by Linda Joyce
“What?”
“That groan is as good as a confession. When I asked Karl out, Lucas happened to be there. His exact words were, ‘Craig isn’t going to like this.’ You’re purposely dissuading men from dating me. Lucas is doing your dirty work. You’re a…a,” she sputtered. “I can’t even say what I think you are. Mother would turn in her grave. Dad would find a way to wash my mouth out. But know this, Craig Britton. I’m staying on the farm, and I’m going to date whomever I like.”
Craig held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. I get it. At least about the dating part. However, like it or not, if the crop and your painting don’t put you in the black, you’ll be off the farm before Christmas. Sorry, Amelia, but it’s a business decision. Nothing personal. I won’t let you take me down over your silly sentiment.” Let her stew on that. If it took tough love to make her see reason, then he’d dish it out.
“You’re worse than the bank that stole the Dwyer’s farm.”
“A bank didn’t steal it…” Craig stood. The conversation turned in a direction he hadn’t wanted to go. Given the cost of Amelia’s studio in the city—he paid the rent monthly—plus contributions to farm expenses, the business decisions had to be made rationally.
“Don’t get all technical with me. The end result is the same.” She sneered. His younger sister, the woman who had adored and looked up to him, acted as though he were the same as a bug on a pile of cow dung.
“Let’s face facts. You’ve made it this year only because of the sales from the stuff Mother stashed in the barn. Once that’s gone, that revenue stream is dry. Your only recourse is to paint more. And you can do that rent-free in the city.”
“I’m not a robot,” Amelia whispered. “I don’t paint by numbers or paint on demand. It never occurred to me I’d ever see the day when you’d truly use the farm against me. Pull my home out from under me. I guess I need to talk to Lucas…ask for his advice…since you weren’t able to help Mr. Dwyer save his farm. I now know I can’t count on you to help me out. When the noose is around my neck, you’ll be the one to tighten it.”
Amelia knocked back the rest of the whiskey in her glass. “I’m going to finish off the bottle. I’d ask you to join me while I drown my sorrows, but I’m afraid you might really do it.”
“Do what?” Craig asked.
“Drown me.” Amelia opened the door, and Jack followed her inside. She slammed the door so hard the glass rattled. For a moment, he wondered if it might crack. That would be yet another expense to pay for.
He looked out over the property bathed by moonlight. He’d run the numbers again and again. He couldn’t afford to indulge his sister in her fantasy of farming. Why was he the bad guy for being the voice of reason?
Had he been wrong to interfere in Amelia’s life? Maybe. Probably not. All the numbers said he was correct. She needed to move back to the city.
How could he ever convince Amelia of that?
Chapter 7
Lucas stabbed the ground again with a shovel turning over the scooped earth. Garden cleanup. One of the necessary evils of life. Digging up all the existing bulbs, dividing the multiples, and replanting the flowerbed lining the back of the house, ate up more time than he had to spare, but he did it for Megan. A short break might soothe his boredom. With the sun continuing to rise in the sky along with the heat of the day, he preferred lemonade to quench his thirst rather than a beer. He wanted to set a good example for Megan.
“Quit grunting. I know you hate this. You want lunch in a few minutes?” Megan asked as she divided a clump of irises. “We’ve been at this for three hours now. I’ll make sandwiches since you cooked breakfast. You’ve gotten good at ham and cheese omelets.”
Lucas glanced at his sister. Streaks of light blond framed her face in the warm, fall sunlight. Jeans and a purple college jersey replaced her old farmer coveralls, the kind she’d worn as a kid when she followed their father around doing chores, feeding chickens, exercising horses, and tinkering with tractors. Watching her now, he still saw an innocent young girl who idolized their father. He wanted to believe she lived by the values their parents instilled in them. Honesty. Compassion. Integrity. He’d gone to war to fight, not only for freedom, but for their way of life—liberty and the pursuit of happiness—where a person had a chance to make something of his life regardless of his humble beginnings. He believed deeply in the American experiment and accepted setbacks came with forging new paths.
Sweet Megan. His brotherly protectiveness tugged hard at his heart, so hard it wouldn’t surprise him if he sweated blood. She deserved a good life and he wanted that for her, just as he understood all the reasons Craig tried to protect Amelia. But the difference between Megan and Amelia was the difference between sunflowers and deep red roses. Sunflowers in their simplicity turned their faces to the sun and tracked its path across the sky, whereas the hardy winter roses used their heady fragrance to captivate and their velvety petals to seduce. Amelia was his red rose. She stood a much greater chance of succeeding on the farm alone than Megan ever would.
“Earth to Lucas.” Megan waved at him.
“What?”
“Lunch?”
“Sure.”
He surveyed their progress. Completion of the project would require another hour.
“Why women in this family insist on bulbs, especially tulips, I’ll never know. Between icy cold winters and scorching hot summers, the darn things rot. If the weather doesn’t destroy them, the squirrels and rabbits munch them,” he grumbled. Tulips never stood much of a chance in a prairie garden. Only half the bulbs they’d planted last year came up this spring, though the daffodils, hyacinths, and irises had survived. Splotches of brown soil, visible between the plants, reminded him that his mother’s garden had always looked colorful and charming.
“What are you so angry about?” Megan asked. She moved to sit in the grass next to the stone-edged garden and finished sifting through the surviving bulbs.
“Nothing. I got new bulbs for you, didn’t I?”
Megan snorted. “Yeah, right about the bulbs, but since when did you start lying? If I guess what’s wrong, will you tell me?”
Lucas continued to work the soil. When had his sister become such a chatterbox?
“You’re mad about the land. But, you still own ten acres and the house.” Megan stood and dusted off her jeans.
“No sense in being mad about losing the farm. We. Megan. We have ten acres.”
“Nope. I’ve decided,” Megan said with a determined jut of her chin. “Since you’re helping me with all the expenses of school, my graduation present to you is my half of what we own.”
Lucas stopped shoveling. “That’s generous of you. I appreciate what you want to do, but ten acres doesn’t keep a man employed to feed and clothe and educate an entire family.”
“Not as a fulltime farmer, but it’s enough land to produce food to eat, including some chickens. A house with four bedrooms, though not a sprawling two-story like the Britton’s place, has enough space to raise a family. Besides, you have the combine contracts. You’re the best around. I heard you even turned down business this year because you’re in such high demand.”
“Megan, really, I appreciate your offer. However, don’t listen to gossip. And, combining is not farming.”
Lucas glanced at his sister as he stabbed the shovel into the dirt point first, into earth so hard the farming tool stood upright on its own. Megan shook her head and sighed.
“I know you mean well,” Lucas said. “Half of what we have is yours. I like the idea of us sharing this place together for holidays and summers. Here our kids will have a connection to each other. And to the land, especially since Dad was an only child, we never had cousins locally…we didn’t see much of the ones out west.”
“You sound like you’re leaving.” Megan’s brow furrowed.
“I’ll be on the road for the harvest season with my crew. I’m thinking about staying with Mom and Dad in Arizona after Christmas. Get
ting out of the Kansas cold for a while this winter.”
“But…” Megan sputtered. “What about me?”
“What about you? You go back to school after the holiday. Your entire freshman year, you only came home to visit once each semester. Cell phones do connect in Arizona.”
“But what if I want to come home more on weekends?”
“You’ve got a key.”
Megan’s eyes watered. She jumped up and bolted for the back door.
“Wait!” Lucas kicked the shovel and started after her, but before he reached the door, a car horn blasted. He turned, surprised to see Amelia with Craig. They must have come straight from church.
Slam!
From inside the house, a door slammed. Megan and her anger. Maybe it was his punishment for not taking her to church, like his mother had insisted when they talked last night on the phone. Thank goodness Amelia had arrived. His sister would respond better to female intervention than a two-male invasion.
“Glad you could come by before you left,” Lucas said to Craig. He turned to Amelia, “Could you talk Megan down? She’s upset. She ran inside. If I’m not mistaken, she’s crying. I think it was something I said, but…for the life of me, I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Brothers,” Amelia grunted. “Can’t live with them, can’t kill ’em.” She headed toward the back door. He watched her go. Her hips swayed as she picked her way across the yard in high heels. For months, whenever she was near, his gut clenched as though he’d been sucker punched. A deep ache made him want to take her in his arms and hold her. Feel her softness and her warmth. It had become near impossible to hide his feelings about her.
He jerked his attention to Craig to clamp down on his growing desire and to avoid alerting Craig to his true feelings. It would be uncomfortable if his friend caught him gawking at Amelia.
“You couldn’t have planned that better,” Craig said.
“How do you mean?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but we need to talk.”
Lucas pointed. “How about in there? It’ll give us some privacy.” They walked the worn path away from the house to the large metal building that served as a workshop and storage for farm equipment. Once inside, Lucas led Craig to the far corner where several easy chairs faced a flat screen TV. When he had time, he let his inner football fan cut loose. It wasn’t a man cave, but a place of his own requiring cleaning only when he got around to it. Tiny dust particles danced in the light when Lucas flipped the switch and the fluorescents flickered on.
“What’s your call?” Lucas asked, reaching for the fridge door.
“Root beer.”
“Take your choice of seats.” Lucas pointed to the grouping of easy chairs that had seen better days, then to the three-legged wooden stools by the workbench. Craig grabbed a dingy rag and wiped the top of a stool before parking on it. Lucas rolled his eyes. The city boy didn’t want to get his suit pants smudged with a little dust. His friend had surely changed.
“Talk.” He handed a bottle of root beer to Craig before settling on the next stool. A small motor on the workbench caught his eye. He needed to pick up parts to finish the repairs. Tasks awaited him everywhere he looked. And the garden wouldn’t have a harvest if Megan didn’t pull her weight and complete the task.
“I’m asking for your help.”
“Go on.” Lucas took a long draw on his root beer.
“Someone made me an offer on the farm. I’m going to sell.”
Lucas coughed, spurting a trickle of brown liquid. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The shock of Craig’s confession had his brain turning round like a whirligig. Amelia would be crushed. “Say, what?”
“I want your help. Talk Amelia into leaving the farm.” Craig set his drink on the workbench, rose from the stool, and began pacing. “I have an offer. Have had an offer, but the buyer wants the whole thing, not just my half. I never wanted to push her off the farm. I always wanted leaving to be her own decision. But…it’s been a year. Now, she says she’s resolved to stay. You and I know everything hinges on the harvest. I don’t want her to fail. It will crush her if she loses the farm.” Craig stopped in front of the large flat screen TV. “I want her to see the truth of the situation and decide to go on her own.”
Lucas frowned. “Truth is a tricky thing sometimes. Your truth isn’t necessarily hers.”
Craig crossed the room and stood in front of Lucas. “You have to talk to her. Convince her.”
“What makes you think Amelia will listen to me?” Shaking his head, Lucas stared at his friend. Had he truly heard Craig correctly? “You’re going to sell? Who’s the buyer?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m not going to say just yet.”
Lucas locked his jaw and glared. “It’s not a who, but a what. That soulless corporation offered you big money.” He never imagined his best friend would be a sell-out. Plenty of local farmers would want the Britton’s land. He barely had enough for a down payment, but even he had an interest in the land. However, he never wanted Amelia to think his interest in her was connected to the farm. He wanted her, not for her farm. Why would Craig turn traitor and destroy the tradition of family farming?
“It’s practical. It makes sense, Lucas, and not just on paper. Afterward, I’ll invest the money. Amelia can paint. Do what she wants without the headaches and the worry of the farm. She won’t be at nature’s mercy for income.”
“You want an easy way out. You just don’t get it.” Lucas rose and kicked a stool, sending it toppling onto its side. It clunked against the cement floor. He sucked in a quick breath to check his frustration, which was rising like a flooding river. He lowered his tone and studied Craig. “She paints like a fiend here—not in the city. She’s making ends meet. The crop this year is good. It’ll put her in the black. You should have a little faith in your sister.”
“But what about next year? Or the year after that?” Craig shouted. “Soon, all the boxes of stuff my mother bought and hoarded in the barn will be gone. Then what?” Craig slammed his bottle of root beer on the workbench. Liquid spewed from the top and trickled down the side. Craig shook his hand, shaking off the brown beverage. He grabbed for the rag and wiped up the mess. “Farming is gambling. Only worse. You put your heart and soul into it and just like that”—Craig snapped his fingers—“it’s gone.”
“If farming is gambling, then you should understand. You gamble with people’s money every day. Isn’t that what you do, Mr. Big Investor? Just wait until after the harvest.” Lucas mopped his face with his hand. “Give her that much time. If the corporate operation is willing to buy now, they’ll pay more after the harvest. It will give you leverage to up the price.”
“You of all people should know,” Craig sounded as though on the edge of defeat, “farming is always a huge risk. I won’t remind you about what happened to your father. Look what it did to you! I don’t want that for Amelia. I have to protect her.”
He couldn’t deny the truth of Craig’s words. The loss of the farm still jabbed his gut, sometimes as a mild punch, other times like a fiery hot stab. He understood what it meant to have life ripped away. A life he’d fought for, risked his life for. Would it be worse if Amelia tried and failed? Maybe. Maybe not. He wasn’t in the psychic business. That was Helen’s bailiwick. But he wouldn’t help anyone, not even Craig, yank dreams from another person, especially if that person was Amelia.
“I can’t help you, man. I told you before.” Luke bent to pick up the fallen stool. “I’m done running interference. I’m not sticking my nose into Amelia’s business unless she asks me directly. You’re on your own.”
“What if,” Craig’s words came slow and even, “I made it worth your while?” Craig’s eyebrows raised.
Lucas frowned. “A bribe?”
“Think of this as a business deal. The parcel of land between your house and ours. It could be yours. It will give you greater access to the creek. Your holding will go up from ten to ninety acres. The
y don’t want the land where our house sits. It’s a sweet deal.”
“I think if you weren’t my best friend, I’d punch you out right now.” Lucas locked his jaw. “If I wanted your land, I’d offer a deal to Amelia. Not you.”
“Craig? Lucas?” Amelia’s voice came from near the doorway. “Can you hear me? Are you in there? Want some lunch?”
“Consider the offer,” Craig growled. “For the sake of our friendship. Amelia’s always been like a sister to you. Help me do the right thing by her.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. He kept his voice low. “Well, consider this. Maybe I’ll just marry her. That would solve her biggest problem—you.”
Craig drew back. The shock on his face made the entire conversation worth it. “Let him consider it all the way back to St. Louis,” Lucas muttered as he turned his back on Craig and walked toward the voice of the woman he loved.
****
“Megan, honey, you have to look at the good in the situation.” Lia sat on the foot of Megan’s bed with apprehension railing in her gut like Jerry Lee Lewis pounding piano keys. It broke her heart to see Megan cry. The transition from kid to grownup rarely went smoothly for anyone, but could she really offer adult advice to the almost twenty-year old sobbing into a pillow? Her brother, and for that matter, Megan’s brother, often treated her with kid gloves, like she were still a child, which she resented. Would Megan reject her offer of support? Though Lia had been a teacher and dealt with children’s emotions, Megan’s pain cut so close to home. Lia started to reach out and pat the young woman on the back, but thought better of it. Megan didn’t need to be patronized.
“If Lucas is out on a job or visiting your parents in Arizona”—Lia clutched her hands in her lap—“you can stay with me…if you don’t want to be here all alone. You can even invite some of your friends from college for a weekend sleepover. Do college girls do that still? Just know this, I know what it’s like to miss home.”
The young woman flopped over and wiped her tear-stained face with the corner of a pillowcase. “You make me feel guilty. At least my parents are alive, but I always pictured myself coming home from college for holidays and having my parents here.” Megan sniffed.
