His gaze promised fun and a well of tenderness. Both men drew her in, and she could imagine, oh so easily, being cocooned between them, their heat hers, their scent intoxicating her. She couldn’t help it. She was alone. She sighed and let those images sink in.
“Okay, Pammy-pooh”—she used her father’s nickname from when she’d been little—“time to come back to reality. Make supper for your brothers and dad, shower, get dressed, and await the arrival of Adam and James.”
They were having supper in the city together and then attending a performance of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Every other weekend, they’d go somewhere and do something together. She didn’t care where they went or what they did, as long as she was with them both. Time will come soon enough when they’ll be on their way home to Texas.
As she put her turn signal on and began to drive down the long laneway that led to the house, she shut away thoughts of that time soon to come. Instead, Pam set her mind to organizing the supper she’d make for her dad and brothers. A quick glance at her watch told her they’d be coming inside in about an hour. She caught sight of Byron, working amongst their small herd, and waved. A quickly raised hand let her know he knew she was home.
Her dad and her other brother, Joey, might be inside the long milking shed. Their equipment demanded constant attention. She worried, sometimes, about the future. Her dad wasn’t very open with regard to his finances. She knew that he’d taken on a larger mortgage in the aftermath of her mother’s lost battle with cancer. There’d been no insurance, and the medical bills had needed to be paid immediately.
Reginald Franklin never complained about money or its lack. He took on the deeper debt and continued to work hard. He’d made a fuss when Pam had given up her apartment in the city and come back home. He told her she should be out grabbing her own dreams, planning her own future. She’d just hugged him and told him the truth. Family was everything, and she was happy to do what she could to help, period.
He tried to refuse rent from her, but she told him, even with what she offered to pay him, she was saving a fortune and banking that for her future, and she was grateful for the opportunity to do so.
The last few weeks, her father had seemed a little more withdrawn than usual. It was the way he got when he was wrestling with a problem and was mentally working out the solution. She’d been tempted a few times to ask him about it. But she understood her father’s pride might already have been prickled some accepting rent money from her, so she just let it go.
Most likely there was a situation with the herd or the equipment or such. He was pretty good at figuring things out, and when he couldn’t buy new, he was very good at jury-rigging something. She did her part to help. She cooked breakfast and supper and set sandwiches out in the fridge and sometimes soup in the slow cooker. That slow cooker was one of the best inventions, ever.
Cold soup taken from the fridge in the morning and set into that little marvel was piping hot for lunch time. Tonight’s supper would be roasted chicken and vegetables. She’d set everything in the roast pan that morning and only had to put that pan in the oven.
Pam pulled her Ford Mustang into the parking area at the side of the house. The clock was ticking. She’d get the supper on and then head for her room.
Pam entered the kitchen, a bounce in her step, and pulled up short. Her father stood in the doorframe between kitchen and hallway. The look on his face reminded her of that awful day, eight months ago, when he’d told her about her mother’s illness.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Everything. I’m an old, stupid man, sweetheart. A damn fool!”
“Daddy?”
Her father, looking years older than his forty-nine, scrubbed his face with both hands. “Come into the office, Pammy. I’ve made a mess of things, and I need to tell you all about it. You need to make some plans for yourself. Come the summer, this farm won’t be ours any longer.”
As she settled into the chair across from her dad, with that old, scarred oak library desk separating them, Pamela thought back to when her father had built this little space where he could take care of farm business. They’d all had a hand in the building of it, this small, not much bigger than a closet space that had once been an odd alcove to the living room. Her mother had said she was grateful, because now she had a normal, rectangular living room. Buying the next carpet would be easier, thanks to Dad’s new office.
It’s hard to remember what the living room looked like before. Pam inhaled deeply, grabbing calm. Her father’s hands were resting over top of what looked like a magazine, and his hands were trembling, just slightly.
“What happened, dad?”
“I just wanted to make things better. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of your life here, when you should be out there, searching for your happiness.” He shook his head. “This isn’t on you, Pamela. It’s on me.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “I knew you’d never leave here, not as long as we’re struggling to pull the business out of debt.” He fell silent for a moment. She knew he meant the debt that they’d had to take on when her mother was sick. Only three months from diagnosis to her passing, and the debt had been massive.
“We’ve been through this, Dad. We’re family. Of course, I’m going to help.”
“And miss your chance at happiness? Maybe…maybe this mess I made is for the
