by Linda Joyce
“I even called a buddy down in Little Rock. Said if he could get here, he could use my combine. Because of the path of the storm, I think south of here will be okay. He’s not in any danger, but he already promised his time to another farmer in Columbia, Missouri.” Hopelessness rang in Gus’s voice like a solider fighting his last battle.
“Gus, please keep trying. In the meantime, I’m going to call Lucas and check his schedule, just in case.”
“Lucas is booked. I already called. He’s a day’s drive away with all his equipment. He’s got contracts he’s got to fill.”
Lia’s heart sank. Her life was like a boat taking on water fast. “Gus, thanks for trying. Please don’t give up. Don’t you have like a black book or something with names of other harvesters? Keep on it. I’ll see what I can do.”
Phone in hand, Lia paced. She started to hit speed dial for her brother, but he’d shake his head in disgust. He might not say I told you so, but even without the words, the sentiment would still ring in his voice. Besides, he didn’t have any helpful contacts, only ones wanting to buy the farm.
“You will fail.” Craig’s words echoed louder and louder.
Lia sprinted to the kitchen and flipped on the coffee maker. She ran to the shower. She needed a clear head and clean clothes. After that, she’d find a way. Until her last breath had been ripped from her body, she wouldn’t give up without a fight.
Back in the kitchen, fortified with hot java and reheated bacon on toast, she let Gentleman Jack out to run and sat at the kitchen counter with the inventory for the boxes. If she posted a sale on her website, cut the prices by half, and then managed to sell everything, which was possible though unlikely, she’d make her bills through the end of December. If she finished her paintings and all of them sold at the show, she’d make ends meet until April and buy out Craig. But that left no money for plowing, seed, and planting in the spring, which would bankrupt her and force her to sell the farm.
Could she call Lucas and beg? Offer to pay him half again his regular fee to rescue her crop? Lia sighed. That wouldn’t work. Lucas would never compromise his reputation with his farmers. If he didn’t get their crops in, they wouldn’t hire him again. Dropping everything to help her would be shortsighted on his part. And even if he were willing, she wouldn’t let him make that sacrifice for her. He had Megan to put through college. Besides, she’d told him she could manage things. She had to find a way. Boy, she hated the taste of crow.
Lia headed to the back deck and parked on the top step. From there, she could see miles of gentle rolling hills. Her farm. Her crop. Even her neighbor’s land. The wind whipped her hair. She twisted it and shoved the makeshift ponytail inside the back of her shirt. Drumming her fingers on her thighs and tapping her feet, she tried to quell her panic. Fear tasted bitter in her mouth.
Squeezing her eyes tightly, she pictured the view from her apartment in the city. Within a few seconds, she began to pant as though out of breath. Too many buildings, too much concrete, too many people. Her thoughts drifted to her city studio. Bright light, paint-splattered floors, though big and wide, still closed in. But also, no longer usable space, and she still hadn’t heard back from the fire marshal.
There had to be an angle she’d missed. Life in the city would be a life of treading water. Head above the surface, able to breath, but never getting anywhere. Not a life for her.
Gentleman Jack joined her on the porch. He plopped down on the deck and put his head in her lap. Lia stroked him, needing the calm he offered. His tailed wagged.
“You hated the city. You were only a young pup then, but you’d have no place to run like this. Okay, Jack, what do we do? When Craig has an investment problem, he does research. Sometimes that means talking to consultants. So, maybe I need a consultant. Who better than Lucas? I won’t ask him for help. I’ll ask for suggestions. Come on, don’t just lie there. Let’s get the phone.”
Jack followed her into the house. She grabbed the phone and hit speed dial for Lucas. When Lucas didn’t answer, her eyes welled with tears. Fear and frustration like she’d never known were using her gut as a pin cushion. She listened to his message, happy to hear the sound of his voice, which gave her a small boost of hope. At the beep she said, “Lucas, I’m guessing you’ve been really busy because you haven’t called. Anyway, it’s Friday morning and I’m swallowing my pride. I want to consult with you. When you get this message, please call me back.” She hoped he’d call soon. Sometimes cell phone service was spotty in the flats of west Kansas, more unreliable than the Pony Express had ever been.
When in crisis, painting solved the problem. It remained the best way to occupy her mind until a solution materialized.
Lia focused. She put color on canvas. Brushed it. Knifed it. Sponged it. If she had to live with the failure of her crop, at least she might manage to keep the life she loved if she could sell more paintings. Each new one looked more refined and color-intense than the last. The replacement artwork looked better than the stolen originals. Confidence urged her forward.
In all her life, she had never wanted to claim her namesake more than now. Her father’s grandmother, born and raised in Atchison, Kansas, had admired the city’s famous daughter, Amelia Earhart, whose drive and spunk were legendary. The very reason Lia’s mother named her only daughter after the famous aviator.
Raised on stories of Earhart, Lia grew up imagining the famous female pilot flying planes that flew overhead at crop-dusting time. Like her namesake, Lia now set her teeth with steely determination and risked all to have what she wanted. Only, unlike Amelia Earhart, her course in life didn’t put her directly in death’s path. So what were her options? Maybe she didn’t have to sell all the property. Could she negotiate with Craig’s buyer to keep the house, barns, and enough land to have access to the creek? Losing the tree and the hideaway would leave a hole in her heart. She wanted nothing more than to paint on the farm until she took her last breath, hopefully many years from now. But if she couldn’t have the farm, maybe a small piece of it?
When the phone rang, Lia picked it up before the second ring. “Lucas?”
“You have caller ID. I’m not Lucas.”
“Oh, hey, Zoë.”
“You don’t have to sound so depressed. I’m calling with good news.”
Lia brightened. “You’ve got a combiner for me?”
“What? A combiner? No. Why would you think that?”
“That’s the only good news I want to hear.”
“Oh no. The storm. Your crop. I forgot…Gus can’t work. What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. I may just watch the darn storm roll in and destroy all my hopes.”
“I may have some good news.”
“You’ve got a loaded gun and will help me shoot myself?”
“No. I have the prospect of a lease. A shop. I want to capitalize on all those tourists rather than lick stamps for them. I’ve had this idea about opening a shop. I’ve talked to several artists in the area. Potters, weavers, and woodworkers. Now, I’m talking to my featured painter. I’d like to sell your work.”
The wheels in Lia’s head turned. Zoë’s idea had merit. She could create enough paintings to show her work at two galleries. A hometown gallery could really work out.
“Are you in?” Zoë asked.
“Yes. My gut says yes.”
“Good. Now, I’m guessing you’ve called Lucas for help.”
Lia blew out a breath. “I’ve made so much out of being able to handle things. I’m embarrassed to ask. But Craig told me I would fail, and I’ll crawl over glass to succeed. I’m not giving up until I’m blasted out of here. So, I left a message for Lucas hoping he’d have an idea or two, but…”
“What happens if he doesn’t get the message? How long ago did you call? Maybe you need to call him again. That would drive the urgency home to him.”
A beep sounded in Lia’s ear. She looked at caller ID. Lucas’s name and number appeared.
“Got t
o go. It’s Lucas.”
She ended one call and pushed talk for the next.
“Amelia?”
“I’m so glad you called.”
“I don’t have good news. I talked to Gus early this morning. Why didn’t you call me sooner and tell me Gus was out of commission? I could have worked something out. Now, there’s no way I can get back there in time. I’ve called everyone I know.”
She dropped to her knees. Lucas’s words struck like an arrow to her heart. Her eyes watered, and she scrunched them tight to keep tears from falling. Her brain screamed, No! Her last hope of saving her crop had died just like the corn would after the storm hit.
“Amelia? I can help you make it through the winter. If you lose the crop, I’ll plow and plant for free in the spring. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do more. I’m sorry I’m not there.”
“It’s okay, Lucas,” she whispered, not trusting her voice not to break. She didn’t want his pity.
“I’ll call you tomorrow night. I usually take Sunday off, but with the storm…”
“I understand…”
How arrogant of me to think I could handle this all on my own.
“It’s good to hear your voice. Call when you can. Bye.” She hung up before the tears flowed.
Exhausted, Lia dropped to the couch in the sunroom.
In two days, her show would open.
In three days, her crop would be ruined.
In four days, her life would be over.
Chapter 24
Lia stood up from her stool. Her back muscles protested loudly. She stretched as dawn blazed through the windows of her studio. Her shoulders popped when she shrugged. A diet of coffee and chocolate chip cookies for her last two meals didn’t offer much energy. Her stomach rumbled. During the night, the drop in the outside temperature dropped a chill into the room. She turned on the gas fireplace and longed to curl up with Gentleman Jack on the couch and sleep. Forever.
“Thirteen. A baker’s dozen.” She gazed at the paintings hanging on the wall and leaning up against the counter. They weren’t the large twenty-four by thirty-six inches, but fourteen by fourteen square. However, the last one, about half-done, painted mostly from memory, was her favorite. With help from a photograph—one that captured Lucas’s smile, the one that made her heart pound with love—she’d painted him. She missed him more than expected, more than she wanted to admit. A deep sadness had settled over her last night when he hadn’t called. Working on the painting made her feel closer to him.
“Jack, what do you think?”
The Brittany spaniel raised his head, barked, then made a dive for the dog door, and raced outside.
“Some critic you are.”
Lia padded to the kitchen for coffee. Outside, Jack ran in circles and barked, racing back and forth between the front lawn and the barn. After he ran figure eights between the birdfeeders, he ran back and scratched on a glass window in her art studio.
Lia stopped pouring coffee. Over Gentleman Jack’s barking, the rumble of a large engine grabbed her attention. She ran for the back door.
While the source of the noise wasn’t obvious, the direction of the noise was. She opened the garage door, cranked the four-wheeler, and took off down the pasture path, headed in the opposite direction from the creek.
As she crested a small rise, a behemoth John-Deere rolled across her field a half mile away. The cab of the machine looked like a one-eyed bulging bug, nuclear-sized. Someone had a combine going full tilt, harvesting rows of corn with a single pass. She stopped. Blinked. Looked again. Stared.
Never in her life had she considered herself in need of a knight in shining armor, but the driver of the green beast had rescued this damsel in distress. Someone was saving her corn!
Jack caught up with her. He wiggled as though in a fit of ecstasy. Together they waited for the second pass of the combine. Lia waved as the machine drew nearer. About thirty yards away, the operator killed the engine. The door to the cab opened. A man climbed down.
Jack ran beside Lia as she raced like the wind with the four-wheeler.
“Lucas!” The second she stopped the machine, she launched herself at him, joy giving her body flight.
He swept her up into his arms, lifting her feet from the ground. Her heart sang with a new gladness she never expected.
“What are you doing here?” She managed to get out while peppering him with kisses. Her heart raced as though she’d sprinted thirty yards. Lucas made the world look hopeful.
“And I thought you’d be glad to see me.” The smile in his voice warmed her. She planted another quick kiss on his lips.
“Never more than right this minute for a hundred reasons,” she said.
Lucas hugged her tighter. Before releasing her, he spun her around before setting her on her feet. He kissed her soundly. Gently. Thoroughly. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the kiss curled the ends of her hair.
“Name one reason, Lia.”
“Because I love you.”
Lucas smiled the very same smile she’d captured in the painting. Her insides melted. Her knees needed braces to keep her upright.
“I love you, too, Lia Britton.”
She drew back. “You called me, Lia.” Her heart bounced with joy. Any lingering doubts about whether or not Lucas still thought of her as Craig’s little sister were completely erased.
She nuzzled her face against his chest and hugged him tight, not wanting to let him go.
“I’ve got some good news, Lia.”
She drew back to gaze at him. “I can’t wait.”
“I managed to talk to Craig’s buyer. Same company that bought my parents’ farm. I convinced the guy with reason. I suggested that, if the corporation ever wanted local workers, a deal might be in their best interest.”
“Deal?” she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what might come next.
“They’re willing to take only half the farm, Craig’s half. They want a first right of refusal if you ever decide to sell.”
“So I don’t have to buy Craig out?”
“Nope. They will. We just have to get the corn harvested.” Lucas grasped her hands. “If we’re going to fight the weather, I’ve got to get back to work. Might not save the whole crop, but some is better than none.”
“But how did you get here?”
“Got a ride with a crop duster who owns several planes. Gus lent me his machine. The path of the storm is a north to south diagonal. Western Kansas won’t get it. My crew is still working out there. I’ve got the rest of today and tomorrow before I head back. Gus’s nephew is coming to help with another machine. Karl rounded up trailers to move the crop.” Lucas kissed her nose before jogging back to the combine.
“You made all this happen for me? I love you, Lucas Dwyer.”
“Make me some coffee, woman,” he barked before climbing into the combine’s cab. “I love you back, Lia Britton.”
Lia backed away with Jack following at her heels.
“I love you!” she called, but he’d already started the engine and put the machine in gear.
Crop or no crop, Craig was wrong. With Lucas, she’d never fail. He was her heart’s desire.
The End
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Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer. Thanks! And now, take a sneak peak of what comes next in the Sunflower series!
Excerpt from book two of the Sunflower series. Craig Britton opens the doors to his world.
“Thirty,” Craig huffed out, then set the dumb bells back on the rack. He grabbed a towel and mopped his face before heading across the gym toward the men’s lounge to shower. Working out five mornings a week before arriving at the office by seven a.m. provided a physical energizing boost and kicked in his brain cells in a way coffee never had—his daily to-do list ran through his mind like a stock ticker on CNN.
His first call of the morning would be to Lucas Dwyer, his future brother-in-law.
What man refused a bachelor party? He had to convince Lucas to see reason. The men of Harvest wanted to celebrate with Amelia’s future husband. He’d promised his sister the event would be tasteful, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Yes, he planned an old-fashioned stag party with a bikini-clad woman popping from a cake—something to shock the always-responsible Lucas. Everything was set. He just needed a groom.
Craig dodged treadmill row and continued to the far end of the gym. The only way he’d ever have a bachelor party, he mused, was vicariously through his best friend. Marriage just wasn’t in the cards. He enjoyed bachelorhood too much. Rising early on Saturday mornings to play basketball with the guys, and Sunday morning sleeping late after a night of bedroom gymnastics with a date. If he ever needed a taste of family domesticity, he’d pay a visit to Lia and Lucas—and their future children.
His second call, at exactly seven fifty-five a.m. would be to Mr. Harris Haywood, entrepreneurial mogul. Landing the man as a client could increase Craig’s visibility and credibility with the moneyed members of St. Louis’s top society. It could skyrocket his career. He smiled at the idea, containing a surge of anticipation and continued his even stride rather than running to the lockers.
“Oh, Mr. Britton,” a female voice lilted. “Would you sign my magazine?” A chorus of flittering giggles followed the question.
Craig slowed and glanced in the direction of the voices. Three women neatly dressed in navy blue and white matching workout gear moved as though tethered together and headed his way. The middle woman, a blonde in her forties in complete makeup, held up a Sharpie and waved a copy of the St. Louis About Town magazine at him. His photo graced the front cover as the Business Man of the Month. Inside, an article detailed his career climb to success.
The cloud of ladies drifted closer to him. Meeting near the juice bar, Craig grinned and made eye contact with each woman, hoping not to disappoint his newest fans. He recognized the woman who’d called out. The god of irony had smiled on him.
