the odds of their killing each other within the first forty-eight hours. What they’d discovered instead was that, somewhere along the line, they’d both mellowed. Not that they now shared a brain or anything, but at least enough to enjoy each other’s company.
Especially during those long, lovely periods that people referred to as “companionable silence.”
The countryside in this part of Oklahoma tended to be hilly, nestled up against the Ozarks the way it was, and Sam’s farm was no exception. The spread wasn’t particularly large, her father said, fifty acres or so—but Sam was determined to wring every drop out of the land he could. Dad explained that the larger fields were devoted to wheat, alfalfa, and corn, with a large vegetable garden that yielded not only plenty of produce to feed the family, but enough left over to sell at a local farmer’s market as well. Then there were the fruit trees—three kinds of apple, not to mention pear and cherry—the chickens, the cows, the two pairs of hogs that produced several litters a year…and plenty of pork in the freezer, he added.
Carly shuddered, which got a chuckle. “That is what farming’s all about, you know.”
“Yes, I do. It’s just all a little too hands-on for me.”
“You loved it as a kid.”
“Gram and Gramps had a dairy farm. They milked the cows, they didn’t eat them.”
“No, they ate somebody else’s. And where do you think those fried chicken suppers came from? KFC?”
“Dash my idyllic childhood memories, why dontcha?”
Her father laughed, a good sound. The sound of someone on the mend, she decided.
They’d come to a fallow field smothered in late season grasses and wildflowers. A lone oak alongside another farmer’s post-and-rail fence, its side scarred from a long-ago lightning strike, beckoned them to rest a while. Carly’s knee was more than ready to take the tree up on its offer. They lowered themselves onto a patch of cool dirt, both taking long drinks from their water bottles. At a comfortable distance, a pair of cows munched, their ears flicking, tails swishing. One of them disinterestedly looked in their direction.
“Your mother would have loved it here,” Dad said. “The mountains, the trees…she used to say there was nothing finer than the smell of country air.”
“If you like earthy.”
“You’re too young to be so cynical,” her father said mildly, twisting the cap back on his water, and she thought, Young, hell. I feel as old as these hills.
And very nearly as worn down.
But truth be told, some of her best childhood memories had come from summers spent on her grandparents’ farm. Except that was then and this was now, and that little girl had up and taken off some time ago.
Leaving in her place a cynical, lame woman destined to become a dried-up old prune of a dance teacher with dyed black hair and too much eye makeup who still wore gauzy, filmy things in an attempt to fool herself that she was still young and lovely.
There was a heartening thought.
“I’m glad you suggested this,” Dad said.
“The walk was your idea, remember?”
“Not the walk. The trip.”
Drawing up her legs to lean her forearms on her knees, Carly angled her head at her father. “Even though I drove the truck into a ditch?”
“Especially because you drove the truck into a ditch.”
“You know, you might be more ready for that home than you think.”
Dad laughed. “What I mean is, this gives us an excuse to stay put for a few days. Absorb some of what we’re seeing. Get to know the people who live here.”
Oh, yeah, a definite selling point. Carly turned around to stare at the cows. They stared back. Sort of. “I suppose,” she said, mainly because she didn’t want to argue.
“Guess we’re both at a sort of crossroads, aren’t we?”
Since that sounded a heck of a lot better than dead end, she said, “Yeah. Guess so.”
Her father took another swallow of his water. “You got any idea yet what you’re going to do when we go back?”
A logical question from a man who’d—logically—expect his thirtysomething daughter to, you know, have a plan? Since she no longer had a job? Never mind that it now struck her, like the proverbial bolt of lightning, that she’d apparently suggested this trip in order to avoid thinking about The Future. And now here The Future was, planted in front of her like a used car salesman, refusing to go away until she at least sounded as though she’d made a decision.
But she’d gotten real good at faking out her dad over the years. Goading him was one thing. Worrying him was something else, she thought as a surprisingly cool breeze sent a shiver over her skin. Dad had no idea how much about her life she’d chosen not to let him find out. A situation she had no intention of changing.
“I thought I’d see about teaching at the company school.” Actually she hadn’t, not yet, but it sounded good. “And you know Emily offered me a job.”
“That’s in Chicago, right?”
“Right outside. Lake Charles.”
“Gets damn cold up there.”
“Oh, and like Cincinnati’s so tropical?”
“I’m just saying.”
Saying what was the question. But, as she was so good at doing, she turned the tables on him. “What about you? Planning on going out for canasta champion at the Senior Citizen center?”
Lane blew out a half laugh, then shifted to lean against the tree trunk. It seemed strange, seeing her father so relaxed. Not bad, just strange. “Actually bumping along on all these back roads the past month must’ve jostled something loose in my brain, because I’m thinking of starting up some sort of consulting business. Something I could do from home, mostly, by computer.”
Well, hell—this was the first positive thing to come out of her dad’s mouth since Mom’s death. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“That’s a terrific idea, Dad.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
His gaze sidled to hers. “You could help me, you know.”
“Oh, right. Doing what, for God’s sake?”
“Haven’t figured that part out. But I’m sure we could think of something.”
“Dad. What on earth do I know about business?”
“You’re a smart cookie. You’d catch on.”
“Man, you weren’t kidding when you said you knocked something loose.”
“I’ve always thought you were smart, Lee. It was just your common sense I had issues with.”
“A subject I gather you brought up to Sam,” she said before she even knew the words were in nodding distance of her brain.
Dad skimmed a palm over his short hair, looking everywhere but at her. “Your name might’ve come up once or twice.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t remember, actually. What difference does it make?”
“None, I suppose. Except I’m not sure I appreciate being described as a ‘handful’ to a total stranger.”
“As if the man wouldn’t have figured that out on his own after five minutes in your company. Besides, don’t tell me you’ve haven’t always prided yourself on being a pain in the can.”
This