met her look directly. “I told you. I was a farm boy. Worked with my father for years.”
“And this farm was...?”
“Central New York. About two hours east.”
“And now—”
“Sold. Nearly two years ago.”
She’d have to be blind or foolish to miss the note of regret in the lawman’s eye, a resignation in his tone. Knowing the intricacy of maintaining a profitable farm, she had no trouble understanding how difficult that must have been for Marty. “I’m sorry. These are hard times.”
Zach’s gaze agreed, but he pasted a smile on his face as footsteps approached the back door. Piper took his cue and dropped the conversation. “Hey. You guys made record time. Marty, you’re showing me up.”
Berto kicked his boots off, came in and headed for the kitchen sink. He indicated Marty as if they were long-lost best friends. “Me, too. I had to move quickly to pretend to keep up.”
His words put a smile on Marty’s face, a genuine look of pleasure.
“Amazing pancakes.” Zach made the pronouncement as he helped himself to another one. He paused, eyeing Piper’s hand and the uneaten cake. “You haven’t eaten yours.”
“I will.”
“It’s cold.” He swiped hers with an athlete’s dexterity and handed her the hot, buttered cake roll he’d just made. “Eat this one while it’s hot, because I don’t make sacrifices casually.”
She took a bite of the rolled-up pastry and agreed with him on one thing: the tubed cakes were fine cold, but they were melt-in-your-mouth delicious while warm.
But she didn’t buy that he didn’t make sacrifices casually. His job, his presence, the slightly careful attention he paid his father?
She was willing to bet Zach Harrison made casual sacrifices every single day, but was too darn nice to know it.
* * *
Piper moved farther into the town hall conference room that evening, but kept toward the rear purposely. Getting out quick at meeting’s end meant getting home early, always a plus.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a new but familiar voice offered softly, far too close to her right ear to ignore. “We could have come down together.”
Goose bumps prickled Piper’s arms, and she didn’t have to turn to know who was standing behind her at the crowded bicentennial planning meeting. After meeting him three days ago, Zach’s voice had already found its way past her defenses. Not good. Not good at all.
“I walked down.” She didn’t turn so he moved closer, off to her right, his arm snug against hers in the crowded conditions. A good fire marshal would demand that thirty people, minimum, should leave because the room was grossly over limit, but the fire marshal was on the board and knew how to pick his battles in their small town. “My great-great-grandparents were some of the original settlers.”
“Generational farm.”
“Yes.” She turned to face him more fully and recognized the bad move in record time. Away from him, it was easy to dismiss his breadth and solidity. That strong, stalwart commanding presence. In the abstract, she could write off his warmth, the humor in those bright blue eyes, the air of protection he carried intrinsically.
Up close now?
Not a chance.
He smiled down at her, and something in the ease of that grin called to her, but she’d been there, done that and wasn’t about to repeat the mistake, especially in front of over one hundred townies as the meeting was called to order.
Twenty minutes in, Piper was glad she’d left Lucia home with the girls. Lucia’s patience thinned with protocol, and by the time they’d waded through last month’s minutes and changes and voted on those changes, she was ready to head for the hills herself.
“Why don’t they send the minutes out as an email, ask for adjustments, make those adjustments, then start the meeting with acceptance of the amended minutes?” Zach whispered the question into her right ear, having no idea what the tickle of breath did to her pulse.
“I dare you to make that suggestion.”
He swept the aging crowd a look, then shrugged acceptance. “Gotcha.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?” He leaned closer again. Piper pointed front and center where an aging woman with a really bad dye job stood, jabbing a finger toward the bicentennial board appointees.
“Violet Yardley, our resident revivalist. She’s rich, owns land that straddles both counties and wants things her way.”
“South shore, not far from Clearwater, adjacent to the vacant campgrounds.”
“That’s one of her properties. Yes. I take it you’ve patrolled down there?”
“Troopers, sheriffs and the occasional Clearwater cop have been called on-site, even though it’s off the Clearwater jurisdiction. Empty cottages and spaced-out kids from the city make a bad combo. She wants to run the show here, huh?”
Piper slanted him a quick look of approval. “She can’t, but she’ll make a solid attempt.”
He placed a strong but light hand on her shoulder, a touch that meant more when accompanied by his words. “Can’t blame folks for trying, can you?”
“Blame, no.” She met the twinkle in his gaze with a solid look of determination. “Refuse? Yes.”
* * *
He heard the words. Read the look. And he wasn’t foolish. He’d seen the careful way she’d handled his question about Luke Campbell the previous night, but for whatever reason, God seemed determined to put this woman in his path. Was it random chance that he bought the house abutting her farm? Or God’s will?
He’d have declared “chance” three days ago. Now? He wasn’t so sure. He’d seen his father smile. Rescued a miniature goat. Had his heart won by two little girls bent on mischief.
Whatever the reason, he liked Piper McKinney’s company, but she’d shied away from him. Hint taken. He’d just had nearly two thousand dollars’ worth of pressure-treated lumber delivered to his backyard. For the next two weeks, manual labor, power tools and the scent of sawdust would mark his time. With his father’s help, maybe they could complete the project in the next thirteen days, leaving his hunting season vacation intact. And maybe it would get Marty’s mind off his change of circumstance.
“Do we have representatives from law enforcement here this evening?” The board chairman scanned the crowd as he asked the question.
“Here.” Zach raised a hand, drawing attention from the surrounding room. And with that attention, he noted that more than one person saw him standing closer than was necessary to Piper McKinney. “Trooper Zach Harrison, New York State Police.”
“And here.” From the other side of the room Luke
