by Linda Joyce
Since she rarely drank beer and only knew them from commercials, her knowledge left her without an answer. Playing on Bethany’s vanity, Lia suggested, “You choose the best one for me.” She hopped on a barstool parked at the end of the long polished wooden bar. It provided a perfect view of anyone entering or leaving by the front door.
“Boulevard Pale Ale on draft,” Bethany said, placing a full mug on the bar in front of Lia.
“For a quart of Ale is a meal for a King.”
“What?”
“Shakespeare.”
Bethany chuckled. “You, of course, would know that. Always the artsy one. But I’d bet money you can’t walk after a pint.”
Lia ignored the jab. “I’ll take some nachos with barbecue pulled pork.”
“Coming right up,” Bethany tapped the computer screen behind the bar.
Observing the place with a painter’s eye, Lia marveled at the golden light filtering through the slatted brown blinds. The punched-copper ceiling, showing a rich patina, had to be original to the old building. Black tufted booths lined the walls, but the round tables and wooden chairs filling the open spaces resembled the style from old western movies. When Kip Moore belted out Beer Money through the sound system, Lia held up her frosted mug in salute. After a sip, she turned her attention to the closest big screen TV mounted on the wall where the prefive o’clock news scrolled ticker-tape style on the bottom of the screen.
Rockets, she decided, had a very respectable atmosphere during the day despite its less than distinguished late-night reputation.
A few minutes later, the door to the bar opened.
“Hey, Bethany, I’ll take a draft of whatever’s on special today,” Zoë called as she entered and headed in Lia’s direction.
“How was work?” Lia asked when her friend hoisted herself on the next barstool.
“I can tell from that frown you really don’t want to talk about that, although I could give you stories that would keep you in stitches all day. What’s up?”
“Lucas Dwyer.”
“What’s he done now?” Zoë shook her head.
Lia paused as Bethany lingered while dropping off Zoë’s beer and Lia’s plate of nachos.
“Ah, we’ll run a tab,” Lia said and waited for the bartender to slide her way back to the far end of the bar.
“Forget about Lucas for a moment. I have good news. Great news! I have a date for next Saturday night.” Lia beamed.
“Ducks do fly south for the winter. Who’s the dude?”
“Karl Turner.”
“The Karl Turner? The new nephew at the farm store? Nice.”
Lia smiled. “He asked me out for tomorrow night…but,” she paused when her heart slammed in her chest knowing what tomorrow represented. “We have a date for next Saturday night.”
“Next Saturday night?” Zoë’s brow furrowed.
“Lucas had the gall to tell him I couldn’t go out with him tomorrow night.”
“Lucas said that? Well, you could go.”
Lia sighed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t be good company. I hate it when Lucas is right.”
“But, think about it. Maybe going out is exactly what you need.”
“I will, but next Saturday night.”
“I’ve met Karl once. He seems…more mature than the last nephew Mr. Turner imported to help out. It’s not like Lucas to butt in.”
“He’s been an ache in my backside for the last year”—Lia lowered her voice—“I think…and oh, is Craig going to catch it…I think my brother appointed Lucas as my watchdog.”
Zoë’s eyes grew round.
Lia nodded. “That would explain why Lucas, not Craig, fought with me about who would put in the crop last spring, who would help me with the mowing, even who should harvest the corn. All along, I just thought he wanted the business. When I complained to Craig about Lucas Dwyer, my brother dearest encouraged me to let Lucas handle things if I wanted the farm to succeed. I think Craig feels guilty because he couldn’t pull strings to help the Dwyers keep their farm.”
“Wouldn’t you?’
Lia frowned. “Yeah, probably. If I were Craig. But I don’t know about finances like he does, and I can’t depend on Lucas. He’s gone in the fall combining. Craig said Lucas travels as much as a thousand miles to a farm for work during the season.”
“And that’s got what to do with giving the man a contract? Give Lucas some credit. He’s helping pay for Megan’s education.”
Lia narrowed her eyes. A ripple of unease rode a rollercoaster from her brain to her heart. “Do you still have a crush on him?” she asked quietly. “I thought you were long over Lucas.”
“Hey, sister!” a voice shouted, interrupting her study of Zoë. Lia turned to see Zoë’s younger brother racing toward them.
Zoë hopped down from the barstool and let out a squeal. “Whee!” She raced toward her brother. “Seth! How come you never told anyone you were coming home?”
The uniformed solider stopped, saluted, and then grabbed Zoë around the waist and twirled her round and round. The few customers in the bar clapped. Bethany reappeared from the kitchen and joined in the applause.
“Welcome home, Seth,” Lia called out, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Zoë had purposefully avoided the question about Lucas—their unrequited love during their high school years.
Chapter 3
Lia waved her hand. “Hello? Bethany. Another of whatever beer Zoë’s drinking and the same for her brother,” Lia said to the mesmerized bartender as Seth and Zoë walked toward her spot at the bar.
“I just love a man in a uniform,” Bethany gushed. Lia worried the woman might fall into an old-fashioned swoon, something like Scarlett O’Hara might pull. Lia’s mother had endowed their Midwest family values with a smattering of southern culture from her side of the family. An iconic swooning couch had held court in the living room all of her life.
Seth saluted Bethany, who blushed deep pink.
“Drinks coming right up. His is on the house.” Bethany hurried away.
Seth leaned over and hugged Lia. “The famous artist comes to town. Good to see you.”
“You aren’t the little runt who followed your sister and me around. I’d salute you, but would probably make a mess of it, and I don’t want to insult. How about a toast instead?”
Bethany placed a beer directly in front of Seth and Zoë’s second one within reach.
Lia stood and lifted her mug. “Here’s to all brave men who serve with honor. And to you, Seth Marshall, for making your family proud and coming home alive.” She clinked the glass together with her friends and took a sip.
“To Seth,” the other dozen patrons in the bar shouted.
Seth turned and waved to the well-wishers. “Thanks. It’s good to be home.”
“I’m going to leave. You two have some catching up to do,” Lia said, picking up her keys from the bar.
“But you haven’t finished half your drink,” Seth pointed out. “Don’t go on my account.”
“I feel even more inspired to paint now. It’s all taking shape in my brain.” She hugged Seth, then Zoë. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lia whispered. “About two. Rain or shine.” A touch of sadness tweaked her heart. Celebrating Seth’s return, a brave man home from war, and seeing the joy in Zoë’s eyes over his homecoming made the ache of missing her parents and the family life they’d shared greater in the moment. Not that she expected things to be a hundred percent different tomorrow, but maybe getting past the first anniversary of the funeral would be like finishing a book about an epic journey. Starting a new story might lighten the remaining sadness stuck in her heart.
Walking out of the dark bar, Lia shaded her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the sunlight. She crossed the street in the shadow of the bar’s rocket steeple before turning the corner and making her way back to her truck. She mused about the differences between her and Zoë. She was taller, curvier, auburn haired, with not much family compared to Zoë with her petite build,
model thin, blonde bobbed hair, blue eyes, and a large boisterous family. Their goals in life were different, too. While she loved to paint and enjoyed teaching, Zoë preferred the spotlight. Harvest didn’t have a theater, but maybe it could use one where her oldest friend from grade school could perform and charm any audience. If Zoë had pursued a career in sales, her friend would be rich. Her smile endeared her to everyone.
“But then, if she wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have her to lean on right now,” Lia said, climbing into her truck. Their differences didn’t interfere with their friendship. However, she envied Zoë one thing—as an older sister to siblings, her friend received family respect—unlike Lia’s brother, who looked at her more and more like a child since their parents had died, which made the challenge of proving her farming capabilities that much more difficult. If Craig would only see reason, he’d be proud of her, instead of doubting her.
Two years in age difference was a lot when they were in high school, she a sophomore to his senior status, or when they were in college, but not now. Just because he majored in business and she in art didn’t mean she couldn’t manage the farm like a business. In the face of Mister Doubter, as long as the weather held and the crop came in—fingers crossed—she’d break even on her first, fulltime farming effort. He’d given her a year to fail.
Just the same, even with mixed feelings, she’d be happy to see him. Family history and grief knitted them together, a special kind of bond. She sighed. Craig was headed home for the weekend to spend time with her and to pay respects to their parents. She couldn’t pull off the small graveside memorial service tomorrow afternoon without him. Lucas and Megan would be there and Zoë, too. A few other close friends and neighbors had been included. If she were a betting woman, she’d put money on the fact that Craig had other items on his agenda, like trying to talk her into selling the farm again. He had better be ready for a shocker…did he even understand the two-letter word, no? If he decided to sell his half, she’d find a way to deal with it, but her inheritance wasn’t for sale. End of story.
Lia pulled into a quick-stop station shaded by tall grain silos, filled up the truck with diesel, then ran through the car wash before heading back to the farm, traveling the two-lane blacktop highway rather than farm roads to keep the truck clean. As she drove, she noticed hints of changing color. The sun appeared more golden, rather than summer lemon. Leaves showed the first fall tinge of orange and gold. Fields of sunflowers turned their heads to the light. Tassels on corn glinted like golden silk thread in fields spreading out for miles, signs of summer slipping into fall. Any day now, a first soft frost could arrive and make the world look different. A Kansas fall was like a rose bud—it opened fast and faded too soon.
But she could capture it all in a painting to preserve the feeling year round.
Arriving at the farm, she nosed the truck into the garage. Gentleman Jack greeted her with loud barks from the mudroom where she’d left him. For a Brittany Spaniel, he obeyed well, yet true to his bloodline, whenever able, he’d cast for quail and pheasant—no matter the season.
“Were you a good boy?” She let the dog loose. He bounced past her in a spurt of energy before sprinting back. Together they walked around the old two-story farmhouse. Spring a year ago, her father had replaced all of the windows with efficient double-paned ones. It lowered the heating and cooling costs, which made a difference in her budget between eating well or not. The butter-yellow paint on the house had faded along with the black on the shutters. With the right ladders, she could save money by tackling the job herself. Well, with the right ladders and a few male friends with strong forearms. She had a few candidates in mind, men she could bribe with good food and beer. Maybe she could ask Lucas to organize a painting party. After all, if he was going to keep inserting himself into her life, he might as well be useful.
The house was more than just a structure built on some land. It represented her past and her future. Safety. Comfort. She loved it, but loved Lucas as much. That was a secret she shared only with the house. How would he react if he knew her honest feelings? Would he brush her off this time, like the times in the past, all because she was Craig’s sister?
For some reason she hadn’t figured out yet, she feared Lucas knowing the true depths of her feelings. Telling him was a risk she wasn’t willing to take at this point. Her heart still ached over the loss of her parents, and she couldn’t handle rejection from him again.
If she let him know how much she cared, and he didn’t share the same feelings, it could very well be her final heartbreak. Only then, would she consider moving off the farm. Torture would be seeing him with another woman. If he married…then Craig just might get his wish. She’d be the one to plant the For Sale sign by the road. But she held on to a thin thread of hope about Lucas. As much as the man infuriated her, fighting with him was better than not having him in her life at all.
Walking with Gentleman Jack through the yard and around the house, she surveyed what she owned. The house rested on the crest of a rolling hill. A hundred yards away, oak and hedge apple trees lined a stream slicing through the thousand-acre property. Passing the line of birdfeeders, she made a mental note to refill them. She selected different feed for each one to attract different species of birds. Cardinals, blue jays, and a few bluebirds came, along with brown wrens and gray doves. Just beyond the yard surrounding the house, as far as she could see, corn whispered in the wind and one field of sunflowers lifted their faces to the sun. Here the wind always blew. She missed it whenever she traveled.
Satisfaction settled over her like a warm blanket on a cool night. She’d show Craig. The crop had been planted with a lot of hard work, and she’d already contracted to have it harvested within the month. No way would she miss the mortgage payments. The sale of the corn, yellow like gold, would provide enough money for her to make it through the winter, plus pay for planting in spring…as long as internet sales of the boxed stuff her mother had left hidden in the barn remained steady for the next few months. However, to ensure her success, it was time for plan B, a visit to the gallery in Kansas City requesting to show her work. If her collection of paintings sold, she’d be in high cotton, as her mother used to say.
A trail of dust caught her attention. A truck traveled up the hill on the mostly hard-packed clay road. She glanced at her watch. The delivery driver was right on time, but as usual, he passed the house, continuing on his route to one of the neighbors down the road. Had her mother kept watch through the sunroom window and anxiously waited for the arrival of new packages?
“Here, Jack!” Lia called. The dog ran to her with his ears peaked and his tongue hanging out. She bent to pet him, rubbing behind his ears. “I guess it’s a good thing after all that you never bit the FedEx man who delivered all that stuff to Mother.”
The news of her parents’ death had been difficult enough to take, but when she and Craig got to the hard part of disposing of some of their parents’ belongings, in the barn along with equipment and tools, they’d discovered a room built into the back corner with a lock on the door. When they busted in, to their surprise, they uncovered a ten-by-ten space stacked from the wooden floor to the fourteen-foot ceiling with unopened boxes. The mystery of the packages revealed itself after they searched a file cabinet and found receipts providing information identifying the contents of the multitude of packages. But the reason for the merchandise was only a guess. By all appearances, their mother, a meticulous bookkeeper, became an internet shopaholic after Lia went off to college more than ten years ago.
Lia crossed her arms, hugging her shoulders, and wished she could hug her mother to make the tightness in her chest lessen. She blinked back tears. Mother had lived for their family. Left her home and relatives in Louisiana to marry a farmer and take on a completely different life than the one she’d known. She brought a taste of Cajun culture to the Midwest, but the folks didn’t understand Twelfth Night and thought Mardi Gras was an excuse for debauchery, which their local minister p
reached against. Had her mother been so lonely she tried to fill her cloistered farm life with stuff? Had the highlight of her day been a delivery from the FedEx man? What had her father thought about all of it? Her parents, as far as she knew, had the perfect marriage. Lia shook her head. She’d probably never uncover the secret to her mother’s behavior.
Lia had shared her secret fears about her mom only with Zoë. It would kill her if people gossiped about Mother now that she wasn’t around anymore.
The wind whipped up. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she grabbed its length to keep it from her eyes, closed them, and lifted her face into the gust. The breeze carried some of her sadness away. When she opened her eyes, pride thudded a steady beat in her chest as she gazed at the fields of corn. Her mother wouldn’t want her to wallow. That wasn’t allowed. She had three reasons to celebrate. A trip to KC with her artwork. Dinner with Karl on her birthday. And Gus harvesting the corn.
A sound on the wind distracted her.
“Amelia.”
The wind muffled her brother’s voice. She ran as fast as the back slit in her skit would allow, happy Craig had arrived safely.
“Go get him, Jack!” Lia shouted. “Go see Craig.”
The dog took off on her command flying across the yard and around the corner of the house. When she finally spotted Craig, her heart warmed. He playfully petted Jack. But the warming turned cool. Behind her brother, she spotted a black car. He’d traded up to a new BMW, another marker of his intention to prove city life was better than life in the country. It shouted, “I’m doing well.” He would never buy a car on credit. Cash only. She shook her head. That car wouldn’t last on farm roads.
Drawing nearer to Craig, she couldn’t hold back a smile when he bent at the waist, swaying from side to side. Jack grabbed for Craig’s dangling tie as though it were part of a game.
