It took a while, but I got better. Not cured, but better. And Steph was there for me the whole way.
We got married the following year and worked our asses off on the farm, with a plan in place to buy out my brothers within five years.
Less than two years later, she was gone.
God, I fucking miss you, Steph. You should be here with me. I always felt better with you by my side.
Now I’d be stuck with some stranger here telling me what to do, butting in, wanting to make changes so we could stand out. She’d probably cook up some bullshit publicity stunt and expect me to participate. Well, I didn’t want to stand out. I just wanted to do what I did and lead a quiet life. And it wasn’t like we were poor. We weren’t rich, but we were doing OK. Certainly better than our parents had done. Frowning, I rose to my feet and carefully laid Cooper on his belly in his crib. Kissing my fingertips, I touched his forehead one last time and slipped out of the room.
“He asleep?” Pete looked at me hopefully when I entered the kitchen.
“Yes.” I switched the monitor back on.
“Thanks. You’re so good with him.”
I shrugged, although secretly it pleased me I was good with Cooper. I was crap with the adults in my family. What did that say about me?
“Did you have a chance to think about what we said?” Brad asked.
I remained standing, hands shoved in my pockets. “I just don’t think it’s necessary, and I bet it’s expensive. What the hell will some city girl know about how to help us here anyway?”
“Maybe nothing,” Pete admitted. “But we’re going to find out. She’ll be here tomorrow at one for a lunch meeting. You coming?”
I scowled. I didn’t want to go to their damn meeting, because that would imply giving in, but if I skipped it, I might end up with no say whatsoever, and no clue what they agreed to do or how much they offered to pay her. Which was worse?
I’d decide tomorrow, but I didn’t want to show any chinks in the armor. “Whatever. You guys can deal with her. I want nothing to do with this.” I strode angrily through the kitchen and out the back door, but I was careful not to let it slam so that it wouldn’t wake Cooper.
The sun was setting behind the trees as I walked across the yard. I lived in an old hunting cabin tucked into the woods, which suited me perfectly. It had been on the property when my grandparents bought the land, and my parents had lived in it when they first got married; after that they’d used it as a guest house. When I’d moved back, its privacy and simplicity appealed to me, and I’d asked if I could live there and pay rent.
I’d made some structural improvements, and when Steph moved in, she spent every spare moment making it beautiful—paint and pillows and pictures in frames. Our little hideaway from the world, she called it. Not that she ever wanted to hide away, social butterfly that she was, but she knew I sometimes needed to, and that was OK with her. She never tried to make me into someone I wasn’t, unlike the rest of my family.
As soon as I let myself into the cabin, Steph’s cat leaped down from the windowsill and twined around my feet. “Hi, Bridget. You happy to see me?” The moment I knelt down and pet her, I felt my anger abate somewhat. I’d always been a dog person, but Steph had been allergic to them. When she came home with a kitten a few months after we were married, I’d groaned, but damn if that cat hadn’t grown on me. Whenever I had nightmares, she’d jump up on the bed and crawl over me, purring softly. It reminded me of the way Steph used to whisper to me during those long, arduous, sweat-soaked nights, her hands rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back.
When Bridget had gotten enough attention, she wandered into the kitchen, and I looked around, hoping to see something left undone, some task to distract me from going to bed.
But there was nothing. I always did the dishes right after I ate, and I never let laundry pile up. I’d just cleaned the bathroom two days ago, and I’d washed the kitchen floor over the weekend. The shelves were organized, the furniture dusted, the windowpanes clear. Georgia was always amazed at how clean I kept the cabin. “Your brother could take some lessons from you,” she’d say. “He’s such a slob.”
There was only one chore I refused to do, and that was cleaning Steph’s clothing out of the closet. Georgia had offered to do it. Steph’s sister Suzanne had offered to do it. Even my mother had said she’d be glad to fly up if I wanted someone else to take care of her things.
But I always said no. What would be the point? To make it easier on myself to live there without her? I didn’t want it to be easier. And if my family couldn’t understand that, well fuck them.
It was my pain. I’d earned it.
I guarded it closely.
Six
Margot
I knocked on the wooden screen door of Pete and Georgia Valentini’s picturesque white farmhouse at one in the afternoon for our business lunch. While I waited on the porch, I looked around. The house sat about a hundred feet back from the highway, on the west side but facing east toward the lake, and although I’d driven, I could easily have walked. The house itself appeared old but well-maintained—fresh white paint on the exterior, hanging baskets of flowers on the porch, comfy chairs on both sides of the center entrance.
To the left of the house were some birch trees, a baby swing, and some other toys scattered on the lawn. A giant red barn sat just beyond the trees, and another white one behind that. To the right of the house was a garage, and on the other side of that were smaller trees planted in neat rows. Apple, maybe? Beyond those was a dirt road, and just across it sat a massive old Victorian, abandoned by the looks of the peeling paint and overgrown gardens.
I was about to knock again when the blond woman I’d seen in the picture answered the door, a pudgy little boy on her hip. Her hair was much shorter, about chin-length, and her body much slimmer. “Hi. Georgia?”
She greeted me with a smile. “You must be Margot. Come on in.”
I entered the front hall and held out my hand. “Margot Lewiston.”
After giving it a firm shake, she shut the door and switched her son to her other hip. “Georgia Valentini. And this is Cooper. I’m just about to put him down for a nap.”
I smiled at the chubby-cheeked boy. “Sweet dreams, Cooper.”
“Go on back to the kitchen,” Georgia said, gesturing down the hall. “Pete’s just making us some lunch. Have you eaten?”
“No, actually. Not even breakfast.”
“Perfect. I’ll join you in five minutes.” She headed up the creaky stairs behind her and I walked back to the kitchen, where Pete stood at the counter, wearing an apron and slicing tomatoes at an alarming speed.
“Hi there.” I smiled when he looked up. “I’m Margot. Your wife said to come on back.”
“Of course. Welcome.” He set down the knife, wiped his hands on a towel, and came around the counter to shake my hand. “Pete Valentini, nice to meet you. Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” I slid onto one of the stools at the counter and looked around. “Nice big kitchen. Was this original to the house?”
Pete shook his head and returned to his vegetable platter. “No, my parents added this part about twenty years ago. And as you can see, it hasn’t been touched since.”
I laughed. “It’s not so bad.” The decor was a little dated, but I was used to houses where nothing changed for long periods of time. “When was the house built?”
“It’s about a hundred years old. How was your drive up?”
“Not bad at all. Less than two hours.”
“And you’re staying nearby?”
“Right across the street and down a couple blocks toward the lake. I got lucky. Someone had booked the cottage for the entire month of August and ended up canceling at the last minute.”
“That is lucky. This is our high season up here.”
I admired the confident way he moved around the kitchen. “Did I hear that both you and Georgia were chefs?”
“We were when we met in New York, bu
t right now Georgia is managing a restaurant in town and I’m only cooking there two days a week because of the work here at the farm, plus taking care of Cooper. When we moved here three years ago, we were hoping to start a farm-to-table restaurant, but…” He sighed as Georgia came into the kitchen. “We haven’t gotten there yet.”
“We’ll get there, babe,” she said. “One thing at a time.”
I liked the way she smiled at him, which seemed to communicate more than just words.
While Georgia set the kitchen table, we chatted a little about the area, what shops and restaurants they recommended, and how they’d met Quinn. We were joined shortly by the oldest Valentini brother, Brad, who greeted me kindly but seemed more businesslike than his younger brother and sister-in-law. He wore a suit whereas they were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. I kept glancing at the back door, wondering when the third brother was going to make an appearance, but he still hadn’t shown up when Pete suggested we sit down to eat.
“Should we wait for Jack?” Georgia asked, glancing out the window toward the backyard.
Pete and Brad exchanged a look, and neither of them spoke right away. “I’m not sure he’s coming,” Pete finally said.
“And I have showings this afternoon, so it’s better for me if we don’t wait around.” Brad took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair before sitting down.
“Oh. OK.” Looking slightly defeated for a second, Georgia indicated a chair for me and filled four plates with slices of quiche and bacon and fresh vegetables. “Everything on the plate in front of you is from this farm,” she said proudly. “Eggs from our chickens, bacon from our pigs, veggies from the gardens.”
“Wow.” I smiled as I unfolded my napkin and laid it across my lap. “That’s really—”
Bang!
The sound of the kitchen door slamming shut made me jump. I glanced up, and there he was. Jack Valentini. He appeared even taller and more imposing than he had in the photograph online. Maybe it was because I was sitting. Maybe it was the sweaty t-shirt that said ARMY (was he a Veteran?), which hugged his narrow waist, broad chest, and bulging biceps. Or maybe it was his stance—feet apart, chest out, fists clenched at his sides. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he came here looking for a fight.
And from the way he was eyeballing me, I had a pretty good idea who the opponent might be. (Had I known, I’d have brought a tray of scones.)
“Jack, glad you could make it,” said Georgia brightly. “Come sit down, I’ll get you a plate.”
“I’m not staying.”
“At least say hello to Margot Lewiston.” Pete tried hard to sound casual, but I could sense the tension. “She’s the woman we talked about last night.”
“I figured.” Jack stared at me, crossed his arms over his bulky chest, but offered no hello. His expression was shadowed by the brim of a black cap, but the clenched jaw was plainly visible.
Was he an asshole or was he just having a bad day? Either way, he’s a client. Rising to my feet, I turned on the charm, flipped my hand in a little wave. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to working with your family. You’ve got a beautiful place.”
“I was just telling Margot that everything on her plate was grown or raised right here,” Georgia said, obviously trying to engage him.
I smiled at him. “That’s so impressive. I was thinking as I ate dinner last night that it’s never even occurred to me at a restaurant or in the grocery store to wonder about where or how my food was grown.”
“You’re not alone in that,” said Pete, pouring four glasses of wine. “But I think if more people knew about the hazards of large-scale industrial agriculture—to humans, to animals, to the environment—they’d definitely care more about where their food comes from.”
“And the food they feed their children,” added Georgia as she seated herself next to me. “Jack’s taught me so much about the harmful effects of things like pesticides, antibiotics, food additives.”
A plaintive cry from the monitor on the counter made everyone look in that direction. Georgia sighed and stood up again. “I knew it was too good to be true when he barely fussed. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll do it.” Jack flipped a switch on the monitor and took off toward the now-distant sound of the crying child. As he passed me, our eyes met. He immediately looked away, but not before I saw up close how handsome he was—or would be if he took the scowl off his face. It left me a little breathless, and I needed a moment to regain my composure.
“Works for me.” Georgia sat down and picked up her fork. “Jack’s so good with Cooper, especially when it comes to getting him to sleep.”
“We have no idea what he does up there.” Pete laughed. “I think he drugs him.”
“Oh, hush,” Georgia said. “He’s just gentle and patient. He sings to him.”
He sings to him? I couldn’t picture it. “Does Jack have kids?” I glanced in the direction of the stairs, curious about the handsome, broody farmer who appeared to have a soft side.
“No.” Something in Georgia’s voice made me pause. It was a one-word answer, but I felt like there was a story there somehow.
“Come on, let’s eat,” Brad said impatiently.
We dug in, and a few minutes later, Jack returned, heading through the kitchen toward the back door without stopping. I didn’t miss the glance he sent in my direction, though. It made my heart beat a tiny bit faster.
Georgia spoke up. “Why don’t you sit with us for just a minute?”
“Because I’m busy,” he snapped, his hand on the door handle. “I’m the only one working out there today.”
“We’re working in here, too, Jack,” Brad said.
Jack made a noise, something between a snort and a grunt. “I told you last night I don’t want anything to do with this.” And by this, it was clear he meant me, since he looked at me right as he said it. I felt it like a slap in the face, and my cheeks burned.
“Then go on back out.” Brad’s tone was sharp.
“Gladly.” Jack was through the door without another word, and as soon as it slammed behind him, Pete sighed.
“Sorry about that. Jack has…some issues.”
I was still reeling, but I tried to find my balance. “I think I can guess what one of them is. He doesn’t want to hire me?”
“It’s not you,” Georgia said quickly. “Jack’s just really protective of the farm. He gets prickly when he thinks people are going to tell him what to do.”
“Especially if those people are not from around here, I bet.” I understood his reluctance to take advice from an outsider, but it didn’t excuse his rudeness. What a waste of a handsome face.
“Jack doesn’t understand that we’re not just running a farm, we’re running a business,” said Brad with more than a trace of annoyance. “And a business needs marketing.”
“We don’t have a lot of extra money.” Pete met my eyes with genuine concern. “But if you think you can help us, we’ll find a way to pay for it. Jack would be content to work in the dirt, tend to the animals, and never talk to anyone, but Georgia and I have dreams of our own.”
“The farm-to-table restaurant.” I smiled at him, vowing to put Jack out of my head. This was my favorite part about what I did—helping people grow their businesses and achieve their goals. And I could help this family, I was sure of it. Or at least those members who want my help. “I want to hear about it. And I’m positive we can work something out that fits your budget. Although before we get to that, I’d like to learn more about you, your family, the history here, what your hopes are for the future. That will help me a lot.”
I savored every bite of lunch as the three of them told me about how they’d come to own the farm. It was clear that Brad was the least enthusiastic about it but willing to give his brothers a chance to succeed. He mentioned that he hoped they’d be able to buy him out eventually.
“The plan was five years, but after Steph died, no one wanted to houn
d Jack about it.”
For the first time, there was an awkward silence at the table.
“Who was Steph?” I asked.
“Jack’s wife.” Georgia’s voice was so hushed I could hear the tick of a clock on the wall behind me. “She died three years ago.”
My breath caught. “How?”
“She was hit by a car. Drunk driver.”
“Oh my God. That’s awful.” Some of my antipathy for him let up.
Brad cleared his throat. “We’ve been patient with him. And as you’ll see, he needs it. Don’t take it to heart if he’s short with you, or silent altogether at first. But Jack’s not dumb. He knows if he wants to keep his farm, he’s going to have to take some advice. He just doesn’t like it.”
I nodded, hoping I was up to this challenge, wanting to prove myself. “Well, I’m going to do my best. Let me ask you some questions and jot some things down.”
As I reached into my bag for my notebook, Georgia stood and began stacking plates. “I’ll get this stuff out of the way, and then I’ll join you.”
“Sounds good. Thank you so much for lunch. It was delicious, and I loved hearing about this place. I’m excited to get started.” I uncapped my pen. “Let’s talk about your brand.”
“What brand?” Pete blinked at me.
I smiled. “Exactly.”
Later, Georgia walked me out to my car. “Thanks for coming up here,” she said. “We really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure. You have a gorgeous setting, and I’m looking forward to seeing more of it. Learning more about it. Think I could maybe get a tour of the entire place?”
“Of course. Pete could show you around tomorrow.” She frowned. “Jack would be even better, but…” A sigh escaped her. “He can be so difficult.”
After We Fall Page 4
