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Spencer nodded, and he went around with Gary, checking fences and gates and making notes of weak spots they’d need to address in the next couple of weeks.
“Around and around the farm like that,” Gary said. “We assess, then fix. Assess again. Fix some more.”
“How long have you been here?” Spencer asked, as he didn’t remember Gary from last time he and Clarissa had dated. Of course, he’d gone to pick her up at the farmhouse and taken her to dinner, or dancing, or star-gazing in the cornfields. He hadn’t concerned himself with the hired help at the farm.
“Oh, seven or eight years,” Gary said with a sigh. “Right about the time my wife filed for divorce.” He cast Spencer a small smile.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer said quickly. “I hope I didn’t drum up any bad memories.”
“Not for me,” Gary said, and that was all. “All right, there’s Mack. We check with him to see what’s goin’ on in the fields. He’s got a crew of four he works real tight with, but he always needs more help.”
“Right,” Spencer said. “And Chris might have work for us in the maintenance shed.”
“He might,” Gary said, tipping his hat to Mack. “What’s she like out there today?”
“We found that fox burrow,” Mack said. “We’re getting shovels and heading out to dig it up and clear it out.”
“Perfect,” Gary said, but Spencer didn’t think more shoveling sounded anywhere near perfect. “Then we can tell the missus that her chickens are safe again.” He grinned at Spencer. “Chrissy’s lost three in the last month, and we’ve been tryin’ to find these blasted foxes for weeks.”
Spencer just smiled, took the shovel someone handed to him, and determined to dig until someone told him he could stop.
* * *
The moment Spencerstepped into the air-conditioned shoppe, he realized what a grave mistake he’d made in arguing with Wayne about his duties on the ranch.
“There you are,” Clarissa said, turning from the refrigeration unit, where she’d obviously just put something. “Why are you covered in dirt?”
“Because until five minutes ago, I was standing chest high in a fox den,” he said, taking off his hat and letting the cold air hit his face and scalp better. “Hades, it’s hot out there.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the air-conditioning, imagining it to frost his lungs and cool him from the inside out.
Clarissa giggled, and he opened his eyes to see her smile. He loved her smile, as it always made him smile too. “Bet you’re wishing you’d given up the regular chores to learn to make ice cream about now.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?” He grinned at her and took a couple of steps into the shoppe. “I’m still going to learn how to make ice cream, right?”
“That’s right, cowboy,” she said. “You didn’t really get out of anything.” She closed the door on the fridge and gestured for him to follow her. She went through the black plastic door to the back room, and Spencer followed her, feeling a little bit like he was doing something he shouldn’t. Going somewhere forbidden.
The kitchen spread before him, and while he’d scrubbed his shirt at the sink just inside the doorway, he hadn’t really examined the rest of the room. The wall to his left held the appliances—a huge, commercial refrigerator, a six-burner stove-top, and a dishwasher.
A stainless steel counter ran down the middle of the space, with shelves below it holding various bowls and utensils. The wall to the right housed the large sink he’d used previously, and then racks and racks of ingredients, more bowls and utensils, big cardboard containers, and plastic containers in a variety of shapes and sizes.
A machine sat on the counter, and Clarissa picked it up and moved it to the pantry area. “We don’t need that today.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“A label maker,” she said, picking up a tablet. “I can put in what I’ve made and the weight, and then it prints me a label for the container. Then I can just scan the dill and Swiss spread and done.” She flashed him a smile, and Spencer caught it somewhere inside his chest.
Label makers and spreads. He was so out of his league.
“We’re going to start with ice cream,” she said, producing another binder, this one in blue, with plenty of wear and tear along the plastic edges. Spencer eyed it like it might contain a contagious disease if he opened the front cover.
Clarissa did that, and plastic sleeves held the recipes while she flipped through them. “I usually do a flavor-of-the-month. Like the Rocky Road.”
“Do you not sell a lot of ice cream?”
“We’re twenty minutes outside of town,” she said. “Not exactly the most popular retail location.”
“How long does the ice cream last?”
“Frozen? A couple of months,” she said, glancing up at him. “It starts to get frostbite after that. I take it to Daddy at that point. The man thinks it’s a crime to let ice cream go to waste.” She smiled at Spencer, who returned it.
She straightened, suddenly serious. Her beautiful green eyes widened and she leaned her hip into the counter. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
“I don’t know how to do any of this stuff,” he said, frustrated and already gesturing with his hands. “I know that, out there. I’ve already been at work today for five hours, but it’s familiar. Sure, a different barn, with new locations for things. A new kind of shower head in the wash stalls. But I understand it.” He heaved a sigh, realizing how tight his chest had gotten. “This? I don’t understand this.”
Clarissa blinked a couple of times, and Spencer could admit he hadn’t strung together so many words in a long time. He usually went with the flow, but this felt like swimming through sharks.
“I understand,” she said quietly. “It’s new. Whoever Daddy hires to run the shoppe in the morning might do all of this.” She turned and put both palms on the counter, her own frustrated sigh leaking out of her mouth. “This is important to me, and I know you’ll keep the integrity of my recipes. I just…I just want to show you, so someone knows.”
She wouldn’t look at him again, and Spencer understood perfectly what she was trying to say. He stepped to the counter beside her, lifting his arm with a bit of hesitation. Then he slid it around her waist and brought her flush against him. “Okay,” he whispered.
Clarissa leaned her head against his shoulder, making him feel stronger than he actually was. “Which flavor do we need to make today?” he asked, praying it was vanilla but knowing it would be something complicated like huckleberry cheesecake.
