austin ducked, laughing. When he stood back up, his laughter stopped, and he scowled. “There they are.” He stared at something across the room. “I’d hoped they would sit this year out. Give the rest of us a real chance.”

I followed his gaze to a girl bringing in her calf. Her parents were with her, one in front, one behind, their eyes darting around the room, taking in everything and everybody. My nose wrinkled.

“What’s wrong?” Nick said. “Who is it?”

“The Greggs,” Austin spat.

Zach snorted. “Also known as The Cheaters.”

“Cheaters? How do you cheat at the fair? Steroids? Don’t they check for that sort of thing?”

“Nothing that complicated,” I said.

“Then what?”

I kept my voice low. “Okay, so our fair is now, a few weeks into June, right? Not that long, really, since the State Fair last September. The Greggs—” it was hard to say their name without spitting, like Austin had “—attend the State Fair, watch the judging, and buy the winner. If the Grand Champion isn’t for sale, they go for whatever’s closest. Problem is, they end up with the winners so many times they’re running out of cows to buy.”

“That’s not illegal?”

“Nope, not in our county. Should be. The whole idea of the fair, and of 4-H itself, is for kids to learn how to take care of animals. Look at that girl. You think she has any idea what she’s doing in a barn?”

The Gregg girl in question—there were several of them in the family, so I wasn’t sure of names—looked like she weighed about eighty pounds, and was terrified of the calf. But then, one false step and the calf, not even full-grown, would crush her. She and her parents wore all the right kinds of clothes, and drove the right farm-type vehicles, but the problem was they were too clean. I don’t mean them as people. We farmers can clean up just fine. But the clothes hadn’t been worn. Not how you need to wear them to actually be a farmer. And the truck and trailer? They hadn’t been used for anything except hauling champion cattle from fair to fair. No “memories,” as Jethro liked to say, meaning scratches and dents and scuff marks.

“But don’t they have to know what they’re doing at least a little bit, to keep the animals through the winter?”

“Don’t know what they do about that, but I could guess.”

“I don’t have to guess.” Austin tossed his brush into his bucket. “They have one little pole barn, more suited to purebred horses than cows. They keep their precious prize animals in there, and hire a guy who takes care of them all winter, milks the dairy cows, brushes the calves, everything. The only time any of the Greggs actually touch the animals is here, where people see them.”

“And you know this how?” I asked.

“Guy at my church. They asked him to do the work a couple years ago. He turned them down.”

“But what’s the point?” Nick asked. “If they don’t want to spend time with animals, why do the fair thing at all?”

“I do know the answer to that,” I said. “Rumor is the oldest daughter thought it would be fun to have a ‘pet’ cow. The other girls decided they wanted pets, too, and the parents don’t mind the limelight, from what I can tell. The dad uses it to promote his business. He’s the CEO of some recording label in Philly, so the cash isn’t a problem. Not like it is for those of us who do this for a living, who are hands-on with the herd every day. They built some mansion worth a bazillion dollars, but try to suck up to the country music fans by doing some ‘farming.’ ”

Nick took my hand and squeezed. “The way they farm they miss out on all the best parts, don’t they?”

I watched the wide-eyed little Gregg girl dance away from the calf’s hooves as it entered the stall. The mother slammed the gate shut as soon as the cow’s hind end cleared, and the three of them stood back in the aisle, brushing off their pants, obviously glad to be done with the messy work of touching a living creature.

“Yes,” I said. “They absolutely do.”