Page 7 of Harvest Moon

“That’s perfect, sweetie,” she answered with a relieved-sounding sigh. “Birch and I will come pick you up tomorrow evening. We can bring Uncle Dima one of the Grove apple pies.”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. “Are you trying to buy me from Dad with a pie? I think he’ll take it, don’t get me wrong, but I like to think I’m worth more than a pie, even if it’s a really good one.”

“I mean, it is areallygood pie. Rowan makes the best pies,” she lowered her voice before continuing, “but you’re worth more than every pie ever. Thank you, Alexis.”

“You know I’m here for you always, Claudia. Anything you need.”

We hung up, and I flipped my trunk open, starting to roll clothes up and stack them inside, before remembering that Mom had called me to dinner a few minutes earlier.

Well, that worked out anyway, didn’t it? She wasn’t going to be thrilled, but what could she say? No, Alexis, you can’t help your sick cousin? I didn’t think so. Not that I was obligated to do what my mother said—I was over twenty, for goodness’ sake.

It was just going to be a lot easier if she smiled and helped me pack than if she muttered about red lipstick and Claudia being a bad influence.

For a second, my mind turned to Ridge. What would he think about me leaving? Well heck, he didn’t even have time to have dinner with me when I’d practically begged for it. He probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone.

In fact, maybe while I was with the Grove pack, I’d have a look around. See if any of their alphas were looking for a mate. See if I could be what someone needed, even if it wasn’t Ridge.

My chest tightened at the thought. It felt wrong, even considering another alpha. But what was I going to do, spend my whole life waiting for something that was never going to happen?

4

Ridge

When I walked into the local bank at right around ten in the morning, I made a beeline for the nice-looking lady behind the desk. She sat in front of the hallway full of offices, and when I got close, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“’Morning, ma’am.” I gave her a nod, and she tipped her head to one side, looking me over. I didn’t have many nice clothes, but I’d put on the second-hand khaki slacks I’d worn to graduation, and one of my nicer checkered shirts, but it was plumb hot out, so there was no way any damn person was getting me into a tie. Hell, on the drive over, I’d almost crashed rolling up my sleeves just to try and catch a breeze in the warm September air.

“I’m Ridge Paterson, of Paterson Farm, just down the road. I was wondering if I could talk to somebody about a business loan?”

“Do you have a meeting scheduled?” Her fingers clacked, bright, glossy red nails catching my eyes as they flew over the keys fast, no doubt shooting a message off to one of the offices in the back.

“Nope. Think I could get one?” I shot the lady a smile and leaned on the counter. She didn’t go for it.

“Just a second.” She pursed her lips, typed a bit more, and then looked up at me with a faint, professional smile. “I think one of our loan officers might be available. If you’ll take a seat over there, he’ll be out shortly.”

“Shortly” dragged out too damn long. It was pushing eleven, and I’d given up trying to stop shaking my heel, when a man in a shiny, light gray sport coat came out from the back hallway.

“Mr. Paterson?” he asked, already sticking his hand out to shake. I got up too fast, gripping his palm tight.

“Yes, sir. That’s me. And you are?”

“Chuck Novak. Nice to meet you. Why don’t you come on back, and we can talk about how we can help you?”

I nodded and followed him to his office. The walls were that creamy off-white color that didn’t show dirt easily and was always inoffensive to everybody. It was also plain boring, but in a bank, who minded that?

The carpet was short and tight, some kind of blue-gray. But the wooden baseboards were polished to a high shine. Something about the place, and this guy, Chuck, who seemed levelheaded and pleasant, put me at ease. This was going to work out.

“So what are you looking for today?” he asked, slipping into a black leather swivel chair behind one of those enormous L-shaped desks important people sat behind all day.

“Well, I’m trying to buy the old family farm.” But as I explained the situation to him, how my parents were set on selling it quick as anything and how much they were thinking to get for it, his attention drifted. By the end, he only had one question.

“Can I get your social security number, and we’ll see what packages you qualify for?”

I gave it to him, and I didn’t like the way his lips thinned when he typed it in. The ball on his mouse clicked as he scrolled through pages and pages. I couldn’t see the screen, but from the look on his face, I could tell it wasn’t showing him anything good.

“Your debt-to-income ratio’s a little high,” he said slowly.

Licking my lips, I pinched my hands between my knees to keep from fidgeting and sat back in my seat. “I know. Student loans, mostly.”

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