Page 19 of Game On

“Morning, Mr. Harper,” Nate greeted her dad while he took off his Stetson. “Keely.” His dark eyes held hers just long enough to make her feel flustered.

And to remind her that the quickening of her pulse didn’t have anything to do with friendship, and everything to do with red-hot attraction.

With an effort, she forced her attention back on her dad.

“I’ll go upstairs,” her dad groused in a weary tone, turning out of her grip to take the stair banister with his other hand. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

She noticed that he walked straighter with Nate in the house, as if he could ignore his pain through sheer will. How much longer before he needed the kind of care that her grandfather got in the retirement home? Despite all the unhappy times he’d put the family through, she still remembered the man he’d once been. The father who’d found a home for his daughters when their mother deserted them. He’d worked hard to give them a new life before he succumbed to his broken heart.

“I hope I didn’t arrive too early,” Nate said, his attention lingering on her dad’s retreat for a moment before his gaze flicked to her again.

Was that a trace of pity she saw in his brown eyes?

Defensiveness flared.

She charged down the steps to join him in the foyer ready to get their tour started.

“Not at all.” Sidling past him, she breathed in a hint of his aftershave before she pulled open the door. “I’m eager to smooth things over with Everett. The last thing I want is to alienate local farmers when I’m starting my own farming business.”

Her work boots thudded on the planked porch floor and down the steps onto the front lawn. She needed to get this over with. But Nate stopped to peer around the farm, taking it all in.

“You’ve got the house looking incredible.” He ran a hand along the porch rail before he followed her down the stairs.

“Peeling paint? Warped floors?” she asked, arching a skeptical brow even though she felt a surge of pride. “It’s not exactly a showplace.”

She knew the grounds needed work, but she had devoted a lot of time to breathing new life into the careworn house and outbuildings. The bright geraniums in painted white pots were a cheerful testament to that, even if the mismatched flea market furnishings were an odd assortment across the front porch. She’d painted everything white and it somehow worked.

“It has character—a concept I came to appreciate when Dad started building that monstrosity of a house he lives in now.” Nate scuffed the toe of his boot through the dust in the horseshoe driveway. “My friends didn’t understand why I hated it when there was so much space and everything was new. But it’s about as personal as a dentist office.”

“Having just helped Brittney decorate for the Daughters of Last Stand meeting there last week, I couldn’t agree with your assessment more.”

The brief, shared smile reminded her of how well they used to get along. How much fun they’d had together even when Nate’s father was dragging his family through hell or her own dad was blacked out for days at a time.

Maybe Nate’s thoughts mirrored her own, because he asked, “How’s your dad doing?”

She gestured toward the dirt path that led to the wildflower field, stalling for time as she considered how to answer him. “Better since he stopped drinking. But the damage to his liver has been extensive.” The scent of wildflowers filled the hot air, and she breathed deep, hoping it would sooth her frayed nerves. “He’s suffering the effects of his life choices.”

“He looked confused when I came in.” He walked with her deeper into the fields, past a patch of bright pink teabush and toward the deep red Turk’s cap flowers. “I wasn’t sure he recognized me.”

“Alcoholism can lead to neurological deficits and premature aging. He definitely struggles with his memory.” She wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Dad couldn’t recall the worst of his behaviors during the months of rock bottom. But since she wasn’t going to bring up that, she stopped to show Nate a few rows of lemon beebalm that were past their growing season and changed the subject. “I could offer some space for tomatoes here, by the way.”

The whining buzz of cicadas filled the morning air as the sun beat down on them. Leaves brushed the backs of her bare calves as she stood beside him, waiting for his verdict on the space.

Or, at least, hoping she’d managed to redirect their conversation.

“Do you have anyone else helping him?” Nate asked instead, as if he hadn’t even heard the tomato suggestion. “A nurse’s aide?”

As if she could afford something like that. The chasm between Nate’s world and hers had only widened in the years since they’d split.

“No, but it’s less work now than a few years ago when he was really out of control. It’s fine.” She shuffled her feet, needing to move on. “So I’ll show you the other location I had in mind.”

She moved deeper into the field, brushing past the rows of sunflowers. He caught up with her in two steps.

“What do you mean ‘out of control’?”

*

Nate wasn’t backingoff his question, even though everything about Keely’s body language shouted at him that he was overstepping by asking about her dad.

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