Pleasured In The Billionaire's Bed. Miranda Lee

a family of sorts and he never could look at them as pure dollar signs.

      He slopped milk into a trough left out for the cats. The orange tabby had already been joined by three calicoes, a gray short hair, a tailless Manx, and a rag-doll cat he couldn’t resist picking up and letting flop across his forearm. He rubbed its belly fast before its claws came out, then put it down where it shoved its way into the growing crowd. He noticed a Persian hanging back. Huh. He’d never seen it before. Must have been another midnight drop-off from a regretful pet owner.

      The skittish cat raced from him as he approached, but in minutes he had it cornered and in a pet carrier. He strode up the small knoll to his gray, plank-sided, two-story farmhouse where the smell of pot roast and onions made his stomach growl. For a moment he imagined what it’d be like to have Jodi there, waiting for him, but shook off the foolish thought. As soon as she left town, she’d disappear for another ten years, maybe forever.

      Feeling hollow, he trudged up the back porch steps, which badly needed a coat of paint, and pulled open the screen door. He shrugged off his plaid overshirt and stepped inside the narrow hallway lined with framed pictures of his ancestors, their smiles absent, but their eyes content. He grinned at his grandfather’s 1957 tractors calendar, glad they’d never had the heart to take it down.

      “Sue!”

      His sister appeared in the door frame, her glasses askew on her narrow nose, her short dark hair standing up in odd places.

      “Tell me you didn’t fall asleep and forget to turn off the oven.”

      Her hazel eyes widened and she tugged at the collar of a top she’d probably crocheted herself. “I’m sorry, Daniel. You know I’m useless in the kitchen.”

      He passed her the pet carrier. “Did you start the water on the potatoes?”

      “Ten minutes ago.” She peered into the plastic container. “Who’s this rapscallion? Don’t remember seeing it around.”

      He glanced up at the worn edge of the Scrabble box perched on the hall-closet shelf and whistled. Last weekend, their traditional Saturday night game had ended after three hours and a few words that weren’t allowed on the board.

      “Nice word. A fifteen pointer. As for this guy, he looks like another drop-off. Thought you might bring him to the vet tomorrow. Get him checked out, shots, neutered...you know.”

      His sister heaved a sigh and poked a finger in the cage to stroke the cowering feline’s nose. “Oh, I know. We’re practically an animal dumping ground.”

      “It’s not just us, Sue.” He sniffed and calculated. He’d put the beef in the roaster when he got back from picking up Jodi, so it was probably burned on the bottom. And the potatoes he’d peeled would still be as hard as rocks. Another typical Gleason meal. “I’m going up to shower but I’ll be down in ten to help finish.”

      His sister gave him a small salute and took the pet container. “Will do, Cap-i-tan.” It was their inside joke from the days he’d earned enough badges to move on from Eagle to Life scout. “Oh, and is, uh...Colton joining us?” The toe of her flip-flop circled the rag rug in front of her.

      “Yes.” He kept his face neutral at her less-than-subtle crush on his employee and raced upstairs. After a quick shower he was back in the warm kitchen. He kissed his sister on the cheek as she stood by the stove, wearing his mother’s old green-checked apron. Steam rose from the potatoes she whipped and turned her face a bright hue—that and a lounging Colton sipping coffee at the table.

      “Smells good, sis. Hey, Colton.”

      The farmhand looked up from the sports section, his work coveralls replaced with a T-shirt and jeans. “Looks like the Hawks won again. They’re moving on to the state finals. Sure wish I could go.” When he took off his Hawks cap and studied the emblem, his light brown hair lay flat against his skull and curled beneath his ears.

      “When is it?” Daniel asked.

      “Next Thursday. But I can’t bike to Rutland and back. The game starts at three.”

      A spoon clattered to their red-tiled floor. “I could drive you.” Sue spoke without looking up as she grabbed the utensil. “I mean. You could use my car. Or I could come and you could drive, or—”

      Time to leave before his sister’s nervous flirting made him chuckle out loud. He headed for the double parlor at the front of the house.

      “Hi, Pop.” Daniel stopped and let his eyes adjust to the sight of his frail, trembling father seated in a rocking chair, an afghan of Sue’s design across his lap. It was hard to reconcile the image with what he remembered—his hearty father overflowing the chair, two kids and a dog on his lap, his mother laughing at all of them.

      But that was a lifetime ago. Or at least it felt like it.

      “Supper’s ready. Susie made a roast.”

      His father lifted his chin and sniffed. “Smells like she burned it again.”

      Daniel unfolded the walker in front of Pop’s chair and helped him to his feet. “We’ll cut off that end.”

      His dad laughed, a faint sound that ended with a coughing fit. “We always do,” he wheezed out.

      Step by step they made it to the kitchen.

      “Smells good, darlin’.” His father lifted a shaking hand to Colton and lowered himself into the chair Daniel held out.

      “Thanks, Pop. I think everything’s on. Who wants to say grace?”

      “Good potatoes. Good meat. Good God, let’s eat.”

      Everyone laughed at Colton and started passing the heaped dishes of mashed potatoes, sliced pot roast, bread, sweet pickles and boiled turnip—or microwaved, Daniel supposed, given Sue’s last-minute rush. Even so, it all looked great.

      “So I ordered that wind turbine today, Pop.” Daniel scooped some potato onto his father’s plate, waited for a nod then piled on more. “Between that and the solar panels, we should be set for power this winter.”

      His father nodded. “It’s a good thing to be independent. Never regretted a dime on educating you and your sister. Though I wished you’d done something else with your life.” He looked away, as he always did, when Sue reached over to cut his meat.

      “I saved the farm from bankruptcy. That’s doing something.” Daniel kept the heat out of his voice, despite his words. Pop meant well and wished his worsening Parkinson’s hadn’t forced Daniel to take over the farm after college. Daniel would have chosen to return anyway. It’d just happened sooner than he’d planned.

      “Bud Layhee stopped by today,” Pop continued, scooping some potato with a shaking hand. “Says his son Ted can’t keep the farm going with milk prices where they’re at. They’re borrowing thirty thousand dollars a month and he might have to sell out and put Bud in a nursing home.”

      His father’s fearful tone made Daniel’s fingers tighten on his fork. Wouldn’t Jodi pounce on that news? “That’s not going to happen, Pop.”

      Not on his watch. He’d known the weather was making more than a few farmers skittish. If Jodi got hold of some of the financially weaker ones, they might give into the pressure and sell out. Things were worse than he’d thought if a tough, retired old farmer like Bud would share that kind of news. Daniel needed to put his co-op plans in motion faster than he’d intended and send Jodi on her way before she did more damage than the relentless rain.

      “Colton, would you like more roast?” Sue smiled warmly and passed more beef over Daniel’s empty plate.

      “So are you still going to Princeton?” Colton spoke through a mouthful of beef, then took a long drink of foamy milk, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

      Sue twisted her cloth napkin.

      “No.”

      “Yes.”

      She