The Happiness Pact

CHAPTER TWO

“CHEMISTRY? HOW CAN you possibly know there was no chemistry? You talked for all of two minutes in the fellowship room.” Libby sat sideways in the passenger seat of Tucker’s Camaro, her hands lifted in supplication. “It was barely long enough to exchange phone numbers.” And how could anyone female possibly be with Tucker and not feel chemistry? Other than herself, of course. She never felt anything—the sparks the day before had been purely imaginary. Even if they hadn’t been, the knowledge that he wanted kids and that he would drive her insane within minutes was enough to put out any fires.

“Which we did not do, because her kid bit me.” Tuck held out his hand to show Libby the barely visible teeth marks. For the third time. “Fasten your seat belt.”

“It is fastened. He probably felt threatened.”

“After he bit me, he called me something I’d have gotten my mouth washed out for saying when I was in high school, for heaven’s sake. Then he threw his cookie on the floor and stomped on it. Calling me a name is one thing, but wasting one of Gianna Gallagher’s cookies is just ridiculous. I’m pretty sure I saw Father Doherty cross himself.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “He’s a priest. That’s his job.”

Tuck snorted. “He did it to keep himself from hiding the rest of the cookies.”

“What did Allison do?”

“Nothing. She said it was nice to meet me but that it probably wasn’t a good idea right now. I agreed. We smiled pleasantly and I ate another cookie. I must admit your church has excellent cookies and coffee.”

“Doesn’t yours?” She knew it did—she’d been there with him.

“I don’t know. When I do make it there, I’m usually late. I sort of slip in after everyone’s done shaking hands and sit in the back pew.”

“Where are we going?” She frowned when he turned onto the highway heading south.

“You’ll see.”

“You do realize I’m hungry, right? Do I get lunch on this adventure?”

“How long do you think you can wait before you expire from hunger?”

“Probably about ten minutes.” She gave him a pointed look. “If there’d been any cookies left by the time I finished applying first aid salve to your hand, I probably wouldn’t be that hungry.”

“Think so, huh? Well, then.” He turned the car sharply so that her shoulder bounced against his.

“What are we doing here?” She frowned at the Hall as he drove around to the back of it. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in the Llewellyn mansion, although she probably knew every inch of its grounds. Tucker and Jack’s grandmother had never welcomed their friends inside.

“Having lunch.”

“You’re cooking?” As far as she knew, Tucker’s culinary skills started and ended with microwave popcorn and takeout menus.

“No. Even my sense of adventure has limits.”

By the time she had her seat belt unfastened, Tucker was opening her door for her. She stared at him. “What’s this? The last time you opened a door for me was when I fell out of a tree and broke my arm.”

“I had to then. It was our tree and I felt guilty because I might have pushed you a little. Now I’m doing it because it’s part of the adventure.” He led the way to the back door of the huge house and opened it for her, too. “Don’t get used to it.”

The kitchen of the Hall was outdated and gloomy, even more than the one at Seven Pillars had been before Libby gutted it. Frowning at the worn linoleum, she was glad she didn’t have to cook here. “I thought you had the Hall remodeled last year.”

“We did, but we left the kitchen so that whoever ended up buying the hall could oversee its design.” He pushed open a door to their left. “This is the breakfast room, but the dining room is a nightmare in formality, so we’re eating here.”

“Oh.” The space was charming, with yellow walls, white-painted trim and a hardwood floor. A small round table sat in front of the large mullioned window, dressed in white linen and set with what Libby was certain was Royal Copenhagen china and sterling silver flatware. Not that she had anything like it at the tearoom.

“Have a seat.” Tucker pulled out a chair for her, then sat across the table. “Colby, one of the college kids who works summers and vacations at the plant, is studying culinary arts, and this semester is French cuisine. I think today we are his term paper. He was hiding in the pantry when we came in and will be serving any minute now. Wine?” He held up the bottle at his elbow. “It’s not French. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all.” Libby recognized the label from Sycamore Hill, the local winery. She served their wine at private parties in the tearoom, but beyond the specifications of red and white, she didn’t know one from another. “Actually.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Actually?”

“I’d rather have ice water. With lemon.”

His eyes lit, and his smile broadened. “I thought maybe. Wait here.”

He was back in a couple of minutes, carrying two glasses and a pitcher of ice water garnished with lemon slices. “Colby assured me that drinking l’eau glacée avec citron with our meal wouldn’t lower his grade.”

“Well, I’m impressed. The only French I know is merci beaucoup, which I only know because the French teacher at the high school comes to the tearoom for lunch every Saturday and she says that. Quiche is a French word, too, and I say that a lot. Every now and then someone will say ‘kwitchee,’ and I’ll have to stop myself from doing that the rest of the day.”

“Don’t be too impressed. Colby had to say it to me three times before I got it even close to right—he kept flinching at my pronunciation—and I couldn’t repeat it now. ‘Kwitchee’ works well for me.”

The food and presentation were excellent. The student was earnest in his descriptions of the appetizer, the soup, the main course and the dessert. His service was impeccable. Although he was respectful, he wasn’t obsequious. The experience made Libby wish aloud that she’d taken classes instead of poring over cookbooks and using her friends as guinea pigs when she developed Seven Pillars’s menu.

Tucker stayed her hands when she started to stack dishes. “Leave them. You’re the guest today, and it may be the last time—surely to heaven someone will buy the Albatross soon. Let’s get going on our first adventure.”

Back in the car after heaping praise and a substantial tip on Colby, Tucker headed north and east. “Why didn’t you take classes?” He frowned at the hovering clouds.

She shrugged, thinking back to those putting-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other days. “Jess was out of the navy, but still in vet school. We’d just sold part of the farm’s acreage to the Grangers for the winery and were finally out from under the threat of foreclosure. I was still living on the farm and managing the dairy, but I hated every minute of it. I only intended to stay until he finished school and came back there to live, but one weekend when he was home, he found the realty poster for the house on Main Street. It wasn’t a tearoom then, just a grand old lady who needed some new clothes, but I had all the plans written out for making it one.” She laughed, remembering. “I had a business plan, too, written in longhand in a spiral-bound notebook, and even paint chips for the outside and the trim. I’d never even been inside the house, but it was my dream and Jesse knew that. He suggested we sell the cows and invest the profit in Seven Pillars. Inside of a week, that’s what we’d done. I suppose I should have given things more time and more thought, but it had been rough since my mother died. I couldn’t wait to start a new life.”

She stopped. “Why did I just tell you that? You were there for the worst of it.” Tuck had been there with her the whole way, flying home from wherever he was at the time on weekends to scrape and steam wallpaper until he swore he’d never get either the paste or the moisture-induced curl out of his hair.

“I was,” he agreed. “But you never let anyone see how bad things were. You just kept laughing.”

“That was how I kept going. Jesse just clammed up. I couldn’t do that—I’d have gone out of my mind—so I stayed social and laughed a lot.” She smiled at him. “It’s a tactic you recognize.”

She didn’t have to say more. Of course he recognized it. It was a coping mechanism they shared. There was more to her story, too—things Tucker didn’t know. And she wanted to keep it that way.

“Where are we going?” Libby loved farmland, but she saw it every day—Lake Miniagua sat smack in the middle of it. Driving through it wasn’t all that adventurous.

He reached to place his hand over her eyes. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“I never fall asleep in the daytime,” she said scornfully. And promptly did just that.

* * *

TUCKER LOVED DRIVING. It would be fine with him to just keep going until they reached Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where one of the satellite plants of Llewellyn’s Lures was. He flew up there sometimes, if the visit was urgent, but he preferred the drive. It would be a great place to show Libby, even in the dead of winter. They both had their passports with them, so they could go on into Canada whenever they liked. But she would panic if they did that. She was okay with spending the night somewhere, but she needed to be back by Tuesday morning—Seven Pillars was as much a safe haven for her as driving was for him.

Adventure. He’d promised her that, but he had no idea how to deliver on the promise. The lunch back at the Albatross had been great, but he hadn’t made up his mind where to go from there.

While Libby slept, he thought about the young woman she’d introduced him to that morning. In all fairness, Allison had been both attractive and pleasant—he’d enjoyed what little conversation they shared. He didn’t mind her kid being bratty, either. In his experience, most of them were at one time or another. Charlie, Jack’s precocious and hilarious twelve-year-old son, had gone AWOL from his grandparents’ home a few weeks ago—during an ice storm, no less—and had the family and everyone else at the lake in an uproar. Of course, the kid was still grounded. Jack insisted puberty would be a nonissue because Charlie was going to spend the duration in his room.

But, as Tucker had told Libby, the chemistry hadn’t been there with Allison. It was too bad. Really, it was. He’d meant what he said—he honestly did want a wife. A family. A home. But he wanted what Jack and Arlie had, too, that click between them that was both indefinable and undeniable.

He looked over at where Libby slept with her head tucked into the pillow he kept in the car. It would be nice if they could develop that chemistry, because she was pretty close to being his favorite person. But, regardless of what happened in some of the movies she’d dragged him to and he’d pretended he didn’t like, he didn’t believe friends necessarily made good lovers.

As he drove, the sky appeared more and more as if it was filling up with snow to dump on them. Winter had been an ongoing progression of record-breaking badness so far, each snowfall or ice storm heavier than the one before it. Buying the new Farmer’s Almanac had done nothing to prepare him for the unpredictable weather.

It had promised a cold but clear day today, but no one who lived in the Midwest ever took promises like that seriously.

Taunting him, the clouds opened and began the process of dropping their contents. They weren’t on the interstate, which made driving through the snow in a Camaro even more of a challenge than it might have been otherwise.

Two inches of snow later, the clock in the car insisted it was four, but the lowering sky indicated it was lying. The wind speed had increased at least ten miles per hour, making the thick white stuff even more impenetrable. Libby came abruptly awake. “Where are we?”

“The North Pole. I took a wrong turn.”

She called him a mildly profane name in a pleasant voice, then reached back between their seats. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

She found the thermos and filled their cups. “I’m sorry.”

He sipped, welcoming the warmth, and arrowed her a quick glance. “For what?”

“If we weren’t going on an adventure, we wouldn’t be driving through a snowstorm.”

He laughed, reaching over to give her hair a tug. “It’s not the first one we’ve driven through.”

“That’s true.” She peered through the windshield. “Are we near a town?”

He nodded. “About six more miles, I think, judging by that sign about an hour ago that said it was eleven miles away.”

She punched his arm lightly. “Do we exaggerate much?”

His cell phone made a percolator sound that signaled a text. Tucker sighed. “There’s my brother, telling me to get off the road. He’s so predictable.”

“Do you want me to check it?”

“Yeah, you’d better. The last time I drove in a storm, the plant had a fire and Charlie ran away.”

“But the Colts won that day, so it wasn’t a total loss.” Libby tapped his phone to read the message. “You’re right. It is Jack. He says if you’re driving to get off the road, you—” Her eyes widened. “I don’t think that was a very nice thing for him to call you.”

“You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first.”

“There is that.”

They laughed together, their timing as on as it always was. “Man,” he said, “look at that truck coming. No headlights and he’s flying.” The other driver had no intention at all of sharing his landing strip, either. Tucker stretched his arm out in front of her. “Hang on, Lib.” He edged over as far as he could, praying the right-side wheels of the Camaro wouldn’t slide into the ditch.

The petition went unanswered when the car not only went into the ditch, but hit a culvert that was under an unseen driveway. The truck went on by, going fast enough the Camaro trembled—Tucker thought probably with rage—when it passed. His hand, shaking, went to her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Her fingers covered his. “Are you?”

He nodded, searching for and finding the emergency blinkers. The car wasn’t going anywhere. As far as he could tell, they were mostly off the road. He squinted, peering through the driving snow at the farmhouse at the other end of the lane they were blocking. “I hope whoever lives here wants company. Why don’t you stay in the car while I go for help?”

“Why don’t you not be an idiot?” She shrugged into her coat and pulled on her gloves, flashing him a smile. “Quite the adventure so far, Llewellyn. I’m impressed, but I’m really scared to ask what’s next.”

“Good thinking. At least wait there until I come around to help you.”

“Okay, my hero.”

As he inched his way around the front of the car, he found a spot of ice under the snow. His feet, still clad in the slick-soled shoes he’d worn to church, went out from under him. He landed flat on his back, coming to rest jammed against the bumper of the car, which was all that kept him from sliding under the engine as if he were on a mechanic’s creeper.

The passenger door opened and closed, and a few seconds later, Libby knelt beside him. Good Lord, she’s wearing a dress. He hadn’t even realized that.

“Are you okay?”

He met her eyes as her face hovered close to his. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

“Give me a little credit here. I’m trying not to.”

She didn’t try hard enough, and by the time she’d helped him to his feet and was brushing snow off him, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand.

“Come on.” He tucked his arm around her and they started toward the farmhouse. “If we stay in one spot too long, they’ll find us frozen in place when everything thaws.” He squinted into the snow. “Is anyone home? I know it’s early, but it’s dark enough there should be lights on and I don’t see any.”

She pointed. “In the barn. I’d say it was milking time, but I don’t see any signs of dairy.”

They plodded through the snow, growing more breathless as they discussed the combined lack of foresight that resulted in her dress and his slick shoes. When they got to the white barn, Tucker rapped sharply on the tall door before pushing it open enough for them to slip inside the hay storage area. “Hello?” he called, keeping Libby’s hand in his as they moved toward the light source.

“In the stable.” The voice was muffled, but they were able to follow it.

The scene they walked into was one Tucker thought he’d only seen on television. A man stood in a roomy stall with his arm around a boy who looked about eleven or twelve. A woman, visibly pregnant, was outside the stall with a little girl who was probably five beside her. The little girl was holding a cat.

The adults looked helpless. The boy was trying not to cry, leaning his head into the man’s chest and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Tucker remembered being that age, when for whatever reason it wasn’t okay to cry anymore. The dog he and Jack had shared had died. His mother and Libby and the Gallagher girls had been in tears, but he and Jack and Jesse had toughed it out. They’d buried the dog under an elm tree in the woods around the Albatross without shedding a single tear. Instead, they’d used a lot of forbidden swear words and taken the rowboat out to one of the little islands in the middle of the lake. They’d stayed out there until Jack got hungry and Tucker got leery of being on the island after dark.

He didn’t think this kid had an island available to him right now, and he was losing the fight against tears. Also standing in the stall was a black-and-white cow—a Holstein like the Worths always had—who didn’t appear to be enjoying herself. Unless Tucker missed his guess, she was in labor, and it wasn’t going so well.

The man seemed to realize for the first time that the family was no longer alone in the barn. He shook himself a little, his hand stroking through his son’s hair. “I’m sorry. May I help you?”

“We slid off the road,” said Tucker. “I’m not sure you have anything to tow with, but I’m pretty sure we’d get too cold out there waiting for a truck. We’ve come to beg warmth.”

“I’ll pull you out soon. I hope you don’t mind waiting.” The man gestured toward the straining cow. “Joanna’s having some trouble.”

“Wow, she sure is.” Libby took off her coat and gloves and carried them over to the little girl. “Will you and your kitty watch these for me? I’m always losing things.”

The little girl nodded, her expression solemn.

“My name is Libby Worth, and my friend is Tucker Llewellyn. What’s yours?” Libby was looking around, smiling when her gaze encountered anyone else’s.

“I’m Mari,” said the little girl. She pointed at the boy. “That’s Gavin. He’s my brother.”

“And my name is Dan. This is my wife, Alice,” the man said, finishing the introductions. “Joanna is Gavin’s 4-H calf, all grown up.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid being midwife to a cow is outside all our skill sets.”

Libby nodded. “Do you have shoulder gloves?”

Gavin drew away from his father. “The vet gave us some, but we don’t know what to do with them.”

“Well, I do, and so does my friend Tucker here, although it’s been long enough for him he probably doesn’t remember. Do you have some chains for calving?”

“Yes. They were left here.” Gavin’s father looked apologetic. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to use them, either. Sometimes moving to the country from the suburbs seems to have been a mistake.”

“No, it’s not,” his wife protested softly. “We just haven’t learned everything yet. What do you need us to do, Ms. Worth?”

“It’s just Libby.” She smiled at the woman, who’d come to stand nearby, her hands resting on the large mound of her stomach.

Tucker thought the whole barn, even Joanna, relaxed in the glow of that smile.

“Okay. I need water, please. Warm, if you have it.” Libby pulled the long glove into place and stepped behind Joanna. “Gavin, this is your cow. Are you going to help her have this baby?”

The boy’s eyes were wide. Tucker thought his own probably were, too. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I was about your age when my cow Arletta had her first calf, and she took her time about it, too.” Libby nodded at Dan. “Will you hold her tail? If I make her mad—which I very well might—and she flips it around, she could knock me down.” She aimed a smile at Tucker. “You need to get your coat off if you’re going to help here.”

Which he obviously was, whether he wanted to or not. Her expression told him there’d be no good in arguing that point. Tucker took off his coat, gloves and the pullover sweater he’d worn to church. The shirt he’d worn under it was fairly expendable, but the sweater was cashmere and he really liked how it felt.

“My brother is a vet,” Libby explained to Gavin, “and we grew up on a dairy farm, so I really do know how to do this. Understand, I don’t like doing it, so you’ll probably have to do something wonderful for me after this, like make me some cookies or something.”

Holding the calving chains until she asked for them, Tucker listened to Libby as she spoke first to the worried boy and then to the frightened cow. “My friend delivers human babies, and she’s given me all kinds of new instructions I didn’t know about,” Libby said, her voice soothing and quiet. “You need to breathe just right, Joanna. Do the hoo-hoo, hee-hee thing like they show on television. I’ll bet Alice can tell you how. That way I can put the chains around your baby’s legs and help you out a little.”

“That’s right about the breathing, although I never considered it for a cow.” Alice was at the cow’s head but standing outside the stall, little Mari and her cat at her side. The woman stroked the side of Joanna’s neck. “You can do this, girl.” She looked over at where her husband stood holding firmly to a long and manure-encrusted tail. “We can do this, too, Dan Parsons.”

Her husband smiled at her, reminding Tucker of how Jack and Arlie looked at each other. He wanted that. Maybe he wanted the whole over-the-top part of it, too.

He didn’t think he wanted any cows, but if that came with the package, he guessed he could live with it.

He flinched as Libby slipped her arm into where it had to go, talking to the cow all the time. “Just be glad it’s me instead of Tuck or my brother, Joanna. They have big hands and arms and...ouch...let me get that...no, hold still.” She stopped for a moment, panting as Joanna did, biting down on her bottom lip. “Okay, let’s try that again. Let’s get this baby out for you so you can have a nice rest. Attagirl...oh, ouch, ouch, ouch, you’re not being very grateful, are you?”