Count On Me: Baytown Boys

by Maryann Jordan

  She dropped her chin and stared at her hands clasped together for a moment, then sighed. “I had read about other animals that we could raise and ways that we could make money with them. Papa Beau was always good to encourage my ideas, but he also used to talk in such glowing terms about you whenever he came back from meeting with you. I suppose, in truth, I was a little jealous of you for holding a place of high regard in my grandfather’s eyes when you had never worked on the farm.”

  “I understand that,” Scott replied, and her gaze jumped up to his. “No, I really mean that. I think most of us are always trying to make our families proud, and yet sometimes our families tell everyone else of their pride but not us.” His hand squeezed her arm gently as he added, “Lizzie, I can assure you that your grandfather was incredibly proud of you. Whenever he was here, he spoke of you.”

  The tension loosened a little more, and a slight smile curved her lips. “Thank you for that.” She stared into his eyes and once more was struck with how handsome he was. Dark brown hair brushed to the side. A slight scar on his upper lip that only served to give his face character. And warm eyes that held hers. It had been a long time since she had given in to any desire other than just get through the day, but at that moment, she wanted to lean forward, close the distance, and touch her lips to his.

  “So, what brings you here today? Please, let me know how I can help.”

  Blinking, she jolted slightly, embarrassment rushing through her body realizing that while her mind was playing out the fantasy of kissing him, she was nothing more to him than a client her grandfather had willed to lend assistance.

  Forcing her mind to the matter at hand and not her blossoming libido, she blurted, “A business plan.” Seeing his unasked question in the tilt of his head, she explained, “I have an idea of how I would like to make the farm more profitable, but I don’t know about making a business plan or marketing.” She lifted her hand to rub her brow, hating to feel stupid, but she was desperate.

  His hand was still on her arm, his thumb gently rubbing over her wrist. “Lizzie, I’m so glad you came to see me today. I cannot wait to hear about your ideas. I know that your grandfather was excited for you to take the farm in the direction that you saw.”

  “So… um… what do we do now?” she asked hesitantly.

  “We go to lunch.”

  She opened her mouth then snapped it closed. Uncertain she heard him correctly, she repeated, “Lunch?”

  “We can call it a working lunch. You can tell me all about your plans and we can feed ourselves at the same time.”

  Her gaze drifted over his crisp dress shirt and tie, pressed slacks, shined shoes, and then down to her simple T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. “I don’t think lunch is a good idea,” she said, hating how her voice quivered.

  Standing, he gently pulled her to her feet and with a wide smile said, “I think lunch is the perfect idea.”

  Before she could protest further, she was being escorted out of the office and down the street with Mrs. Markham’s, “Have a nice lunch,” ringing in her ears.

  10

  Under normal circumstances, Scott did not believe in high-handing anyone, particularly a woman. But it was obvious Lizzie had a hang-up about the difference in their lifestyles, and he was determined to break through that emotional barrier. She had sparked his interest just from hearing Beau talk about her in such glowing terms, but now that he had met her, he could not deny how much he wanted to get to know her better.

  They walked down the sidewalk, and he glanced down to see her lips were tight—from irritation or nerves he was not sure. “I thought we’d cross over to the Seafood Shack. Their lunch crowd will be gone, so I think it will be quiet enough that we can eat and talk at the same time.”

  The only response he gained was a curt nod, so he continued his one-sided conversation. “I don’t go there very often, but they have a great shrimp basket and clam basket. But if seafood is not what you like, they also have good burgers. Oh, and their fries are amazing. They sprinkle them with sea salt and some kind of seasoning and give you a ton of them.”

  Looking over again, he could see her lips curving slightly. “Hey, are you laughing at me?”

  A giggle slipped from her lips, and she looked up at him as they continued to walk down the street. “Papa Beau used to go on and on about food that he liked. You reminded me of him as you were talking about the restaurant.”

  Patting his stomach, he said, “It’s true, I love to eat. Of course, I have to exercise to make sure I don’t put on too much weight. But then, because I exercise, I have to make sure I eat. It’s a win-win for me.”

  That gained him a small giggle, for which he was glad. By the time they reached the doors of the restaurant, she seemed much more relaxed. Entering, he watched her eyes scan the space quickly, and he knew it was the right place to bring her to put her at ease. The servers were in jeans and T-shirts with the Seafood Shack logo emblazoned on them. The few customers were also in jeans, several being local fishermen who had come in from their catch, wanting to have lunch before going back out. The atmosphere was casual, and he told the server that they needed to sit somewhere quiet so they could talk.

  The tabletops were high, and he stood next to Lizzie as she hefted up into her seat. The server had picked the perfect spot, away from the bar and the TVs with constant sports playing. They were next to a window that overlooked the Baytown harbor and could observe fishing and pleasure boats coming in and out of the harbor.

  Looking at the menu, Lizzie said, “I’ve never been here before, but I love shrimp.”

  “Then you can’t beat their shrimp basket,” he said. Gaining her nod, he ordered two shrimp baskets and iced tea.

  As soon as the server left, he turned his attention back to Lizzie. A few wisps of pale blonde hair had escaped her braid and framed her face. Her blue-eyed gaze wandered over the eclectic interior of the restaurant before settling back on his face. Not wanting to give her a chance to throw the barriers up once more, he said, “Please, tell me what your thoughts are about the farm. You’re right, I have no farm experience, so you’re the one with the vision and information. But I can help with research and put an actual plan in place.”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, quickly tapping before turning it around to him. “Before I bought the goats and alpacas, I looked at what some other small farms were doing that was different.” Nibbling on her bottom lip for a moment, she said, “As Papa Beau sold off many of the acres that he used to raise crops on, our overall acreage was cut almost by a third. But what we had left was wonderful pastureland and I thought about sheep but decided that goats would be better. I don’t have the equipment for selling goat milk or making goat cheese, but I knew I could make other products with the goat milk. I also knew that alpaca fleece brings in good money. But there are other small farms that are doing all kinds of things… things that I know Weston Farms could do as well.”

  With that, she started a video on her phone, and he watched with great interest as a woman in another part of the state talked about her farm. As the woman walked around, he could see goats frolicking in the background with supervised children playing with the animals. She moved into the barn where the baby goats had recently been born and talked about cuddle time with the baby goats. In another clip, she showed the farm hosting a children’s birthday party, a bridal shower party, and special days where the farm was open to the public for a small fee.

  There were film clips of alpaca shearing, goat milk products being created and sold, and then something that took Scott by surprise… yoga classes with goats. As the film clip ended, he blinked, looked up, and asked, “Yoga with goats?”

  Throwing her head back in laughter, Lizzie’s eyes sparkled, and without the specter of grief overwhelming her, he was struck by her beauty.

  “That’s all you got out of that video? The goat yoga classes?” she asked.

  Dumbstruck as he stared in awe at her, he jolted back to
business. “No, no, it’s just that was the last thing she mentioned and, well, I had no idea what she was talking about.” Smiling, he softened his voice. “Is this something you’d like to do with Weston Farms?”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip again, and he realized it was a nervous action that she probably was not even aware she did. Nodding, her hesitation moved in and he rushed to assure, “Lizzie, this is so incredible. I’m intrigued by this idea. Please, tell me more.”

  “There’s nothing like it here on the Eastern Shore,” she said. “I love the animals, and I think other people would love being around them as well.” She shook her head ruefully and added, “I’m not sure what Papa Beau thought about my idea at first, but as time went on, he realized that times were changing for us. I really think this could be a sustainable small farm, Scott.”

  He watched the ever-changing emotions cross her face. Nervousness morphed into excitement, which then morphed into a pleading sense of acceptance.

  “Lizzie, I love this.” At those words, the tension lines around her mouth eased as her face softened.

  Eyes wide, she asked, “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” he assured. “Look, you have what it takes to work with animals and run a farm. You have experience, tenacity, and brilliant ideas. In fact, I think that’s why we make a good team. Each of us bring different skills to what you’d like to accomplish.”

  Visibly relaxing, they were interrupted when the server brought their shrimp baskets. They spoke little as they both dove in, and if her murmurs of appreciation were anything to go by, she was enjoying her meal.

  As they finished, he began asking questions, not surprised when she offered well-thought-out answers.

  “The farm obviously already has a business license,” she said. “I would need to add an extra insurance policy and a waiver form for people to sign. I thought I would use our farm insurance agent and Mr. Parker for legal advice. I would not be providing food, so I don’t need a license for that. Goat yoga is a different matter, but I would rather get some of the other activities started first before I take on that activity.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “Yeah, I’m afraid that’s one area I know absolutely nothing about.”

  “It would be nice if I didn’t have to travel to farmers’ markets and stay all day long to sell my products.” Her smile widened and her voice became animated. “Would you believe that Jillian Evans… I mean Wilder… came to visit me the other day and suggested that I put items in her shop! And Tori Evans came with her and wanted to purchase some for her Sea Glass Inn!” Shaking her head, she added, “I didn’t even know they knew who I was.”

  Scott reached up and tugged at the collar of his shirt, heat infusing his face. Looking up, he found her eyes staring intently at him, and he could tell the instant the idea dawned on her.

  Leaning back huffing, she asked, “Was that you?”

  Lifting his hands in supplication, he said, “Please, Lizzie, don’t be mad at me. I really wanted to help you but knew that you were not ready to let me do anything. I happened to go into Jillian’s Coffee Shop and noticed her shelves in the back where she keeps local items to sell. I realized how nice your products would look on her shelves, so I mentioned it to her. That was all.” Reaching across the table, he placed his hand on hers and gave a little squeeze. “I just wanted to take some of the burden from you.”

  She remained silent for a moment, thoughts working behind her eyes before she finally spoke. “It would be foolish of me to be angry with you over that, Scott. Having my products in some of the stores is exactly what I wanted, but I had no connections to move forward with that and very little time to work on them. So, thank you. I know you’re just doing what Papa Beau asked of you.”

  A rush of air left his lungs, and he smiled, squeezing her hand again. “Lizzie, I liked and respected your grandfather and would do anything that he asked. But please, know what I’m doing, I’m doing for you.”

  Her brow scrunched as she held his gaze, but he was saved from further explanation when the server brought their check and a group of fishermen came in, loudly filling the stools around the bar. Quickly signing, he slid from his seat and held out his hand for her. Assisting her down, he gently placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her out the door. He knew she was confused by his words but did not feel that she was ready to hear how she was filling his thoughts. Determined to keep it professional for now, he led her back to his office.

  “I forgot to tell you that Jillian also had me sign up for a booth at the Fairgrounds for the race. She said there would be lots of people there... much more than at the farmers’ market.”

  Unease snaked through him at the thought that she would see him before he had a chance to explain about his amputation... but then, maybe someone had already mentioned it. But if not, then she might not—

  A touch on his arm startled him, and looking down, he observed her hand on him and her brow wrinkled once more.

  “Hey, are you alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he rushed. “Just thinking about you selling your products at the race.” She nodded, but her expression remained wary. He covered her hand with his as they stood outside his office saying goodbye.

  She hesitated, nibbling on her bottom lip. “What should I do next?”

  He had been staring at her lips, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Kiss me,” but quickly caught himself. “Um... call your insurance agent, and I’ll talk to Preston. Once we know what licenses and insurance we need, we’ll move forward on those. Go ahead and get some of your goat milk products to Jillian and Tori and we’ll start getting word-of-mouth advertising from that.”

  Smiling, she nodded up at him, her hand resting warmly in his. “Thank you, Scott. For everything you’re doing... it means a lot to me. Thank you.”

  Leaning close, he said, “Believe me when I say working with you is my pleasure.”

  He watched as pink tinted her cheeks, and she ducked her head as she turned and hustled to her truck. As she drove down the road, he could not keep the smile from his face. Rubbing the back of his neck, he wondered how to tell her about his amputation. Before she sees my prosthetic or let it happen naturally?

  11

  Lizzie heaved a sigh of relief on her drive back home, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Scott had accepted her apology and was willing to help her with her dream. In the distance, she could see her farmhouse, the sun illuminating the white front, and she was filled with the idea that her grandparents were smiling down on her.

  Scott seemed to have led a charmed life, coming from a family with money and having a waiting job in his grandfather’s accounting business, but his willingness to help her was no longer a bone of contention. She liked the way he focused on her and her ideas, not pushing them to the side. Spending time with the handsome man would certainly not be a hardship. That idea caused her thoughts to stumble. No... I can’t go there. Losing her heart to someone out of her league would be ridiculous. He’s a businessman willing to help, that’s all. Sighing, she wished it could be more, but her grandmother’s words came to mind… “Lizzie, remember, if wishes were horses, beggars could ride!”

  A giggle slipped out and she shook her head. Her grandmother was right. It was better to stick to plans that could be worked on and not waste time on wishes that would not come true. Glancing at her watch, she knew the animals were anxious to be fed, and she could not wait to get her chores accomplished so that she could do more research on her business plan.

  Pulling into her drive, she saw that there was a pickup truck parked at the end of the lane. Not recognizing it, she parked to the side of the house, glancing at the empty truck. The door was emblazoned with the logo of PD Development.

  Curious, she walked around to the back, looking for the driver, startling when she saw a man walking toward her from the gate of one of her pastures. Dressed in jeans and a blue chambray shirt with his business logo embroidered on the pocket, his f
ace was mostly hidden underneath a cowboy hat. Furious at his audacity, she stomped forward, eyes pinned on him.

  His smile widened when he saw her, and he immediately called out, “Hello, ma’am. My name is—”

  Throwing her hand up in front of her, she said, “I have no idea what your business is, but trespassing on private property is a surefire way to get ejected immediately.”

  “Ms. Weston, I apologize. I promise there was nothing I was doing other than just taking a look at your beautiful farm.”

  “Well, I’m a busy woman, so state your business so that I can get on with mine.”

  He pulled his hat off his head and held it in his hands as he continued, “My name is Paul Dugan, and I knew your granddad, Ms. Weston. Thought a lot of him and wanted to offer my condolences.”

  She offered him a nod but no words, waiting to see what else he had to say, and it appeared Mr. Dugan had no trouble filling the silence.

  “I had presented Mr. Weston with a proposal several weeks before he passed, and he was in the process of considering my offer. You see, I own PD Development, and this land is just right for turning into a nice subdivision. Nestled between Baytown and Easton, lovely views, and driving distance to the Bay. We were setting up another meeting to discuss some of the particulars but were unable to do so. I know that he was very excited about what I was offering, and I wanted to wait a respectful amount of time before coming by and seeing you.”

  Narrowing her eyes slightly, she said, “Mr. Dugan, I have no idea what you’re talking about. My grandfather did not mention you or any proposal that he was considering.”

  “Well, now, Ms. Weston, I don’t think he wanted to worry you over any business details about our joint efforts—”