After she carried the feed out into the fenced grassy area near the barn, she opened their gate. Rushing her, they pushed their way over the dirt path to get to the food. “Get back, you sillies,” she grumbled. Watching for a moment to make sure they behaved, she then turned to the alpacas. They were humming and bending forward, eager for her to pet them.
Feeding them next, she let them out into their field. In the pen near the barn, she fed and watered the pigs. Next were the chickens, who were already scratching for their feed before she had put it down. Stepping into the coop, she gathered the eggs using the same basket her grandmother had used years before. The handle was worn, but she could not bring herself to replace it. “I suppose one day when it falls apart and I drop all the eggs, I’ll know it’s time to get a new one,” she mused aloud to one of the hens still sitting in her laying box.
Walking back up the drive, she carried the eggs to the house. It had not eluded her notice that she had talked to the pigs, goats, alpacas, and chickens. But there was no human to greet.
Fatigue pulled at her, making her feet feel like lead, and she leaned her hip against the counter after setting the eggs down onto the worn counter. The house was as silent as a tomb. And while she usually craved the calm, she could not stand the natural desire to listen for her grandfather’s footsteps, knowing they were not coming. She had no inclination or money for a fancy gadget for music but flipped on the old radio that Papa Beau kept on the kitchen counter. He had it set for a country station, which was fine by her. Turning the volume up, she drowned out the silence as she fixed a cup of coffee and a slice of toast.
Sitting down to her meager breakfast, she knew she would become hungry soon but had no desire to cook for just herself. She was not even sure she could choke down the toast past the lump that had settled in her throat since the moment she had found Papa Beau lying near the fence.
Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at the sound of a knock on the kitchen door. The way the house was situated, the front door was rarely used and the welcoming kitchen door was next to the drive. Gritting her teeth, she considered not answering it, having no desire to play hostess to more of the well-meaning church ladies. But, with the radio blaring, it was obvious that she was home. Dropping her chin to her chest, she sucked in a deep breath before moving to the door and flinging it open.
Expecting to see several gray-haired women, she blinked in surprise at the man standing before her. For some reason, her gaze dropped to his feet, finding shiny black shoes, so different from what her grandfather’s old, scuffed work boots looked like. Her gaze traveled up his legs, his muscular thighs encased in dark blue pants. His abs were trim leading up to wide shoulders, all covered in a tailored, light blue, neatly-pressed shirt, a navy print tie knotted perfectly around his neck.
But it was his face that caused her gaze to stutter to a halt. Strong jaw, neatly shaven. Full lips with a tiny scar running through his upper lip. And sky-blue eyes. She blinked again, her hands still on the open door, and tilted her head in silent question.
“Lizzie?”
Jerking slightly, she nodded. “And you are?”
His lips curved ever-so-slightly as he introduced himself. “I’m Scott. Scott Redding. I was your grandfather’s accountant, and I just came by to offer my condolences.”
It took several seconds for his name to register, then recognition hit her. “Oh, yes.” She shook her head slightly, remembering her grandfather’s opinion of the young accountant. ‘Oh, Lizzie, Scott has some wonderful ideas for the farm.’ ‘I’ve just been into town, Lizzie, and met with Scott. He’s a smart boy, that one.’
“I began to wonder if Papa Beau was going to adopt you.”
She watched as Scott blinked, and she rushed to explain. “Every time he came in from a meeting in town or the American Legion, he was full of effusive praise for you.”
His shoulders visibly relaxed. “I was very fond of him as well. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. I lost my grandfather a few years ago, but he and I never had the chance to work together like you and Beau did.”
His warm voice soothed over her, and she witnessed the crinkle between his brows and the way his gaze held hers. She lifted her hand and rubbed her forehead, willing the pain to subside. Suddenly aware that she looked bedraggled next to his dapper appearance, she added, “Thank you for your condolences. I realize at some time I’ll need your services, but, for now, I fear I’m not up to discussing what needs to be done.”
If he was surprised at her dismissal, he did not react. Instead, he inclined his head slightly and said, “I understand. We can set up a time to go over the estate taxes. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back and added, “I can certainly help with some of the chores around the farm and—”
A snort slipped out at the thought of the professionally-dressed accountant attempting to corral the goats. “I… uh… that’s not necessary. I have my routine with the animals, and they’re used to me. But thank you… um… I’ll call to set up an appointment.” She stepped back and closed the door, hating to appear rude but afraid if she did not sit down, she might fall down with fatigue. She tip-toed toward the sink and peered out the window. She watched as he sighed heavily before turning and walking toward his vehicle parked to the side of the house.
Instead of climbing in immediately, he stood, hands on his hips, and stared out over the farm for several minutes. She had no idea what he was thinking, but curiosity held her attention as she continued to watch out the window.
He walked over to the first fenced pasture. Caesar ambled toward him, and her breath caught in her throat as she battled the need to rush out and keep the errant alpaca from trying to take a bite out of her visitor. She watched in surprise as Scott lifted his hand toward Caesar, and instead of nipping at his fingers, Caesar leaned forward and sniffed. Scott then smoothed his hand over Caesar’s head and down his long neck.
The bizarre sight of the dapper accountant standing on the dusty path next to a barbed-wire fence lined with weeds and petting the large alpaca sent a strange emotion moving through Lizzie’s chest. The heavy weight that had pressed down upon her since finding Papa Beau lying on the ground was still present, but ever-so-slightly lighter.
With a final pat, Scott walked to the other side of his SUV and climbed inside. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched as he turned around on the gravel drive and pulled out onto the road. She stood motionless at the kitchen sink for several more minutes, her mind swirling and her heart aching. Her stomach growled its protest from only having coffee and toast.
Pulling open the refrigerator door, she reached inside and grabbed one of the casseroles, unheeding its contents. Nuking it in the microwave, she sat down at the table with a glass of water and ate on automatic pilot, not tasting the food.
Alone. All alone.
Glancing into the rearview mirror as the large, white farmhouse slowly disappeared from view, Scott shook his head. Well, that was a disaster. Mentally kicking himself over his choice of clothing, he had assumed that showing up in his business clothes would be a sign of respect. But it had made him appear pompous, and even though his offer to help was sincere, she viewed him as unable to help on the farm.
The sight of her had given him pause, although he had to admit he had no idea what he’d expected. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but that was normal with someone who had most assuredly cried a great deal recently. Her complexion was clear although pale, even though she worked in the sun. A ball cap covered her hair, and even though he could not see the back of her, he assumed the blonde tresses were pulled into a ponytail. Her clothes had a bit of dirt on them, and considering that she was standing in her socked feet, he assumed she had left her boots at the door when she came in from her morning work.
Standing so closely, he could see that her height brought her to his shoulders. Her jeans fit snugly over her hips and long legs, but the unshapely shirt hid her curves. Grow
ling aloud, he chastised himself for thinking about her curves when she was clearly upset.
Sighing again, he could not keep the vulnerable expression on her face out of his mind. He admired the steel in her spine and the proud lift of her chin as she declared her independence, but her blue eyes held a sea of pain.
He wondered about the women’s offer to help and hoped it would be well-received. Ten minutes later, he parked along the street in front of the McFarlane–Redding Accounting offices. Stalking in, he nodded toward Mrs. Markham and headed directly to Lia’s office.
Glad that she did not have a client, he knocked on the doorframe before walking straight into the room and plopping onto one of the chairs in front of her desk. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he sighed.
“I get the feeling that your visit with Lizzie did not go so well,” Lia said, closing the file on her desk and giving him her full attention. “What happened?”
“I’m an idiot.”
A chuckle sounded from Lia as she lifted her hand to attempt to stifle the noise. “I hardly think you’re an idiot.”
“Oh, yeah? I show up in these clothes, the ones that are perfectly acceptable for our office, then proceed to offer to help her with chores on the farm. Let’s just say she was not impressed with my offer.”
“I’m sure she was just overwhelmed.”
Slumping in the chair, he shook his head in dejection. “So, any advice on how to help?”
Now it was Lia’s turn to observe him carefully, tilting her head slightly to the side as she held his gaze. “Well, you could just leave her alone.”
“That’s part of her problem,” he protested. “She is alone!”
“Hmmm,” Lia murmured. “Just how interested are you in helping Lizzie?”
Sitting up straighter, he defended his interest. “I liked her grandfather, and I liked how he talked about her. He had so much admiration for her, and yet wanted to make sure that things were set up so that she would be taken care of. I want to make sure that his wishes are carried out.”
“Well, you can keep it just professional. Wait several weeks and then make an appointment to stop by or have her come here. Go over the taxes, the estate, and see what you can do to help her financially.”
“It doesn’t seem right to just let her flounder on the farm alone. Beau once said that she doesn’t get out much and had little time to make friends.”
Tapping her fingernail on her desk as she appeared deep in thought, Lia said, “I know that Jillian, Tori, and Belle were planning on making a trip out to see her soon. Maybe that will give her some female companionship.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face and nodded. “You’re probably right.” Pushing himself to a stand, he walked back into his office. He was soon buried underneath a pile of papers, entering the sums and figures into his computer, but his mind continually drifted to the Weston Farm… and Lizzie.
6
Lizzie struggled to get out of bed the next morning. The weight on her chest had not dissipated, and while her mind accepted that it would be a long time before she could think of Papa Beau without feeling crushed, she wondered how she was expected to keep going. She had worked the previous day, pushing herself beyond her limits, hoping that fatigue would take the place of her sadness. All it had done was make her tired in addition to being sad.
She spent the morning tending the animals before driving the golf cart around the property to check the pasture’s gates and fences. Several of Papa Beau’s farming friends had called during the week, offering to help her with anything she needed. She appreciated their gestures but politely turned them down, knowing they had their hands full with their own farms.
Getting out periodically along the fence row, Lizzie checked to make sure the pasture was secure for animals. Papa Beau had been so careful, and she did not want to ignore a potentially loose area in the fence so that the goats or alpacas could get out. There might not be a lot of traffic on the road that went by their farm, but she would hate for any of them to have an accident.
The goats were frolicking in their field, and as she drove through the next pasture, all three alpacas followed her. She could not help but smile as she watched their antics, their long necks bending as they placed their heads closer to hers so that she could run her fingers over their fleece.
“Caesar, it’s going to be shearing time soon. It’s getting hot and I don’t want you, Mark Antony or Cleopatra to be miserable.” Moving on to the next gate, they followed her as she continued her conversation with the alpacas. “I was going to get Papa Beau to help me with the shearing, but I’ll have to see if I can get someone else to help. I just don’t think I’m ready to try to do it by myself.”
Glancing into the pasture where the goats were, she grinned as several of the kids hopped around, climbing on the wood stumps that she and her grandfather had placed out for them. Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, then tilted her head back so the sun beamed down on her face. The ever-present ache was still there, but she realized how much freer she felt outside.
The sound of crunching gravel had her turn to see a shiny black pickup truck coming to a stop nearby. Even from a distance, it was not hard to see the words Giordano Farms emblazoned on the side of the truck. Licking her suddenly-dry lips, she watched as Luca Giordano climbed from the driver’s side and walked toward her.
His hair was silver, combed back neatly. Clean-shaven, his face gave no indication of his age other than the deep lines emitting from his eyes. Years of working in the sun had etched themselves where he had squinted. He was wearing khakis, neatly-pressed, along with a navy shirt, his farm’s logo embroidered on the pocket. Boots were on his feet, worn, but not scuffed. He looked the part of the farmer who no longer had to work the land but had an empire under him to do so.
She watched as he approached and lifted her chin slightly, waiting to see what he had to say.
“Ms. Weston,” he began, “I wanted to come by and express my condolences. I enjoyed talking with and doing business with your grandfather. I considered Beau a friend, and his presence will be greatly missed.”
Breathing in and out through her nose as she pinched her lips together for a moment, she nodded. Clearing her throat, she replied, “Thank you. Yes, he will be missed.”
His gaze left hers and drifted over her shoulder toward the pastures where the alpacas were staring at them and the goats were munching on the grass.
Turning back toward her, he said, “This place will be too much for you to handle.” She bristled, but he threw his hand up in a placating manner. “I’m not trying to be insulting, Ms. Weston. With the animals you’re raising, you’ll never be able to bring in enough money to keep this farm going. Beau would not have wanted that for you.”
Tilting her head to the side slightly, she tried to lock down the trembling that was moving through her body. Whether it was from adrenaline, fatigue, or rage she had no idea but was determined to remain calm on the outside. “I know that my grandfather wanted me to continue our farm and do it in any way that I saw fit.”
“That may have been what he said to you, but I know he had concerns.”
At that, she jerked as though slapped. Had Papa Beau talked to Mr. Giordano? Had he thought that I couldn’t do this? Tamping down her panic, she shook her head. He would have never done that.
“I’m sure he had concerns because he loved me. But I’ll be fine. Just fine.”
Luca held her gaze for a long minute, his neutral expression giving away nothing. Finally, he inclined his head slightly and said, “Well, Ms. Weston, I wish you all the best. But please, remember me. Your grandfather sold me a number of acres over the last few years. He was paid a fair market price, and I’m more than willing to do the same for your farm.”
She had been determined to not show weakness but wrapped her arms tightly around her waist as though to ward off his words, his offer, and his insinuations—and to quell the quaking of her body. With a short, jerky nod, she replied,
“Thank you for your condolences. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
His lips curved into a smile, and he nodded his goodbye. She watched as he climbed back in his truck, executed a perfect three-point turn, and drove out of her lane and down the road. When he was finally out of sight, she fought the desire to collapse onto the ground and scream out her frustration. Just then, the humming from her alpacas caused her to turn and watch as they trotted over to the side where she had feed set out for them.
Refusing to give in to the conflicting emotions of fear and anger that Luca had brought forth, she went back to work. An hour later, the goats had been milked, all animals fed, and the barn mucked out.
She walked back to the three alpacas, once again running her fingers through their fleece, knowing that it would be time to shear them soon. She had seen goats and sheep being shorn and learned that the process would be very similar to the alpacas, except their size made the chore much more difficult to manage.
Cleopatra came to her readily, and she chatted for a few minutes with the beautiful animal, her mind still in turmoil.
Glad for an early morning run before the day became muggy, Scott jogged around the track at the nearby middle school. He was not alone, seeing quite a few of his friends running as well. Several were local law enforcement and keeping in shape was a requirement for their job. Others just liked the exercise.
“I figured I’d better get out here and start running if I was going to keep up with you at the AL race,” Jason called out.
“Well, hell, if it isn’t the bionic man,” Aiden shouted, coming up beside him.
Laughing, he said, “You’d better believe this contraption gives me ability, but I’m not sure I’ve got the speed of the bionic man.”
Count On Me: Baytown Boys Page 4