like you just got yourself another assignment while I’m gone. My daughter here wants to learn the ropes and since I’ll be away, that means you’re the guy who gets to teach her.”
Ashley gasped. “What?”
Rick’s voice sounded confused. “What?”
“It’s perfect. Ashley really did take enough accounting and business courses to be able to manage the farm. After three months of you explaining the technicalities and putting her through the paces, and me working with her for three or four months after that, she could take over next summer when I sail around the world.”
Ashley swallowed. “Sail around the world?”
“Yes. I hadn’t made concrete plans yet, but that’s always been my ultimate goal. And now that everything seems to be falling into place here, I can put this thing in motion.” He headed for the door. “Before I give Rick the tour of the farm, I’m going to run upstairs and grab my cell phone.” He faced Rick. “I’ll just be a minute.”
With that he walked out of the den and absolute silence reigned. Ashley was so stunned she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. Rick Capriotti had no trouble finding his voice.
“Congratulations, Ms. American Literature Tutor, it looks like the tables have officially turned for us.”
At seven o’clock that night, tired and furious, Rick jerked his extended cab pickup to a stop in front of his sister Tia’s house. After a hectic day of not only being shown around Seven Hills Horse Farm and meeting hands, but also being reminded every thirty seconds of things he would need to teach Ashley, Rick’s nerves were strung so tightly that he worried he’d snap.
He didn’t like the idea of having to show the ropes to the woman who he remembered as being a spoiled rich girl too snotty to do him a favor back in high school. He liked even less that he’d continually noticed that she had grown up rather nicely. All day his attention had been snagged by the way the sun glimmered off her pretty yellow hair. Or the way her green eyes seemed to catch fire when she held back her anger. Or the way the jeans she’d put on to tag along on Rick’s tour of the farm made her look tall and sexy. The whole time he was supposed to be remembering names of employees and details of the farm, he was noticing her. And he didn’t even like her. Hell, he didn’t want to like her.
Frustrated, he ran his hands down his face. He needed a shower and a beer. Too bad he wasn’t going to get either for at least two hours.
Jumping out of his truck, Rick glanced at the neat and proper French Colonial house before him. His sister Tia and her new husband, Drew, who had been a neighbor of the Capriotti family for more than ten years, were expecting their first child, so she was doing most of her work as an advertising consultant from home. Knowing how busy she was, he’d hated to impose on her to babysit his six-month-old daughter, but when he, Tia and his mother sat down to figure out his dilemma, it was Tia who suggested he leave Ruthie with her.
He jogged up the three steps of the wood plank front porch to the entryway. Before he could knock, Tia opened the door, holding Ruthie on her arm. Tia had dressed the baby in lime-green one-piece pajamas and tied a white ribbon bow on the wisp of nearly black hair on the top of her head. That little bit of feminine fussing combined with the way Ruthie’s blue eyes sparkled, sent a tremor of guilt through Rick. He did not know how to care for a baby. He was lucky to get Ruthie through the day with the basics. He never thought of the nice things Tia did as second nature. His poor daughter had really drawn a losing number in life’s parent lottery.
Reaching for Ruthie, he said, “I can’t begin to thank you, Tia, for babysitting her.”
His dark-haired, blue-eyed sister laughed. “Rick, this is my pleasure. Not only is Ruthie the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen, but also I need the practice.” She smoothed her hand along her stomach, which still looked fairly flat to Rick, but he knew better than to say anything. Tia was thrilled to be pregnant and ready to shout it from rooftops. She wanted to be showing.
“Besides, my caring for Ruthie here at the farm, away from prying eyes in town, is the perfect way for us to keep her a secret until you figure out how you want to handle this.”
Tia motioned for Rick to follow her into the foyer, then down the hall to the gray, yellow and beige kitchen. As Tia began packing the baby’s rattles and plush animal toys into the diaper bag, which sat on one of the kitchen chairs of the oak table in the breakfast nook, Rick said, “I just don’t like the idea that we even have to keep her a secret from Dad.”
“It can’t be helped. Dad’s already nervous because it’s the first time in over a decade that he has an opponent in the mayoral election. If we tell him about Ruthie, especially that she’s Senator Paul Martin’s granddaughter, he won’t be able to hold a conversation without Mark Fegan knowing something’s wrong,” she said referring to the editor of the Calhoun Corners Chronicle who supported her dad’s opponent, Auggie Malloy.
“You’ll be the most logical reason for Dad’s extra nervousness, since your being home is the new thing in Dad’s life. I’m guessing Mark will assign his daughter Rayne to investigate and with her experience on the Baltimore newspaper she’ll easily uncover that you spent four years on and off running with Senator Martin’s daughter. And once Rayne finds Jen Martin, she’ll find Ruthie.”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so. Jen lived with her mother in Europe while she was pregnant and had Ruthie there. No other paper has picked up on it.”
“Maybe not. But what if Rayne does? What do you think her instincts will tell her to do if she discovers that while Senator Paul Martin, high-profile member of the board of directors for Americans for Morals, was preaching family and commitment in his latest campaign, his daughter abandoned her child to a guy most noted for being a rodeo bum?”
Not insulted by Tia’s description because it was accurate, Rick knew exactly what Rayne would do. She would sell the story to a national newspaper or magazine. Then Rick would be in big trouble. There was only one way for a man who made a career out of being a staunch supporter of family to counter his own daughter abandoning a child: rescue the child from her disreputable parents and raise the child himself.
Rick kissed Ruthie’s cheek. There was no way on God’s green earth he was going to let that happen. Not only did he love Ruthie, but Jen had told Rick a thing or two about Senator Martin after seeing her dad posturing on television one day. The most revealing of which was that he’d forced her mother to sign a nondisclosure agreement when they divorced because he had been physically abusive toward both Jen and her mother. Jen had had no reason to lie, and Rick couldn’t think why the senator would want a nondisclosure agreement unless he’d done things in the marriage that he couldn’t afford to have revealed. That also explained why Jen’s mom found it necessary to move halfway around the world to be away from him. She was afraid of him.
It wouldn’t be the first time a politician lived a double life. And, truth be told, Rick didn’t give a damn if Senator Martin preached one thing and practiced another, as long as he didn’t try to get custody of Rick’s baby.
“If you think this through,” Rick said, as his sister continued to gather toys and stuff them into the navy-blue quilted diaper bag, “there’s really no reason for me to ever tell anybody who Ruthie’s mother is.”
Tia shrugged. “For now. As long as nobody goes digging, you may never even have to bring up who Ruthie’s mother is. But you’re eventually going to have to tell Ruthie.”
“Not really. I was toying with the idea of telling Ruthie that her mom is dead.”
Tia grimaced, as she continued to gather Ruthie’s things. “I don’t know, Rick. I think that might come back to burn you. Jen could change. She could suddenly grow up and want to see her little girl and then she will look like the mom desperately trying to have a relationship with her daughter and you’ll look like the dad who lied.”
Knowing that was true, Rick said nothing.
Zipping the diaper bag closed, Tia said, “You