One of the Family Read online

  “This is a family matter now.”

  Phoebe didn’t like the tone of Mitch’s voice. Trying to be helpful, she said, “Why don’t I talk to her? After all, I’m the one who has to live across the hall from your sister.”

  Mitch, jaw still tight, parked the car and regarded her carefully. At least he was considering what she’d said.

  She pressed her point. “Don’t you have enough to do without being referee?”

  “You haven’t even been here a month,” he said finally.

  “Then it’s time some ground rules were established. It might help us get to know each other,” Phoebe commented, although she greatly doubted such a positive outcome.

  “Okay, but Katie can be a handful. Don’t take anything personally.”

  He still looked undecided, so Phoebe interrupted in a cheerful voice. “I can handle it. And if I fail miserably, I’ll let you rescue me.”

  Mitch didn’t move. Phoebe had always thought him handsome. Now she saw the integrity in his eyes as he wrestled with this newest problem.

  “Agreed?” she asked.

  “Agreed. And I want you to know I’m sorry.”

  She flashed him her most generous smile. “You’re not your sister’s keeper.”

  He got out of the car and muttered, “Until she’s eighteen, I am.”

  Dear Reader,

  Having grown up on the California coast, I surprised many friends and family when I moved inland to Los Banos, a small town on the edge of the San Joaquin Valley. Every year, this valley generates agricultural revenues reaching $14.55 billion dollars.

  Surprisingly, milk is the leading commodity, produced by over 1,500 family-run dairies, the largest tending over a thousand cows. Life on any size dairy is filled with unending work. Something always needs to be fed, milked, filled or fixed, and while the farmers are their own bosses, they’re also the hardest workers, deeply attached to their herds. Losing a cow doesn’t just mean lost revenue; it’s also a personal loss. Losing a herd can be devastating.

  In another valley, just ninety miles west of Los Banos, lies the heart of the nation’s computer industry, Silicon Valley, which has become one of the most expensive areas in the United States to live in. Massive malls and excellent restaurants offer plenty of opportunities to use credit, and if not managed vigilantly, credit-card balances grow alarmingly fast. When coupled with large mortgages, unsecured debt can be the catalyst for life-altering changes.

  This is a story about one such change. Please join Phoebe Douglas as she moves to a small family dairy, run by Mitchell Hawkins, and discovers a back-to-the-basics life and a back-to-the-basics love. Each isolated in a different way, these two fiercely independent souls learn that asking for help is no crime and that finding and keeping love depends on both the generosity of giving and the grace of receiving. I love to hear from my readers, so please write me at P.O. Box 2883, Los Banos, CA 93635-2883. Or you can e-mail me at [email protected]

  Sincerely,

  Susan Floyd

  ONE OF THE FAMILY

  Susan Floyd

  This is dedicated to Jeffrey T. and Russell D.

  A very warm thank-you to Anastasia, Hilary and Manuel Borba for their unending generosity in sharing their dairy, dairy knowledge and their skill in brainstorming cow catastrophes.

  With great appreciation to the UCSC Writing Program Faculty, the supportive folk at the Los Banos Campus of Merced Community College and the Monterey Bay Chapter of RWA.

  A special acknowledgment to Lynna Banning for synopses, Melinda Wooten for plots, Elaine Kihara for her insights about mothers and sons and Karen Olsen and Mary Garske for reading even the bad stuff.

  Mom and Dad, you’ve been my greatest supporters. Thank you for knowing I could do it.

  My love to Michael Floyd, the man who heals the cracks in my cosmic egg.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  PANTIES AND BRAS. And lots of them. Tumbling out of an overpacked suitcase and scattering freely in all directions, the colorful fugitives raced down the dirt road across the perimeter of a cornfield, their destinations in the hands of a tiny renegade windstorm common to the California Central Valley in mid-September. Leaning against an iron corral fifty yards from the front of their mother’s house, their bodies angled in much the same way, Mitchell Hawkins and his fifteen year old sister, Katie, a slight replica of her older brother, paused from their work to watch the spectacle unfolding before them.

  About one hundred and fifty Holstein cows moved restlessly behind them, oblivious to the stranger who broke into an undignified run to pursue her undergarments. Her cool demeanor cracked as she snagged the fleeing articles, stuffing them—for lack of a better place—into her T-shirt. A trio of heeler pups, free roamers until old enough to work with their parents, pounced on the intruders and wrestled them to the ground.

  Mitch watched with veiled interest.

  “Here, doggie, doggie. Nice puppy. You don’t really want those.” The dairy’s newest tenant tried to coax a paisley unmentionable from the tenacious jaws of one puppy, while not losing sight of another scampering away with a red lace bra.

  In her initial interview, Phoebe Douglas had been well spoken, polite, impeccably dressed, clearly on her best interview behavior. She smiled profusely, nodding with perky enthusiasm, letting slip that she had spent much of her childhood on a farm, nonproductive though it was. Mitch was impressed, even drawn to her effusive grin. Her handshake was business firm, her nails neatly manicured but not overly long.

  He liked that.

  It had been a while since Mitch had been in the company of such a woman and even though he didn’t have much time to devote to personal interests beyond the farm, a pretty face would provide a nice distraction from the day to day work on the dairy. Maybe, she’d be a good influence on his rather rebellious teenage sister.

  Then, he’d given Phoebe a tour of the dairy. He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice as he walked her through the enterprise that his father had built from nothing. But when he noted midsentence that what he was saying took less precedence over where she was stepping, any camaraderie he felt for her faded. With new eyes, Mitch observed the wrinkle of her finely sculpted nose as they passed the cows and her panic as she frantically waved away a proliferation of small black flies drawn to her expensive perfume. If Phoebe Douglas had indeed been raised on a farm, she retained no love for the life.

  He watched her use her ankle to surreptitiously nudge away the boldest of the heeler pups, then just eight weeks old who trod with muddy paws on the fine leather of her toes.

  Phoebe gave him a game smile, “So, I’ll be sharing the main house with your mother, Bess, and your sister, uh?”

  “Katie,” he supplied. He watched her shoo the pup away more forcefully.

  “And she’s fourteen?”

  “Fifteen.” When the other pups, encouraged by the success of their brother, clustered around her finely tapered ankles, Mitch couldn’t hide his amusement. But then, he took pity on her and scattered the pups in the direction of the four winds with an authoritative command that even caused her to jump.

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully, her very pretty gray, green, gold eyes meeting his directly. Two dark fringes of long eyelashes lifted up.

  He studied her for s
everal moments, noting how terribly out of place her pale linen suit looked in relationship to her surroundings.

  “I’m not sure why you want to live on the dairy,” Mitch finally said.

  She turned bright red and just for a split second, he saw in a hurried flutter of those long lashes, a desperate child. Then, she shuttered that part of herself, lifting her chin a notch as if to remind herself, more than him, who she was.

  “It’s not that I want to live on a dairy. But have you priced the rents in San Jose lately?” she asked bluntly, her hazel eyes shifting away from his. She leaned down, completely absorbed in brushing the mud from her shoe. However, she only succeeded in smearing it, then gazed helplessly at the dark, wet mud on her hand.

  “Can’t say that I have,” he admitted, then added with a directive nod of his head. “There’s a sink over there, some soap.”

  She looked around the barn until she spotted the sink in the corner. “Thanks. Rents are now over $800 for a studio. One-bedrooms are running over eleven hundred,” she informed him, her voice terse.

  Mitch shook his head, speculating. “So the computer industry drives the rents up. When the salaries are inflated, everything becomes inflated.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “From housing to cappuccinos to egos,” she said heavily, as she searched for soap. Finding the well-used bar, she thoroughly washed her hands. Twice. “Some people have to resort to renting floors for about as much as you’re asking for a room.”

  “Floors?”

  “Living room floors.” Her voice was tinged with forced humor. “You supply your own sleeping bag.” She found a small clean rag and with considerable effort, cleaned her shoes. She looked up. “Well, at least, I’m not there yet. Even if I have to drive four hours a day.”

  Silenced by her honesty, Mitch found himself liking her again. Obviously, she needed a place to stay as much as he needed a tenant.

  She straightened and asked point blank, “So, can I have the room?”

  With no better offers or, more accurately, no other offers, Mitch shrugged and said, “Sure.”

  Phoebe immediately dug into her purse and produced a cashier’s check for first and last months’ rent plus a generous deposit that he hadn’t even requested.

  “What’s the possibility of me getting the room that has the bay window?” she inquired, her voice purely business now. Back in character, she flashed a winning smile.

  “Bay window?” Mitch frowned, then looked at her in shock. “Katie’s room?”

  “It’s bigger, with more light,” she explained.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll pay more.” She produced yet another cashier’s check.

  Even with the checks in his hand, enough to get new tires on the truck and furnish Katie with some practical school shoes, a winter coat and maybe a new outfit, Mitch harbored serious misgivings about what he had just done. It was nuts to uproot his sister, his very moody—to put it nicely—sister, for a stranger who would probably go crazy in the isolation of Los Banos. Although the small town could boast a state-of-the-art skate park for the youngsters, it lacked many of the amenities urban dwellers might expect—not one indoor mall or multiplex movie theater. Life on one of the three hundred and fifty odd family-owned dairies scattered across the sprawling county was even more isolated. He doubted Phoebe Douglas would last even a month. But his truck needed new tires and Katie needed shoes. The next day, he cashed the checks.

  Now, Mitch watched Phoebe strategically study the towering corn silage mound covered by neat rows of old tires. She stared at a pair of black silk boxer shorts that had blown up like a parachute and dangled just out of reach. He shot a glance at Katie, whose narrowed blue eyes and tight lips told him all he needed to know about his young sister’s feelings.

  “I hope it falls on her,” Katie muttered bitterly, her voice filled with hormonal angst. “Then I can get my room back.”

  Mitch turned his gaze back to Phoebe, who was still trying to snag the shorts. Finally, after a quick look around her, she jumped awkwardly and took an inefficient swipe at it. Twice. The pups barked at the entertainment. Even Blue, their father, came to investigate, sniffing inquisitively around her feet. Triumphant on her third try, she summarily stuffed the shorts down her shirt and continued her hunt, curious pups at her heels.

  At the edge of the drainage ditch, Phoebe crouched down, her position precarious as she gingerly plucked three pairs of panties out of the murky water, shaking them out, scattering her canine audience with the spray. Then, she scrambled across the trench into the cornfield, the stalks towering over her, their golden tops shimmering with the breeze and the sun. She hopped over another ditch and disappeared from view.

  “Well, you’re out of luck, kid,” Mitch said evenly, alert as Phoebe shot out of the cornfield, shaking her head violently, her honey colored hair wisping out from the elegant French braid. She swiped at her shoulder blades in a vigorous attempt to fend off some flying creature.

  Mitch laughed out loud.

  When she whirled to identify the laughter, he quickly knelt, pretending to examine a section of laminated wire he and Katie had just restrung. He glanced up again as their renter walked wearily back to her car, a late model Lexus complete with gold accents. He pushed his cap up and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his forehead and then settled the cap down again.

  “It won’t be so bad,” he reassured Katie, squinting against the September sun right into his sister’s dour expression.

  “It’s going to be awful,” Katie snorted. “She’s got a ton of clothes.” Jealousy tinged her voice as an inquisitive cow nudged at her. Distractedly, she patted the Holstein between its eyes as she stared spitefully at the woman, now laying the suitcase across her trunk.

  Mitch sighed and tightened a bolt with a grunt, shifting his gaze away from his sister, her tone pricking at him as she scuffed the toes of her worn tennis shoes. They watched as Phoebe pulled out the bottom of her T-shirt and dumped the bras and panties back into the suitcase. Then she quickly shut the lid and hurried into the house, glancing over her shoulder at them with an embarrassed smile.

  “Why does someone even need all that underwear? She’s just got two boobs,” Katie complained as she enviously watched a fragile piece of rose silk fluttering their way. She kicked dust at it.

  Mitch leaned over to retrieve the little scrap of material and shoved it in his shirt pocket. It hadn’t helped that their renter had taken so long to move in. She had taken the keys a month ago when he had accepted her checks. He grimaced as he remembered how they had only given Katie a day to vacate the room she’d grown up in.

  Bess wanted to give the room a good cleaning, the walls a fresh coat of paint, and the worn rug a thorough shampoo. She had him retrieve his old single hardwood bed from the attic and made Katie clean and polish it until it gleamed. Insult to injury for Katie, Mitch knew. He had even taken an afternoon off to purchase a new mattress, extra firm. After all their hurry, the room had sat empty, until their renter unexpectedly arrived midmorning last Saturday, leaving a trail of clothes and shoes piled around the room before she gave Bess the vague assurance that she would be back the following weekend.

  After Phoebe had left, Mitch spotted Katie in her old room, fingering the material of a fine suit, slipping her foot into a polished high heel a size too small, holding an expensive beaded evening dress up to herself. His throat closed as he looked at her now. Although slight, Katie was taller than Bess, making Mitch acutely aware that she was no longer the six-year-old girl who had dogged him relentlessly when he first returned to the farm after college.

  Then life had been so easy. His father, Pete, had been in his prime. The dairy ran at peak production. In fact, they had just finished expanding the milking stations to take on more cows when— Mitch shook his head, keeping at bay the painful memories, forcing his thoughts to return to Katie. He’d never said anything about catching her in the renter’s room, but he hoped that once Ph
oebe moved in to stay, there would be no repeats of such behavior.

  He stood up and stretched a kink out of his back. Then he draped his arm affectionately across his sister’s thin shoulders. “I know it’s an adjustment, Katiekins. But, remember, we all agreed—”

  She wrenched herself away from him, balefully eyeing the edge of panty that poked out of his pocket. “No!” she shrieked suddenly, the pitch shrill enough to make the cows moan. “You and Mom agreed. I didn’t. You and Mom didn’t have to move out of your rooms. I did. Nobody asked me if I wanted this. I don’t want to share a bathroom with some stuck-up woman from San Jose who thinks she’s better than us!”

  “I don’t think she thinks—”

  “I don’t care!” Katie’s voice grew tighter, more thin, her eyes tearing with her distress.

  Mitch stared at his sister, keeping his face neutral to mask the sudden acceleration of his own heartbeat. The volume of Katie’s fits always unsettled him. “We did agree,” Mitch reminded her.

  “I know, I know. It will help with household expenses.” Mercurially, Katie was rational again.

  Mitch breathed a sigh of relief.

  “So why the rotten attitude, squirt?” Mitch asked, his voice mild, trying to gauge his sister’s state of mind.

  “When we talked about it, I thought we were going to rent a room to someone young. A college student or something. Not, not—that!” Katie rudely pointed at the woman who returned to her car, her T-shirt smoothed and tucked back into her slender, tailored jeans, her hair neatly ordered once more. “And you didn’t say anything about me switching rooms,” she accused. “It’s not fair! Dad built my room!”

  Mitch stared down at his sister. No. It wasn’t fair. Nothing in the past two years had been fair. It wasn’t fair that she had to work every afternoon feeding calves instead of participating in school activities with her friends. It wasn’t fair that she had lost a father who adored her. It wasn’t fair that Bess was so consumed in her grief she couldn’t— Mitch looked away, swallowing hard, his own guilt stabbing his already churning stomach. No. None of this was fair.