by Erin Wright
“Nope. That would require that she actually pick the zukes and deliver them somewhere. My mom rarely got to that point. She’d start out strong but once the heat of summer hit, she’d just wilt out in the sun. She didn’t want to be out there, pulling weeds and watering, and us kids were always helping Dad with the farm chores. So she’d eventually just give up on it all and let it turn into a jungle of overgrown tomato plants, intermixed with the pumpkin vines that were sprawling out everywhere but never produced a damn thing.”
“It’s too cool up here for pumpkins,” Abby said with a small laugh and shake of the head. “You can’t grow a pumpkin up in the mountains.”
“I know, but my mom was hopelessly optimistic. She kept trying every year; wanted to grow a pumpkin for Halloween. Never got one, not once.”
“So how did all of that make you hate tomatoes?” Abby asked, a crease between her brow.
“Well, when fall hit and it was time to take care of the garden bed for the year, my dad was always too busy out in the fields, harvesting our wheat or oats or whatever it was that we were growing that year. My mom was just a little thing, and couldn’t manhandle the rototiller – it weighed a ton – so as the oldest, it became my job to rototill everything under every fall. There I am, hot, sweaty, and smelling rotten tomatoes and zucchinis and green beans that were never picked, but I tell you what, the smell of rotten tomatoes is the worst smell of all. A fall or two of that would put anyone off their tomatoes.”
Abby looked at him, grimacing, and then down at her plate. “Thanks. You don’t think you could’ve told me that story when we were done eating?”
He shrugged unrepentantly. “At least now you know why I hate ‘em.”
“Anything else that your mom ruined you for life on?”
“Nope! Just rotten, black, stinking, mushy tomatoes.”
She glared at him. “Now you’re just trying to be a jackass.”
“Totally possible.” He sent her an innocent grin. “It’s hard to imagine someone like me trying to be a jackass, but if I strain real hard, I guess I can see where you’re coming from.”
She bit her lip, trying to hold back her laughter, and then it spilled out of her, a gorgeous cascade of sound. He settled back into his chair, content to hear that sound for the rest of his life.
And if that wasn’t just the damndest thought he’d ever had.
Chapter 20
Abby
After Abby picked the tomatoes off her salad and forced herself to eat every last one of them as if they were the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, mock-glaring at Wyatt all the while, they began to chat about their childhoods. It was surprising to Abby to hear the similarities in their past; they had both lost their moms, and their dads…
Well, Abby got along better with her father than Wyatt had with his, but listening to him talk about his dad, there was still pride and love in his voice. They may’ve knocked heads over things, but there was still love there.
“Abby, I haven’t ever told you about that night in the bar.”
She shot him a wide-eyed look, surprised. She hadn’t realized that he went out drinking, not after…
“No, not after Shelly and Sierra…not then,” he said, reading her expression for exactly what it was. “Way back when your dad owned my place and lost it to the bank.”
She nodded slowly, not sure what to say so she didn’t say anything at all, just let him talk his piece.
“Well, it got around that I’d talked shit about your dad that night; that I told my buddies that I was going to show him how to run a farm.” She nodded even more slowly this time. What could he possibly be driving at? That comment had deeply hurt her father’s pride at a time when it was already in pieces. Losing a livelihood like that would destroy a smaller man than her father. Having the new owner spit in his face publicly just made it that much worse.
“I wasn’t talking about him.”
The silence dropped into the room, crushing everything else. She just stared at him, surprised, not able to really think through it. What he’d said. How was that…But everyone had said…
“I don’t know who said it; I don’t know how that got started. I was with two buddies from high school at the time, and they swear up, down, and sideways that it wasn’t them. They know what I really said. Well—” He looked flustered. “I did say that, but I didn’t mean your dad. That’d be just downright shitty, talking shit about a man who’d just lost his farm to the bank. No one needs that, not even your dad, and I think we all know we are never gonna be best buds.”
She cracked a small smile at that, but it quickly faded. She just wanted to know the truth, after all this time.
“I was talking about my own dad. We butted heads big time – I just told you that. Now, years later, I think that it was because we were too much alike. My dad was kinda ornery, and I’m sure that you haven’t noticed that character trait in me, but it’s possible that others might have.” She let out a belly laugh at that one and he grinned back in response, his first smile since he’d brought this topic up.
“We fought about everything, but mostly about those damn cows that Stetson brought back to the place. He’d talked my dad into it without even discussing it with me, and that farm was supposed to be mine. I’m the oldest, and…” He gulped. “Anyway, so there’s my younger brother, mucking things up like he always did, bringing those cows onto the place; cows that had to be fed and watered and vaccinated and then they up and die on you without a moment’s notice and they’re dumber than a pile of rocks…
“I don’t know of anyone who likes cows, not even cowboys. I’m a farmer – I like my wheat. It doesn’t argue with me, break a leg in a hole, or escape through a pasture fence when you’re not lookin’.” She laughed again at that, but he was on a roll and she wasn’t going to interrupt. This was something that had bothered him for a long time, and she was going to let him get it off his chest.
“So when I told my buddies that I was going to show ‘him’ how to run a place, I meant my dad. And yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that about my dad either, but it was long past time for me to move onto my own place when your dad’s farm hit the…market.” She was sure he was about to say “auction block,” and she appreciated his thoughtfulness in choosing a more kind phrasing. “I was chafing, wanting to get out onto my own, and my relationship with my father was spiraling down, the more we butted heads. He always did spoil Stetson rotten. He came along as a surprise – did you know that?”
“I don’t know that anyone ever came right out and said it, but based on the big age difference between him and Declan, I rather figured as much.”
“Yeah, Mom and Dad thought they were done – they had Dec and I and things were great. And then along came this squalling little baby, and he was truly the baby of the family, in more ways than one. He got whatever he wanted, and in the end, that meant he got the Miller Family Farm too. Over 130 years in the Miller family, and my dad up and wills the damn thing to Stetson. And then the dumbass almost loses it to the bank. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Jennifer hadn’t come along and helped him save it.”
Abby nodded. That had been the gossip of the town for months – first, that Stetson had gotten so far behind on his payments that he almost lost the family farm, and then that Jennifer, an outsider and from a bank, no less, had been the one to figure out what to do to save it.
She guessed that Stetson didn’t mind in the end, since he’d married her and they were expecting a baby this spring but she could see how Wyatt might not take that as a consolation. A family didn’t hold onto a farm for over a hundred years and then not care if they lost it to foreclosure.
Her dad could attest to that one.
“I appreciate the information, Wyatt,” she said softly, stroking his hand resting on the table. She probably shouldn’t be touching him; she probably shouldn’t be having this meal with him, but right then, all of the “probablies” in the world didn’t matter. “That makes a l
ot of sense. Have you tried to talk to my dad about it?”
“Oh yeah. Once. He didn’t want to hear me out. He walked away and…well, I’m not the kind of man who will try twice. If you’re going to spit on my attempt to reach out to you, I don’t have much use for ya.”
She nodded. It was true; he’d swallowed his pride to even try once. She wasn’t surprised to hear that her father wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t the kind of guy to listen much, ever, but certainly not to someone he hated.
“Well, I appreciate you telling me, really. That means a lot to me.”
She was surprised by just how much it did mean to her, actually. She thought she’d let that go a long time ago, but hearing the reasoning and knowing that Wyatt hadn’t intended to be a jackass that night…
It was nice to hear.
He smiled at her then, and it wasn’t one of his teasing grins or snarky grins or…
It was a sexy grin. A heart-stopping grin. A panty-melting grin.
The butterflies took up twerking again and this time, she couldn’t even manage to dredge up the willpower to tell them to stop. Or even want them to stop. Wyatt, looking at her like she was dessert?
She swallowed hard and his eyes darkened more. The world stopped – she stopped, he stopped, they just stared at each other and she felt herself drifting towards him, infinitesimally closer, and–
“Meow!” Jasmine said, wrapping herself around Abby’s leg. She jerked back and stared down at Jasmine in shock. Jasmine looked back up at her, huge crossed blue eyes clearly begging for a plate to clean.
“Oh Lordy, child,” Abby said with a groan. She looked back at Wyatt but the mood was broken. He was standing up from the table, carrying his plate to the sink. Abby normally let Jasmine lick her plate clean every night, but tonight? Nope. If Abby wasn’t going to get any action, then neither was Jasmine.
It was the first time that Abby had ill thoughts towards her cat since the night Jasmine had jumped down from the windowsill above her bed and landed right on her face, her back paw digging into her eye socket. She had more than a few choice words for Jasmine that night, too.
Abby stood up from the table and together, in a silence only growing more awkward the longer it lingered, they cleared off the table and loaded the ancient olive green dishwasher. Finally finished and still not a word had passed between them. Abby wiped her hands on her jeans, her mouth dry.
“Well, goodnight!” she said, overly cheerful and loud and oh heavens, she sounded like an idiot and she knew it.
“Goodnight,” Wyatt said, sticking out his hand to shake just as she went in for a hug, so they did this awkward-as-could-be hug/handshake combo that probably looked as ridiculous as it felt. He pulled back and said, “I’ll let myself out,” and then he was gone, out the door and into the winter night.
She shut the door behind him and slumped against it. Then slowly, methodically, she whacked her head backwards, once, twice, three times.
“Abby Connelly, you are a first-class idiot.”
Jasmine sat down in front of her, looking at her quizzically. “Meowww…”
Abby sent her a death glare. “And you, young lady! No plates from the dinner table for…for a week!” She felt ridiculous threatening her cat that way, but then again, wasn’t that just this whole evening rolled up into one word? Ridiculous?
Who invited their prisoner over for dinner? And laughed with him? And made googly eyes at him?
Not a county police officer, that’s for damn sure.
She was an idiot, through and through.
With a sigh, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. “C’mon, Jasmine,” she said wearily. “Let’s go to bed. Things can only be better in the morning, right?”
But as she settled down into bed after changing into her PJs and brushing her teeth, she stared at the ceiling and wondered if that was true after all. What, exactly, was going to be better in the morning? Wyatt was still going to be on probation and her father was still going to hate him and she still couldn’t be attracted to him.
No doubt about it, her endlessly positive outlook on life was starting to garner a little tarnish to its shine.
And she wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.
Chapter 21
Wyatt
It was the cold that woke him up.
He was shivering uncontrollably and his nose…he pulled his hand up and out of the sleeping bag to poke at it, shivering even harder when the winter air burrowed through his layers of sweaters and winter coat to steal up his arm. His nose didn’t fall off when he wiggled it, though, which he took as a good sign.
With a groan, he opened his eyes, staring up at the bead board ceiling of his three-season porch. Yup, it was definitely the fourth season of the year. At the moment, it was hard for him to remember just how he could think that sleeping outside in January was better than sleeping in a house that smelled like rotten garbage. His frozen, aching limbs told him otherwise.
Of course, as frozen as his nose was, he might not be able to smell anything any longer, a real positive in his book.
He swung his legs over the edge of the patio loveseat, which had been much too short for him to stretch out on, which had just added to the night’s misery. He unzipped the sleeping bag and forced his legs to carry him into the house, where he breathed in the warm air.
Warm, disgusting, stinking air.
He started hacking, trying to expel the taste and smell from his lungs and throat.
Well, there went that theory – even after a night outside, his nose still worked well enough for him to smell. Which was probably good in the grand scheme of things, but not really that appreciated at the moment.
He unplugged his phone from the wall outlet and walked to the other end of the house, as far away from the kitchen as he could get. He turned his phone on and was pleasantly surprised to see it light up. He wasn’t sure if seven weeks of disuse would’ve killed the battery or not. Some good news this morning, anyway.
He debated, and finally called Adam first. He needed to swallow his pride and get it over with.
The asking-for-a-favor part.
It went against everything in him, but he could do it. Mostly because he had to.
“Hey Wyatt!” Adam’s voice, lit up and happy, rang in his ear. “I didn’t know you got out!”
“Just yesterday,” Wyatt said, the ball of nerves growing tighter. Here it was. Here was the big ask. He could do it.
Because he had to.
“Listen, I have a…” He tried to say “favor” but couldn’t get it past his throat. “Question to ask,” he finished. “I was assigned 75 community service hours from the Ada judge. Can I serve them at your place?” The last part came out in a rush, but at least it did come out. He hoped Adam had heard the question and wouldn’t make him repeat it. It was bad enough the first time.
“My place?” Adam echoed, confused. Wyatt knew from his tone of voice that he was imagining that Wyatt wanted to come over and do his dishes or something. Oh hell no. Wyatt hated doing his own dishes; he wasn’t about to spend 75 hours doing someone else’s.
“At your therapy camp. With the kids and the horses,” he clarified. And not a dish in sight. At least, he hoped there were no dirty dishes in the riding arena.
“Oh, right, of course! I’d love that. Oh Wyatt, just wait until you meet these kids. They’re incredible. So much love in them – you’ve never met a better bunch of children in your life.”
Sierra’s face flashed before Wyatt’s eyes, smiling and bright. The pain and love tore at him equally. She would’ve been seven in May. He missed her so goddamn much. Maybe being around other children would…help.
Either help or kill him straight off. One or the other.
It was a tough pill to swallow, the idea of moving on past Sierra’s death. A part of him felt like if he let it go, then it didn’t count. It didn’t matter after all. But…
Maybe he could see other children her age and teach them what he knew. There
were only a few men in the county who were better with horses than him. And he liked kids okay. As long as they weren’t screaming or throwing up, he’d be fine.
“That’d be great, Adam,” Wyatt got out, his stomach still a ball of nerves. “What time do you want me there?”
“Around 2:30 – would that work? That way, we can go over some things before the kids get here after school.”
“Sounds great. See you then.” They hung up, and Wyatt stared at his phone for a moment.
That hadn’t actually killed him.
A smile crept across his face, growing by the moment. Damn, and wasn’t that just a great feeling? He’d asked for a favor, and Adam had said yes. He hadn’t ridiculed him for needing help or anything.
Before his grin could get ridiculously out of control, he pulled out the phone book for the Long Valley area from his desk in the den, batting away the dust that came with it. A couple of sneezes later, and he’d found a cleaning company in Franklin.
When he explained that he’d been “gone” from his home for two months and that he needed a cleaning crew out to his place on an emergency basis, the older, placid-sounding woman assured him that they could be there by that afternoon. He thanked her and hung up.
Now, it was time to find something to do that was far, far away from his house.
Jorge.
Duh.
His farm manager was his only year-round full-time employee, and because of the state of his house when he got home last night, he hadn’t thought to go out and even tell him that he’d been released. Now was as good a time as any.
He stepped outside and took a deep breath of the bracing, freezing air, blessedly free of smells. It was terrific, it really was, to be back home.
He took off at a brisk walk down the snow-encrusted dirt lane towards the double-wide trailer that served as Jorge’s home. Maggie was by his side, her nose and tail going a mile a minute. “You’re damn happy to be home too, aren’t ya, girl?” Wyatt said with a smile. She grinned up at him for just a moment, he’d swear it was true, and then her nose was back to the ground and she was sniffing again.
