A Man's Heart (22 page)

Was there?

Cruz glanced up when Adan walked into the living room. The Delgado home was man's land. A massive fireplace, overstuffed, worn furniture. The place had a rough look; shirts draped over backs of chairs. Cans of peanuts on end tables sitting next to two leather recliners. Popcorn on the wood floor. Empty glasses. Throw rugs scattered. Boots stepped out of and left anywhere.

“Guess what?”

“Just tell me.”

“The Matiases are sending their center pivots from one field over tomorrow.”

Frowning, Cruz wasn't sure he'd heard right. “They're what?”

“Sending their center pivots over. We can get water to the north field by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why would they do that? They have their own fields.”

Adan shrugged. “Crystal called and said to expect the equipment sometime mid-morning tomorrow. We need to get a crew to install, and we'll be back in business.”

Cruz stood. “That equipment isn't Crystal's to loan. This is Jules's idea, and I won't accept her charity.”

“Crystal says it is hers to loan, and I'm accepting the offer.” His brother sat in his recliner and reached for the remote. “You can be pig-headed on your own resources. As for me, I'm taking the offer and thanking God that it came in time. We just might be able to salvage one field, and that field will keep us afloat another year.” He flipped to the evening news.

Cruz sat back, grumbling under his breath.

“You might as well ease up. So what if Jules thought of it? It's a mighty nice offer.”

“I'm not going to be indebted to Jules.”

“I know. You'd rather be married to her.”

Cruz got up and stalked out of the room.

An hour later, Cruz pulled into the Matias barnyard. A lone light burned in the den. Shutting off the engine, he strode to the back door and knocked. It was late, and the kids would be in bed. Car lights caught his eyes and he turned to see Jules's Tracker coming up the lane.

Crystal and the kids piled out, followed by Jules. Crystal spoke as she walked past, but he noticed she didn't linger. The back screen closed and he turned to confront Jules.

“I won't take your pity.”

“Good for you. I like my men independent.”

She brushed past him starting for the house. He followed. “I mean it, Jules. I don't need your center pivots.”

“That's not what you said. You said you were going to lose your whole crop unless you could get water in the next few days.”

“I didn't ask that you lose yours in order to save mine.”

“I don't intend to lose mine. Our crops are in fine shape. We can do without water for a few days. Your fields can't.” She approached the step. “Just being a good neighbor. You'd do the same.”

“Good neighbor, my foot.”

“Is that any way to sound grateful?” Inside, Olivia let out a squeal. She motioned toward the sound. “If you want those kids, you have to have a way to feed them. And you need to start thinking about ways to feed and clothe them. Settle down.”

“I'm supposed to run out, marry the first woman who looks faintly interesting, and get married so I can get my niece and nephew, who belong to me anyway?”

“That's not what I'm asking. I'm not asking you to marry, just start … looking around.”

“Looking around.” He scratched his temple. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugged. “Okay. I'll look around.”

“Fine. And … I think I'm going to start dating more. We both work too hard. We need diversion.”

Swiping his hat off, he whacked it against his thigh.

“Look.” She lowered her tone. “If it helps, think of the pivots as a gift from Crystal, not me.”

“They aren't Crystal's to give.”

“You're wrong. Pop might not have left her half of nothing, like he left me, but I consider my nothing to be hers too.”

“That's big of you.” His gaze locked with hers. “When did you go all soft on Crystal?”

“I haven't, I've just started to realize that sisters should have a bond. Just like brothers.” She met his steady gaze.

“A commitment. From you?”

“From me. I'm capable of making commitments—when I'm sure they're the right ones. I've made a lot of mistakes, Cruz. I admit that. Because of my commitment phobia — or maybe because I want to please everyone, I let you get away. Twice. Do you think I don't regret my decisions? Haven't you made mistakes, ones you dearly long to take back but you can't? I loved you with all my heart and soul. I hurt you badly, and I'm sorry. Now can we bury the past and deal with the present? I'm tired of ignoring the fact that we once cared very much for one another.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “How did we get on the subject of you and me?”

“Because that's what this is all about. You and me. It's not the kids. If you didn't feel so threatened by me, you would let me care for the children until you could. Or Adan could. Neither one of you are in the position to raise children.”

“Because the farm is going down?”

“Among other things. You don't even date that I can tell.”

“How do you know what I do?”

“I don't, but I hear talk.”

“Yeah, well I hear talk too, and every man in town thinks he's got an interest in you.”

“In my magic potato! Not me.”

“What's the difference?”

She snorted. “Between me and a potato? If I have to tell you that, you're hopeless.” She opened her purse and rummaged until she came up with a white paper.

“Take the irrigation. Save at least one field. I loved you. I was wrong. You were right to insist that we marry years ago. I was a fool. I regret my decision to serve Pop instead of you. I'm an idiot.” She paused. “Have I covered it all?”

“I'm the only man you'll ever love?” he suggested.

“You are.” Her eyes softened. “You are the only man I ever have or ever will love. Poor me.” She slapped the paper in his hand and walked into the house and shut the door.

He glanced down and his heart sank. The woman had just served him countersuit papers!

J
ules smelled it the moment she pulled into the farm lot. Something burnt-scorched. When she opened the kitchen door, smoke blinded her eyes. Crystal sat at the table working a puzzle with Ethan.

“The house is on fire!”

Glancing up, Crystal shook her head. “No, it isn't. I'm baking a cherry pie and the filling ran over in the oven.” Smoke poured from the stove. “I was going to take it out, but I figured I might as well finish baking it since the oven's already a mess.”

Jules threw open a couple of windows. “You'll have a terrible mess on your hands.”

Her sister shrugged. “I'll clean it up.”

Heading for the bathroom and an aspirin, Jules called, “What's the occasion?”

“Lucille Miller isn't feeling well, so I thought I'd take her a pie. Want to come with me?”

“When are you going?”

“After dinner.”

After dinner.
Jules dumped two aspirin in her hand, thinking
about the long day in the fields she'd just put in. John Mackey had stopped by and before she knew it she'd accepted a date for Saturday night. Now second thoughts plagued her. John was okay, and she didn't feel as though he was interested in her only because of her potato experiment. He was single and loving it, so a movie wasn't threatening.

You really need to tell people the experiment isn't working out.
That was pure fact. She'd yanked plants from the last tub last night. Nothing she tried worked. The first “perfect” potato was the last, and hopes for a vast fortune were evaporating as quickly as a rat down a rope.

Lucille Miller's house reminded Jules of a thrift store. Odd pieces of furniture littered the small structure, all well used. Lucille had a thirst for clothing. Racks upon racks filled the musty smelling front room, and if Jules guessed correctly, the rest of the house. There wasn't a woman on earth who could wear that many clothes, certainly not Lucille, who was well up in her eighties. Jules noticed that since her last visit, tags now appeared on every piece of furniture.

“A pie for me?” Lucille shook her snow white head, peering affectionately at Crystal over the rims of her glasses. “Well, if that isn't just the sweetest thing.”

“I know you love cherry pie,” Crystal said.

“Oh, I do. And cherries are so good for my gout.”

Nodding, Jules smiled. “I've heard that. What are all the tags on the furniture for?”

“Those? They state who that particular piece goes to when
I pass. I have everything labeled now, even my shoes and clothing.”

Jules's eyes scanned the racks and racks of thrift store purchases. “You've been quite busy.” She hadn't meant to bring up a sensitive subject. Lucille was getting on in years.

“Little Jules.” Lucille stood back admiring her. “You've turned into such a pretty woman, honey. If you'd only let that hair grow a bit …”

Jules ran her hand through the close-cut mop. “It's hot and dusty in the potato fields, Lucille. I have to wash my hair a couple of times a day.”

Lucille nodded as though she understood, but Jules knew the red light wasn't on.

“I'll make tea.” Lucille started for the kitchen.

“I'll make it,” Crystal offered. “You guys visit.”

Over tea and cookies, the sisters visited with Lucille well over an hour before Olivia started rubbing her eyes, a sure sign she was fading fast. Clearing the dishes, Crystal disappeared into the kitchen and tidied up. Lucille brought out the family picture album of her two sons, their wives and her grandchildren. Jules dealt with a now fussy Olivia, who tried to physically launch herself out of Jules's arms a couple of times.

Returning from the kitchen, Crystal smiled. “All done.”

“Thank you, dear. You're just the sweetest thing. Did I tell you how much I enjoyed that last casserole you sent over?”

“You did, Lucille. You sent me a nice thank you note.”

“I did?” She chuckled. “Where is my mind?” She walked the women to the front door.

“I hope you're feeling much better soon.” Jules paused, switching Olivia to her opposite hip.

“Been feeling a little poorly lately, but I guess a woman my
age expects to have an ache or a pain every now and then.” She smiled. “Oh my! Before you go, Crystal, I have something I want to give you.”

“Me?”

Lucille grinned. “Come with me.”

The sisters trailed the woman into a back, even mustier smelling, bedroom. Lucille switched on the overhead light, a single bare bulb. “I want you to have this.”

Jules and Crystal peered over the woman's shoulder at a bare mattress that had seen better days. Better eons. The thing must be as old as Lucille.

“Oh … a mattress?” Crystal asked.

Lucille stood back, beaming. “It's been mine since I was a small child. When I married Gerald I stored the bedding in the spare bedroom. We naturally purchased our own, but this one—this is mine, and I want you to have it.”