Arlene James - Fortune Finds Florist

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

“Zeke Ontario would never have given me that loan.”

Sam shrugged negligently. The truth was that he hadn’t much liked the dismissive manner in which the man had treated Sierra. So she hadn’t done the smartest thing when it came to her house; she could’ve done worse. Besides, he figured it was understandable. A single mother with a child to raise would do almost anything to secure her home. Maybe she need not have spent so much, but the shock of all that money must’ve gone to her head. Heck, he’d spent that much and more on farming equipment.

“Zeke’s a good guy, but he’s pretty old school,” Sam told her.

“Meaning that he thinks women make good tellers and not much more.”

Sam chuckled. “True, but he gave me a break when I needed it most, and I have to be grateful for that.”

“Yes, of course you do. And so do I since you’re my partner now.”

He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Can’t wait to get started, frankly.”

“When do you intend to start breaking ground or whatever it is you do first?”

Sam looked up at the bright winter sky, then down at the even brighter woman strolling along at his side. “Now seems like a pretty good time.”

Sierra stopped in her tracks. “You mean this very minute.”

He squinted at the sun overhead. “I think I can get a load of fertilizer and most of the equipment out to the farm by dark.” Impulsively, he tapped her on the end of her nose. “By the time you get home tomorrow evening, I might even have that little bottom patch tilled.”

“It’ll be a real farm then.”

“So it will.”

She laughed and shook her head, and for one heart-stopping moment he thought she might actually throw her arms around him, but then she just clapped them on her sides and laughed some more. He laughed, too, as he walked her the rest of the way to her storefront, and somehow the sun seemed to shine even brighter, as bright as the future. Their future.

Frank McAfree dumped his coat on the living room sofa and brought his hands to his hips in what Sierra thought of as his classical “rant” pose.

“What the devil is going on?”

“Well, hello, Dad, nice to see you, too. Glad you could drop by.”

“Don’t change the subject, Sierra. I asked you a question.”

Sierra folded her arms protectively. His carrot-red hair had turned yellow-white in the last few years, and his square face was sagging a bit at the jawline, but he’d lost none of his imposing authority. He’d always seemed larger than life.

“I assume you are referring to the plowing and the greenhouse.”

“Please tell me you haven’t sunk your funds into some harebrained scheme.”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

“Then why plow up all that ground? And just how big of a greenhouse do you need, anyway?”

“My partner and I have decided—”

“Partner?” he interrupted sharply. “Oh, for the love of Mike!”

Sierra clamped down on her anger. “Sam is a well-respected custom farmer.”

“Farming is a very risky business, Sierra,” Frank said disapprovingly.

“I understand that, but Sam knows what he’s doing, and so do our backers.”

Frank blinked at that. “Backers? This project actually has investors?”

“Not exactly. We took out a loan.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “You’re going to lose Tyree’s whole future. Why can’t you be reasonable? If you’d sell this place and move in with me, you could reinvest and make your money really grow.”

“I’m not selling my home.”

“Why do you need this house? Mine is large enough for all of us.”

“I’m not selling my home.”

“Fine. Lose it, then. That’s what’s going to happen.”

Sierra put a hand to her head, where a dull ache had begun. “Dad, did you come here just to scold me, or was there another reason for your visit?”

He scowled, rammed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m concerned about my granddaughter. I called earlier, and Tyree said Dennis is taking her to lunch.”

“Yes.”

“He has no right to see her.”

“He’s her father.”

“He doesn’t pay his child support. He’s just using her.”

“I know that, and you know that, but Tyree doesn’t.”

“Then she needs to be told.”

“For pity’s sake, she’s eight years old!” Sierra erupted. “An eight-year-old cannot understand that her father isn’t capable of loving her.”

“Then keep him away from her! Take him to court if you have to.”

“He’s her father,” she repeated forcefully. “All that will happen if I take him to court is that he’ll be forced to pay his child support and my daughter will be even more angry with me than she is now when they also restrict his visits.”

“Well, you have to do something!”

“I am! I’m doing my best to maintain my relationship with my daughter so if and when her manipulative jerk of a father shows his true colors I’ll be able to help her overcome her disappointment and see that it has nothing to do with her.”

Frank made an exasperated sound, “That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. Keep him away from her.” He shook his finger in her face. “If you had listened to me, none of this would be happening!”

Sierra hugged herself and said nothing, wondering if it never occurred to him that if she had listened to him, they wouldn’t have Tyree to worry about or to love.

It was a difficult morning. Tyree had been glad to see her grandfather at first, but he made so many derogatory comments about Dennis that she was in a surly mood by the time he left, so she argued with Sierra about cleaning up her room before her father came. Sierra wound up threatening Tyree with losing television privileges for the evening if she didn’t get her room straightened by the time Dennis arrived. Tyree was still up in her room banging things around and grumbling about having to do chores on Saturday when Dennis drove up to the house.

Sierra stepped out onto the front porch to have a word with him about the importance of him having Tyree home at the appointed time. The weather held bright and mild. The buzzing of a circular saw filled the air with the sound of progress. Sierra glanced toward the building site perhaps thirty yards away and saw that Sam had stripped down to his undershirt. He finished the cut just as Dennis got out of his car. Sam put aside the electric saw and brushed sawdust from his forearms and hair before peeling off the undershirt and shaking it out.

Sierra smiled. One thing she’d noticed about Sam since he’d started working here was his natural penchant for cleanliness and order. He never put away a tool without wiping it down, and he kept himself and his work site as clean as possible.

Footsteps crunched on gravel. Sierra turned to face Dennis and caught a disparaging look on his face.

“So that’s the plowboy.”

Sierra glared at him. Once Dennis had been handsome. Tall, dark, powerfully built, he had seemed manly and strong, someone who could stand against her father. Soon enough, however, his true weakness had been exposed, and now he seemed to wear it in every tired line on his face and the sag of muscles gone soft. She wasn’t surprised that he’d heard about Sam, but he had some nerve speaking of him in that contemptuous manner.

“Don’t call him that. He happens to be my business partner.”

“Yeah? What’s he plowing besides the field?” Dennis sneered.

Sierra’s mouth fell open. “That’s a filthy thing to say!”

“Oh, come on, Sierra. Everyone knows you’ve bought yourself a boy-toy.”

“That’s a lie!”