Circle of Family. Mia Ross
about paying me,” he said. “I’ll be around.”
“This farm is a business, and we pay people what we owe them when it’s due.”
She refused to look at him, and he sighed in resignation. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that Matt and I are friends, and I don’t want to make things tough on you. Financially,” he added, to be sure they were clear on that point. In the short time he’d known her, Marianne had struck him as someone who liked to dot her i’s and cross her t’s.
She didn’t respond to that, and he figured it was best to keep quiet. Then she surprised him.
Glancing over at him, she said, “Thank you for doing those tricks for the kids. It was nice of you.”
I’m a nice guy was on the tip of his tongue, but he thought better of it. He hated to sound pathetic, like he was trying to convince her of what most people got right off the bat.
So he settled for, “I’m glad they liked it.”
He wondered if she’d enjoyed the show, too, but figured it would be lame to ask.
“I also want to thank you for helping John clean up the tables and chairs last night,” she added. “He said it took half as long as he thought it would.”
“No problem. Just pitching in where I could.”
She didn’t say anything else as Ridge followed her up the front porch steps and through the double doors. From the large entryway, one arch led into the living room and another to an office.
In direct contrast to the neat but lived-in look of the rest of the house, this room was ruthlessly tidy. Every surface was clear of papers, which he assumed were filed in the row of cabinets along the far wall. The walls were a fresh cream color, with family pictures from many generations scattered all around.
One on the desk caught his eye, and he picked it up for a closer look. Anybody with half a brain could tell it was the Sawyers. All of them. Ridge had never met Matt’s parents, but he smiled at the happy family sharing a picnic somewhere. The little girl hanging over their father’s shoulder looked a lot like Emily, and he pointed to the grinning face.
“Is this you?”
Marianne glanced over, and a sad smile dimmed her features. “Yes. That was taken just before Mom got sick.”
Her last good memory of her mother, Ridge realized with a frown. No wonder the little frame held the place of honor on her desk. Very carefully, he set it down and wandered over to the windows. One looked out over the front garden while the other framed the pond, making it seem like a landscape painting. Except for the sleek laptop and printer on the large desk, the scarred antique furniture appeared to have been here since the house was built.
“Great spot.” He strolled over to admire her view of the pond. “Must be nice working in here.”
“It is,” she replied as she sat down and opened a program on her computer. While her fingers clicked on the keys, she asked, “I know your name, but what’s your address?”
“My mom’s will work.” Still focused on the pond, he started reciting it.
“Wait a minute,” Marianne interrupted. “You don’t have an address?”
Facing her, he shrugged. “Not really. Most folks get me through my cell or email.”
“Where do you live when you’re not working?”
“I’m always working,” he said, then grinned. “Or never working, depending on how you look at it. Grandpa always says if you love what you do, you never work a day in your life. That kinda sums me up, so he got it engraved on a brass plate and mounted it on Betsy’s dash the day of our first flight. I don’t think he invented the saying, but— What?”
She was shaking her head, looking truly appalled. Ridge was getting that gross specimen feeling again.
After several uncomfortable seconds, she said, “I’m still trying to understand how a man your age with a successful business doesn’t have an address.”
“Not everybody likes being rooted in one place.”
He didn’t know why he felt compelled to defend his lifestyle to her, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t one to second-guess his choices, but for some reason this pretty, soft-spoken woman was beginning to mess with his confidence.
“Meaning you think I do?”
From the way she hurled the words at him, Ridge knew that despite his best efforts, he’d managed to insult her.
“I assume so, with your kids and everything,” he said, trying to soothe whatever nerve he’d struck. “You grew up here, and you’re still here. That’s nice.”
“For me,” she filled in, still challenging him. “But not for you.”
“Settling doesn’t work for me.”
“You think I’ve settled?” She jumped to her feet like he’d attacked her. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
He tried to explain that he’d meant settling down wasn’t right for him because, despite searching from coast to coast, he’d never found a place where he really wanted to stay. But he could tell she wasn’t hearing him anymore.
Marianne ripped his check from the printer and signed it in a furious scrawl. After shoving it into his chest, she pivoted on her heel and stormed out.
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