Ever Faithful Page 8

  So soon. Amy’s mind raced as she mentally flipped through the list of chores waiting to be done. Bales home, cross fencing to do, heifers coming, hay to bale, heifers due to calve, cows down from the summer pasture. Could she and Rick get it all done and still give her enough time to plan a wedding? “Can’t we look at some time in the new year?” she offered hesitantly.

  “I have a convention in Florida on the seventh of November. I was thinking we could make that part of our honeymoon.”

  Amy wrinkled her nose, trying to inject a light tone into a conversation that was beginning to sound distinctly businesslike. “I don’t know if I’m too keen on talking mutual funds and amortization on our honeymoon, Tim….”

  “Well, it could save us money. My part of the trip is paid for.” He leaned forward. “Besides, when would you get a chance to go to Florida again?”

  “Next banker’s convention?”

  “Next one is in Vancouver.”

  Amy swallowed, trying to crush the beginnings of panic roiling in her stomach. She knew she should agree. They were engaged, getting married was the next step.

  But so soon? the other part of her argued.

  Tim waited for her answer, his face expectant.

  I do care about him, she thought. What am I waiting for, anyhow? “Okay,” she replied. “November sounds good to me.”

  Amy opened her purse and pulled out her date book resolutely flipping past the fully engaged month of October and turning to the almost equally full month of November. Hastily she scratched out “Equipment auction—Williams Lake” and penciled in “WEDDING” in capital letters, as if to remind herself.

  “I’m glad we finally have that settled,” Tim said, his smile relieved. “My mom wants us to come to Vancouver to visit the bridal registry. I tried to put her off because I was embarrassed that we hadn’t even set a date. Now we can even order invitations.”

  Amy smiled, taking deep breaths, forcing herself to relax. She was glad to see Tim so excited, and in spite of her anxiety, his ebullience was catching.

  It would all work out.

  Chapter Six

  The sun hung above the mountains cradling the Danyluk ranch when Amy turned into her driveway. It was still early evening. Tim wanted her to stay longer, but thoughts of Paul stuck at her home with her father cut short their time.

  Amy drove Paul’s car carefully up the drive, almost coming to a halt by the dilapidated cattle guard. She inched over it, wincing as the car bounced, almost praying it wouldn’t slip into the ruts and bottom out. She didn’t even want to imagine what a muffler for this fancy car would cost her. The fuel pump for the old truck had set her back enough, and Jack Dilton’s carefully worded warning about their overdue account still hung over her.

  Out of habit she glanced sidelong at the fence. Maybe tonight she might have time to fix it. She stepped on the brakes and stared. Wires stretched from one post to another, tight and even. How in the world…?

  Puzzled, she drove to the house, parked the car and got out. From there she could see the entire fence line. Halfway down she saw Paul. It wasn’t hard to miss the thick blond hair, the broad shoulders. He knelt down, the sound of his blows out of synch with his movements. Amy watched a moment, pleasure knifing through her at his unselfish act.

  It wasn’t right that he was working on their fence, she thought. She had to help.

  She started jogging to the house, then quit. Her shoulder hurt too much. She could hardly wait until it started feeling better. It was a literal pain in the neck.

  She stepped into the house, throwing her purse on the table. A note from Rick leaned against the bowl of fruit.

  Took the tractor to Jack’s. Will get Matilda running first thing in the morning.

  Amy was relieved to know that their tractor was getting Rick’s as well as Jack Dilton’s expert attention. She wondered how much it was going to cost and she wondered why Rick didn’t think he might need to help Paul with the fence.

  Amy dropped the note and glanced at her father’s empty recliner. He had gone to bed early again. When was his doctor’s appointment? She glanced at the calendar. Not for a couple of weeks yet.

  She walked carefully up the stairs to change, frustrated with her shoulder, wanting to hurry. The sight of Paul working while she’d been dallying in town made her feel guilty.

  Ten minutes later, she stepped from the cool air of the house into the warmth outside.

  As she walked across the yard, another pair of fencing pliers in hand, she squinted against the lowering sun to watch Paul nailing up the wires, his back bare. In spite of herself, her heart gave an unexpected thump at the sight.

  Habit, she told herself as she walked down toward him. Eighteen years of hero worship hadn’t faded as quickly as she had hoped. Besides, seeing Tim would have the same effect on her, she thought, even though she had never seen him shirtless.

  She picked Paul’s shirt off the ground, then glanced back over her shoulder at the yard and the green hills beyond them. The memories of the noise and traffic in Prince George made her shudder, but as her eyes drifted over the land, she felt tranquillity smooth away the tension of driving. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sun-warmed air of the Cariboo, undefinable yet so necessary for her.

  She wished Tim would come out more often. She wanted so badly for him to fall in love with the place she knew so well. After their honeymoon they would have time, she promised herself. Once they were living here, together.

  With a soft smile she nodded and carried on down the fence line toward Paul.

  “Hi there, city boy, get that straw out of your mouth,” she called as she came closer. “You’ll get worms.”

  Paul whirled around and smiled, working the offending piece of straw to the other side of his mouth. “That’s just an old wives’ tale to keep farm boys from looking cool.”

  “Well, then, put this back on. You look pretty cool already.” She handed him his shirt.

  “Like Frigidaire?” He asked as he slipped his hands into the sleeves and quickly snapped it up the front.

  “How do you come up with these horrible comebacks?” Amy groaned. “I thought city living would have squeezed them out of you.”

  “Did you come to talk or badger me?” Paul grabbed another staple and pounded it in.

  “I think I’ve always been good at both.” Amy carefully bent over and slipped the gloves on. “So you can go home now. Dad looks like he’s okay, and I can finish from here.”

  “I don’t think so, miss,” Paul replied, pulling a staple out of the pail with one hand as he took the pliers from her with the other. “I start what I finish and you’re not supposed to work.”

  Amy turned a staple over in her gloved hands, feeling torn.

  “Amy, you are thinking again. It’s a habit you’re going to have to set aside for a while. I’m here. I have time. I don’t mind helping. For once in your life take what’s offered.”

  Amy looked up at him, her head tilted to one side, her eyes meeting his bright blue ones. The pull toward him was almost tangible, and she looked away. It wouldn’t be a good idea if he stayed and worked. He’s still too attractive and I’ve got too much of that silly little girl in me. Then she looked at the row of loose wires that stretched away from her. But it would sure help me out if I let him.

  She felt a light tap on her head. “Don’t,” he warned, “don’t think so much.”

  She smiled, shrugged, then winced. “Okay, okay. I’m handing you the staples though.”

  “Of course,” Paul returned with a grin. “We used to make an awesome fencing team. We can do it again.” He saluted with his fencing pliers, bent over and whacked another staple in. “So, did you eat as fast as usual? Is that why you’re home so early?”

  Amy felt more comfortable with his usual banter. “No. Nor did I chew with my mouth open. I wanted to make sure I got home soon enough to return your car and rescue you from my father.” She wrinkled her forehead at him. “So, I almost hate to as
k, but how did it go?”

  “He was okay. We played crib. He napped. I fixed the fence. We played crib. I made him supper. He went to bed and I fixed fence. Pretty routine.”

  “Very routine,” Amy answered dryly, relieved at his easy tone. How Judd and Paul would interact had been on her mind most of the afternoon. What she had forgotten was how easy Paul was to have around and how amenable he could be when he desired. He bore no grudges, only an attitude of surprise that anyone should dislike him. She certainly didn’t, in spite of all the disappointments she had felt over his lack of attention while growing up.

  But even that, she mused as she sorted through the staples, was only a disappointment because of her expectations, not because of him. She picked a staple out of the bucket and handed it to him. He took it carefully, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. Their eyes met and held, his finger still touched hers and Amy felt as if someone had socked the breath out of her chest. With a swallow, she pulled back, fumbling as the bucket fell out of her hands with a clatter.

  Blushing now, she dropped down, digging through the grass, picking up staples. Above her she heard Paul yank on a wire between the posts. “Can you step up the pace, lady?” he complained, his tone teasing. “Sun’s asetting. Time’s awastin’.”

  Amy took a breath and looked up at him, grinning. “You’re in the Cariboo now, city boy. You don’t have to hustle while you wait,” she commented, dropping the staples in the bucket, feeling even more the clumsy country girl. She was positive Stacy never dropped anything. Covering her embarrassment with bluster, she retorted, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your cell phone. How is your broker ever going to get hold of you?”

  “Don’t mock my broker. He gives me great advice.”

  “Buy low, sell high?”

  “Better. He figures I can make a million in a couple of weeks. The only hitch is that I have to start with $900,000.” Paul looked at her with a straight face. “He also told me that there are two ways to lose a million.”

  Amy dropped the last staples in with a grimace, wondering what he was going to tell her. “I hate to do this, but I’ll bite.”

  Paul ticked them off on his fingers. “Betting horses is the quickest, and farming the most reliable.”

  “That guy is so smart, he’s scary.”

  “That’s why I don’t spend a lot of time with him.” Paul winked at her and picked up his pliers again. “What did you have for supper?”

  “Just burgers.”

  “Saving money for your wedding?” he teased.

  “Wasn’t dressed for anything fancier.” She couldn’t keep the defensive tone out of her voice. It seemed to be the story of her life. Never dressed quite right, always scraping by.

  “That shouldn’t matter,” he answered shortly. “You could walk through downtown Vancouver wearing thrift store clothes and still stop traffic.”

  Amy tossed him a sideways glance. “Compliments?”

  He held her gaze, his own steady. “You’re a beautiful girl, Amy Danyluk. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  She stared at him a moment, then turned away, a faint blush warming her neck.

  “And if you wipe that ketchup off your chin you’ll look even better.”

  He ducked as she swung at him. He grinned at her, the mood broken, then turned to look down the fence line. “How much of this fence needs to be fixed?”

  She bit her lip. “Most of it.”

  “How in the world did your entire fence line get run down so quick?”

  “Hardly quick,” she countered. “Rick and I managed to keep the cows in the upper pasture long enough the past few years that we didn’t need this field as much. We’ve been able to hay it most of the years. Unlike your family, we don’t have access to lease land for summer pasture.”

  “And now the upper pasture is overgrazed and you need this one until winter,” he finished for her.

  “Actually that welcome rain a few days ago saved us. It was a real answer to prayer.” She smiled a moment, then turned to Paul. “We need this one for the heifers that are coming. I’m hoping to cross fence it. They won’t need all that land and we’ll be able to hay the rest yet.”

  “Does Tim ever come and help?”

  Amy shrugged carefully. “He’s got a job. He’s busy, too.”

  Paul nodded, and Amy ignored the skeptical lift of his brows. Too many times she had wished that Tim could come and help, but he always had other things he was busy with.

  “Why didn’t you ask my dad for help?” Paul asked. “He would’ve sent one of the boys over. Or better yet, you could have run your cows in our lease.”

  Amy said nothing.

  “Amy?” Paul urged.

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “Dad never wanted to ask. Anytime I talked about it he flew off the handle and claimed we didn’t need charity. I know it’s been hard on him, not being able to work as much, but for my sake, I wish he wasn’t so stubborn.”

  “Well, he talked quite civilly to me a few hours ago, and he hasn’t tried to take the pliers away from me.”

  “He’s mellowing,” she said, smiling at him. “And I sure appreciate the help.”

  “Don’t mention it.” His tone became brisk. “Give that come-along a push, will you, please? We need to tighten the wire. If we want to get this fence fixed, we’d better get off Cariboo time and try some good, old downtown Vancouver hustle.” He winked at her, and they worked in companionable silence until the settling darkness made it too difficult to see what they were doing.

  They walked back to the garage in the cool of the gathering darkness, and as Amy glanced over her shoulder at the tight, even wires, a feeling of accomplishment washed over her. She hadn’t done much work. Handed staples and tightened wire, that’s all. But a large portion of another job was off her mind.

  “Looks good, Paul.” At the garage Amy took the pail from him and dropped her gloves in it. “Thanks for helping.”

  Paul shrugged, rolling down the sleeves of his plaid shirt, grinning at her. “No problem. I enjoyed working with you.” He leaned one hip against the frame of the open garage door, watching as she put away the tools, hanging up the pliers, setting the gloves aside, dropping the pail with a metallic clunk on the ground under the workbench. “I should come over tomorrow and clean this place out for you.”

  “You’ve done enough.” Amy stood up, brushing the dust from her jeans, one-handed. “This can wait for a winter day.” She turned to him. “Do you want a cup of coffee before you head home?”

  Paul shook his head, and Amy felt strangely disappointed.

  “Thanks, anyway,” he said, yawning as he pushed himself off from the door. “I think this city boy better head home.” He looked out over the yard, his hands pressed at the small of his back while he stretched. “I’m tired, and I haven’t worked this hard in years. It felt good, Punky.”

  His use of her old nickname made her feel good inside.

  They chatted, stretching out the accord that sprang up so quickly and easily between them. Their conversation continued as Amy walked Paul to his car.

  “Did the car work okay for you?” Paul asked leaning against the car, content to draw out the farewell.

  “Well,” Amy pressed her lips together, as if contemplating. “Her timing’s a little off and the carb sounds like it could use some cleaning. Misfires going up hills….”

  “That’s not my car you’re describing. That sounds like your tractor.”

  Amy sighed as reality intruded on the moment of peace. “Actually it is.”

  Paul grimaced in understanding. “That bad.”

  “Plus blow-by and a bad injector to boot. Scenario for a motor job.”

  “That’s a pricey touch.”

  “Tell me.” Amy blew her breath out. “Thankfully Rick’s been working on it, and Jack’s been helping. It will cost some, but not as much as if we took it into the garage. Which is a good thing. I’ve been chipping away at our charge account there
but I don’t seem to be making a lot of headway.” She rotated her neck and winced as she moved her shoulder too far.

  “Have you seen the doctor about that shoulder yet?”

  “No. I’ve had to work the past week.” She frowned at him. “Don’t worry, Henderson, I’ll go.”

  “And make sure you get Rick pitching bales when you haul your hay off the field.” His expression was so much that of a protective older brother that Amy wondered how she could have felt anything other than sisterly feelings toward him.

  “I can figure that one out.”

  Paul straightened. He reached over and carefully brushed some dirt off her cheek, his fingers warm against her cool skin. She looked up into eyes that glowed in the gathering dusk.

  “Take care, Amy,” he said softly, cupping her chin a moment. He let his hand drop to his side.

  She swallowed and took a step back, her breath catching in her throat at his touch, the brief contact of their eyes. Her heart did a slow flip as her mind castigated her emotions. Thought you were over him, you big sap.

  Paul waited a moment, then got in his car. She turned abruptly away, stalking to the house, determined not to give him another thought.

  Her shower was brief—tricky to work up a lather in her hair with one aching shoulder, but it felt refreshing, nonetheless. She checked quickly on her father before she went to bed, and left the hallway light on for her brother.

  She crawled into bed, clicked off the light and lay back, waiting for the mindlessness of sleep to drift over her.

  But it wouldn’t come. She carefully moved onto her back, as her mind replayed the events of a busy day. She turned her head, staring out of the window into the soft night outside.

  Could Tim see the stars in town? Could he step outside in the quiet of the night when it seemed the entire world was enveloped in utter stillness? How would he like living out here where the silence pressed in?

  Now that they had picked out a wedding day, she had more plans to make. She didn’t like the idea of Tim’s parents paying. She had some money of her own, but not nearly enough to put on a wedding. And the ranch always seemed to use up whatever extra she had. What was she expected to pay for and how much?