Charming the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 3) (The Meadowview Series Book 7)

by Rochelle French

  And god, was he ever impressed with how she’d handled herself at the fire. She was strong, he’d give her that. It took courage to come out to the fire the way she had, and courage to carry a wild porcupine, even one as young as Brat. Why couldn’t Neva have the same courage in dealing with her past?

  “I know a guy who’s a wildlife veterinarian. I’ll give him a call and see if we can’t get this little guy some help.”

  “What if Brat’s paw—or is it a foot?—doesn’t heal properly?”

  “There’s a woman who owns a wildlife refuge in Deloro County, north of Meadowview,” he said. “If Brat can’t return to the wild, he’ll have a good life there.”

  “I know we aren’t supposed to touch wild animals, or befriend them, but…”

  He gave a soft laugh. “Go ahead. Give him a pat, if that’s what you want. I think you both deserve some tenderness.”

  Neva reached slowly into the box and stroked Brat’s face. The porcupine shut his eyes, let out a long, shuddery sigh, and relaxed under Neva’s soft touch.

  “He likes you,” Peter whispered into her hair.

  “I like him, too.”

  “I’m sorry about the other night—” he began.

  Neva cut him off before he could finish what he was about to say. “Don’t be. We both said things that, while painful, were true. Are true. I want you to know…I took your words to heart.”

  Something lifted inside his chest. “Did you and your sister talk?”

  “We did,” Neva said simply, still stroking Brat’s cheek. “And you were right. I’d been hanging onto the past. I’d clung to my anger over what I thought my sister had done for far too long. I had to change.” She gave a short laugh. “What I really had to do was grow up.”

  “I’m glad about you and Carla,” he said, and meant it.

  “We learned a lot about each other. Shared some stuff that should have been shared years ago. Carla says she still has something big to tell me about herself, but didn’t go into detail.”

  “Didn’t you ask?”

  “No,” she said sharply.

  He was disappointed. Neva had taken a step forward, just not a big enough step. “After our conversation the other night, I’d have thought you’d at least try.”

  She pulled away from him, gave Brat one last gentle stroke, and then stood and brushed her hands on her jeans. She made her way through the double barn doors and stood in the early morning sun. He followed her outside and shoved his hands in his back pockets, looking around the beautiful land.

  “I didn’t push Carla to share with me because she asked me not to push. She said she needed more time. She deserved my respect, so I did as she asked.”

  He felt small. “I made an assumption. I apologize.”

  Neva didn’t seem bent out of shape. “I know all about assumptions. No need to apologize. But what about you? Have you tried speaking with your father?”

  He tightened up at her question, which had sounded more a challenge than concern. He thought about telling her of the phone call he’d made the day before and the plans he’d made. Instead, though, he just said, “We spoke, briefly.”

  She gave him a sideways glance.

  “How about we focus on getting Brat the help he needs right now, okay?”

  A gentle smile crossed her face and she turned back to face her farm. “I know this sounds weird, but I think I’ll miss him. Maybe if he can’t return to the wild, he could just live in the apple orchard.” She swept her hand out, gesturing to the apple trees on the other side of the fence. “That would work, right? I mean, he’d have food and shelter right there.”

  His stomach clenched. “Damn,” he swore. Maude clearly hadn’t yet informed Neva of her plans for the property. Neva didn’t know her business was about to go under.

  “Peter? What is it?” she asked, then narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, you need to tell me what’s going on. And don’t go saying nothing’s wrong—I know you.”

  He raised his head and held her gaze steady. This wouldn’t be easy, but it had to be done. “So you met my great-aunt Maude the other night. And her new husband.”

  When Neva nodded, solemn, an overwhelming sense of protection washed over him. Her life was about to get screwed, and he was the one who had to tell her. Damn, but did this ever suck.

  “Maude and Roberto want to spend their remaining years traveling the world. My aunt no longer needs or wants to keep the farm. So she’s selling it…to Roberto.”

  Neva’s brows pinched together. “What does this mean? Will her farm become a vacation home for them? Will they rent it out while they travel?”

  A muscle twitched along his jawline, sending a shooting pain into the back of his neck. “No. Roberto is a developer. The plans are to tear down the house and rip out the pond and the orchard to make room for custom built homes.”

  Neva’s expression went hollow. For a moment, Peter thought she’d faint. “The orchard? When?” she asked.

  “In a week.”

  “That means…oh, no. My contract…”

  “I’m sorry. I know what this means.” The ache in his chest grew as heavy as lead, becoming almost unbearable when her eyes filled with tears. He almost staggered under the weight.

  “If I can’t fulfill my biggest contract, I’ll lose my farm. I sank everything I had into this place.”

  “Maude will give you market value for the crop you’ll lose—”

  “That covers the cost of the apples, but the produce portion of the contract is the bulk of my money. I’ll lose too much. More importantly, my only contract this year is contingent on those apples. From that orchard.” She blinked, but twin trails of tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Neva had told him years before that sometimes bad things happened for good reasons. How could he believe that? There was no reason for his mom to die when he was an infant. No good reason for his dad to beat him. No reason for Neva to lose her farm. No good came out of bad. But now, as he stared down at the woman he loved as she fought back tears, the phrase clamored in his mind, demanding attention.

  He had to make things right for Neva. He simply had to.

  Returning home from Neva’s, Peter came around the corner of his house to see Hugh Leary at his door. Peter really didn’t want to see the man but had asked him to come, anyway. Time to face a man who either would walk away forever or would open the door for a new beginning.

  “Thanks for showing up,” Peter said, still standing on the porch in front of his father.

  “Not even a hug for your old man?”

  Peter crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the porch railing, deliberately not inviting his father inside. He’d initiated this meeting, but that didn’t mean he would welcome with open arms the man who’d made his childhood a living hell.

  The man looked so much older than Peter remembered. His hair, once blue-black as a crow’s feather, now was peppered with gray. Deep grooves transected his forehead and lined his mouth. His shoulders hunched—slightly, but the lack of muscle tone was clear. Time had not treated the man well.

  Ten years ago, Peter had walked off the field after graduation ceremonies and kept right on walking. His father had been a no-show at graduation, the way he’d been a no-show during much of Peter’s life, except when it came time to find a punching bag.

  Peter had run from his former life and not looked back. His father tried over the years to keep in touch, but the most contact between them that Peter had allowed was a rare phone call or, more recently, the occasional text.

  “We were never hugging kind of family, were we?” Peter ground out.

  “No, I guess not.” A muscle jumped in his father’s jaw. “I understand you became a firefighter.”

  “Temporarily.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  No. No, his father was not proud of him. He couldn’t be.

  An awkward silence sat between them growing longer and longer until Hugh his throat and gestured to Peter. �
�That dirt covering you must be from the fire that’s burning over on that ridge. Were you on call?”

  While he and Neva had been tending to Brat, the fire department planes had dropped enough retardant to stop the fire from spreading. Smoke still filled the horizon. Peter glanced down at his muddy and wet jeans and soaked T-shirt. He took a whiff—awful.

  “My neighbor and I were down there earlier, making sure the fire wouldn’t cross the irrigation canal. It’s under control now; we don’t need to worry about the fire spreading.”

  “Good job, son.”

  Peter had had enough with the polite chitchat. “Tell me why you wanted to see me so badly.”

  Hugh took in a deep, measured breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them wide and faced his son. “I need to make amends for the past. Tell you I’m sorry.”

  “You could have texted that information. Or left it on a voicemail.”

  “No.” His father slumped. “This is the sort of thing you need to do, man to man.”

  Peter cocked his head. “So that’s why you’ve been insisting on seeing me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on.” Peter jutted his chin out in the direction of the pond. “Let’s sit.” He wasn’t sure he wanted his father inside his house, but they could at least sit in the chairs under the willow tree. What few chairs remained, that is. A few moments later, he and Hugh were seated in the faded Adirondack chairs. Peter noticed his father tapping the armrest in the same manner he did.

  “We can move if the wind shifts and sends the smoke our way,” he explained.

  “Sure. Maude’s place is beautiful,” Hugh commented, looking around. “Always was. I remember when your mother brought me here when we were first dating. She loved her aunt Maude, and would talk about the woman as if Maude were her hero. Glad to know Maude kept the pond. Your mom liked to swim there. She once got a tadpole stuck in her hair and screamed like a banshee until I could get it out.”

  “I wish I’d known her.” His mother had left his father when he was three months old, then died from a brain aneurysm a short time later.

  “She was a good woman. Too good for me. I don’t think she would have married me had I not been careless with a condom.” Hugh wiped a hand over his face. His expression brightened. “I met someone. Her name’s Beth. She’s sweet. But she’s also tough. Strong, actually. Knows what she wants and goes for it.”

  “Are you informing me I have a new stepmother?” Peter asked dryly.

  His father chuckled nervously. “Not at this point.”

  “I’m happy for you.” He wanted to say he’d met someone, too. Someone who made his world light up like fireworks across the sky, and who made his heart hop around in his chest like the Easter bunny. But he and Neva wouldn’t work. He had to face facts. “So is that all you wanted to see me for? Tell me you’re sorry and you’ve found a good woman?”

  His father stared at his feet. “I finally got some help. Therapy.”

  “You always said therapists were a crock of—”

  “I know what I said. I was wrong. You were right. And I should’ve gone into therapy years before, when I first realized I had a problem with my temper. I didn’t, and that made your life a living hell. I lost your mother because of it. And I lost you. I ultimately lost the respect of people who trusted me. And I lost my job.”

  “But you were the fire chief.”

  His father nodded. “I was. I am no longer.”

  Peter wasn’t sure if he should ask his father if he was broke or not. Better let the old man tell him on his own terms, he figured.

  His father added, “I’m working, though. I have a job as a firefighter in a little town up in Oregon.”

  Oregon. That meant his father had to have driven all night to arrive this early in the morning. This face-to-face had to mean a lot to the old man.

  “Not the same money,” Hugh added, “but a lot less stress. That’s what ate me up, is the stress.”

  “Stress made you take a belt to your child’s backside?” Peter let the anger and resentment he felt seep into his words. The sarcasm felt good flowing from his mouth. But the regret that quickly followed left a bitter aftertaste. He’d asked his father here to set things straight between them. If Neva could take his advice and leave the past behind, repair what she and her twin once had and move forward, he could make things right between him and his father. “I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have brought up the past.”

  “I’m glad you did, though. We might as well face what happened—what I did. I have no excuse, Peter. My dad took a belt to me, and his dad to him. That’s how you raised a boy, I thought. I didn’t look beyond my own experiences. I regret the violence, and I regret a shitload of what I used to say to you.”

  “You were an ass, Dad,” Peter said flatly. This whole facing the past thing was more painful than he’d thought. Staying stuck was easy. Moving out of the rut wasn’t. No wonder Neva had stayed angry with her twin for so long.

  “I’ve told you I’m sorry, and I am. I won’t try to convince you to accept my apology. It’s there, on the table, whenever you want to pick it up.”

  Peter’s jaw worked, a muscle involuntarily clenching repeatedly, sending a shooting pain into his skull. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Still sayin’ it like it is, aren’t you, kid?”

  But instead of getting angry the way he used to when Peter was young and said the wrong thing, Hugh smiled, the lines around his mouth and eyes going soft. He looked almost…gentle. Had there ever been moments like this between them? A few memories drifted through Peter’s mind, like dandelion puffs on the wind. His father’s strong hands over his on the fishing pole as he fought to land his first trout. The scent of roasting marshmallows in the fire and…his dad handing over one perfectly toasted and eating the one Peter had burnt. Huh. He’d shoved the past so far out of his mind that he’d closed off the good memories, too. Not uncommon, but surprising, nevertheless.

  Hugh added, “I understand from your aunt you’re an excellent firefighter. You’ve done this community proud. But you’re leaving firefighting for good? Do you not like the work anymore?”

  “I don’t need your judgment.” The response had flown from his mouth before he could give the automatic response a second thought. He shouldn’t have snapped. What he should have done instead was ask his father what he meant. He’d demanded not to be judged but had judged himself.

  “None given. Do what you want with your life.” Hugh leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Earnestly he added, “I mean that. You obviously have been anyway, and quite successfully. I’m only asking because I genuinely want to know who you are now. Who you’ve become. What makes you tick.”

  But Peter didn’t have a great answer. That was the problem. His life-long plan had been to travel the world, and now that his chance to fly free was finally at his fingertips, he couldn’t seem to move. Letting go of the last two years in Meadowview wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be.

  The image of Brat, crying out to him for help while a forest burned behind him rose up in his mind. He’d run out to that fire knowing what needed to be done, putting his knowledge to work in protecting him, Neva, their property, and a frightened porcupine. His actions had been automatic, instinctive. Triggered by who he was at the core. A rescuer…a firefighter.

  “I do like fighting fires,” he said slowly. “Especially here. We fight a mix of building and wildland fires. It’s rewarding work.”

  “But you’re walking away.”

  “No, I’m—” He snapped his jaw shut. Yeah, he was. Walking away, that is. From firefighting—the job he loved. From Meadowview—the place he loved. From Neva—the woman he loved.

  “Well, whaddya know,” he muttered under his breath. An idea formed in his mind. Took shape. Grew wings. Then took off and circled around in his mind, demanding attention.

  He grinned. He had another plan. A grand plan. But this time, his idea would work. Yes, bad things did ha
ppen for no good reason. But sometimes…sometimes bad things happen for good reasons. Carla showing up when she did…Maude selling her property…the fire on the ridge…Neva about to lose her her farm…all bad things.

  But what he could make happen next?

  One hell of a good thing. A great thing, actually.

  He jumped up and held out a hand to his father. Grinning, he said, “Let’s go inside. I need to talk to Maude.”

  Neva stepped out of the shower, water from her hair streaming down her back and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart ached and her limbs were so heavy she’d had difficulty washing her hair. She was about to lose her farm. And she’d already lost Peter.

  After a woman from the wildlife rehabilitation center had come by and picked up Brat, promising a teary Neva that the porcupine would get his little foot fixed and go on to have a wonderful life, Neva came back to the house and fell back into bed, more emotionally exhausted than physically tired. After sleeping for a few hours, she’d dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the water would energize her. So far, the attempt wasn’t working.

  All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and cry.

  Helping Peter protect the properties from the fire and rescuing Brat had seemed so right. They’d worked together as a unified team, but she’d rejected any chance of her and Peter being together. Was it only last night he’d asked her if she could see the two of them living a life in Meadowview?

  Why had she pushed him away? Why had she been so awful? He’d asked her if she wanted to be friends again. Why couldn’t she have told him the truth?

  Yes. Yes, she wanted to be friends.

  Yes, she wanted him to stay in Meadowview.

  Yes, she loved him, too.

  She always had. But it was too little, too late. Peter had a dream to follow, and that dream did not include Neva Tipton.

  She wrapped her hair up in a towel, knotted another around her chest, and headed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. In the hallway, she noticed the door to the guest bedroom open. Inside, Carla was flinging articles of clothing into her suitcase.