The Ranch She Left Behind. Kathleen O'Brien
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of all the clumsy, fussy little girls out there, for not losing your temper.â
For a minute he looked truly confused. His brows drew together a fraction of an inch, and he tilted his head one degree. âOver ice cream?â
âPartly ice cream.â She raised her eyebrows. âBut mostly...attitude.â
âAh. The attitude.â He sobered slightly. âWell, weâve got kind of a special case, becauseââ
âDad, letâs go.â
The little girl had emerged, still scowling, clearly not happy to see her father talking to Penny. At the same moment Danny came around the counter, big silver containers in both hands, whipped cream oozing in snowy rivers down the sides.
âHere you go!â He beamed. âExtra whipped cream, extra cherries, I even threw in some jimmies.â
He tilted one of the floats, eager to show off the happy face heâd made with cherries and sprinklesâand he almost lost his grip on the slippery vessel. For a few laughing, chaotic seconds, both father and daughter were absorbed in trying to make the transfer without upsetting another drink.
Penny took advantage of that moment to slip out, her legal pad tucked safely under her arm.
Yes, she was running away. But it didnât feel like the same kind of cowardice sheâd hated in herself earlier. It was more...preservation of something inexplicably special.
She simply couldnât bear to let the girl start quizzing her again about why sheâd been drawing Dad. And, for whatever reason, she didnât want the frozen-time beauty of their accidental kiss to become...ordinary.
She moved quickly, let the door fall shut on the chimes behind her, and then turned left, making her way toward her car.
Time to go to Bell River. She could handle it now. She felt, in fact, as if she could handle anything.
Still hugging her legal pad, she took a deep breath of the crisp August afternoon air. She felt so buoyant she had to make a conscious effort not to skip, or break into song.
She might have made a fool of herself in there, but looking foolish hadnât killed her.
In fact, it had made her sizzle and pop inside. As if Danny had put her under the soda water spigot and injected her with fizzy carbonation. She felt free.
The idea of freedom was so new, and at the same time so old, that she laughed out loud. A saleslady who had been arranging flowers in front of a store looked up with a cautious smile.
âMay I help you?â
âNo, thanks,â Penny said, smiling. âIâm fine. I know exactly what I want.â
And, for the first time in years, that was true. She did know what she wanted.
She wanted to be herself.
* * *
MAX TWIRLED THE rusted pressure relief valve at the top of the cottageâs water heater carefully. Ellen had tried to grab a quick shower earlier, but turning the spigot had triggered a series of banging, popping noises. Sounded like sediment buildup to Max.
Since theyâd arrived in town almost a week early, he couldnât blame their landlady for the problem. And since it was Saturday, he couldnât expect a plumber to come out on a momentâs noticeânot without charging a fortune in overtime.
âDad, call the plumber. Itâs not like weâre poor,â Ellen had whined, disgusted. She took after Lydia that way. She didnât mind how long he sat at the drafting table sketching blueprints for his newest office complex or luxury resort. In fact, at those times, sheâd brag to her friends about her father, the Important Architect.
But work that left him dirty, or smelly, or disheveled? That was embarrassing. Just one of the things they were in Silverdell to unlearn.
âWe would get poor in a hurry if we never did anything for ourselves,â he had responded calmly, though heâd known it would make her roll her eyes.
It had. But he couldnât continue catering to her quirks simply to avoid an eye roll. Nor could he keep indulging her whims, as he wanted to, just because she was angry, lonely and motherless.
Heâd finally accepted that his job was harder than that. Nothing let him off the hook when it came to responsible parenting.
Responsible parenting. Even his grandfather wouldnât ever have used such a stupid expression. It sounded like the stuffiest, most judgmental jackassery....
He groaned. No wonder Ellen thought he was boring. In her estimation, thirty-four was already ancient, and his endless talk of work ethic and responsibility and self-control clearly made her want to puke.
For a moment, his thoughts returned to the woman at the ice-cream store. Wonder what Ellen would have thought, if sheâd seen the woman come right up and kiss boring old dad, right out of nowhere?
She probably would have puked.
But Maxâs reaction had been very differentâand a little unnerving. This eccentric young woman wasnât really his type. She was the âlittle girl lostâ typeâand heâd been around long enough to be fairly cynical about that particular female style. In his experience, it was usually either a sign of dysfunction, or pure sham.
She was clearly in her early twenties, and she had a shy but stunning beauty, as if she were something magical that was accustomed to living in the forest. A swinging, colorful dress over playful cowgirl boots. Long, brown hair pulled back by a simple tortoiseshell headband, falling down her slim back, as glossy and healthy as a childâs.
No, Flower Child doll wasnât his type. He was thirty-four, not fourteen.
And yet, when she kissed him, every atom in his body had leaped to attention, as turned on as if he actually were that breathless fourteen-year-old. For about three incredible seconds, time had stood still in a glittering pool of sexual awareness.
And then she was gone. Just as well. Ellen hadnât seen the kiss, but she was an eagle-eyed little thing, and she was always spoiling for a fight, always looking for proof that she wasnât important to Max. If the kiss had gone on much longer...
He couldnât help wondering whether heâd see the woman again. Silverdell was a small town, so unless sheâd been passing through, another meeting seemed inevitable. And awkward.
It might be better if she was merely a tourist stopping for a respite from driving. It would be oddly disappointing to meet her and discover she was a fake, or a fool, or a mother of four.
Heâd far rather remember their encounter as a rare, mystical moment when his cynicism had evaporated, his âresponsibilityâ had dropped away, and heâd kissed a fairy forest creature.
âAre you done yet?â
Ellenâs voice, impatient, wafted into the basement. He snapped back to reality.
âNot yet. A couple more minutes.â
He refocused, though he hated to mentally return to this shadowy, dirty basement where the water heater stood, its silver cylinder winking oddly, picking up whatever light broke through. He hated basements. He always had, even before Mexico. But responsible parenting meant he couldnât succumb to his aversion.
And, in the end, the basement was just a big, dusty rectangle of concrete. He could leave anytime he wanted. Funny how often he reminded himself of that when he entered tight spaces or underground rooms. The doors were open. His hands and legs were free.
He could leave anytime he wanted.
He double-checked the garden hose connection on the drain valve one more time before letting the hot water through.