Here to Stay (23 page)

“Our father is no longer a part of our lives.”

Her tone didn’t invite questions. Well, it was none of his business anyway. He barely knew her. “So, essentially, you’ve been responsible for Luke ever since your mother left?”

With a shiver, she said, “Let’s go back in. I promised Luke some hot chocolate to go with his cookies, and I forgot to make it.”

When they reentered the house, Zach stepped to the living room to check on his mini. Luke and Rosebud seemed to be getting along well. The kid laughed as he said, “No, Rosebud, only your treats for you. No cookies.” And he was petting her. Eyes half-closed, Rosebud leaned against Luke’s knee with every indication of contentment.

After delivering a mug of chocolate to Luke, Miranda served Zach more coffee in the kitchen and encouraged him to have more cookies. He took her up on the offer. She’d served a great dinner, but the portions had been small by his standards, and he still felt hungry.

He had just polished off cookie number five when Luke hollered from the living room, “Mandy, I’m done. Come get my cup and plate!”

Miranda leaped up to do her brother’s bidding, which had not included a
please
. That rubbed Zach the wrong way. She wasn’t Luke’s servant. Surely the kid could bring his own plate and cup back to the kitchen.

Miranda had no sooner finished rinsing the cup and plate for the dishwasher than her brother yelled, “I need to use the bathroom!”

Zach watched in curious amazement as Miranda guided her brother through the house and then stood outside the bathroom, waiting for Luke to finish his business. Zach determined then and there that something was way off-kilter in this brother-sister relationship. Luke was pretending to be helpless, and Miranda was buying into it.

When Luke emerged from the bathroom, Miranda led him back to the sofa, where Rosebud awaited him. Zach’s negative thoughts were mitigated slightly when he saw how eagerly the kid reached out for Rosebud. Miranda repositioned a cushion behind her brother and returned to the kitchen, gracing Zach with a hesitant smile.

“Mandy,” he said. “That’s your nickname?”

She nodded. “Hardly anyone calls me Miranda. You can continue to call me that, of course. It’s what you’re already used to.”

“Mandy,” Zach repeated slowly. “I like it, actually. It suits you somehow.”

Searching her gaze, Zach decided he hadn’t imagined the innocence in her eyes. All his instincts told him she was still wet behind the ears when it came to sexual experience. Zach would have gone to the bank on it.

He found that appealing, which made him wonder if he didn’t need his head examined. He’d always preferred women who knew the score. Maybe that was why he’d never found anyone special. The gals who hung out in honky-tonks were looking for a good time, not a long-term commitment, and they seldom had a serious thought in their heads. Mandy was so different, shouldering the burden of a blind brother, working to earn the bread and butter, plus maintaining a home. Most of her thoughts were probably serious, and now that she was gearing up to send Luke to college, they’d only grow more serious. It would be a huge undertaking, both financially and emotionally. Right now she looked exhausted. Time for him to make a graceful exit.

“Well,” Zach said, glancing at his watch. “How time does fly. It’s already almost nine. The company needs to go home so you two can get some sleep.”

“Oh, there’s no need to rush off. Luke doesn’t usually turn in until ten.”

And when did she turn in? Zach suspected that she stayed up late to work at whatever it was she did to make a living. He wanted to take her suggestion that he stay a bit longer as an indication that she was enjoying his company, but reality forced him to admit that she was probably only being polite. He had a feeling she’d be very busy over the next hour, getting her brother tucked in.
Weird
. If Carly Coulter could see this operation, she’d grab Luke by the ear and have him shaped up in two seconds flat.

“I get up well before dawn.” Zach pretended to stifle a yawn. “It’s time for Rosebud and me to make tracks.”

She followed Zach to the living room, watching closely as he put the mini’s harness back on. He realized she was trying to learn everything she could. That was nice, but it missed the real issue by a country mile. It was Luke who needed to learn this stuff. Zach had to admit that the kid had been much more pleasant this evening, but his apparent lack of desire to do anything without assistance was a huge concern. Even a small horse required care, and Luke wouldn’t even take the initiative to care for himself.

When Zach and Rosebud were ready to leave, Mandy walked out onto the porch with them. In the dim glow of the yard light, she was so damned beautiful, her eyes shimmering, her soft mouth begging to be kissed. Zach was sorely tempted, but the innocence in her eyes held him back. If Zach kissed her, she might read more into it than he intended. So instead he shook her hand. Hers almost disappeared in his.

“Thanks a lot for dinner. It was quite a treat for a rancher who usually gets a microwave meal or something out of a can.”

She looked down at their joined hands and smiled. “It was my pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Next time, why don’t you and Luke come out to my place?” he suggested. “I’ll crank up the barbecue. It’s protected by the deck overhang, so even if it snows, I can still cook outside. I grill a great steak.” He gave her a teasing wink. “It won’t compare to your creamy sole fillets, but I can promise a decent meal.”

She withdrew her hand. “We’d love to come. The third time is always a charm. If Luke is with Rosebud longer next time, maybe he’ll forge a real bond with her. Can I bring something? A salad or dessert? Do you like chocolate cake?”

Zach’s taste buds began doing push-ups. “Love it. You’re on, if you’re sure you don’t mind. What evening would be good for you? I’m still open until Thursday.”

“Are you free tomorrow night?” she asked.

In his wilder days, he’d always reserved weekend nights for raising hell in town, but those habits were far behind him now. A Saturday evening with Miranda Pajeck, even without chocolate cake, sounded great. “Sure, tomorrow night would be fine.”

They both agreed that having some time to socialize prior to dinner would be good for both Luke and Rosebud, so they settled on a four-o’clock arrival time. Zach entered a reminder into his phone. Then he tipped his hat and turned to walk with Rosebud to the SUV. He’d gotten all of fifteen feet when her voice brought him to an abrupt halt.

“Mr. Harrigan? Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting there be a next time.”

The soft tones made his heart jump. “That’s okay. See you tomorrow.”

Once behind the steering wheel, Zach realized his palms were sweaty. What was that all about? It wasn’t as if the barbecue tomorrow evening would be a date. So why did he feel as nervous and keyed up as a green kid who’d just asked the high school homecoming queen to the senior prom?

Get a grip, Harrigan
, he told himself sternly.
Okay, you’re attracted to her. But chances are you won’t end up giving Rosebud to that spoiled kid, and that will end any chance of romance, or even friendship, real quick. Get over it and go home
.

He started the truck. It was easy to make resolutions. But he couldn’t kick the look in her eyes out of his mind.

Chapter Nine

T
he next day Zach made arrangements with Cookie to be absent that afternoon. The old foreman dropped a caustic remark about Zach fooling around like a city swell instead of working a full day, but he agreed to cover for him.

As Zach prepared for the barbecue, he felt far more nervous than the occasion warranted. About the only thing he wasn’t concerned about was the present weather. They’d been gifted with a sunny day that was beautiful and shirtsleeve warm, featuring powder blue skies streaked with fluffy white clouds. He worried that a storm would roll in at any moment—the norm for February in central Oregon—to dump buckets of rain or, even worse, snow.

As four o’clock drew near, he fretted over the size of the spuds he planned to bake. He worried that he’d cut the salad tomatoes into too-large chunks. He set the table, and then he kept rearranging stuff, wanting the place settings to make a statement. Regular fork, check. Salad fork, check. Linen napkins, check. He’d borrowed the latter from his sister, pledging that he’d launder and press them before he returned them to her. Samantha had stared at him as if he had two heads, but she hadn’t asked any questions. Small miracle.

When the table was set, he stood back to admire his work and decided it was all wrong. “I’m not fancy. This isn’t me.” He never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. So why was he doing it for Mandy? She needed to like him for himself.

He snatched up the napkins and stuffed them in a drawer without a thought for potential wrinkles. The salad forks soon followed the napkins. This was a barbecue, not a state dinner. As a final touch, he plopped a roll of paper towels at the center of the table. Good enough. The lacy place mats, borrowed from his puzzled but cooperative stepmother, were a bit much, but he didn’t have anything else. The table looked functional but not elaborate. Okay. He was ready.

Then he glanced down at himself. Instead of his usual blue jeans, he’d decided to wear his all-black honky-tonk duds, starched shirt, jeans with a crease, and church boots that shone like a mirror. Wrong look. Miranda might think he was trying to impress her. He was, but he didn’t want to
look
like he was.

He raced upstairs, charged his bureau, yanked open drawers, and threw clothes until he found a go-to-town outfit: fairly new blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a slightly wrinkled plaid shirt he pulled from the closet. He exchanged the shiny footgear for a pair of everyday boots. After dressing, he observed himself in the mirror, fussing with his collar, raking a hand through his hair, frowning at himself.
Shit
. He’d exchanged sophisticated for hayseed.

Before it was all over, Zach changed clothes twice, finally settling on the look he’d chosen in the first place. He was on the front deck scraping the barbecue grill with a wire brush when his sister Sam’s voice came from behind him, startling him so badly he almost dropped the brush.

“I thought this was a business-type thing tonight. What’s with the Goth look?”

Zach slammed the grill closed and spun to face his sister. She was a smaller, far more feminine version of the men in her family—slender and raven-haired with brown eyes, the Harrigan schnozzle, and a stubborn chin. She wore work clothes, dusty jeans, an oversize T-shirt, a ball cap, and well-worn riding boots.

“What’s with the
what
?” he demanded.

“The Goth look.” She gestured at her own clothing. “All the black. Are you socializing or holding a wake?”

Zach leaned his folded arms on the railing. “Samantha,” he said with exaggerated patience, “I realize you’re an old married woman now and no longer know what’s hot, but puh-lease. Women go for black.”

“Really?” Sam gave him another once-over. Her expression wasn’t encouraging. “Is it some sort of ‘watch out, babe’ look?” She shrugged. “Miranda is really cute, but you didn’t mention that this barbecue was going to be a date. No wonder you wanted my linen napkins.” She peered through the screen door at the kitchen table. “Which, by the way, I see you aren’t using.”

Zach straightened away from the rail.
Shit
. Sam was right. He’d gone overboard with his dress. He glanced at his watch. It was three forty. He had twenty minutes or less to change clothes and finish up the last-minute things in the kitchen. “Sam, I need to run.”

“Hold on a second. I’ve got a question I wanted—”

“Can it wait?”

His sister scowled up at him. “I suppose. But it really won’t take—”

That was all Zach heard. He dashed back upstairs and in two short minutes of rummaging was once again wearing his town clothes—which equated to halfway new and clean without too many wrinkles. He was reaching for his boots when he heard a feminine voice calling from downstairs.

“Hello, Mr. Harrigan? Are you there?”

Zach shoved one foot into a boot, grabbed the second, and ran for the landing, hopping on one leg to finish donning the footwear as he went down the stairs. “Yo, right here.”

Mandy stood on the front porch, her dainty nose pressed to the wire mesh of the screen door. She wore blue jeans, sneakers, and a green sweater, with the blue parka draped over one arm. As Zach moved toward her, he thanked God his sister had stopped by. Otherwise he wouldn’t have changed clothes.

“Hey!” he said, trying not to sound out of breath as he pushed open the screen door. “You’re”—
early
—“right on time.”

“A bit early, actually. I’m still learning how long it takes to get out here.”

Miranda—Mandy, he preferred the nickname Mandy—stepped inside. Zach saw Luke sitting outside on the steps.

“Thirty minutes either way is considered on time in this family,” Zach said, appropriating one of his father’s sayings. “I’m the only exception to that rule. The rest of them will be late to their own funerals.” Just then Zach glanced down. He’d snatched one brown boot and one black.
Damn
. Groping for presence of mind, he said, “Hey, Luke. Those steps can’t be very comfortable. Why don’t you grab a deck chair or come inside?” Directing his gaze at Mandy he said, “I have a couple of last-minute things to do upstairs. Soft drinks are in the fridge. Help yourself.”
Look at the fridge, lady. Look anywhere but at my mismatched feet.

Before she could say a word, Zach made a fast U-turn, his destination the master suite, now littered with discarded clothing. Black or brown? At this point he didn’t give a shit which boots he wore. He just wanted two that matched.

Bemused, Mandy got Luke settled on a deck chair and took him an orange soda from the Sub-Zero refrigerator. Had her eyes played a trick on her, or had Zach been wearing mismatched boots? She’d seen men wear socks that weren’t mates, but never mixed-up shoes. Strange.