Grace Under Fire, page 4
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
Her nod amused Ryan.
“We’re not doing a good job of it so far,” he pointed out.
Opening the back of her van, she lifted the trolley onto the tray, taking her time packing it away. Grace was one of the few farm kids who’d wanted to stay on the farm. Like him, she was the kid who’d done the mucking out, who had farming in their bones. His goals were different now. Although he had some sympathy for what she was trying to do, making it more important to establish boundaries in their relationship from the get-go. He wanted her off-balance, before she could unbalance him any more than she had.
Finally, she faced him. “I’ve got something to ask you too.” She needed to work on her tone, however, her proposition was purely fascinating.
He wanted to touch her—and wasn’t that a surprise—to slide his fingers through the short curly mop he bet she considered practical. It framed her pixie face, giving it a luminescent appeal. Her body was easy on the eye too. A bit on the lanky side, but she had curves. And dips. And the promise of lushness. He gestured over her shoulder. “Fancy a coffee in a public place?”
She jiggled the keys in her hand, assessing her options. “Okay.”
Ryan wasted no time, turning and heading across the street to the small café. He ushered her through the front door and into an old-fashioned booth. He dropped his hat on the bench seat beside him. She slid off her sunglasses, swinging them from side to side between her thumb and two fingers before looking pointedly at him. He flicked his sunglasses down his nose.
“Is there something you want, Grace?”
“Take off the glasses, Ryan. There’s no sun in here.” Her blue-green eyes twinkled. A family thing—all three Anderson girls had the same almond-shaped eyes and pretty lashes.
“I’ve got sensitive eyes.” He folded his glasses and set them on the table between them, feeling more exposed than he’d expected by the simple act of meeting her gaze with no protection. Her small smile of victory irked him.
Resting her elbows on the table, she propped her chin on her hands. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Ladies first.”
She opened her mouth, then spotted the hovering waitress and eased back in her chair.
“Changed your mind, Grace?” the waitress asked.
“Ryan changed it for me. Just a coffee please.”
“I could do you a good cheese sandwich.” The waitress giggled.
“Just coffee, please, Susie,” Grace said.
“Same for me.” Ryan turned back to Grace as the waitress moved away, enjoying the byplay. “I didn’t know this café was one of your customers?”
“Not yet.” She played with the salt cellar, her fidgeting confirming she was touting for more business. “I provided some samples to test their interest.”
She needed a friendly bank manager.
Maybe she just needed friends?
Her father had sounded Ryan out a few weeks ago. Asked whether he was still interested in buying Blue Sky. Brian’s approach had been indirect, but Ryan hadn’t doubted his purpose. He’d hidden his surprise, been as careful in his answers as Brian in his questions, but open to continuing the conversation. Once at his computer, Ryan had played with ways and means to make it happen. The older man had called back this morning to tell him it was no longer available. Because Brian knew Ryan could keep a secret, he’d said Grace was buying the farm.
“I’ll go first then. Brian told me you’re buying the farm.” He waited for the explosion. Instead she crumpled, blinking back tears he couldn’t not witness. Damn. “I’ve made offers in the past, and he was setting me straight.”
“When?” she asked, her voice scratchy from swallowing her shock.
“This morning.”
“I didn’t know.” She was clearly blindsided to discover her father had confided in him.
“And you object to Brian talking to me about the farm,” he stated, frustrated by her wariness.
“It’s not for me to object,” she replied. The waitress set a coffee in front of her, the enticing aroma filling the space between them.
He nodded his thanks for his own coffee, waiting like Grace for the waitress to move away. Grace could keep a private conversation private. Good to know.
“Is that why you want to talk to me?” She had more prickles than an echidna.
Watching her expressions change as she battled with herself was instructive. Annoyance warred with curiosity warred with self-interest. She’d slap him down if he offered for the place. But whatever she wanted from him was keeping her at the table. A guy could dream she wanted his body.
She frowned at her cup, then gave him an up-and-under look. “To convince me to sell?”
“Faster to wait for hell to freeze over.” He stirred sugar into his coffee. “Brian’s one of the most decent men I know. There are things about our relationship you probably don’t know.”
Her wrinkled nose told him she didn’t like him sharing secrets with her dad. She’d been her father’s shadow for as long as Ryan could remember and resented interlopers. He respected Brian Anderson, the steady way he worked, the decency he showed anyone who worked for him or with him. And his composure.
“Spit it out, Ryan.” She tapped her fingers on the table, the short nails making a rat-a-tat-tat on the bare wood. Grace’s personality was more firecracker, although she and Brian had achieved a lot in the last two years. With time she’d grow into her father’s legacy on so many levels.
“After Danny’s funeral, your dad paid for a labourer for three months to help my mother.” Ryan had her full attention. “I’d like to repay my debt now. Supply a labourer for three months so he and your mother can leave the farm immediately.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“You look like a guppy.”
“I don’t.” She frowned, then met his gaze. She was smart as well as sexy. “You’ve already made the offer to Dad.”
“This morning,” Ryan agreed.
“And he accepted?” She looked like she’d landed in a country where she didn’t know the language.
Ryan nodded. She’d known nothing about the deal done a decade ago. Another debt he owed her father—Brian Anderson had safeguarded Wilson family dignity.
“Why now?”
He could see her working it out, sucking in her protest and appreciated the effort it cost her not to throw his offer back in his face. Maybe she had changed, tamed those high spirits so she didn’t always attack first and apologise later.
“Because he needs it now, and I’m in a position to repay it.” He gave her a part truth. Grace needed help now, and her father was giving her cover.
“Cocky bastard, aren’t you?” Her fingers had restarted their drumming. “You’ve been back two years and could have paid him out at any time.”
“He refused.” Brian had told Ryan to forget it. Ryan had decided now was the perfect time to renew his offer. He prided himself on repaying his debts. Shifting the dynamics between him and Grace was a bonus. “Until now.”
“I don’t need your charity.” Her words confirmed the rumours she wasn’t good at accepting help.
“If Brian’s selling to you, this is my last chance to pay him back,” Ryan countered, confident his logic was irrefutable.
She studied him over the lip of her coffee cup, weighing the odds, weighing him, and more than lust for her stirred. Ryan admired what she’d made of herself, how she’d convinced her parents to go with her, the shift from the old to the new at a time when it was risky to do so. Buying the place now was a huge commitment and an even bigger challenge.
“What did you want to ask me, Grace?”
“I heard you’re hiring.” She stared over his shoulder.
“You were going to ask me for work?” His turn to be caught off-guard. She must love Blue Sky if she was prepared to set aside her animosity towards him and beg for work. Her determination to buy the farm or kill herself trying annoyed the hell out of him.
“I am asking you for work,” she insisted.
“When the hell do you think you can work for me?” he demanded. Her resolve staggered him and reminded him of the boy he’d been when he’d have done anything to keep his family farm. “Between midnight and four in the morning?”
“I’ve got ideas.” She peered down her nose at him, as haughty as any landed gentry he’d ever encountered, and damn if he didn’t find that a turn-on as well. “You know that. Donovan would have told you I acted as an advisor on improving his property. Long conversations,” she emphasised, “about restoring native grasses to reduce methane production and make him more self-sufficient in feed. That corridor of young trees in your back paddock was my idea.”
“Advice at no charge.” Ryan had already owned the Donovan place and had okayed every one of her suggestions. Talking to her about his own ideas had appeal—preferably in a big bed after a bout of hot, satisfying sex.
She shrugged. “Times change.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee, pissed off because he’d worry about her now. More pissed off because she’d reminded him of dreams he’d buried along with his brother. Her cup was long since empty. Still, she sat opposite. What the hell was keeping her at the table?
She started fiddling with the spoon. “I hear you’re using some new-fangled ‘inhumane’ farming methods.”
“Didn’t know you listened to local gossip.” Ryan was indifferent to the gossip but intrigued by her change of direction. “Not so new-fangled. I’ve heard the trash talk.”
“Robots milking cows does sound cold-blooded.” She was curious as hell and trying to be casual.
“Ever seen it done?” He threw out the lure. Like throwing Satan a bone.
“I’ve done some research.” She was watching him intently.
“And haven’t ruled it out?”
“The start-up costs are high, and an increasing number of people are in favour. Done right, it lets cows choose their time of day for milking and recognises individual animals. Overall, it increases yields and reduces labour costs.” More conversation than she’d offered him in two years.
“I do it right.” He was impressed by her concise summary, although he’d discovered since he’d been home, she was one of the most progressive farmers in the district.
“You aren’t tied to being present for set milking times.” Was that a whisper of envy in her voice?
He nodded. “That’s one of the benefits. If you’re a family farm and relying on your own labour, reducing it sounds like a good idea.”
“Are you keeping data on how it works?” She relied on data, not just hunches to improve her farm, another interest they shared.
“Sounds like you’re not completely opposed to the idea. Want to see it in operation?”
She sat back in her chair, but he caught the flicker of excitement in her eyes. If robotics appealed to her, he’d let her play with them to her heart’s content, and he’d use them to get to know her—not rely on his memories of his brother’s best friend.
“Come to my place.” Ryan waited a heartbeat, watched the flicker build to a fire. “Have a look around.”
“Is that a bribe?” She shut down so fast his head was spinning, going from echidna to thorny dragon in seconds, her hostility a shield to deflect all comers.
“Why would I need to bribe you?”
“To gain respectability, acceptance in the valley.” She tossed the hand grenade into the conversation. Accusing him of being an outcast when he’d exiled himself. Another grudge she held against him.
“As an organic producer, you’ve got your own problems with acceptance.” He signalled for the bill. “You do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”
“I apologise for that. I was rude.” She fell silent when the waitress arrived, then hovered as Ryan paid with his credit card. “Can I—"
“Replay the last twenty minutes, Grace. From my perspective. You were ungracious about having an extra worker and offensive when I invited you to my place. Yet you expect me to jump at employing you for your superior farming knowledge.”
Ridiculous to be attracted to a woman who thought he’d crawled out from under a rock. Although he couldn’t fault her for opinions forged in the hell of Danny’s death. The man he was had grown from the boy who hadn’t been able to save his brother. She couldn’t blame him any more for his desertion of Danny than Ryan did himself.
“I’ve said I’m sorry.” She got to her feet, raised her hands in surrender, then dropped them.
“You have to be sorry for an apology to mean anything. If you weren’t so caught up in your own prejudices, you’d see I’m already accepted in this district.” He let his cynicism creep through. “It’s easy if you invest in land and throw a bit of cash around.”
Ryan followed her out of the café, jamming his hat on his head and donning his glasses. She crossed the road, head down, making for her van. He matched his pace to hers, heading for his vehicle—separated by a gorge deeper than the Kali Gandaki.
“Grace, Ryan.”
Hearing his mother’s voice, Ryan removed his hat and took the few steps to bring him to Grace’s side. Turning tail, as he’d intended, would bring a rebuke. Grace was one of his mother’s favourite people.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilson. How are you?” Grace moved easily into his mother’s hug.
“Hi, Mum.” When Grace stepped back, he leaned forward to kiss his mother’s cheek. Grace huffed out a breath, and he didn’t care if she was pissy. She knew nothing about his relationship with his mother.
“Fine.” The woman smiled, brushing her prematurely grey hair behind one ear. She was worn beyond her years, and the sense of powerlessness he’d known as an adolescent ripped through him. He’d never been able to earn enough, do enough to help her until he left the farm. Paying the bills, phone calls and letters hadn’t filled all the gaps left by long separations.
“I nearly didn’t recognise you through those aviator glasses, son.” An old joke, but close enough to the message Grace had delivered in the coffee shop to make him squirm. “I heard your stall was a huge success at the Show, Grace.”
“It went well.” A wry smile replaced Grace’s stiff politeness. “Pity it took so long to convince the dinosaurs on the committee to allow organic producers to participate. Pure prejudice.”
“A little bird told me you had a lot to do with the change, Ryan. Congratulations to you both,” his mother beamed. Damn! He’d hoped to keep his involvement quiet.
“Ryan!” Grace squeaked, raising her glasses to peer at him. He’d never die not knowing what she thought.
“According to my source, a grumpy old bloke from the Chamber of Commerce, who shall remain nameless”—his mother chuckled—“didn’t believe Ryan at the meetings, but my boy was right. Showcasing organic brought new customers.”
“I’ve made representation to them for years.” Disgust radiated off Grace. “Ryan swans in here and they accept his suggestions overnight.”
“He is a man.” With her tongue firmly in her cheek, his mother shredded all grumpy old men.
“It’s ridiculously unfair,” Grace wailed.
“Which bit?” Ryan said, however, Grace should know better than to get riled by the resident troglodytes. “That women don’t seem to know their place is in the kitchen anymore? That I won them over where you didn’t?”
“Damn you, Ryan.” Clearly, she hated learning he’d been the one to sway the committee. Did she hate him?
“Does it matter, when you got to strut your stuff?” He let some of his frustration show.
“How’s your mother, Grace?” His mother adroitly changed the subject.
“She’s starting to kick the pneumonia.” Grace hauled in her irritation. “Dad’s taking her away for a holiday shortly.”
Ryan pushed his hands into his pockets. For all her friendliness, Grace wasn’t telling his mother the truth. Protective of her family? He would be too in her position.
“That sounds lovely.” The woman observed him, then her eyes slid back to Grace. “And now I understand.”
“Understand what?” Grace asked.
“Bluey said he’d be starting work at Blue Sky soon.”
“I’d forgotten”—Grace sent Ryan an unreadable look over her shoulder—“I mean, I’d forgotten he boards with you.”
His mother blushed, and Ryan raised a quizzical eyebrow. His suspicion about her relationship with the nuggetty farmhand was confirmed. Bluey more than rented a room from his mother.
He glanced at Grace. “He knows the work.”
“Tell your mother I’ll call by to see her,” his mother said to Grace, then tugged Ryan down to cuff his ear. “You can get your mind out of the gutter.”
“That’s not where it was!” He laughed.
“Mum would like a visit.” Grace waited until his mother turned the corner before confronting him. “How come I was the last person to know about the debt you’re repaying?”
“You were a child at the time.” Whereas his brother had been an innocent. They all grew up overnight when Danny died.
“I was fifteen. You’re two bloody years older than me. How did that make you an adult and me a child?” She threw a hand in the air in exasperation.
“You’re the one throwing the tantrum,” he growled, although she’d taken a risk letting him know she was looking for more work. Sharing the information she’d do almost anything to keep the farm was a kind of trust, whether she knew it or not.
“Fine.” She slapped a hand against her thigh. “Good.”
He reached out and caught her arm as she swung away, pulling her back so she bumped against his chest. She fit in his arms, and he took a risk. “Your father understood how desperate Mum and I were. And is decent enough not to trample our pride. He’s desperate now in a different way.”
Her breath was warm against his cheek.
A second’s truce, making him want more. “Are you going to stuff up our deal?”
“That’s offensive.” Tough words but she sounded chastened.
“As offensive as you suggesting I need to be anointed by you to be accepted in this district.”
