Damn Ivy Millbrook and her lovely blond hide.
A shriek echoed inside the building. He winced at the faded brick structure he’d owned just over a year, an investment that made him alternately proud and scared shitless. Tweedy’s Feed and Seed. The worn wooden sign was placed strategically over the strip of etched cement that read Castle Creek Fire Company No. 6.
He’d fallen hard for this two-story slice of history, with its boxy shape, bell tower and masonry arches that curved like eyebrows over tall white-framed windows. The pair of fire engine–sized bays behind white mullioned doors provided more than enough space for loading and unloading supplies. The oversize front door, capped by a battered aluminum awning striped with white and green, added a welcoming retro touch.
The rat-infested interior, Seth hadn’t been so impressed with. The old guy who’d turned the firehouse into a feed store had run it for decades before eventually getting too sick to manage it. His daughter had kept it going for a while, but she wasn’t all that young, either, and by the time Seth had come along, the place had contained more dust and droppings than merchandise.
But after everything that had happened the past few years, he’d been desperate for a distraction. He’d been wanting to get the kids out of the city anyway. The opportunity to own his own business in a country community by the lake? Too good to pass up. The weeks he’d spent hauling and scrubbing and hammering and painting—and sweating bullets at the bank—had been worth it.
Now he just had to convince his kids he’d made the right decision.
“Da-ad!” Nine-year-old Grace emerged from the nearest bay, hands steepled against her forehead to protect her eyes from the afternoon sun. She was all legs and nut-colored hair, just like her mother. He grinned through the usual hot prod of regret and pulled her into a hug. Her little body remained stiff—she wasn’t liking him much these days.
She wriggled free, her eyes on Joe’s pickup. “The truck broke down again?”
He didn’t know whether to be amused or bothered by her world-weary tone. “The brakes need work. Joe’s letting us use his until Bertha’s out of the shop.”
Her on-the-warpath gaze returned to his face. “Travis took my marker. My favorite marker. The purple one. How am I supposed to finish my project? I have to turn in a weather report and I’m drawing a rainbow and without purple it’ll look stupid and I’ll fail.” Her voice ended on a squeak shrill enough to shatter glass.
“I hear you, G, I hear you. Take it down a notch, all right? Let’s go inside and talk to your brother.”
She flounced back into the store, her bright turquoise tennis shoes smacking the concrete. Seth followed more leisurely, blinking in the dim interior. He nodded at Bradley, the lean, shaggy-haired, just-turned-twenty part-timer who’d opted out of community college in favor of another year of playing video games on his mother’s couch. He was slouched behind the counter, a bottle of glass cleaner in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Didn’t take a genius to figure out which he’d been using.
The kid might be lazy, but he had good business sense and Seth liked him. More important, Grace and Travis loved him.
“Everything good?” Seth asked. Another argument erupted from the office in the back and he grunted. “Besides the noise level, I mean?”
“Old Mr. Katz called. He’s on his last bucket of feed. Wants to know if we can make a special delivery.”
“Got time to swing by on your way home?”
“I guess.” He frowned. “You ever going to make him pay his bill?”
“That horse of his is all he has left of his farm. The odd bag of feed won’t kill me.”
“You, no. Your business, yeah. I lose this job and I won’t be able to pay my phone bill.”
“Your concern is touching,” Seth said wryly. “But I’m not going anywhere. You won’t, either—” he lifted an eyebrow at the glass cleaner in Bradley’s hand “—as long as you do your job.”
Bradley grinned, snatched up a rag and flicked at the countertop while humming in a falsetto tone.
“Smart-ass,” Seth muttered, and continued on to the office, a half-wood, half-glass corner structure left from the building’s firehouse days. A battered metal desk took up one half of the room, and waist-high shelving lined the other. In the center stood a rickety round table Seth had set up as a homework station for the kids. The school bus dropped them off about half past three and they were stuck at the store until six, when Seth closed for the day. They hadn’t been thrilled with the arrangement at first, but they’d settled into a routine—snack and playtime until four thirty, homework till closing. Most days they finished their assignments before piling into Seth’s truck for the short trek home, which meant that once dinner and cleanup were behind them, they could veg in front of the TV until tuck-in time. Traditionally, tuck-in time included hearing a chapter from whatever book they’d voted Seth should read them. Every now and then they veered off course and had a sing-along. Grace insisted she needed the practice for sixth-grade chorus tryouts.
Never mind she was still in fourth.
“Where is it?” Grace’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell me!”
Seth stalked into the office wearing his best “heads are about to roll” expression. “All right, what’s the problem here?”
“I told you,” Grace cried. She had both palms on the table and was leaning toward her brother, who sat steadily coloring, a fistful of crayons in one hand and half a chocolate bar in the other.
Dammit, Bradley. No wonder they loved his part-timer.
Grace opened her mouth again and Seth held up a finger. “I’d like to hear it from Travis.”
With a beleaguered exhale, his daughter pushed upright and crossed her arms over her chest. Seth waited. Grace fumed. Travis poked the green crayon back into his fist and plucked out a yellow.
“Travis,” Seth prodded.
His seven-year-old looked up from what appeared to be a drawing of a food fight. Chocolate ringed his mouth and it was all Seth could do not to grin. That would be fatal, though. Grace was already convinced Seth loved her brother more.
“Hey, Dad,” Travis said brightly, as if he hadn’t just been trading insults with his sister.
“Hey,” Seth drawled. “We’re looking for a purple magic marker. Have you seen it?”
Travis blinked but remained mute, his normal MO when talking would mean telling a lie. Seth gritted his teeth around a sigh. Either Travis had the marker, or he knew Grace had it and didn’t want to tattle. Lately G had taken to “losing” things in a bid for attention. Or maybe she just wanted to drive her dad crazy.
She was doing a good job of it.
Thing was, he could never tell when the tears and the drama were real. G’s pediatrician back in State College, along with Seth’s mother and his good friend Parker, who operated a nearby greenhouse and had her own challenges with a daughter who’d just turned ten, had advised him not to sweat it, assuring him it was just a phase. Decent advice, except that a week ago he’d spotted his checkbook in the recycling bin. Hard not to sweat that.
He’d reasoned, scolded, pleaded and suspended all kinds of privileges. He understood his daughter’s frustration. Still, there had to be a better way for her to express it.
Back to the matter at hand. His son had resumed his coloring, the tilt of his white-blond head casual, his grip on the crayon anything but. “Travis isn’t talking, G. How about we all look for it together?”
“I