But at least he was talking to her.
Heat swept her cheeks, but she had to ask. “Would it be possible to stay with you? Just until I find my own place.”
“If you’re bent on stayin’, there’s a motel down the road a ways.”
She bit back a sigh. A motel it would be, though she couldn’t afford more than a couple of nights. She’d better find a job quick, or she’d be sleeping in her car.
“But it’d be a hell of a lot easier on everyone concerned,” he continued, “if you just headed on back home and forgot about writin’ a check I won’t ever be able to cash.”
She tipped up her chin. “Easy got me into this mess. I’m not going anywhere.”
Approval was too much to hope for, but anything other than the stark disbelief on his face would have been welcome.
“You got you into this mess. Anyways, what kind of job you thinkin’ you can get in Castle Creek that’d pay enough to get you out of debt?”
She was tempted to tell him she’d be dealing drugs, but he’d probably believe her. “Any job that’s available.”
His face said that yeah, he’d believe her. “Dad.” He flinched yet again. She’d have to find something else to call him. “I’m not the same person I was. That’s why I’m here. To prove that to you.”
“I’m not interested in your money, and I’m sure as hell not interested in your promises.”
“Eugenia, too. I want you to know she’ll get every penny back.”
He paled, and his thick arms dropped to his sides.
Oh, no. “You two aren’t together?”
“Not anymore.”
So it was more than the return of the prodigal daughter that had him looking so miserable. “May I ask what happened?”
His expression soured. “She wanted to invite you to the wedding.”
Kerry sucked in a breath. This wasn’t going to work. Why had she thought this would work? She stumbled in a half circle and started back to the driveway. She’d managed two steps when the voice she’d heard calling her father stopped her.
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
Kerry hesitated, then turned slowly back around as the woman added, “Harris? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
A tall, striking redhead in overalls and a long-sleeved plaid shirt almost identical to the one Harris was wearing stood sandwiched between him and the girl who’d run out of the house earlier.
“I’m Parker Macfarland and this is my daughter, Natalie. When Harris here isn’t home practicing his grump face, he’s pretending to help my husband and me run this place. And you are?”
She already knew. Kerry could tell by the chirp in her voice.
“No need to be pokin’ your nose in the pepper patch,” Harris said stiffly.
Parker offered him a lofty eyebrow. “If you’d followed that same advice, I wouldn’t be about to celebrate my second wedding anniversary, now, would I?”
“And I wouldn’t be getting a little brother,” Natalie added.
Kerry’s gaze dropped to Parker’s stomach, but there was no telling what she was hiding behind those baggy overalls.
Parker laughed. “I’m about four months along. Overalls aren’t the most flattering thing to wear, I know, but they’re comfortable. Practical, too. The other night I walked out of the house with a roast beef sub and a dozen chocolate chip cookies stashed behind this bib, and no one had a clue.”
“We knew,” said Natalie smugly.
“You did?”
Her daughter rolled her eyes. “You were looking a little lumpy, Mom. I dared Dad to go up and give you a big, squeezy hug, but he said we shouldn’t keep you from your picnic with The Munchkin.”
Her mother’s eyes went soft. “I see.” She smiled at Kerry and patted her belly. “That’s what we’re calling this little guy until we can agree on something more permanent.” Her gaze sharpened. “And speaking of names...”
Kerry forced her lips into a curve. “I’m Kerry.” She couldn’t manage any more than that. Couldn’t bear to see her father flinch again. “I’m glad to meet you. Congratulations on the baby. And on your home. It’s lovely here.”
“Thank you,” Parker said. “It’s about time you introduced us to your daughter, Harris Briggs.”
“Wait, what?” Natalie swept her bangs out of her eyes and passed a frown from the older man to Kerry and back again. Parker made a sound that was half warning, half distress, but the oblivious teen shook her head in confusion. “You never said anything about a daughter.”
* * *
STARING DOWN THE invoice for sixty seconds straight hadn’t scared it into dropping any zeroes, so Gil Cooper slammed it on top of the stack in the accounts payable tray, also known as IOU oblivion. His elbow jostled his coffee cup and tepid black liquid sloshed onto the arm of his shirt, his open package of peanut butter crackers and the fresh stack of bills he hadn’t had the balls to open yet.
Damn it, he’d already rolled his sleeves up as far as they would go to hide the orange juice stain he’d created that morning. Good thing denim could disguise a lot. Since he took his coffee black, at least he wouldn’t be smelling like French vanilla or butter pecan all damned day. Still, maybe he should consider giving up coffee, like he’d given up his beloved sports channels and his Friday night sirloin. He could avoid stains and save a few more bucks at the grocery store.
Screw that. He picked up his Cap’n Crunch mug and tossed back the rest of the not-so-fresh brew inside. If he gave up coffee he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on scrambling an egg, let alone finding a way to keep Cooper’s Hardware open.
His jaw started to ache and he unlocked his molars.
Besides, he’d only find something else to spill.
Gil picked up the carton he’d just signed for, carried it out front and set it on the counter between items that hadn’t changed since his grandfather opened the shop eighty years ago. Aside from the cash register, which Gil had replaced with a digital version, praise God, it was all the same. Friendly Village china creamer with a chipped handle that did a damned fine job as a pen holder. Wicker basket of fresh apples and walnuts still in the shell, complete with nutcracker. Glass jar of stick candies that for some unnatural reason saw less action than the fruit basket.
The smell of the place hadn’t changed, either—at least, not since Gil was a kid. Still a mingling of machine oil, fresh sap, paint thinner and rubber. What would he do if he couldn’t breathe it in anymore?
He swallowed a hot, useless surge of anger and methodically emptied the carton. Smaller boxes of screws, nails, wing nuts, washers. He tossed the outer box aside, picked up a container of
