“You?” His facial expression was less than confident. “I can do it, really. I don’t want you straining anything.”
She knew her slight figure belied her strength. And she also knew her strength. A girl didn’t haul hay bales and water buckets without building up some muscle tone. She began untying the knots in his tie-downs. When she’d cleared a bushel basket of tomatoes, she hoisted it easily from the truck. Staring at the man’s shocked expression, she smiled and said, “Come on, let’s go.”
Jude succeeded in nabbing a half dozen volunteers she knew from hygiene classes. The entire truck was emptied in a half hour.
“Wow, thanks everyone,” Mr. Gorgeous said when the job was done. The other students left, but Jude, gratefully accepting an apple, munched and waited for the tow to arrive. When it did, she asked the man what he intended to do to get back to his farm.
“I’ll ride in with the tow driver. My brother will pick me up.”
“I might be able to take you,” she said. “Where is your farm?”
“Bees Creek Township,” he said.
“Amazing,” she said. “I’m going right by there.” Never had a lie come so easily.
“Well, then, I appreciate the lift. You’ll really save me some time.” He stuck out his hand. “I don’t think a young lady should offer a ride to a stranger, though. My name’s Paul O’Leary.”
“Jude Foster. Nice to meet you.”
They rode to Bees Creek in Jude’s trusty Volkswagen with its ragtop and five-speed transmission. By the time they pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse, which bore the signs of many coats of paint, Jude was in love.
DESPITE BEING A WIDOW, Jude Foster O’Leary was content with her life most of the time and even happy on occasion. Unfortunately she’d only experienced a very short period being happily in love. And on this last Saturday of November, at her sister Alex’s wedding to the love of her life, Jude had to work at keeping a smile on her face. That was because she’d only been married to Paul O’Leary for two years before he was killed in Afghanistan, and while she was truly happy for her sister, she couldn’t help being miserable for herself.
Paul had left her with an infant son who just turned six a few weeks ago. Jude adored Wesley, even though his appearance was enough like his father’s that sometimes her eyes hurt just looking at him. And she loved the animals she cared for. She loved and respected her father, and she’d always been close to her two sisters, Alex and Carrie. But as anyone who’s ever been in love, or suffered the loss of love, can attest, all that isn’t enough.
Alex was the one in white today, while Jude and Carrie, along with Alex’s daughter, Lizzie, wore floor-length shimmering pink dresses, perfect for the other two ladies, not so much for Jude, who never chose to shimmer for any occasion. Now that the ceremony was over, the bridal party occupied a banquet-length table affording a view of the guests at Fox Creek Country Club. The Fosters had lived in Fox Creek, Ohio, for three generations, so Jude knew most everyone in attendance.
Except the tall guy in the perfectly fitted three-piece suit whose sandy blond hair was meticulously styled in an I-don’t-have-to-try-to-look-like-this way. Jude normally didn’t fixate on men, but when this guy had walked by the table earlier, Jude noticed several details, including the overhead chandeliers reflecting their twinkling lights in his polished shoes. She picked him out of the crowd again as she played with her shrimp cocktail.
“Hey, Carrie,” she said, gently jabbing her younger sister in the arm. “Who’s the slick reality show bachelor sitting at the farthest table to the left?”
Carrie adjusted the glasses that made her look like an adorable nerd. “I’ve seen him before,” she said. “Also that man next to him.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I know now. That’s Lawrence Manning. He’s a dermatologist at the hospital where Daddy works. They’ve been friends for years.”
Jude coughed. “That young guy is a friend of Daddy’s?”
“No, silly. I’m talking about the older guy. I think the younger one is his son. I remember meeting him a couple of years ago when Daddy and I were at a restaurant near the hospital. His name is Ethan or Liam, or...something old-fashioned.”
Liam Manning. The name raced to the forefront of Jude’s mind, but not in a good way. “It’s Liam,” she said. “I remember him, too. We were at a party together when we were kids, maybe ten years old. He was a horrid little monster back then.”
Carrie exaggerated fanning her face with her hand. “Well, he doesn’t look like a monster now.”
Unless monsters came with too-perfect bodies, perfect bronzed skin and aristocratic noses.
“I think you should ask him to dance, Jude,” Carrie said.
“Me? I don’t think this orchestra knows any Western line dances. And I’d only fall over my feet trying to do anything else.”
“Don’t be silly,” Carrie said. “You’re graceful on a horse, why not the dance floor?”
“Because grace isn’t a transferrable quality,” Jude answered. “I think you should ask him to dance. You’re the one with light feet.”
Carrie gave her the cute, conniving smile that Jude had admired for years. “You saw him first.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want him. I was mostly admiring his shoes. Besides, he’s probably married.”
“I don’t think so. I believe I heard Daddy say that Lawrence’s son got a divorce.”
“Oh.” Jude continued looking Liam’s way.
“Doesn’t matter, anyway. Looks like neither one of us will get the chance to dance with Mr. Charming,” Carrie said. She watched her father approach the young man. “I wonder what Daddy’s up to.”
Her father walked up to the Mannings’ table and put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. Martin leaned over, spoke to Lawrence and then into the younger man’s ear. Liam nodded, stood and followed Martin out of the room.
“Now, where could they be going?” Jude said, suddenly suspicious of her father’s motives. “What does Daddy have in common with that guy? He must be thirty years younger than Daddy.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with any of us,” Carrie said. “Are you going to eat the rest of that shrimp?”
Jude wasn’t so sure. Most of what her father did outside his office was about his family. She absently slid the shrimp bowl over to her sister. Martin Foster was a wonderful, generous, supportive father, but she’d bet her sister Alex’s shiny new diamond ring that Martin was up to something. And when Martin Foster was up to something, one of his daughters was usually the reason.
* * *
“NICE PARTY, SIR,” Liam said as he allowed himself to be led toward a quiet alcove away from the festivities. He had a pretty good idea why Martin Foster was taking him away from his table.
