by Ellie Danes
“I really—I don’t want to put you out, Mrs. Baxter,” Emily said.
“Not yet, anyway,” I said from the entry into the kitchen.
“Oh good, you’re up,” Mom said. “Now please tell Emily that I always make too much breakfast anyway.”
I looked at Emily, resenting the fact that even so early in the morning, even in her clothes—freshly cleaned—from the day before, clearly just out of bed, she still looked so beautiful.
“It’s true,” I agreed. “She’s used to cooking for three. Of course, the third person she used to cook for had a big appetite—but then, so do you, in your own way. Not that different after all.”
Emily scowled at me as she figured out what I meant. I wasn’t about to call her out right then in front of my mother, but I wanted to make sure she knew she wasn’t welcome in my home anymore.
“Your mother is very generous, Rhett,” Emily said, keeping her voice pleasant. “I’m happy I got a chance to meet her.” I heard the stress on the last word, but she kept it as quiet as possible—she clearly didn’t want to trip my mother off about what was going on between us any more than I did.
“Do you need help with anything, Mom?” I thought that I would try just ignoring Emily, since I knew Mom would not let the woman leave without being fed.
“Emily already helped me with the biscuits, which are in the oven now,” Mom told me. “If you want to set the table, I’d appreciate it.” I moved to do as I was told, glancing at Emily as I gathered up a few plates, some forks and knives, and the spoons we’d need for the different preserves Mom would put out. I couldn’t help myself. It would have been different—I thought—if the sex hadn’t been great.
I clenched my teeth, remembering it almost against my will. The sex had been amazing—the best sex I could remember having in years. My cock twitched under my jeans, and I took a slow, deep breath to try and suppress the reaction. That pussy isn’t for you anymore—and it wasn’t really for you to begin with, I mentally told the erection that my body was trying to make happen. I set the kitchen table and then grabbed myself a cup of coffee, sitting down while Mom finished scrambling eggs and taking the biscuits out of the oven.
“This all looks amazing—thank you again, Mrs. Baxter,” Emily said when Mom insisted on serving her a heaping helping of eggs, along with three slices of bacon and two big, fluffy biscuits.
“It’s nothing, Emily,” Mom told her, serving me next.
“She’s right—you should help yourself to everything,” I said. “That’s why you’re here, right?”
“Not exactly,” Emily said quickly. “Of course, I try to put my college education to good use and think about the nuance of things—but not everyone does.”
“College doesn’t teach you everything,” I pointed out, starting in on my food. “But then, people who don’t know how to work for an honest living wouldn’t know the difference.”
“What’s going on between the two of you?” Mom looked at me sharply, and I knew that she thought it was my fault, the tension between me and Emily. After all, Emily was a guest in the house. Whatever she might have said, my mother couldn’t imagine it was an occasion for rudeness from me—the host.
“I just found out why Emily is actually here, last night,” I said.
Mom raised an eyebrow and glanced from me to Emily and then back again.
“It must have been after I went to bed, then,” Mom observed.
“It was,” I agreed.
“I really appreciate you making breakfast for me, Mrs. Baxter, but I think it’ll probably be better for everyone if I leave,” Emily told my mother.
“At least let me pack up your food for you to take on the ride home,” Mom said.
Emily looked at me and I thought she was weighing the necessity of getting out of the house as soon as possible against the risk of having to explain to my mother why she needed to leave so soon.
“It’ll travel well,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. I turned my attention back onto my plate and focused on eating.
Mom put together some sort of egg-and-bacon sandwiches with what Emily had left on her plate, and I could feel her almost scowling at me as Emily grabbed her things from the guest room and came back into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry I imposed,” Emily said quietly, and then I heard her leaving the kitchen, and then the house.
“What got into you?” My mother’s face was twisted into a disapproving look.
“She’s with some real estate development company,” I told her. “They’re looking to buy up a bunch of property around here.”
Mom looked at me firmly a moment longer and then sat back down at the table. “Well, there are some folks who might be tempted,” she said. “And if it weren’t for you…”
“What?” I looked at my mom in shock. “What do you mean, if it weren’t for me?”
Mom ate a forkful of eggs and gave me a wry smile. “I’m getting up there in age, baby,” she pointed out. “If you didn’t want the farm I wouldn’t blame you selling out, moving someplace else where the living’s a little easier.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say something like that.”
“I’m not unhappy or anything,” she said with a little shrug. “I’m glad that you’re here to take over where your father left off, but it’s not like you’re one of these poor folks closer into town, barely able to make ends meet, going a little hungry in off-season, with no skills or education to do anything better somewhere else.” She shrugged again. “It’s a shame about that girl—she’s cute.”
I frowned. “A baby snake is cute,” I said. “Rabbits, too. Still manage to screw things up.”
Mom chuckled and shook her head, but she didn’t say anything more.
* * * * *
I kept waiting to hear something—anything—from Emily in the days after she left during breakfast, but I didn’t get even a single text, not even something to let me know she’d gotten back home okay. Some kind of indication she’d made it home would’ve been nice. I’d wanted her out of my house and out of the town—not dead on the highway.
But I managed to push any worry about her out of my mind and focused instead on getting as much information on what was going on with Mustang Ridge and the company that Emily worked for as possible. The day after she left, I’d gone into town to talk to a few of the clerks in the town administration office, and found out some of the details. The company was planning on buying up quite a lot of land—a lot of it from farmers—and then there was something they were going to do with it afterwards, but no one really seemed to know what.
So, I talked a few of my fellow farmers into coming to lunch with me at the diner in town so we could talk about what was going on. We needed to find out what the long-term plan was, and get together on the same page about what to do about it.
Some of my neighbors started coming into the diner. I raised my hand, waving it a bit to draw them to the corner booth I’d taken. John, Peter, Kyle, and Nate had all agreed to meet. Nate and Kyle weren’t, strictly speaking, farmers. Nate raised sheep on his father’s land, selling wool and mutton and lamb. Kyle had converted his farm to raising ducks and chickens and turkeys. So far it was going okay, but he couldn’t raise enough on his own, I knew, to make the kind of money that cash-crop farming usually did.
“I guess we all know why we’re here,” I said, once everyone had sat down and ordered themselves something to eat.
“I want to hear what you’ve got to say, first,” Pete said. “Because maybe I’m just slow—but I don’t see how this is a huge problem.”
“If a big business comes to Mustang Ridge, that can’t be all that bad,” Kyle agreed.
“A big business like Wal-Mart, or some other big store like that, would ruin us as a town,” I said.
“I don’t know about that,” John said, shaking his head. “I mean it’s a risk, but a business like that might bring more people into town—revitalize things a bit.”
&
nbsp; I shook my head more certainly than he had. “And those people will be shopping at the big store—not going to the town grocery, or the dry goods store,” I pointed out. “It’ll knock the whole of town center out of business, and those of us who sell land aren’t going to be able to make money like we used to.”
“We’re already not making money like we used to,” Kyle said. “That’s why I had to change—and even what I’m doing now isn’t bringing in the kind of money my grandpa and my dad made.”
“Do you really think that selling your land off is going to be that great?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have money at first, sure. But then what are you going to do when it’s gone and you don’t have the option to expand?”
“The bigger thing is that most of the town will all be employees of whoever comes in,” Nate said, finally chiming in. “If it’s one of those big-box stores, then they’re not union-friendly…”
“So what? Who needs a union if you’re finally making decent money?” John shrugged.
“There’s no guarantee anyone would be making decent money, is what I’m saying,” Nate countered.
It went back and forth, even when Stacy—another one of the diner waitresses—brought our food. Peter seemed halfway convinced that it was a bad idea, then convinced by John that it was a good idea, while all Kyle could talk about was the fact that he wasn’t selling off all his land by any stretch. I kept on my points, but I could imagine the same debate continuing all through the community, no matter who I turned to: people who understood the danger of inviting a juggernaut like the ones Emily’s company worked with into town, and those who were feeling the pinch of lean times, who didn’t think it would be so bad to take some of the responsibility of the land they owned off of their own shoulders.
After a while, I heard the bells at the door going. When I looked up, I saw Emily come into the diner. I couldn’t move, at first. Sure, I had expected that she’d be in town again, but I had thought, or at least hoped, that I would hear from her, first.
For a few moments she just stood there at the entrance to the diner, waiting for one of the waitresses to come and seat her. She looked around and spotted me staring at her. For a moment, we just stared at each other across the diner, and I felt that weird combination of resentment toward her for lying to me, and wishing I was still in the dark about why she’d been in my little town in the first place. Then, at least, I could have hoped to see her again and maybe have a few more good times before the other shoe dropped.
Then the door opened again, and I saw another group come in behind her. I recognized the two guys who had been with her the first time we’d met, when she’d literally run into me, along with a handful of people from the town that I knew—people who were doing poorly, same as Kyle and Pete. I made myself look away, to try and resist the temptation to talk to her again. The fact that she was obviously meeting with people to convince them to sell wasn’t lost on me, and I wanted to do what made the most sense: convince as many people as possible not to sell out. Getting mad at her and having some kind of confrontation wouldn’t do that.
Chapter Nine
Emily
I would have paid good money to be put at almost any other table in the diner than the one that our waitress—Margot—brought us to, which was only two down from where Rhett was seated with some other people from the town. Focus, Em. You’re here to do a job.
I hadn’t told my dad anything about the night I’d spent on the Baxter farm, but had instead just thrown myself into getting the kind of information that he needed: who we should approach first, what kinds of ballparks we should be considering as offers, things like that.
As we sat down, Jacob did his best to get the seat right next to me at the table. I wasn’t fond of that, but I wasn’t about to make a scene; I needed to focus on the task at hand.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Dad said to the men who’d come to have lunch and discuss the possibility of selling their land to us for development. “I think that we have a lot to gain from each other.”
“We really want to make sure that if you do decide to sell to us, you get fair value for your land,” I added. “That’s important to us—we want to become a part of this community.”
“Emily’s right,” Jacob said, reaching an arm out and putting it around my shoulders. “We’re a family, and we want to bring Mustang Ridge into our family—as well as joining all of your families.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at how trite that was, but I knew better. Instead I glanced over at where Rhett sat, and caught the flare of irritation in his eyes before he turned back to whatever discussion he was having.
We managed to get halfway through the pitch before Rhett’s party broke up, and I saw the people sitting at the table with him leaving one by one, saying goodbye to the other people they knew at the diner—which was just about everyone—on their way out, until it was just Rhett. I’d mostly kept quiet, since Dad and Jacob were the big sales guys, and Dad especially was good at holding court, talking about what the benefits would be to the community.
Jacob kept finding excuses to touch me, and it irritated me—but not nearly as much as it seemed to irritate Rhett. I couldn’t be sure if it annoyed him because it was Jacob, or because Jacob was touching me—brushing his hand against mine, touching my shoulder, shifting so that his leg pressed up against mine—but I was glad I wasn’t alone in that bit of annoyance I felt.
Finally, Rhett rose from his table and came over to ours, nodding to some of the people sitting with us. “I see you know what’s going on in the town,” Rhett said to them. “Hey, Emily.” He half-scowled at Jacob, before wiping his face of everything but a friendly, polite expression.
“We’re just having a talk with these fine folks about a project we have going on,” Dad said.
“Apparently not everyone here feels the same way that you do about the opportunity we’re presenting them,” I told Rhett tartly.
“Not everyone here has the same circumstances,” Rhett observed. “It can be tempting to look at money now instead of the long-term effect of what selling would be.”
“Making money now is always good,” Jacob countered. “I mean, how do you get money later? You make smart decisions with it now—invest, get out of dying industries.”
“Industries aren’t dying when there’s still demand for them,” Rhett told him firmly. “There are lean times and good times, but there will always be a demand for people who know how to work the land and take care of it, and how to keep their money for a rainy day.”
“Sometimes money runs out,” one of the people we’d been talking to—a guy named Brad—said. “I don’t think any of us could blame someone for wanting a chance to make their lives better.” He gave Rhett a significant look, and I remembered what I’d learned about him the day of our big tour of the town: that he’d gone away to school, to Notre Dame, and then gone on to become an NFL player for a season, before coming back to the town.
“Some people just can’t get over their small-town prejudices,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“I know that this looks like a golden parachute,” Rhett told the people who’d come to talk to us. “I get why it’s tempting to think about. But we’ve all got to think about more than just ourselves and our situations in this.”
“Spoken like someone who hasn’t been through a bad patch,” one of the men at the table said.
“I do get that a lot of us are hurting,” Rhett said. “I know why there’s a temptation to go for the easy solution. But bringing in a huge company would end up killing the town in the long run, and none of us would win. What are we going to do when the whole economy of the town is screwed up?”
“How do you know it’s going to be screwed up?” I crossed my arms over my chest and angled away from Jacob a bit. I didn’t need him encouraging me.
“Because the grocery store, the dry goods store—probably almost everything but the church and the diner—would go out of business,” Rh
ett said. “And the people who sell off their land are going to end up not being able to make the right use of it—they’re going to end up losing that money you give them.”
“Not if they’re smart with it,” I countered. “The kind of money we can offer is enough to start up a new business.”
“But how are they going to start a new business? This town works because we have what we need,” Rhett said. He seemed to have forgotten completely about the people he was supposed to be talking to—his fellow people from the town, fellow farmers. “We all work hard, and all that’s going to happen is that at best, a bunch of people will move to town to work for the big company—whoever it is—and they’ll be taking jobs that the people here need. There won’t be anything for anyone. All Mustang Ridge will be is another suburb, filled with people who have nothing to do with the town.”
“It sounds to me like you’re trying to justify having an opportunity that you don’t want others to get,” I said, feeling defensive.
“What on earth do you mean?” Rhett demanded.
I glanced at my father. I knew what Dad would want me to do: destroy Rhett’s credibility so that no one sitting at the table would take what he had to say seriously. I had to do it; he was hurting our pitch.
“I mean that the guy who got a free ride to an Ivy League school probably doesn’t really know what the lean times are,” I said. “I mean—you just got your farm ten years ago, right? And you had an opportunity that no one else from this town has ever gotten, so now you think you can tell them what to do with their own property.”
“I’m not saying that at all,” Rhett said, his face settling into angry lines. “I’m saying that this community is worth saving.”
“And in all that education you got, no one ever taught you that times change, did they?” I shook my head and glanced at Dad again. He was nodding approvingly, and for a second I felt good, because he liked what I was doing. But when I looked up at Rhett again, I felt miserable. I continued despite my misery, “I mean, it’s one thing for you to refuse to sell to us—that’s your right. But it’s not like you’re any smarter than the rest of these people, even with that fancy education you got yourself.”
