“My mom was an orphan and grew up in foster homes. My father cut ties with all of his relatives before I was born. I don’t know for sure, but I think his family disapproved of my mother. Daddy would never talk about them. He just looked angry when I asked questions. So after he died, I had nobody.”
Rainie’s throat went tight with the admission. She pretended interest in her meal, but her appetite had vanished. Looking back on those years immediately following her father’s death, she wondered if she ever would have fallen for Peter if she hadn’t felt so horribly alone.
“It’s hard for me to imagine havin’ no one,” Parker observed. “I don’t know my mom’s side of the family very well, but my dad’s side makes up for the lack. I’ve got uncles and cousins out the yang.”
“I tried to find my grandparents after Daddy passed away, but none of my letters of inquiry were ever answered. I can only assume they’re dead—or maybe they just don’t care to meet me.”
“They might be dead, I reckon.” He pushed erect and collected his eating utensils. As he strode back to the coffee room, he said over his shoulder, “Seems more likely to me that they never got your letters, though. You’re only twenty-five. They’re probably not that old.”
Rainie listened as he rinsed his plate and fork. When he returned, he paused by the desk to gaze down at her for a moment. “You should try to find them again.”
The time for that was past. Rainie couldn’t even telephone her best friends, let alone risk trying to contact long-lost relatives. Lorraina Hall Danning was dead.
And she had to remain dead.
As Rainie settled into a work routine at the ranch, lunch hours with Parker became commonplace. One day it would be hot pizza, the next take-out Italian or Texas barbecue. Parker paid extra for the food to be delivered because the ranch was so far from town. He always ordered enough for Rainie to join him. At first, she protested. Then she offered to pay for her share. His response was that she could make it up to him with overtime. Only whenever he caught her in the office after hours, he reminded her of the rancher’s philosophy: What didn’t get done today would wait until tomorrow.
Rainie was guarded during their mealtime conversations. Parker, on the other hand, seemed to say whatever crossed his mind. He talked almost nonstop, skipping from one subject to another, and though she said very little, silences were rare. Once, when he realized he had been droning on and on without pause for several minutes, he laughed and said, “Sorry. It can go two ways with ranchers who spend most of their time with animals. We’re either the silent type, or our tongues are tied in the middle and loose at both ends. I love my horses. Don’t get me wrong. I never feel lonesome when I’m with them. But when a human ear is available, I’m a motormouth.”
Rainie didn’t mind. At home, she had only Thomas for company, and the cat wasn’t a great conversationalist. Listening to Parker’s ramblings every day at noon was something she began to enjoy. When he wasn’t in the office, which was most of the time, she played music on her computer while she worked, but the moment he showed up, she muted the speakers so she could enjoy his stories, which ranged from tales of his childhood to present-day information about his family members, whom she hadn’t yet met.
“You never say much,” he noted one afternoon. “Is that because I bore you, or are you just shy about speakin’ your mind?”
“You don’t bore me,” Rainie replied. “I’m just not much of a talker, I guess.”
He seemed satisfied with her answer, and Rainie thought that was the end of it.
Only for Parker, that wasn’t the end of it. It seemed to him that she often bit her tongue to keep from contradicting him. That bothered him. It bothered him immensely. He came from a boisterous, brutally honest, and fun-loving family that enjoyed a good argument. Sometimes someone would say something inflammatory just to stir the shit and get a heated debate started. Parker had a tendency to do the same when he was trying to make up his mind about his stance on an issue. To his way of thinking, there was no better way to sort his thoughts on a subject than to hear someone else’s opinion, and the easiest way to get diverse feedback was to get people riled up. His little sister, Samantha, never hesitated to state her opinions. If Parker said something to irk her, she thought nothing of standing toe-to-toe with him and yelling to get her point across. It was the Harrigan way. Maybe his family was dysfunctional, but Parker didn’t think so. He always came away from family get-togethers feeling good, and people in dysfunctional relationships usually didn’t.
Parker worried about Rainie. It couldn’t be healthy for her, emotionally or physically, to hold everything in all the time. It also troubled him to think that her reticence might be due to fear of him. Each day after lunch, he pondered the expressions that he’d seen flicker across her pretty face during the meal. At times, when he brought up a controversial subject, her cheeks went pink with what he felt certain might be anger, but she’d never once challenged him. What was she afraid of, anyway, that he’d cloud up and rain all over her for thinking differently than he did?
One day at lunch, Parker deliberately brought up a subject that he thought would piss her off. He knew it was perverse of him, but he had to see what her reaction would be. “So how do you feel about women who dress provocatively and then scream to high heaven when they get raped?”
She froze at the question with a French fry caught between her front teeth. Damn, she had beautiful eyes. Sometimes when Parker looked into those hazel depths, he found it difficult to look away.
“Way I see it,” he went on, “if you walk around in public half-dressed, you have to know some nutcase might go for the bait.”
Her eyes went sparkly with anger. Color rushed to her cheeks. But instead of saying anything, she plucked the French fry from her mouth and pushed the end of it around in the ketchup on her plate. If Parker’s sister had been present, the air would have been turning blue. Samantha got bent out of shape fast when this particular subject came up. She maintained that women had an inalienable right to dress however they pleased. Men went bare chested in public, and no one criticized them or felt they were asking for trouble. Double standard, she’d be saying, and in truth, Parker agreed. The sex offenders out there would continue to prey upon women no matter how they dressed.
All he wanted from Rainie was some sort of reaction. He didn’t get one—unless he counted the fact that she stopped eating and went to the coffee room to wash her plate and fork. He stared at his own unfinished meal and realized that his appetite was ruined, too. Even worse, he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. She was afraid of him. He could circle it however he wanted, trying to come up with another explanation, but he kept returning to those dark shadows in her eyes. She had plenty to say, but she hid behind silence because that felt safe.
He remembered how he’d once drawn similarities between Rainie and the mistreated little filly he’d purchased at auction a few years ago. Parker had overcome the filly’s fear of him by confining her in a small pen and constantly pushing her into a corner where she couldn’t escape his touch. Eventually she’d come to understand that he wouldn’t hurt her, no matter what. Sadly, Rainie’s concerns about Parker couldn’t be so easily addressed. By remaining silent, she could avoid having words with him, and as long as she continued to do that, she would never come to understand that he wouldn’t jump all over her for disagreeing with him.
The only solution Parker could think of was to goad her until she got so pissed off that she forgot to keep her mouth shut. He had a feeling it would take a lot of goading.
Rainie wasn’t sure when it happened—or why—but she began to notice a change in Parker’s manner during lunch hour. Instead of telling her stories about his family, childhood, horses, or employees, he had developed a penchant for ranting about politics or religion. Some of his opinions were so outrageous and, in Rainie’s opinion, stupid that it was all she could do not to speak her mind. But each time she almost worked up the nerve to contradict h
im, caution prevailed. Arguing with Peter had been a surefire way to get her mouth slapped—or worse. Though Rainie no longer felt quite as wary around Parker as she had at first, she still wasn’t relaxed enough with him to push her luck.
Unfortunately, her reticence only seemed to encourage him. About a month after she’d gone to work for him, he entered the office at lunchtime in a huff. Rainie knew before he opened his mouth that he was in rant mode again. In the beginning, she’d found herself liking the man, but now he was fast losing ground in her estimation.
After tossing a pizza box onto her desk and sending his Stetson sailing to land with a plop on the file cabinet behind her, he scooped a hand through his black hair, shot her a quarrelsome look, and said, “I’m so sick to death of politicians who vote for tax hikes that I could spit!”
Rainie sat back and clasped her hands on her lap. “Has there been a tax increase?”
“Not yet, but mark my words, if those damned bleedin’-heart politicians get their way, there soon will be.” He jerked open the pizza box, helped himself to a wedge, and sat down across from her, twirling his finger in a string of melted cheese that dangled from the crust. “I’m tired of workin’ my ass off, only to fork over half of my gross. And for what? So some lazy, good-for-nothin’ bum can draw welfare while he lounges in a recliner to watch sports on a big-screen television and swill a six-pack of beer every night? I say cut all the stupid gimme programs and put the bastards back to work.”
Rainie’s stomach knotted. She didn’t believe in giving the able-bodied a free ride, either, and she knew that a lot of welfare recipients abused the system, but she also felt very strongly that a lot of people truly needed the assistance.
“Last week at the supermarket, I got in line behind this pregnant woman who was about ready to pop. She already had three little kids, the oldest one about five. You could tell by lookin’ at her that she’d never done an honest day’s work in her entire life, and guess what?”
“What?” Rainie asked.
“She got all the food for free!” He thumped his chest with a rigid forefinger. “I’m payin’ for that bull hockey to happen. Reality check: If you already have three kids and then get knocked up with a fourth, you’d better be willin’ to support ’em. Instead, I’m payin’ the tab. And even worse, they’d like to raise my taxes even more. I’m fed up, I’m tellin’ you. Let her do it the hard way. That’s what the rest of us do.”
Rainie clenched her teeth and fixed her gaze on the pizza box. The red lettering blurred and swam.
“I say we should force her to get her tubes tied. That’d fix her wagon. No more poppin’ out babies to stay on the dole. Next time she goes lookin’ for a handout, have ’em tell her to get a job.”
“What about the children?” Rainie couldn’t resist asking.
“What about ’em? I didn’t take ’em on to raise. They’re her problem.”
This time, his views were so contrary to Rainie’s own that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “How can you sit there, stuffing your face with pizza, and say such a thing?”
He flashed her a startled look.
“You know nothing about that woman. Maybe she was married to a jerk, and she finally worked up the courage to kick him out. What would you have her do, stay in the relationship, allowing him to beat on her and the kids? And how’s she supposed to work if she’s in her final month of pregnancy? If she has no education, it’s not as if she can get a desk job. More than likely, she’d end up on her feet ten hours a day, and then have to go home to take care of her children. I’d like to see you try to do that at eight months along.”
He pocketed a bite of food in his cheek. “I’ll be damned. You do have an opinion or two floatin’ around up there.”
Rainie was suddenly so angry she was shaking. “I have more than a couple of opinions, Mr. Harrigan, and at the moment, one of them isn’t very flattering to you.”
He rocked back on the chair, swallowed his food, and grinned. “Really?”
“Really,” she affirmed. “There’s only one right way to think: the Parker Harrigan way. You’re opinionated and narrow-minded. If you had your way, the rich would just get richer while the sick, helpless, and disadvantaged starved in the streets.”
“Finally the lady speaks. Go on, darlin’. Sounds to me like you’re on a roll. Let me have it with both barrels.”
It was Rainie’s turn to be startled. He’d pushed her into a quarrel, and now he looked as satisfied as a fat cat with a bowl of cream. It took a moment, but eventually it sank in that she’d been had. He’d deliberately prodded her into an outburst.
“You’ve been baiting me,” she said, the accusation laced with both incredulity and certainty.
“I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly.”
“How would you put it?” Her voice had gone shrill. Rainie struggled to control her temper, but that smirk on his face made her want to hit him. “Answer me. How, exactly, would you put it?”
“It was more a case of pushin’ your buttons. And I have to tell you, I was beginnin’ to think I’d never push the right one. It’s not good to hold everything in the way you do, honey. You’re gonna get an ulcer.”
“Was that tube-tying comment only a jab, then?”
“That was a good one, wasn’t it?”
Rainie stood up so fast she got dizzy. Once her head cleared, she couldn’t recall what she’d intended to do.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but it’d be a lie,” he told her. His grin slipped away to be replaced by a solemn, thoughtful expression. “I don’t know what that bastard did to you, honey, but you can’t let him control you for the rest of your life. The first time I ever spoke to you on the phone, you were so sassy I almost cut the conversation short. I was afraid you’d be the type to snipe at me over every little thing.”
“So why didn’t you hang up?”
“Because I liked your spunk and decided to at least meet with you. Was I ever in for a surprise. I expected a sassy feminist, and instead Minnie Mouse with a nervous disorder showed up on my doorstep.”
Rainie felt as if he’d slugged her. A burning sensation washed over her eyes. “Are you finished?”
“Not quite.” He pushed erect to stand facing her. “You can be mad at me if you want. But I think the real Rainie is the one who talked to me on the phone. She felt safe when it wasn’t face-to-face. She sounded smart, confident, and more than capable of standin’ up for herself. She’s the lady I want workin’ for me.”
Rainie spun on her heel to collect her purse. “If you want smart, confident, and sassy, Mr. Harrigan, hire someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else. I want you. The real you, that is.”
He said it so softly that she turned to look at him. When their gazes met, he didn’t try to charm her out of her anger with one of his grins. He just looked deeply into her eyes.
“I’m sorry for pushin’ your buttons. I just . . .” He smoothed a hand over his hair. “I could tell you got upset over things I said sometimes, but you never popped back at me. I don’t want it to be that way. I’d much rather have you set me straight when you think I’m wrong.”
“That isn’t my job,” she replied.
“No,” he agreed, “but it is your right.”
Chapter Six
That evening, Rainie repeatedly went over her lunchtime conversation with Parker. He felt it was her right to set him straight when she felt he was wrong? She couldn’t believe he’d been baiting her for days, attempting to get a rise out of her. He wanted her to argue with him? That was so contradictory to everything she’d come to accept during her marriage that it blew her mind. What kind of boss invited one of his employees to be insubordinate? For that matter, what kind of a man preferred sassiness in a woman to submissiveness?
Rainie was so disturbed by this revelation that she went on a kitchen cleaning spree, even though nothing was really dirty. The physical exertion made her feel no better. As she polished the toaster and saw her di
storted image in the spotless chrome, she shoved the appliance away and covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. A burning ache took up residence in her chest. When it grew in intensity, she realized the pain stemmed from a suppressed need to cry. Only she didn’t know why she wanted to cry, and she wasn’t about to sit around bawling for no good reason.
Thoughts of her father kept popping into her mind. After she finished cleaning the stove and started on an upper cupboard, a specific memory flashed into her mind. Shortly before his death, her dad had been sitting at the kitchen table, and she’d slapped down a computer printout in front of him.
“See, Daddy,” she’d said triumphantly. “You’re wrong. The self-service gasoline law was never passed in Oregon. It was on the ballot but it was defeated. You still can’t pump your own fuel there.”
Her father had put on his glasses to read the information and then looked up at her. He’d been sick even then, but Rainie had blamed his pallor on the drinking, never dreaming that he might be gravely ill or that their time together was almost over.
“I’ll be darned,” he’d said softly.
She’d laughed at his amazed expression. “Even Marcus Hall, software genius of the twentieth century, can be mistaken occasionally.” Licking an index finger, she’d made an imaginary mark in the air. “I am now the trivia expert of the family.”
“You’re a sassy little whippersnapper. That’s what you are,” he’d told her with an affectionate smile. Then his expression had turned suddenly somber. “Don’t ever lose that trait. Promise me that you won’t. I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m no longer around.”
Suddenly afraid, Rainie had whispered, “Daddy, don’t talk that way. You’re going to be around for a long, long time.”
Looking at her sadly, he’d almost said something, but then seemed to think better of it. “Just promise me, okay? If something happens to me, I need to know you’ll roll with the punches and come out swinging.”