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“We do a lot of business through the shoppe,” Wayne said, continuing toward the barn. “Clarissa handles all the sales for the milk to the bakery in town. They make everything with our milk. We have trucks coming every day to the farm, but again, my sons handle most of that.”
“So what will I handle?” Spencer asked, paying much closer attention now. He thought he saw the curtains in the shoppe flutter, but that couldn’t be. Clarissa absolutely was not here.
His brain fired at him though, a bullet that Wayne had said only moments ago. Or maybe an hour. Everything in Spencer’s head felt blended up at the moment.
Clarissa will go over that part of the job with you.
She was here, and he was going to have to talk to her soon. Very soon.
“All the local sales that do pick-up,” Wayne said, and Spencer tore his gaze from the billowy curtains to follow the man. With his attention so complete on that blasted shoppe, he didn’t see the barrels right outside the stable, and he went plowing right into two of them.
Water slopped inside them; pain shot through his thigh and stomach; pure humiliation hollowed him out.
He told himself not to look over to the shoppe to see if Clarissa had seen him get gutted by two benign barrels, but he couldn’t help it. Sure enough, this time, the redhead stood in the doorway of the shoppe, her arms folded and her glare strong enough to cross the parking lot and pierce him in the heart.
“Come on, son,” Wayne said from the barn. “You’ll have work to do in here too.”
Spencer tore his eyes from the stunning, disapproving woman across the parking lot. “Yes, sir,” he said, hurrying now to get away from the woman he’d once dated and had thought he’d never see again.
