Once Upon a Valentine (5 page)

Summer smiled, then, feeling bold, she tossed her hair in what she hoped was a coy gesture. “Maybe you should take off your shirt.”

She saw desire in his whiskey-colored eyes, but then he glanced at his watch and pushed to his feet. “Actually, I should be going. It’s been a long day.”

Summer stood hurriedly and adjusted her clothing. “Of course. You must be tired. Thanks for listening…and for bringing the pie.”

“No problem.” He whistled for Truman, who came loping in from another room. He picked up the lab reports and headed toward the door. Summer walked with him, tingling with embarrassment. The man probably had a girlfriend—or many—back in New York.

“Let me know if you have any questions about the conditioner,” she said brightly. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and played with it self-consciously. “I’ll be over tomorrow after work to feed the horses.”

He was staring at her hair, no doubt thinking what a complete nuisance it was. “O…kay,” he murmured, then practically fell out her front door into the cool air…and was gone.

5

I’LL DO MY BEST.

Andrew was taking a break, standing at the door of the kitchen pantry, drinking a tall glass of cold water after a morning of hot, tedious work cleaning up his father’s property. He stared at the row of bottles containing the pink Mane Squeeze conditioner, along with a long list in Barber’s handwriting of individual customers awaiting delivery. He’d been all set the previous night to tell Summer that although he respected her efforts, bringing a hair conditioner to the marketplace wasn’t a project in which he was prepared to invest time or money.

Instead, he’d been mesmerized by that mane of exquisite hair, fixated on the thought of seeing her nude with her glorious golden veil all around her, and said he’d do his best.

He sighed, then wiped his sweaty neck and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, stopping on an entry for an advertising associate in Nashville who specialized in direct-to-consumer sales and pressed the connect button. It was probably a waste of time, but…

“Andrew MacMillan for Charles Basker.…Charles, hello.…Yes, long time, no see. How are you?…Good. Listen, I’m back in Tennessee for a few days, and I have a favor to ask. My veterinarian father recently passed away.…Yes, thank you. The reason I’m calling is I just learned that he and a friend of the family developed an organic hair conditioner that’s become a bit of a local sensation. I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking a look at it and giving me an opinion on its viability in a wider market?…You will?…Okay, I’ll ship a few bottles your way. Thanks, man.”

He ended the call, a little nonplussed, but not overly concerned, because the man probably said yes a hundred times a day and meant it a fraction of the time. Over the years he’d received his own fair share of similar calls from friends and associates and he couldn’t remember a single personally referred product that had panned out. But he’d do this so he could in good conscience tell Summer he’d tried.

As long as he wasn’t looking into those sexy blue eyes of hers, he might be able to pull off a half-truth. He hoped the woman had no idea how much he’d wanted not only to tear off his own shirt last night, but to relieve her of her clothing, as well. And lose himself in her eyes and her body and that amazing hair.

He touched the cool glass to his forehead.

But then what? He’d come back to Tiny to tie up all the loose ends, not to create more. He glanced into the living room where his father’s ashes still sat on the mantel, mocking him. Yet another decision that needed to be made.

Andrew found a box and pulled out six bottles of the conditioner, then picked up the list of supplies he needed from the hardware store, grabbed the keys to his dad’s pickup truck and left by the back door. Truman was waiting for him and happily jumped into the bench seat when Andrew opened the creaky door of the truck. Andrew felt a pang for the dog who had obviously fallen into a comfortable routine of accompanying Barber wherever he went.

When Andrew left, he’d have to find a good home for Truman. Summer would probably be willing to take him in, but that cat of hers would make his life miserable. Andrew looked at the sweet-faced dog. Yet another decision to make.

As he circled around to drive by the front of the house, Andrew surveyed the progress he’d made clearing the yard of overgrowth and clutter. He’d managed to uncover the building where his father had once maintained his veterinary office, resulting in a huge pile of bramble that needed to be burned or hauled away. He’d peeked in a dusty window to see furniture and equipment encased in covers and realized the building would be a perfect office for an animal-rescue center.

Then he quickly turned his mind elsewhere.

Retailers in Tiny were hyping Valentine’s Day, reminding shoppers not to forget their lovers on their special day! Red balloons abounded. Andrew tucked his tongue into his cheek—over the years he’d enjoyed a few mildly serious relationships with women, but he’d always managed to avoid Valentine’s Day by scheduling work travel. He rejected the idea that a made-up holiday could or should bring a couple closer.

He stopped by the post office and mailed the box of conditioner and copies of the ingredient-testing reports to Charles. The task took longer than he’d planned because people recognized him and stopped to give their condolences. It made him realize just how far from Manhattan he was. Here in Tiny, everyone knew everyone. And so it continued as he stopped by the hardware store to buy paint and countless other supplies, as well as when he stopped by the City Hall building to inquire about the property taxes due on his father’s farm.

The clerk was Roberta Bride, who pinched his cheeks and said nice things about Barber. When she presented Andrew with the tax bill, he managed to hide his surprise at the substantial sum, but assured her he would settle the debt as soon as he got his father’s financial affairs in order. And he thanked her for the apple pie. She dimpled and said it was nice to see he hadn’t gotten “above his raising.”

Andrew smiled, but on the way out of the building, his mind churned with all the decisions at hand. He was feeling overwhelmed and eager to get back to the relatively calm chaos of Manhattan.

He heard his name and turned his head. Tessa Hadley, dressed in a smart skirt suit, her dark hair bobbed, was walking toward him, wearing her “agent” smile.

“Andrew, I thought that was you.” Then she gestured to his jeans, T-shirt and the old boots he’d pulled from the closet of his bedroom that had remained unchanged after he’d left home. “Even dressed like a local, you stand out.” She stepped forward to clasp him in a hug and held on a little longer than necessary. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” he said, extricating himself.

“Did you like the Mexican dip I made?” she asked brightly.

“Er, yes,” he said, deciding not to tell her about Red’s warning and even Truman’s subsequent refusal to eat it. “That was kind of you.”

“You live in New York, I understand. How exciting! You’re in marketing?”

“Advertising. I see you’re doing well.”

“Yes,” she said, sweeping an arm down her figure as if she were a game show prize. Then she angled her head. “Our phone call yesterday was cut short.”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Sorry about that. I was going to call you back.”

She batted her lashes. “I would’ve called you back, but I’ve been busy getting poor Sadie Case’s house ready for the market. My dad said you were interested in selling your father’s farm?”

He hesitated, and the hesitation itself irritated him. He’d been humoring Summer Tomlinson with this idea of a horse-rescue center funded by a magic hair potion, but he didn’t really have a choice.

“That’s right,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to get it on the market as soon as possible. Would you be interested in listing it?”

“Of course. If I remember correctly, the property shares a boundary with the State Park, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “At one time, my father said he’d been approached by someone with the state to buy the property for the limestone cave spring.”

“I’ll look into it,” she said, her eyes gleaming with the promise of a sale. “Will you be home later? There is some paperwork you’ll need to sign, and I’ll have to take a few photos.”

“You can bring the paperwork, but if you’ve seen the house, you know the property isn’t very photogenic at the moment. I’m cleaning it up now.”

“The photos can wait,” she agreed. “But it’s a date—see you later!” She gave him a toodle-loo finger wave, then twisted away.

He stared after her, guilt gnawing at his gut. But it couldn’t be helped, and it’s what he’d come here to do. The sooner the farm was listed, the sooner he could return to New York.

The errands had taken longer than he’d planned. By the time he got the supplies unloaded and organized, it was late afternoon. He decided to hook the bush hog to the tractor and make a few passes at the front pasture to improve the curb appeal of the farm. Truman kept him company, but maintained a safe distance from the mowing machine.

The weather had held, and the temperatures were still high. It was slow going—Andrew had to jump down from the tractor often, to remove rocks or branches that were too large to safely skim. Remorse plagued him. He’d forgotten how much work it was to maintain even a small farm. No wonder things had fallen into disrepair. He should’ve been more attentive, should’ve noticed his aging father needed help.

It didn’t take long for him to work up a sweat and shed his T-shirt. He used it to wipe his neck and glanced around from this slightly higher vantage point. From here, he could see the Tomlinson house, and just like that, Summer was crowding his thoughts again. He wondered why a sweet, pretty country girl like her wasn’t married, then reminded himself for all he knew, she might’ve been married a dozen times. And besides, what did her marital status have to do with him?

He continued mowing, but the mindlessness of the work combined with the unaccustomed activity of his body kept his mind fixed on Summer in that fetching green dress. And her
out
of that fetching green dress. And her
in
that fetching green dress…but mostly
out
of that fetching green dress. And her hair… Lust seized his body when he thought of running his fingers through that satiny blond curtain.

Truman’s bark interrupted his thoughts. Andrew looked to see what had captured the dog’s attention and saw Summer walking down the path toward the stables. She lifted a hand to wave, and he waved back. Truman abandoned him, making a beeline for her. Andrew couldn’t blame him. Determined not to stare, he turned to proudly survey the work he’d done and bit back a curse—the strips of mowed grass were crooked and he’d missed wide swaths of weeds he’d have to redo. Summer was probably laughing at his haphazard job. Forcing his mind back to the job, he tackled the ground again. Later, when he drove the tractor back to the barn next to the stables, at least he was satisfied he’d put in a good day’s work.

With a start, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said that.

He turned off the tractor and jumped down to the dirt floor. The barn housed the tractor and a host of dusty implements, plus crates of old tools and miscellaneous clutter—more stuff to sort through and discard. As he exited the old wood structure, he was starting to feel the weight of his father’s life pulling on his shoulders.

Truman appeared at the door of the stables and barked a welcome. Except for cleaning around the building, Andrew had managed to ignore the stables thus far, but decided he probably should check out the inhabitants. And saying hello to Summer was only polite.

He hung his T-shirt over his shoulder and walked through the open doorway of the faded red structure. On either side of a straw-covered hallway were rows of stalls, ten in all. The doorway at the other end of the stables also stood open. Summer stood there grooming a tired-looking brown horse whose hocks and knees were wrapped with gauze. She was crooning in the horse’s ear…and she was spectacular.

The late-afternoon sun slanted in behind her, casting her slender figure in a golden halo. She wore slim jeans tucked into knee-high boots, and a gauzy white shirt that was transparent in the light. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, leaving the ends to brush the top of her buttocks as she stretched to groom the horse, whose big eyes were nearly closed in abject appreciation. Eight more heads of all shapes and sizes were stuck out over the stalls, gazing at their savior. Max whinnied and tossed his big gray head as Andrew walked closer.

Summer turned toward him and smiled. “Hello.”