Dream Daddy Read online

  The hogget, who’d ducked her head under Ian’s hand to help him pet her in just the right places, said, “Baaa.”

  “Baaa, humbug?” he asked her. “I’m stupid to mistrust Tansy Appletree? You women. You all stick together.” He looked down at her. “Come on, little girl, time to go inside and play with your cousins.”

  With a few deep breaths and some mental chest-pounding, he pulled himself together. He had to do it. The audit would be over and done with by the time he figured out how to load the software, after he’d figured out which software he needed, which he’d have to do before he loaded it and figured out how to use it—it made him tired just thinking about it.

  In his office, Ian stared at the phone awhile, then noticed the time was getting close to five o’clock. He made himself look up the number in the slim phone book the Churchill Consolidated High School published and sold to raise funds, the book with only valley numbers, so no weeding through the names of outsiders. Clutching the book, he dialed.

  “Mayor Appletree’s office,” a voice said.

  Ian actually preferred speaking to an office instead of to a person. “This is Ian Foster,” he said gruffly. “I’d like to make an appointment with Ms. Appletree. Tomorrow if possible.” Do it, get it over with, maybe she’ll say no, I’d be off the hook, well, off that hook.

  “Mr. Foster.” The woman on the other end sounded nervous. “Um, let me check her schedule. What would the appointment be in regard to?”

  Remembering his conversation with Daniel, Ian stifled the “none of your business” retort that was on the tip of his tongue. “I’ll tell her when I see her,” he said instead, congratulating himself on being more tactful than Daniel could ever imagine he could be.

  “Just a minute, then,” she said timidly, and apparently consulted a calendar. “I see she’s free tomorrow afternoon between three and four.”

  “Tomorrow at three,” Ian said and hung up the phone.

  “TOMORROW?” TANSY FROWNED at her assistant, Amy Winfree, who looked thoroughly cowed. “What do you think he wants?”

  “He said he’d tell you when he saw you, and I was too scared to pressure him,” Amy confessed. “You know, ask him the questions I’m supposed to, ‘town, business or personal.’”

  “I’m familiar with Ian Foster’s manner of speaking, and anyone would be scared to push him,” Tansy said to comfort her. “So we’ll see what he wants tomorrow at three. Don’t worry, Amy, I can handle him. Time for you to go home,” she said, checking the big wall clock. “I’ll see you—and Ian Foster—tomorrow. If he brings a lamb with him, you can babysit.”

  “Whatever helps,” Amy said, still sounding desperate.

  THE LIST OF THINGS IAN FOSTER could be lobbying for boggled Tansy’s mind. The river between Holman and Churchill—was there a sewage problem? An invasion of powerboats?

  His farm was five miles from the freeway. Even though most of the drivers who used the exit turned north to LaRocque to go to Mike’s Diner, or across the river to the gas station in Churchill, was he here to complain about strangers in town?

  Ian Foster was the oddest man she’d ever met—not that she’d had a one-on-one conversation with him. He owned a substantial acreage, a quarter of Holman’s square miles, he raised sheep, he had two delightful brothers she knew well. She knew Daniel’s wife, Lilah, and Mike’s fiancée, Allie, even better. But at the family dinners she’d been invited to and Ian had shown up for, he’d never spoken to her. He’d always directed his attention toward his brothers and Daniel’s boys, who for reasons she couldn’t imagine, seemed to be crazy about him. A soft spot—another oddity for a man so tightly wrapped into himself.

  It occurred to her that she’d been thinking negatively, imagining Ian was coming to make trouble. Why not try putting a positive spin on things?

  Town: he’d like to contribute some of his land to a worthy cause—a baseball field, a wildlife park, whatever might bring business to Holman, which was desperately in need of outside money. Its “hiding place” reputation had gone too far. Holman needed interlopers with cash in their pockets and something to spend it on.

  Business: that one stumped her. Ian Foster was a businessman himself. What could he possibly want from her in that area?

  Personal: he wanted to ask her to go out with him.

  Her heart did a little quickstep. He was grumpy, almost a recluse—and yet, somehow, the most appealing man she’d encountered in her lifetime in Serenity Valley. He wasn’t quite as tall as his brothers, but he had a presence that made him look like Paul Bunyan. His dark hair, dark eyes and dark outlook on life touched her in a way she didn’t understand. Something was going on inside him, and she longed to know what it was.

  Enough second-guessing. She’d know tomorrow what he wanted from her, and she could hardly wait.

  Chapter Two

  “Yes,” Ian snapped, slamming the latest copy of Sheep Talk magazine down on his desk. He’d come to his office to calm down, but now that Daniel had called to check up on him, he was upset all over again. “I have an appointment with her at three.”

  “You sound like it’s an appointment with a funeral director,” Daniel remarked.

  “Close to it,” Ian said, dread creeping through him.

  “I’m confident that as soon as you talk to her, you’ll feel reassured that she can do the computer stuff. And I’m sure she can handle the auditor.” Daniel was being reasonable, something Ian didn’t need at the moment.

  “She’s a politician,” Ian reminded his brother. “Knows how to suck up to people.”

  “I’d put it differently—like, she has good social skills.”

  And I don’t. I mean, I really don’t. I don’t need social skills, because I don’t want to be social. “I’ll call you after it’s over,” Ian said. “Don’t bug me until then.”

  Ian was in his truck, on his way to the appointment, when his cell phone rang. “Ian,” his brother Mike said, annoyingly cheerful, as always, “I hear you have an appointment with Tansy. When?”

  “Three.”

  “It’s two-forty,” Mike said.

  “I know what time it is! I’m on my way.”

  “Good. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t forget.”

  Ian clicked the end button forcefully. How could he forget? He’d hardly slept last night for the nightmares he’d had about it.

  As he approached the village, he took several deep breaths, rehearsed his opening speech, which would impress Tansy with its forthrightness, straightened his shoulders, then pulled into a parking space.

  TANSY FRANTICALLY SCANNED her office. Her desk was neat, for the first time in—well, maybe for the first time. Ian looked like an obsessive-compulsive type. She didn’t want to take any chances. A pot of freshly made coffee stood at the ready on the credenza in her office, and in front of it, a plate filled with brownies and cinnamon sugar cookies.

  She’d made the cookies herself, a secret she hoped wouldn’t get out.

  And last, she took a look at herself in the antique mirror above the credenza. Yikes! She slashed lipstick onto her mouth, powdered her nose and tried her best to get her hair into some sort of order that wouldn’t make her look like Little Orphan Annie.

  She tugged down her rust-colored pencil skirt, straightened her matching turtleneck…

  Okay, enough. She was taking this too far. It was one minute until three. She sat behind her desk and waited. For forty-two seconds.

  “Mayor Appletree,” Amy said formally as she opened the door, “Ian Foster to see you.”

  Tansy stood up. What a change! Amy usually shouted something like, “He’s here.” And he was here—in a brown leather bomber jacket, tan corduroy trousers, a plaid shirt, brown work boots—and a ferocious scowl. “Hello, Ian—”

  “I’m being audited.” He sat down without being asked.

  She blinked. She’d never be the politician her father was if she blinked like that when she was surprised. “I’m sorry to hear that. What a pain.”

  Into the silence, she said, “May I get you some coffee?”

  “No.”

  “A brownie?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can I help you?” Giving up on small talk, Tansy sat, folded her hands on her desk and gave him her full attention, just the way her father did when he was talking to a constituent. It usually got her the other person’s full attention, but Ian wasn’t a normal person. Handsome, though, if you could overlook the somewhat troll-like personality. Which she could.

  “With the audit, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Although you’re well known for your financial skills, and I can’t help wondering what I can—”

  “You can put it on a computer.”

  “Oh.” She would not blink. But who in the twenty-first century didn’t know how to use a computer to do his taxes?

  “And represent me during the audit.”

  Now that made more sense. Al Capone could have represented himself better than Ian could. “I’d be happy to help you,” Tansy said, smoothly, she hoped. “Where should we start?”

  “I thought you’d know where to start,” he said.

  Politicians didn’t sigh when they were exasperated, either. They smiled. “I do, actually. I’ll need to look at your return and your documentation.”

  In answer, Ian handed her a paper-clipped document and two books. She glanced at the document—his tax return, looking like any other tax return.

  “This is for a business,” she said, feeling puzzled. “Oh, I see, you and your brothers formed a corporation.”

  She wondered why. Ian had his sheep farm, Daniel was a vet and Mike had a restaurant. To an auditor, that could look suspicious, as if they were trying to pass off personal expenses as corporate ones.

  Ian was silently staring at her, so she smoothed out her frown and picked up one of the clothbound volumes. “Now, what are these?”

  “My books.”

  That was easy enough to see, but— Tansy opened one book, and then the other. They actually were his books, neat columns of figures totaled at the bottom and on the right-hand side. Handwritten. “And the documentation for these numbers?” She looked at Ian expectantly.

  He shifted in his seat. “Those are at home,” he said.

  “All right. Bring them in and I’ll—”

  For the first time, Ian looked uncomfortable rather than combative. “It won’t be that easy,” he said. “It’s more like, um, a box of paper.”

  Tansy felt a little helpless. “You could bring in the box… No,” she said, determined to help this man whether he wanted help or not. “I have a better idea. I’ll come to your farm, organize the documentation, and while I’m there, I’ll install all the right software on your computer—you do have a computer…”

  “Of course I have a computer.”

  “…and show you how to use it, so next year you’ll be all set to do it by yourself.”

  “I was doing it just fine myself until this came…” He waved a sheet of paper she assumed was his audit notification. “But even I know I can’t hand the guy two books and a box of paper.”

  “Or gal,” Tansy said absentmindedly, suddenly struck by the way his eyebrows winged up perfectly. “What?”

  She returned to the present. “The auditor could be male or female.”

  Ian blew out an impatient breath and gave her a “duh” look.

  “You’ll certainly make a better impression if your papers appear to be professionally done,” she told him. “I’ll come out to see you in the morning, if that’s all right, and we’ll go over what you have.”

  He stood up. “If that’s the only way to do it. Call before you come.” He picked up his tax return and his books, and started for the door.

  “Wait,” Tansy called out.

  Ian halted and made a half turn toward her.

  “I’m happy to do this for you,” she said graciously, “in spite of my very heavy workload just now, but I want something from you in return.” She’d been thinking about it this morning, and now, while she had him on the hook, was the time to land him.

  WOULDN’T YOU KNOW IT? Here came the hard sell.

  “I intend to pay you at your customary rates,” Ian said flatly. It wasn’t that he was desperate and easily taken.

  “I know, but I want something else.”

  He waited, tensing. People like Tansy made him nervous. They liked to talk, to chat, get to know people.

  He didn’t. Talking made him nervous.

  “You know we’re restoring Town Hall…” she said, her voice bright and cheerful.

  Oh, money. She wanted money. He turned back toward the door. “I gave already.”

  “And very generously.” She looked up into his face, gazing at him with her green eyes. “We appreciate it so, so much.”

  How did she do that? A second ago she’d been sitting behind her desk, and now she was in front of him, blocking the door.

  “But you know we still have so much more to do.” Tansy sighed, then perked up. “I had this brilliant idea, and the town selectpersons have agreed with it. We’re holding a Winter Holiday Festival in the Town Hall!”

  What did she expect him to say, “Yay, I can’t wait?”

  “What we’re going to do,” she said, herding him toward the long table that stood against one wall and handing him the cup of coffee he’d refused earlier, “is invite Vermont craftsmen—”

  “Craftspeople,” Ian said. Ha! One point for him.

  Tansy put a hand over her mouth. He guessed she thought it looked pretty cute. “Oh, my goodness, thank you. If you hadn’t reminded me, I’d have been in trouble before I even got this project off the ground. Want a brownie?”

  Apparently he didn’t actually have a say in the matter. A brownie on a little white napkin sat in his other hand.

  “Anyway,” Tansy went on, “we’ll invite these craftspeople to set up booths in the hall and sell their work, then donate a percentage of their gross sales to the Town Hall fund.”

  Ian sensed trouble ahead. Silence was his best bet.

  “But we also want to have demonstrations of the various crafts, how they’re made and so on. I was thinking this morning that it would be wonderful if you’d set up a ‘sheep to sweater’ booth.”

  What the hell was she talking about?

  “I see the booth divided into three sections. In the first one, we’d show you, or one of your hands shearing a sheep. In the second, someone would be spinning the wool, and in the third, knitting a sweater. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  She was so excited about the stupidest idea he’d ever heard that her red hair was starting to spring out into little curls around her face.

  “You don’t shear sheep in the winter,” he informed her. “You’d have to keep them in the house if you did.”

  “One sheep?” she said, looking at him hopefully. “Shear a little of it each time someone comes by the booth? I know!” She clapped her hands. “I bet anything the school would like to keep a sheep somewhere for the winter.”

  “The school…” Was she insane? And where would he come up with spinners and knitters? His wool was spun and knitted by machines in huge textile mills down south. He said goodbye to his wool as soon as it was baled.

  Tansy barreled on. In fact, she was starting to make him dizzy, or maybe it was a sugar rush from the brownie he seemed to have eaten. “I’m sure we can get someone to come down from one of the historical museums to spin the yarn, and, of course, the valley is full of expert knitters. Have another brownie, or maybe you’d like a cookie.”

  “No, th—” And there was the cookie on another little napkin.

  “Just think it over.” She got a look on her face Ian really didn’t like. “Think how much the kids would enjoy it.”

  She was pushing his buttons. He had to leave before she pushed harder—but he was already too late.

  “Speaking of kids,” she continued, “I am so proud of what Daniel accomplished by getting the Foster Care Center on its way. It will give those children a wonderful home to replace the one they’ve been taken out of.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered around a mouthful of cookie crumbs. On a wedge of his land a complex was rising up out of the pasture, a facility designed to house foster children in individual homes each with a live-in couple to act as mother and father to a family of six. It was Daniel’s idea and second in his heart only to his wife and his own foster kids.

  “It was hard to convince the valley people, but he did it. I tried to help him all I could,” she said earnestly. “With those permits he needed and leaning on the other two mayors. Gosh, were they ever stubborn.”

  So that was what this was about. She’d help him with his taxes and help Daniel with the many remaining details of the foster care center if he’d shear a sheep for openmouthed kids.

  “I’ll think it over and tell you tomorrow,” he said as he snagged another brownie, serpentined past her and at last made it out the door.

  Mayor Appletree was little, but she was tough.

  TANSY COLLAPSED AGAINST the credenza, staring after Ian. Then she stared for a while at the almost-full pot of coffee, the brownies and cookies she’d labored over the night before. Feeling spacey, she went into the outer office where Amy sat.

  “Nice chat?” Amy asked brightly.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She paused. “I had to play my ace, and now I feel guilty.”

  “You have to do what you have to do,” Amy said primly. “I think he’ll agree.”

  Tansy’s mouth dropped open. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “On the intercom,” Amy said without a touch of remorse. “You handled it well, like a true politician.”

  “Don’t release a word of this to the valley gossip chain,” Tansy warned her.

  “No need. Three people already called to see what your business was with Ian Foster.”