She could almost weep at the thought of leaving the first home of her own, but she shook her head. She’d known it was useless to stay when Brandon wouldn’t even listen to her after the meeting. “No, you’re not going to change my mind. I’ll pack everything, put it in storage, something.”
“Darlin’, you’re upset. Wait at least until morning. I would be no gentleman to sign this here paper. It would be taking advantage of you in the worst way.”
She pushed the chair back from the old man’s table. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here. I can’t—not after—” Penelope swallowed, her throat tight. “I’m flying back to Oregon. Tonight. And I won’t be back. So consider the land yours. It is yours. It was never mine, and I’ll figure out some way to pay off the loan.”
“Oregon?” Uncle Jake shook his head. “You got to go tonight?”
“Yes. I’ve got—I’ve got a lot of patching up to do with my mother. At least, I hope she’s not like Brandon and she’ll still forgive me.”
Uncle Jake traced a spot on the papers with a gnarled finger. “Now, girl, you listen to me. That Brandon is stubborn. Of course he is, ’cause he is a Wilkes. But let me tell you, all he’s doing is kicking the tires of a broke tractor. You walk off now, well, you know what happens to tractors that get left.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “But Uncle Jake, I’m the one who broke that tractor for him. And I don’t blame him. Because after all is said and done, I don’t deserve a chance.”
A MONTH LATER, Brandon knelt down, inspecting the piping that irrigated his strawberries. The cool earth yielded to the weight of his knee. His uncle’s soil. Once again, this land was back where it belonged.
He hadn’t understood what exactly had been the breaking point for Penelope. At first, he was just damn glad she was gone and she’d refused to sell to the waste-dump people.
The land is safe. That’s what you wanted. Right? And you can be content with that.
But Brandon couldn’t help but look at the dark, silent house. The doors on the barn were shut, but he’d seen the moving truck come in after Penelope had left. They’d cleaned out the barn. It was cold and empty.
Like your heart.
Uncle Jake walked stiff legged through the field, no fence blocking his way. First thing Brandon had done was finish tearing it down.
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Uncle Jake shouted.
“For what?”
“For Penelope. You won’t find her here.”
Brandon froze. “Who says I’m looking for her?”
Uncle Jake hitched up his overalls. “Maybe you’re not. Maybe all this mooning around you been doing is what every fellow does when he finally gets what he wants.”
“I’m not—” Brandon rubbed a hand over his face. Who was he fooling, anyway? Not Uncle Jake.
Geraldine had followed her master and was now trotting through Brandon’s strawberries, delicately nosing through to see if there was any ripe fruit.
“Now, Geraldine!” Uncle Jake scolded. “Out of them strawberries, and don’t you step on a single plant.”
The hog high-stepped it over the rows. Uncle Jake, apparently satisfied with his pet pig, turned back to Brandon.
“Now, all this mooning around you say you’re not doing, well, it’s what a fellow does when he gets what he thinks he wants.” The old man put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. “C’mon, Geraldine. No more fun and games for you, old girl. You get out of that pen one more time today, and it’s pork chops for you, no matter how much you bat your eyes at me. Pork chops, I say, and this time I mean it.”
PENELOPE RUBBED her eyes and erased an errant line off her sketch paper so hard she tore a hole in the paper. She had to get this right, and nothing was working.
Crumpling up the paper, she tossed it on the overflowing heap in the wastebasket. Theo lifted his head and looked at her in disgust, his slumber interrupted.
How can you create anything with a broken heart?
But this chance—a much smaller project than Love at Infinity—wouldn’t wait around forever, no matter if forever was what it felt like it would take to heal. The company wanted her final sketch and model by the end of the week.
She looked around her grandmother’s living room. It would do for now. Even if it was a drafty old place and she couldn’t hear the frogs sing at night like she had in Georgia.
And you don’t have Brandon.
A million times she’d picked up the phone to call him, then put it down. After all, in all these weeks, he hadn’t called her. If he had hung up on her, she didn’t think she could take it. What was she after anyway? Forgiveness?
Your heart. You’re after your heart. You left it in Georgia.
Over the drum of rain on the windows, Penelope heard loud knocking. She frowned. Who—her mom? That’s who it had to be. Her mom should have never driven over the mountains in this weather.
But when Penelope opened the door, Brandon, soaking wet, stood waiting to be let in.
BRANDON STOOD just inside the door, his clothes stuck to him, his heart in his throat. How could he get the words out when he didn’t know what to say?
“How—how did you get here?” Penelope asked as she pushed the door shut.
“A plane. And a hell of a lot of whiskey. That’s why I wasn’t here yesterday. I thought I should stay overnight in Portland and, uh, sleep off my anesthesia at a hotel.”
“You flew? By yourself? But you hate flying.”
“I needed—”
“If it’s about the land,” she started, “if there’s anything wrong with the title or—I’ll fix it.”
“Yeah. There’s something wrong with the land,” Brandon managed to get out.
“What? I thought I’d taken care of everything.” She frowned and turned. “C’mon in. Forgive the place, I’ve been working on a project.” She stopped so suddenly that Brandon nearly cannoned into her. “Can I take your coat?”
“Uh, yeah.” God, why couldn’t he just say it? Why was he wasting all this time with small talk?
She slid the coat from his shoulders, her hands lightly skimming over his damp shirt. “I’ll hang this in the bathroom.”
“No, Penelope, wait. I wanted to tell you what was wrong with the land.”
She stopped again, coat dripping in her hand. “I’ll fix it. I mean it. Whatever it is. It’s Uncle Jake’s land, and I was wrong not to believe you. I—I’m sorry. I should have…should have known.”
“That you had a criminal for a grandfather? Nobody wants to believe that. And even crooks have granddaughters.”
Penelope looked away. “Mom told me, finally. About the arson. I wish she’d told me years ago.” She twisted the collar of the coat in her hands and more water oozed out. “This coat, it’s dripping. Let me—”
Brandon took it from her and slung it on the nearby table. “Forget the damn coat,” he told her, but the words came out hoarse. “Listen. Please, listen. I thought everything was right again when you left and Uncle Jake had the land—”
“Just tell me what’s wrong!” Her voice broke.
“You. You’re what’s wrong. You’re not there.” For a panicked moment, Brandon thought he might actually cry. He sucked it up, put a lid on his emotions.
“Me? But you didn’t want me.”
“I didn’t know what I wanted. But I do now. Penelope, I flew on a damn plane to get here. That ought to tell you something.” He gulped, his throat dry. “The question isn’t what I want. It’s what you want. We’ve been concentrating on what I want—or what I thought I wanted—for way too long.”
Brandon’s heart banged against his ribs as he waited for her answer. As she started to speak, his cell phone buzzed.
He yanked it out of his pocket to turn it off, but saw the sheriff’s department on the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Brandon? That you? Are you really in Oregon? ’Cause it sounds like you’re right here in Brazelton County.”
“Prentice.
What are you doing tying up the department’s line?”
“Sheriff let me. Said I could. Have you asked Penelope to marry you? Did she say yes? Is she coming back? ’Cause I wanna see that alien man and woman she’s fixing up.”
“Prentice, I don’t know if she’s going to marry me, because I haven’t asked her yet.” Brandon realized what he’d said. He took in Penelope’s face, her eyes tearing up, her smile as radiant as the day he first met her. “But you know what, Prentice? I’m gonna hang up and ask her right now.”
“Call me back! And I’ll tell everybody! Brandon and Penelope sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g—”
Brandon closed the phone and tossed it to join his coat. “Uh, I really made a hash of that, didn’t I?”
“I can’t think of a more beautiful proposal,” Penelope whispered.
“So…what you want is…what?”
“Home. I want to go home. With you. And hold your hand on the plane. And see my house—your house—”
“Our house.”
She nodded. “Our house. Can we go home?”
“I was sure hoping you’d say so. I don’t have a ring yet, but will a slightly soggy, nonrefundable one-way ticket to Savannah do for now?”
“Perfectly.” A frown marred her forehead. “But we’ve got to see about Theo—”
“Of course. I checked on that. It’s all taken care of.”
Penelope reached up and kissed him. “Did you?”
“Cat’s part of the package. Like Uncle Jake’s Geraldine.”
“I’ve missed Geraldine. And Uncle Jake. And Prentice.” She laid her head on his chest, not complaining about how damp his shirt was.
“You know Prentice will insist on being the best man.”
“As long as you’re the groom, and I’m the bride. That’s what I want.”
Brandon tipped up Penelope’s face to kiss her again. “And I’ve got what I want right here.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2088-5
NOT ON HER OWN
Copyright © 2008 by Cynthia R. Reese.
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Not on Her Own Page 20
