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The Farmer's Wife

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By Lori Handeland

Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Copyright © 2002 Harlequin Enterprises Limited
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-373-71099-2

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Chapter One

Kim Luchetti returned home eight years after she'd left it running.

Well, perhaps running wasn't the right term. But what was?

Fleeing? Crying? Aching? Dying? Kim put a stop to those words and the thoughts they would lead to by turning up the volume of her car radio so high she could think of little else but the music. She'd become adept at avoiding memories since she'd left. So much so that the first sight of her father's silver silos brought tears to her eyes.

Eight years ago an American flag had flown atop only one of them. Now the Stars and Stripes proudly waved over three. Her father hadn't been lying when he'd said the farm was doing well. Silos cost a whole lot of money. For that reason, when a farmer paid off his debt on one he perched a flag at the pinnacle or painted an icon on the side to let everyone know the towering, grain-filled structure belonged to him forever.

"Way to go, Daddy," she whispered. The heavy beat of "Another One Bites the Dust" shook her rented Miata sports car, the same make she drove back in Savannah. The lyrics caused a hysterical giggle to tickle her throat. Biting the dust was not something she cared to hear about with her father still in the hospital - present condition unknown.

Kim flipped to another frequency, then winced as the twang of country-and-western music filled the air. But she didn't change the station. She was almost there.

Like the silos, the stone farmhouse and bright, white outbuildings came into view from several miles away. People didn't call folks from Illinois flatlanders just to be rude. When Irving Berlin wrote "from the mountains to the prairies" he'd obviously been referring to Illinois - one great big prairie, dotted with farms and the occasional city. Even Chicago, home of the Sears Tower and various other buildings of every shape and size, was not exactly a Mecca of hills and valleys.

Kim turned onto the gravel lane that led from the main road to the house. Within seconds the sound of the engine brought the farm dogs running. While most farmers employed canines with herding tendencies such as sheepdogs and collies, or mutts because they were tough, smart and free, on the farm of John Luchetti purebred Dalmatians ran with the cows, pigs, cats and chickens. Her father had always been an original in more ways than one.

Kim's eyes burned with tears she had yet to shed. "Dear God, let him be all right," she murmured, and made the sign of the cross for good measure.

She hadn't talked to God much lately. Not since the last time her fervent prayers had gone unanswered - eight years ago, to be exact - but she'd do anything, beg anyone for her father's life. She'd already done the unthinkable in coming back here.

Kim parked next to a line of pick-up trucks in an array of colors. From the display she calculated three of her five brothers were present. No big surprise that two were still MIA.

Colin - brother number three - was a foreign correspondent, usually lost in some godforsaken hellhole, reporting from a cave. Brother number two - Bobby - had escaped long before Kim, joining the army in a desperate attempt to get out of Dodge. He'd thrived in the military, entering the Special Forces and rising through the ranks. Speaking of godforsaken hellholes, Bobby had seen quite a few. He was probably stuck in one right now.

Kim's estimation of which family members were present proved correct when she glanced at the porch. Brothers one, four and five leaned on the railing and smirked as she fought her way out of the car.

Jabbing a fire-engine-red spike heel at the nearest dancing Dalmatian, she waved her purse at another and ordered, "Get!"

While Dalmatians were known for their polite and aloof manner with strangers, once they recognized a friend they could be as friendly as any puppy. When Kim had left, Bear and Bull - their names tributes to her brothers' favorite sports teams, quaintly known as Da Bears and Da Bulls in local lingo - had been puppies. They must have amazing memories, or maybe amazing noses, to remember her for so long.

At any rate, her attempts to disperse the dogs only caused them to prance faster, wiggle harder, jump higher. Her brothers laughed. Eight years hadn't changed them. They'd never been much good for anything beyond torment.

She made the mistake of glowering at the men and taking her attention off the dogs. Bear promptly placed his manure-encrusted paws on her shoulders. Since it was Kim's misfortune to stand under five feet tall, the four-inch heels only allowed the animal to kiss her on the mouth rather than the forehead. He needed a Tic Tac in the worst way. Bull took the opportunity to rub his ice-cold, slimy nose across the back of her sheer stockings.

"Aargh!" She shoved at one and sidled away from the other. Unabashed, they trotted toward the barn, tongues lolling with idiotic doggy joy. Brothers and Dalmatians had a lot more in common than one might expect.

Kim wiped the remnants of the kiss from her lips and glanced down. Her heels had sunk into the gravel about an inch. Her cream blouse sported smelly paw prints. Her black skirt was coated with a layer of dust and ... She wrenched her neck and looked at the back of her legs.

Yep, there was dog drool running down her calves. She must be home.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Farmer's Wife by Lori Handeland Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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