While he’d already given Gretchen a printed copy of the shot in the pumpkin patch with the truck for Ida’s Christmas present, he planned to have a photo book made of all the shots he’d taken on the Walker farm. Most were of Gretchen, but he’d also taken quite a few of Ida and Cocoa, as well as the property itself. They were personal and not for his story, but he wanted the women to have them.
He clicked out of the slide show and then, with a deep sigh, closed the laptop. He was going to have a hard time leaving this all behind. Leaving them behind. But he couldn’t stay. After working so hard for his entire adult life to build the career he had, how could he stay here and spend the rest of his life turning pumpkins so they didn’t get flat on one side?
And he had no idea how Gretchen would react if he even hinted at staying. She held her emotional cards so close to her chest, he could never be sure how she really felt about him. Or if she even had feelings for him at all.
That was probably for the best. Since he was nearing the end of the work he’d come here to do and would probably move on soon, the last thing he wanted was for Gretchen to fall for him. He didn’t want to be another person in her life who’d let her down.
Cocoa poked at his arm with her nose, making a low whimpering sound. She’d probably picked up on the turmoil of his thoughts, so he took a deep breath and stroked her head. She rested her head on his knee, partially covering the edge of the laptop, and stared up at him with sad eyes.
“Aw, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a guy who stays in one place, Cocoa. But it’s not about you. I promise. I’m just a wandering kind of guy, and bringing the world to people through photographs is part of who I am.” She sat up to give him a high five, and then snuggled against his side again to resume her nap. “I’ll miss you, though.”
“Are you breaking up with my grandmother’s dog?”
Startled, Alex looked at Gretchen in the kitchen doorway. She was leaning against the jamb, her arms folded as if she’d been there a little while. “Just trying to keep some distance between us so she doesn’t break my heart when I have to leave.”
Her smile was on the tight side, and he realized Gretchen might assume he was actually trying to send her a message. And maybe he was. Hell if he knew. Maybe subconsciously he was working out what he’d say to Gretchen if leaving the farm turned out to be even harder than he thought. A preemptive pep talk for himself.
“She’s not supposed to be on the couch,” was all she said.
“I could tell by the way you two were snuggling while watching TV the other evening.”
This time when she smiled, it looked less forced. “Busted. It’s hard to say no to her.”
He ran his hand over the dog’s sleek brown fur, and she sighed deeply. “Yeah, it is.”
“She’ll miss you, too, when you’re gone.” She looked at them for a few seconds, her face like stone, and then she turned and went back into the kitchen. A moment later, he heard the screen door slam.
He’d stayed too long. Somehow renting a room from an old schoolmate had turned into making himself a part of the family, and extricating himself wasn’t going to be easy on any of them.
And with each passing day, it was only going to get harder.
—
Gretchen watched the big dually pickup inch its way down her driveway, trying not to jostle the horse trailer it was towing. She’d miss the horses, but when she’d talked to Beverly on the phone to finalize pickup plans, it had sounded like they’d be back in the spring. This wasn’t the year they’d move south for good, which meant she had one more year of that income.
That was how life went. Just keep making it from tax bill to tax bill and try to enjoy a little bit of life along the way.
The timing worked well for her, too. Most people didn’t go south for the winter until deeper into fall, but Beverly’s daughter’s birthday was in September and she preferred spending it with her friends down there. Since the kids were homeschooled, they were free to do whatever they wanted.
That meant Cinnamon and the other horses departed before it was time to start harvesting the pumpkins, which was pretty exhausting work. With Gram taking care of the household garden and doing the pumpkin seeds and canning, Gretchen took care of the chickens, the wood supply, and cutting pumpkin stalks until she could barely straighten her back.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was doable. And there was a possibility she’d have help a few hours a week, though it wasn’t definite yet. Jen and Kelly had been working on a program to help kids who were getting in trouble, but nothing serious enough to give them a police record that might hold them back later in life.
Similar to community service, it would pair a teenager with a community member for a certain number of volunteer hours. Ideally, the adult would serve as somebody to talk to, almost as a mentor. They could try to share life experiences with the kids and help them get back on track before they went too far off the rails.
Unfortunately, they were finding themselves mired in red-tape headaches. There would have to be background checks done on every adult involved, just as they would if they were school volunteers. And there could be insurance complications for businesses that brought in a minor to do any work. Jen and Kelly were trying to use the Walker farm as a test run, because Gretchen always needed help and there was a variety of work to do. But there was also farm machinery and splitting mauls and all manner of things that could be dangerous in the hands of an inexperienced or troubled teenager.
Once she could tell by the sound of the engine that the truck had managed to make the turn from her driveway to the road and was accelerating, Gretchen headed back to the barn to start the process of giving it a thorough cleaning.
The hard work would serve two purposes. One, it would wear her body out so she’d sleep without too much tossing and turning. And two, it would keep her out of the house and away from the cause of the tossing and turning.
It wasn’t the ache of sexual desire making her restless now, though she certainly didn’t want him any less than she had in the beginning of his stay. It had been two days since she’d heard him practicing his good-bye speech on the dog, and now every time she saw him, she wondered if today was the day he’d tell her he’d be moving on.
She thought maybe she’d fallen in love with him, and she wasn’t even sure when it had happened. Maybe it had been a slow, comfortable process, just the way he’d settled into being practically a part of the family.
Maybe she was wrong, though. She wasn’t sure exactly what love was supposed to feel like. Not family love because, thanks to her grandparents, she knew what that felt like. But in the movies and books, falling in love with a man seemed like a huge moment of awareness, accompanied by a lightning bolt and a musical crescendo.
While she certainly felt the sizzling jolt of heat when he touched her, she knew sexual chemistry wasn’t love. But she suspected feeling like the world had just lit up whenever she saw him and counting the minutes until that would happen again when they were apart might be. There was a sense of completeness when she was with him that was quiet and didn’t come with big music, but was very real nonetheless.
Pulling the wheelbarrow over to the first stall, Gretchen grabbed the big bow rake and started cleaning up the straw. She yelped when strong arms slid around her waist from behind.
“Don’t do that,” she said, slapping Alex’s forearm. “You scared me. What if I’d hit you with the rake?”
He kissed the back of her neck. “Why do you think I wrapped my arms around you instead of just slapping you on the ass like I wanted to?”
“I’m not usually so easy to sneak up on.”
“No, which is why I had to do it. Cocoa must have worn herself out watching the horses being loaded, because she chose napping in her bed over coming outside with me, and you were so lost in thought, you didn’t even hear me trip on that stupid floorboard comin
g in.”
She needed to fix that. One of the floorboards was starting to warp, and she should pull it up and flip it before it got too out of shape to reuse. It was just one of the many things on her list of things to do when she wasn’t busy. Or when she wasn’t being distracted by the man currently pulling down on the collar of her shirt so he could kiss more of her neck.
“What were you thinking about?” he whispered when she didn’t say anything else.
She was thinking about loving him, which she wasn’t about to admit out loud. Not yet, anyway. Not when she could still replay his discussion with Cocoa word for word in her mind. “I was wondering if we have enough wood split for the winter yet.”
Alex laughed, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. “Of course you were.”
“What should I have been thinking about?”
“Texting me and asking me to sneak out here and make out with you in the hayloft.”
Even though she knew she should be putting some distance between them, Gretchen couldn’t hold back the flood of warmth his words triggered. And his hand sliding up under her T-shirt to cup her breast didn’t help that any.
“I could probably take a break for a few minutes,” she said, leaning the rake against the wheelbarrow.
“A few minutes? I can make that work.”
—
A couple of days later, Alex looked out over the field of pumpkins, then gave Gretchen a skeptical look. “I still don’t see how you’re going to harvest all of these.”
“One stalk at a time,” she said in that practical way of hers. “It’s not like they’re all ready on the same day, anyway.”
Hand in hand, they walked between rows of pumpkins. Every so often he’d have to let her go so she could bend down and check a pumpkin or roll one in danger of developing a flat spot, but then she’d straighten and her fingers would thread through his again.
Cocoa had abandoned Ida to join them, and she would run ahead before stopping to sniff thoroughly at anything that caught her attention. Then she’d run ahead again.
It was a beautiful day, and with Gretchen at his side and the dog playing in the sunshine, Alex couldn’t think of a single place he’d rather be. For right now, in this moment, he was content.
He leaned over and kissed her, stopping her in midsentence about the proper way to cut a pumpkin stem. She kissed him back, and then gave him a questioning look when he broke it off. “What was that for?”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
“No.” After a moment, she smiled and then resumed their stroll through the field. “I guess not. It’s starting to get late. Are you ready to head back?”
“No, but we should, anyway. Ida will be starting supper soon, I imagine.”
They’d hoofed it out to the field, so they had a long walk back to the house ahead of them. Cocoa was slowing down a little, probably ready for a drink, so the three of them went side by side.
“Did you hear back from Kelly’s dad or Jen or about your rough draft?” she asked as they walked.
“Not yet. I just sent it to them.” He’d finally decided it was time to let a fresh set of eyes or two see the story, plus he wanted their approval for the content. “And there’s no rush, since there’s no deadline or anything. The beginning of the school year and football season probably wasn’t the best time to hit them up.”
She laughed, their hands joined and swinging between them. “Not the best timing, I guess.”
“I wish you’d let me put you in the story.”
“I love the picture you took for me to give to Gram. I really do. But I’m not comfortable with the rest of it.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “That’s why I didn’t push harder.”
“Gram loved the picture of her knitting with Cocoa curled up at her feet, though. And the bit you did about her sweater sets and her pumpkin pie filling. I know her friends will make her feel like a celebrity when everybody finally gets to read it.”
“I’ll make sure, no matter where or how it’s published, that she gets a copy worth showing off.”
He wondered if she would let go of his hand when they neared the tree line that separated the fields from the backyard of the house, but she didn’t. While she still wasn’t one for open displays of affection in front of her grandmother—and probably never would be—she was loosening up.
When they reached the yard, she stopped. “I left some parts soaking in carburetor cleaner. Tell Gram I’ll be in in a few minutes, okay?”
She stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss, and then let go of his hand. He watched her walk away, utterly enjoying the view, and then gestured for Cocoa and continued to the house.
Once he’d refilled the dog’s bowl with fresh cold water and relayed the message to Ida, he went upstairs to wash up and grab his phone. He’d plugged it in to charge earlier, and he was surprised by how often he left it lying around the house now. Not so long ago, it would never have been out of his reach.
After he washed his hands and used a washcloth to clean his face and neck, Alex unplugged his phone and noticed the icons indicating he’d missed a call and whoever it was had left a message.
The missed call was from his agent, and the voice mail was a terse demand to call him back, so Alex hit the call button. “Hey, I got your message.”
“I’ve got good news for you, Alex.”
Good news generally equaled money in his agent’s eyes, which meant work. Work that would mean leaving Stewart Mills. Leaving Gretchen. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to assume they don’t get CNN wherever you are?”
“Of course they do. I’ve just had better things to do than monitor it twenty-four seven. What’s up?”
What was up was a labor dispute growing in Central America that had the potential to change the economic and political landscape of the country involved. “I’ve already heard from three major news outlets asking if you’re there yet, so you’ll be the man if you get there five minutes ago.”
He wasn’t ready. It was too soon to leave Stewart Mills. Saying good-bye to Gretchen would . . . He wasn’t ready.
“Look, Alex. This could be big. You’re familiar with that area and you already know some of the key players. You know how to get access to places and people others can’t. I can get you on an eleven a.m. flight out of Boston tomorrow and your photographs will be the ones going out with the breaking news updates when this thing blows up.”
Almost against his will, Alex felt the thrill of the hunt rising in him. The hunt for the perfect image to tell a story—an image the world would remember a pivotal moment in history by.
“Alex, you know you’ve got to come back at some point. But sure, go ahead and take a few weeks and maybe a cruise line will be looking for somebody to take pictures of happy families going down midship water slides. Or you leave now and remind everybody why the entire world pauses to look when an Alex Murphy shot comes on the screen.”
“Book the flight,” Alex heard himself say, and his stomach tightened. “Email me the details and I’ll be there.”
When he ended the call, he just sat there staring at the phone in his hand. It was the right thing to do. He needed to get back to work and this was just the kind of situation he thrived on. Documenting history. It wasn’t the kind of story any random teenager with a smartphone could tell, the money would be good, and it was the kind of challenge that had always appealed to him.
All he had to do was say good-bye to Gretchen. Turning the phone over and over again in his hand, he tried to picture himself doing that, and it wasn’t easy. He couldn’t draft the right words in his mind. Nor would it be easy leaving Ida and Cocoa behind, but it was Gretchen’s face that stayed front and center in his mind.
He could come back, he thought. There was no reason he couldn’t keep paying rent and, when the story
was over, come back to the farm. Sure, the distance from Boston or even Manchester made travel inconvenient, and the Internet wasn’t as fast or reliable as he was used to. And the place in Providence, which was convenient and had kick-ass amenities, wasn’t cheap to maintain for no reason.
But the apartment in Rhode Island was missing one thing he wasn’t sure he wanted to make do without anymore, and that was Gretchen.
17
Something was wrong with Alex tonight, and Gretchen sensed it as soon as they gathered in the kitchen for supper. He smiled at them both and laughed when Gram told him a funny story about Cocoa, but he was tense. It showed around his eyes when he looked at her, which was something he seemed to be avoiding.
Gretchen had just taken her last mouthful of pot roast when Gram said she’d gotten a DVD copy of a movie they all wanted to see from the library, and Alex actually flinched. She stared at her plate, slowly and mindlessly chewing the food.
He was leaving.
She’d known from the first time he walked into her house that this moment would come. She’d known it when he’d kissed her out in the pumpkin patch. And she’d known it when she’d stripped him naked for the first time.
“I got a call from my agent today,” Alex said quietly. “There’s a story brewing in Central America and I’m catching a flight out of Boston tomorrow morning.”
After swallowing, she took a sip of her drink without looking up. For somebody who’d known all along Alex would leave, Gretchen was surprised to find herself so unprepared now that the time had come. It hurt, like a hard kick to the gut, and she was too busy trying to breathe normally to come up with words to say.
“Oh.” Even Gram was struck speechless for a moment, but she rallied faster than Gretchen. “What kind of story?”
Alex started talking, but all Gretchen heard was a blur of words running through her mind. It didn’t matter what kind of story it was. He was leaving and then it would be just her and Gram and Cocoa again.
Defending Hearts Page 20
