Once Upon a Valentine Page 7

  10

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Andrew threw himself into the laundry list of things that needed to be completed. Repairs to the house and property were finally done, and Tessa was in discussion with a representative from the State Park for the parcel of land. Over the phone he negotiated a deal with a small manufacturer to produce enough of the hair conditioner to fill the orders from the home shopping channel. And he secured an agent to approach both Prince and Hollister about purchasing the Mane Squeeze formula, although he knew it could take months—maybe longer—to finalize a deal. After viewing the clip from the successful segment Summer had done for the hair conditioner, the agent mentioned the deal would be sweeter if he could offer her up as a spokesperson to the winning bidder.

  Andrew had told the agent he would let Summer know.

  Not that he’d seen her lately, except from afar. Every day after work she came by to feed and exercise the horses. He knew the moment she arrived because Truman leaped to his feet and barked until Andrew let him out, only to return an hour or so later to scratch at the door, whining and depressed.

  Andrew caught sight of her a couple of times in worn jeans and that battered cowboy hat, but resisted the pull of her, which was harder now that he had firsthand knowledge of the pleasure of her company…and her body.

  He knew Summer had feelings for him, but she was operating on a school-girl crush and the romantic notions of a woman who hadn’t seen the world and didn’t want to. Her life was here in Tiny with the land and the horses, a place he didn’t want to be. This had been his father’s life. It would never be his.

  He glanced at the urn of ashes on the mantel, still frustrated about what to do with them. It was so like his father to keep this last part of himself from Andrew, too, to have his ashes entailed away with the land that he’d loved more than he’d loved his son.

  Andrew ground his jaw. This was one decision he could make on his own…and in his own time frame. His father had refused to visit him when he was alive, but now, like it or not, he would spend some time in the place Andrew had chosen to call home.

  So he didn’t feel guilty when he placed the urn in a box of his father’s personal items on the floorboard of the passenger side of his car the next day when he packed to leave. He took one last look at the freshly painted house and neat yard and thought his mother would at least be pleased that he’d gotten it back in shape for the new owner. He had left the sale of the property in Tessa’s capable hands. Red had also promised to keep an eye on things.

  Andrew swallowed hard, fighting emotion and nostalgia, knowing it was natural to have pangs about selling one’s childhood home. But his life awaited him in New York.

  So he whistled for Truman to jump into the passenger seat, then climbed behind the wheel and drove away, telling himself the gnawing in his gut would subside. Some of his apprehension, he knew, was due to the fact that he was stopping to say goodbye to Summer.

  It was Sunday morning, and he hoped to catch her before she left for church. Truman loped alongside as he walked to her front door. He rang the doorbell and waited. It was a sunny spring morning, with a crisp breeze blowing. From this vantage point, he could see her vegetable garden in the distance, studded with hardy plants that could be nurtured through mild winters. He squinted at the gossamer sheen on areas of bare dirt—probably a layer of insulating cloth.

  The door opened and Summer stood there, dressed in a pretty skirt and blouse, her hair held back from her face with a scarf. When Andrew couldn’t seem to find his voice, Truman said hello for them. She looked down and scratched the dog’s happy head. Then she looked back up.

  “Hello, Andrew.”

  “Hi,” he offered. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  She looked past him to his car sitting in the driveway, then back to him. “I heard you were leaving today.”

  “You heard?”

  “You know how word travels around here. So…you’re going back to New York?”

  “That’s right. Home.”

  Her mouth tightened. “Do you want me to keep Truman?”

  “No, I’ve decided to take him back with me.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll like being cooped up in an apartment all day.”

  “It’s a condo,” he corrected. “And it’s not so bad. I live near some really nice parks.”

  She nodded in concession. “I’ll keep an eye on the horses. I’m going to put an ad in the newspaper to try to find homes for them.”

  “Use this,” he said, withdrawing a check from his pocket.

  She held up her hand. “No, I couldn’t—”

  “It’s the projected proceeds for orders from the home shopping channel. Actually, it’s not much after taking out start-up costs for the manufacturing plant, but I want you to use it to take care of the horses as long as you can.” He extended the check. “Please…take it.”

  She pressed her lips together, but relented. “Thank you.”

  “The agent who’s selling the formula agreed to represent you if you’d be willing to be the spokesperson for whatever company buys it. It might require some travel, but the money would probably be good.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think that’s possible now.”

  “Because you’re still mad at me for selling my father’s formula?”

  “No.” She lifted her hand to remove her scarf.

  Andrew gaped. Her hair wasn’t pulled back…it was gone. Most of it, anyway. “You cut your hair.” His voice sounded accusatory even to his own ears.

  She touched the pixie-short locks and gave a little laugh. “Yes.” She nodded toward her vegetable garden. “The birds have it now.”

  The thought of her beautiful mane of hair being scattered over dirt and left for the birds made him sick to his stomach. “But…why?”

  She shrugged. “Time to let go of old habits. Don’t you like it?”

  Once the original shock wore off, he realized the absence of her voluminous hair threw her fine-boned face into relief. Her cheekbones were high, her nose shapely. Her neck was long and elegant, and the short bangs set off her cornflower-blue eyes. She was as stunning as any runway model and still the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. “Yes…I do like it.”

  Their eyes met. Snatches of the night they’d spent in the hotel rose in his mind and his hands itched to reach for her, to kiss this beautiful woman with the gamine haircut and lie down with her.

  She looked away, breaking the spell. “Anyway, as you can see, no one’s going to be asking me to endorse Mane Squeeze.”

  She’d cut her hair purposefully because she didn’t want to be associated with the product if it was no longer connected to Barber. Andrew nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Summer cleared her throat. “I saw Tessa in town the other day. She said she’s close to making a deal with the State Park for your dad’s farm.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Will you be back when that happens?”

  “No. The paperwork can be handled remotely.”

  She nodded, and seemed to exhale. In relief?

  A loud meowing noise sounded behind her, then her butterscotch-colored cat came into view. The Persian tossed insults at Truman until the dog’s ears and shoulders drooped.

  “Shush, Gabby,” Summer said, then smiled at Andrew. “She’s actually going to miss him, I think.”

  Gabby denied Summer’s claim with a yowl, then turned her back on Truman and walked away, her tail swishing.

  Truman looked up at Andrew and whimpered.

  “I think that’s our cue to get going,” Andrew said to the dog.

  “So I guess I won’t see you again,” Summer said. Her voice was light, but her expression was unreadable.

  “Probably not,” he agreed.

  “Well, then…safe travels.” She leaned forward to give him a brief, platonic hug. She released him quickly, then gestured to her hair with a wry smile. “No chance of me getting caught on you again.”

  While he diges
ted that statement, she crouched down and hugged Truman to her. “Goodbye, boy. I’ll miss you every day.”

  Truman barked and licked her face. Smart dog.

  Andrew wanted to say something—it’s been nice, I’m sorry, good luck—but everything that came to mind sounded shallow and patronizing. As Summer had said before, she’d been fine before he arrived and would be fine after he left.

  Instead, he simply lifted his hand in a wave and walked back to his car. He felt her recriminating gaze on him throughout. She thought he’d turned his back on his upbringing, on his father’s wishes. He’d let her down.

  Andrew told himself it didn’t matter, and put the car in Drive. He drove slowly on the roads winding back out of Tiny for a final look at the place where he’d felt so confined as a young man. It was a pretty town, with a safe, insular community, and the people were kind.

  But he didn’t belong here anymore.

  As he drove past the retail area, he idly scanned the shop marquees and blinked in surprise because they heralded, “So long, Andrew!” “Come back soon, Andrew!” and similar sentiments every few feet.

  Andrew swallowed a lump in his throat. From the box of his father’s things, Barber’s ashes mocked him. You won’t get a personal welcome back to Manhattan.

  True enough, he admitted. In fact, not a single person in the dense city had probably noticed he was gone.

  Truman looked at him, and Andrew reached over to scratch his neck. “Don’t worry—you’ll like it there, I promise. No pesky females to torment you.”

  Truman barked in agreement, then lay down in the seat, settling in for the ride, his paw resting on the urn.

  11

  ANDREW PINCHED THE BRIDGE of his nose in frustration. “Just go, Truman, for heaven’s sake.”

  Truman glanced around the park at other dogs who were crouching obediently to “go” for their owners, then looked up at Andrew and whined in confusion. Then he spotted a squirrel in a tree and lunged. Andrew held the leash, with Truman straining at the other end. “Stay…stay, boy! Remember how to ‘stay’?”

  Apparently not, since the dog began to bark incessantly, and when Andrew reprimanded him, he lifted his muzzle and howled as if his heart was breaking. The other people and pets in the dog park stared at the full-out canine meltdown. Andrew half tugged, half carried the traumatized dog back to his condo. Truman promptly dropped next to the fireplace where Barber’s ashes sat on the mantel.

  Andrew surveyed the homesick dog with a sigh. A week into city living, Truman was not adjusting well to concrete, traffic and leashes. The dog had worn himself out. His eyes were closed and his chest heaved with slumberous breaths.

  He was, Andrew thought, probably dreaming of wide-open fields and a certain Persian cat he liked to chase. Not that Andrew could criticize—his own dreams the past few nights had been haunted by a place where birds’ nests were woven from strands of silken blond hair.

  Just the thought of Summer made his chest ache…not to mention other parts of his body. He’d returned to work in his corner office on the fortieth floor of a building with a tony address, but moved through the days like an automaton. He’d caught himself staring out his window on more than one occasion. This afternoon he’d watched the landscapers on the ground far below and envied their freedom.

  And somehow, the valentine that Summer had given him all those years ago had wound up in his briefcase. He found himself pulling it out at the oddest times, when his mind should’ve been on serious matters and instead chuckled over the horse cartoon and her “I think you are awesome” message written in girlish cursive.

  Now he glanced over his living room and marveled once again over the similar arrangement of his father’s furniture and his own. He walked over to the mantel and adjusted the urn to center the engraved design. His hand tingled, almost as if his father were speaking to him.

  Go home.

  Andrew stood there infused with wonder. In a flash of enlightenment, his mind opened…and received. In a torrent of raw emotion, he surrendered to the knot of agony in his chest. Summer was right. He’d been focused on all the wrong things.

  He loved her. He wanted to be with her, even if it meant living in Tiny. Together they could market his father’s formula, and make a life together. His mind raced as the possibilities unfolded. He yanked up his phone and called Tessa Hadley. With no preamble, he told her to cancel the sale of the farm.

  “I’m sorry, Andrew, but the papers were signed four days ago—the transaction has already gone through. You got your asking price, I thought you were pleased with the deal.”

  His heart sank. “I am…I was. Will you call the representative and tell them I’ll buy it back for ten thousand more than the State Park paid for it?”

  She reluctantly agreed, and called back in a few minutes. “I’m sorry, Andrew, but the buyer isn’t willing to sell the property back to you at any price.”

  He closed his eyes. What had he done? “Okay, Tessa, thanks.”

  He disconnected the call. The crushing weight of failure pulled on his shoulders. He’d let his father down. He’d let himself down.

  He would give the proceeds of the sale of the formula to Summer for her horse-rescue program. At least he could feel good about that. But a sale could be months in the making and meanwhile, he knew she was scrambling to relocate the ten horses in her care.

  Needing to feel close to his father, he pulled out the box of personal items he’d removed from Barber’s desk. Most of them harkened back to Barber MacMillan’s veterinarian days—appointment books, photos and journals. Andrew poured himself a drink and settled down to read the leather-bound diaries, hoping to gain some insight into his father.

  The stories were amazing. Andrew was drawn in to his father’s world of animal patients and their owners, of a thousand mundane details of living in Tiny that somehow his father spun into absorbing gems. He often mentioned his beloved wife. But most remarkable to Andrew were the entries about himself—his father had raved about his son’s talents and intellect and divulged that he feared he would lose him because “he is too big for this place.”

  And when Andrew had left, his father was bereft. Until that moment, Andrew hadn’t realized how much Barber had missed him. The holiday visits that Andrew had found so frustrating, Barber described as joyous. He’d been despondent every time Andrew had driven away.

  Andrew wiped his eyes and kept reading until the wee hours. His father mentioned Summer in many of the entries, what a sweet, beautiful person she was and how he hoped she’d find a good man to love and take care of her. He also mentioned the conditioning formula he was secretly developing, how Red was getting suspicious about the money he was spending on his clandestine project and how he was considering telling Andrew about it. He was afraid his son would think he was a fool.

  When Andrew closed the last diary, a folded piece of paper fell out. He picked it up and realized it was the hair conditioning recipe, the same one that Summer had shown him in the binder she maintained.

  Except on this paper, next to the amount of water required for a batch of Mane Squeeze, his father had written, “I realize now the secret ingredient in the formula isn’t the aloe and evening primrose oil, but water from the cave spring. I believe it has something to do with the limestone that filters the water. Horses that eat limestone-fed grass in Kentucky and Tennessee have stronger bones, so it follows that the mineral-rich water would make human hair stronger, too.”

  Dazed, Andrew touched his forehead. Water from the cave spring was the secret ingredient? And maybe limestone made it special…or maybe it was something else in the depths of the warm spring. Not that it mattered. Without access to the water to test and use in the recipe, the formula was of no use to anyone.

  He pushed to his feet and walked to the mantel with a heavy heart. His father had been right about so many things…if he’d only listened. He only had himself to blame for losing the farm, the formula and Summer. But there was one thing he could d
o for his father—he could spread Barber’s ashes over the land he’d loved.

  He picked up the urn. Truman stirred, then lifted his head. “Come on, boy,” Andrew said. “Let’s take a ride.”

  12

  FUELED BY ADRENALINE and a clear head, Andrew drove through the night to arrive in Tiny just after dawn. The roads were buzzing with school buses and farm trucks…it was the picture of Americana. Truman became more animated as his surroundings became more familiar. When they drove past Summer’s house, he barked excitedly.

  “If she doesn’t want me, maybe she’ll still take you,” Andrew offered.

  As he drove onto his father’s property, it occurred to him that the State Park might have already put up fences or posted a security guard on the property, but to his relief, there were no barriers. He climbed out, cradling the urn. Truman was ecstatic to be back home and bounded away happily, making tracks in the frost-laden grass.

  It was a cool morning, with a stiff breeze blowing. His light jacket felt good as he walked past the stables and headed out into the fields. He turned in the direction of the tallest rise on the farm, a pretty little hillock not far from the cave spring. Andrew climbed to the top and turned to survey the MacMillan property, deeply grieved that he’d been so short-sighted as to sell it, and not just because of the cave spring.

  His family’s sweat and tears were in this land. He opened the urn and slowly upended it on a breeze that carried the ashes away in a mesmerizing, swirling pattern. Truman chased the dust, as if he knew what it represented. Andrew lowered the empty urn, satisfied. Now his father’s ashes were part of the land, as well.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispered, “for getting it all wrong.”

  After a few moments of silence, Andrew retraced his steps toward the house, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time…except about one thing: Summer. After he’d ruined things so thoroughly, would she even talk to him?

  As he approached the stables, he heard a horse whinnying as if in distress, and loud banging noises. He hurried toward the stable and found Sallie, the last horse Summer had rescued, wild in her stall, kicking and keening.