Hometown Girl

by Courtney Walsh

  Beth marveled at the idea. She’d been so heartbroken over Michael, so devastated by her own shortcomings, she’d been holding this grudge against God for years. How had Sonya Pendergast kept the anger away after the tragic loss of her only daughter? Beth had been angry at God for allowing her to fall in love with a cheater—Sonya had to have been angry at God for allowing her child to be taken from her own property, never to be seen again.

  Hadn’t she?

  Beth’s own betrayal, her heartache—they seemed so trite and pointless by comparison.

  She ran a finger over Sonya’s handwritten name, suddenly intrigued by the woman who might’ve sat in that very spot and poured out her heart to a God she trusted and loved, in spite of everything.

  Beth wanted to live that way, certain of God’s goodness and without a shred of doubt. She wanted all the anger and confusion to disappear, and she wanted her life to mean something. Even if she still lived in Willow Grove.

  It was all she’d ever wanted. It was why she worked so tirelessly. Surely God saw the countless hours she put in to make sure she did her very best. That kind of dedication had to count for something—and yet, it never seemed to be enough. There was always more work to be done, always something else to prove—to herself, to her dad, to God.

  It was like something deep down, some child trapped inside her, was asking, Are you proud of me yet?

  But the person she’d wanted to please most had spent his final days trying to dig them out of the mess she’d made.

  “I worked so hard to make sure you were always taken care of,” her dad had said. “You know that, Beth. You’ve never done something so reckless before.”

  He was right. She hadn’t. She’d never let him down so badly, and still, he’d never told a soul. Not even her mother.

  As she sat there in the stillness of the old, holy chapel, two words echoed in the corners of her mind.

  Trust Me.

  And for a few welcome moments, all the stress of her situation, all the wrestling to figure out her next move, all her doubt and fear and worry and the staggering need to succeed fell away.

  “It’s not You I don’t trust,” she said. “It’s myself.” She was, after all, the one who’d picked the wrong man to give her heart to, the one who’d made the wrong business move. How could she ever hope to trust her gut instinct again? How could she trust that she was actually hearing God’s voice when she’d been so wrong about hearing Him before?

  Trust Me.

  “I don’t know how, Lord.” The words shamed her. She should know this by now. She’d had twenty-nine years of practice. And yet, trust didn’t come easily to her.

  You know what to do.

  Did she, though?

  Her heart and head were at odds with each other.

  She stilled, hands wrapped around the small black journal. There were so many emotions inside its pages—grief, gratitude, forgiveness. She could draw strength from the women who had gone before her. Even if the task of restoring Fairwind Farm seemed daunting. Even if she didn’t know what she was doing. Even if she failed. Again.

  Was it crazy that a part of her wanted to try?

  At times, the fear was crippling—could she ever overcome that?

  “Lord, I cannot fail again.”

  And yet, as she whispered the words aloud into the darkness, an inexplicable peace settled inside her. She had to believe that whatever decision she made, it would be okay. God wouldn’t abandon her for making the “wrong” one.

  Neither her head nor her heart had proven trustworthy, so what choice did she have but to follow Sonya’s lead and turn all of it—every scary, overwhelming bit of it—over to God?

  But as she left the little chapel, book carefully placed back inside the piano bench, Beth kept thinking the same thing: I have no idea where to begin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Beth went to Whitaker Mowers Sunday afternoon and cleaned out her office, quietly leaving a resignation letter on Darren’s desk. As she closed the door behind her for the last time, she was struck by an unexpected sense of freedom—not sadness—that she wouldn’t be back.

  After her time in the chapel, she felt more willing to jump into this renovation project with both feet . . . even if it wasn’t the smart thing to do. Once she’d finished dinner that night, she and Molly retreated to Beth’s room and ran through the “what was next” of the whole project, clarifying their roles and talking through their plans.

  “How involved are you wanting me to be here? Do you want me to be a silent partner and just give you money?” Beth asked, surprised to find herself hoping that wasn’t what her sister wanted.

  “No way.” Molly propped herself up on her elbows. “I want you to manage the whole project. You’re the business mind. I’m just the looks.” She sprawled out and purposely gave herself a double chin. “Ain’t I purty?”

  “You’re insane.” Beth threw a pair of socks at her sister and hit her in the face.

  Molly tossed the socks back, and Beth sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on.

  “I can tell you’re excited about this,” Molly said. “I think you’re just scared.”

  Is it that obvious? “Scared of what?”

  “Of me having a great idea.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Fine. I’m ridiculous.”

  Beth sat for a few long seconds without saying anything. Molly was half-right—she was scared, but not of her sister being right about the farm. (That was more of a minor annoyance.) It was the fear of failing again that kept her up at night.

  “So?”

  Beth glanced at Molly, realizing her sister had just asked a question she hadn’t heard. “So, what?”

  “Where are you today?”

  “I’m fine—I was just thinking. What did you say?”

  “I asked what’s next. Did you talk to Ben?”

  “He said he’d only invest if we hired that guy from yesterday.”

  “That guy?” Molly smirked. “Like you don’t know his name. “

  Beth rolled her eyes and stood, ready to get outside for her nightly walk with her mom.

  “I already asked him if he’d come work with us,” Molly said, pushing herself to the edge of the bed.

  Beth turned. “Weren’t we going to consult with each other before making any decisions?”

  Her sister stood. “Please. I know you’re meeting him tomorrow to talk about a job. Pot, meet kettle. I think you know each other’s color.”

  Molly walked out, leaving Beth standing alone in her childhood bedroom, wondering why her heart couldn’t get on board with her head and kick this whole idea to the curb.

  You should move to Chicago. You’re not getting any younger. It’s now or never.

  The unwanted thoughts raced through her mind, but none of them seemed to stick. The only thing that did was this could be my second chance.

  Monday morning, Beth awoke at dawn, showered, dressed and made her way to Butler’s to pick up coffee and scones before heading out to the farm.

  “That was something on Saturday,” Callie said while she made Beth’s much-needed latte. “It even made me want to be a part of your big Fairwind Farm project.”

  Beth felt her shoulders straighten as an idea hit her. “You should, Callie. You can run the bakery.”

  Callie’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

  “Would you ever want to do that?”

  She laughed. “I’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been preoccupied.”

  “With anyone in particular?” Callie’s eyes twinkled.

  Beth groaned. “Not you too.”

  “Your sister told me you have a meeting with Drew Barlow this morning.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “A meeting, Cal. Not a date.”

  “So this other cup of coffee—it’s for him?” She held it as if it were a sacred treasure.

  Beth only stared.

  “Okay, then you ne
ed pastries.” She shuffled around behind the counter for a few quick seconds. “Drew ate the cheese Danishes on Saturday, and I know you like my cinnamon scones.”

  “You noticed what kind of Danishes he ate?”

  Callie shrugged. “I keep track of what people like, what can I say?”

  Beth took a quick drink of her latte as Callie handed her the bag. “Thanks.”

  “So, it’s just going to be the two of you out there, huh?” Callie grinned.

  “This is strictly professional.”

  Callie pouted. “Well, that’s boring.”

  “Boring is my middle name.”

  “True.” She gave a soft sigh. “Is Ben going to help you guys out?”

  Beth shrugged. “If Drew agrees, Ben said he’s in. We need his money.”

  “What about his muscles?” Callie propped her elbow on the counter and her chin on her fist. “I could definitely use his muscles.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you say something to him already? Ask him to dinner?”

  Callie groaned. “No, that would ruin the fantasy. At least this way there is still hope. If he turns me down, the sliver of hope is gone. Besides, I’m content to stare at him when he’s not looking and imagine what our children would look like.”

  Beth covered Callie’s hands with her own. “Do you think you’ll ever get over him?”

  “I was over him. Then I saw him Saturday.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  Callie frowned. “Of course not. I hid myself in the back room and stared at him from behind the safety of a cracked door.”

  Beth shook her head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Ben would be crazy not to fall head over heels for you.”

  “Stop. I think you’re forgetting who we’re talking about here. Mr. Major League and the baker who still works for her parents.” She glanced at Beth as if realizing she’d said something offensive. “It’s not the same—you working for your dad’s company. You run that place. I’m a glorified barista making lattes for cranky customers all day.”

  “Hey.” Beth held up her cup.

  “I didn’t mean you. You seem surprisingly uncranky today.”

  “I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that. I have to go.” Beth picked up her coffee and pastries and walked toward the door, guilt gnawing at her. She still hadn’t told Callie the truth about her job. How would she ever own up to it? She turned back before pushing the door open. “I’m serious about the bakery. You can work for yourself.”

  “Done. I’ll give my notice today.” She winked.

  “Might want to wait a few more months before you do that.”

  “Have fun with your farmhand,” Callie called out.

  Beth glared at her and shook her head, aware that everyone in the diner had heard the remark. Her friend looked anything but apologetic.

  When she reached Fairwind, her latte was half-gone and her nerves were shot, just like they’d been the first day at every new job, class or interview she’d ever had. Professional nerves were natural, though, right? It had nothing to do with the beautiful man waiting for her on the steps of the old house.

  A glance at the clock told her he was early. She could appreciate that in an employee.

  As she parked, he stood, and Roxie ran out to greet her. The German shepherd had a sweet way about her. Beth might even grow to like her, which was strange considering she had never been an animal person. Molly was the animal lover in their family—she’d have a houseful if her landlord would allow it. But Beth? She didn’t want the hassle. Or the dog hair. Or the saliva.

  Still, she rubbed Roxie between the ears when the dog reached her in the middle of the yard.

  Drew wore jeans, a long-sleeved Henley and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His tattered red ball cap sat backward on his head, and he seemed even better-looking than he had Saturday. How was that possible?

  Somehow she didn’t think this kind of assessment qualified as professional.

  They met halfway between the parking lot and the house, and she handed him the coffee. “I didn’t know if you’d have a chance to get breakfast.”

  He took it, then directed her attention to the porch where two Butler’s coffees sat, a bag of pastries between them.

  “I thought the same thing,” he said.

  “You brought breakfast?” It was thoughtful. So few people were thoughtful anymore.

  He looked away, almost shyly. “I guess we can save some of it for lunch.”

  She laughed. “Great minds, right?”

  “Only great if you got the best pastries.” He turned toward the porch.

  She fell into step beside him. “Cheese Danish.”

  “Oh, you’re good.” He sat down and took a drink. Roxie lay down in the grass at the bottom of the stairs. “Can I expect this kind of treatment every day if I take the job?”

  She laughed. “Don’t count on it.”

  A soft lull fell between them, and Beth realized it was her turn to talk—and not about pastries. A little playful banter was fine, but she needed to remember why they were there and act accordingly if she had any hope of winning this man’s respect.

  She’d been working for respect since the day she graduated college—and while nobody else knew about some of the poor choices she’d made, she knew. Which meant she’d been working overtime for respect the past two years. She had a lot to make up for.

  She reminded herself that he didn’t know any of that. He didn’t even know who she was.

  It’s a second chance.

  She pulled her portfolio from her bag and laid it on the porch between them. “Molly said you used to come here when you were a kid?”

  He nodded. “Years ago. Haven’t been back since, though.”

  “I’m not sure how much you remember.” She leaned back on the porch railing, trying to figure out how to sit properly when conducting business on the wide, run-down porch of an old farmhouse.

  He looked away. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  She looked out across the acres. Knowing she could own a third of the farm still overwhelmed her. All that was left to do was sign the contract. This meeting might determine whether or not she did. She stood. “Maybe we should walk?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  She started off toward the barn and discovered he held back, just a few steps.

  “Do you always walk this fast?”

  She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Do you always walk this slow?”

  He caught up with her as they reached the barn.

  “You’ve been in here,” she said. “This is the main building, the big white barn. You probably remember this is where the store was. And the fudge counter. And the—”

  “Bakery.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I remember.”

  “The coolers are still here. I just don’t know if they work. And of course everything needs to be cleaned.”

  “You want to get the store up and running right away, I’m assuming?”

  Beth faced him. “I guess we do. We have a lot of ideas right now—we’re still working on prioritizing them. My sister isn’t exactly practical, so I have to lay out some clear guidelines.”

  He frowned. “Something got you worried?”

  She must wear worry on her sleeve. “Look around. It all has me worried.”

  He nodded.

  “Anyway, back here . . .” She walked toward the kitchen. “We’re thinking a little bakery and restaurant.” She’d been half joking with Callie about opening up her own business, but she actually thought it was a great idea. Could she get her friend to leave the comfort of working at Butler’s? That remained to be seen.

  Drew walked the edge of the barn, probably making a mental tally of the enormous workload in front of them.

  “So, I’m thinking we’ll need to talk about refinishing the floors, repairing the walls and roof, painting, getting the kitchen in shape, that sort of thing. We’ll likely need new appliances, and i
t has to pass health-department inspection.”

  That sounded like she knew what she was talking about, right? Maybe this wasn’t so very different from what she was used to. If she could run an office, she could do the same thing at Fairwind Farm.

  Part of her wondered how long she’d need these daily pep talks.

  He followed her out the back of the barn and onto the patio.

  “They did a good job cleaning this Saturday,” Beth said. “I want to make sure it’s inviting. We want people to rent the space for family gatherings, weddings, reunions, parties.”

  “So, will you restore the little chapel on the west side of the property?”

  Her eyes darted to him. He stared out in the direction of the church and didn’t meet her gaze. “How’d you know about that?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  She studied him, suddenly aware of how little she knew about him and his connection to Fairwind. “I never did.”

  He took off in the opposite direction from the church, toward the outbuildings. “You gonna have animals?”

  Was he changing the subject on purpose?

  Beth groaned. “I guess. Molly wants them.”

  “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “I’m not much of an animal person,” she said. She glanced at Roxie. “No offense.”

  He looked at the dog, then at Beth. “She’s tough. She can handle it.” He stopped outside a small barn near the pumpkin patch, with rows and rows of apple trees behind it. “This is where the animals were, right?”

  She nodded. “Petting zoo.”

  “Smart if you want kids to visit.” He studied her. “Unless you’re not much of a kid person either?”

  Beth met his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “But you don’t have any?”

  For someone who didn’t say much, he sure asked personal questions. “No. Do you?”

  He shook his head.

  “So, we’ll want to repair this barn and make sure it’s safe for animals. And then I guess I’ll have to figure out what animals to put in a petting zoo. And where to get them. And how to take care of them.”

  He laughed. “Why’d you guys buy this place, anyway?”