by Elle Casey
I lift my chin. “Fine. A quarter for your thoughts. A dollar.”
“Whatever it takes?” He looks like he’s trying to smile but can’t quite get there.
“Yeah. Whatever it takes. Ten million bucks for your thoughts.” My heart lurches at the idea.
He leans in and kisses me on the mouth, the dark emotion he was sending out dissipating into nothingness. “Don’t ever do that. Don’t sell your soul to the devil for me.”
I take him by the chin, wiggling it a little, trying to shake the melancholy out of his silly brain. “I won’t have to if you’ll just confess.” I let him go and wait, staring at him, trying to tell him silently that he can trust me.
It takes him a long time to finally answer. “I was just kind of hoping you could stick around with us for a little while. Things are good between us, you know? That’s new for me. I like it. I don’t want to lose something when it’s this good.”
My heart does flips inside my chest, cartwheels of happiness. Sam is not the kind of guy to expose his feelings to just anyone. I think this is the Universe talking to me through him. “I could do that.” My ears burn with the idea of what we’re actually saying . . . that we both have feelings for each other and that we aren’t ready to say goodbye.
“But I don’t really like the idea of begging you to do it.” Sam looks disgusted with himself.
“You’re not begging me, silly; you’re just telling me how you feel, that you want to hang out with me. That’s cool. I want to hang out with you too.”
“That’s going to be pretty difficult if you’re in Maine and I’m here in New York.” He looks sad.
The solution comes to me immediately. It seems crystal clear now. He wants to be with me . . . I want to be with him . . . it doesn’t need to be this difficult. “You’ll just have to stay at the farm, then.” I grin big. My heart feels like it’s going to explode. I have never been so daring in my life.
“How’s that going to work?” He picks up his beer, looks at it, and places it back down on the counter, folding his arms over his chest.
“Doesn’t writing music require a quiet place?” I have no idea if this is the case, since I’ve never been around anybody writing music, but it makes sense to me. I could never paint in a loud environment.
“Yeah, generally speaking. At least in the beginning of the process, for me.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because that’s pretty much all we have out at the farm—quiet spaces. You can use my studio. It’s a painting studio, but it’s very private. There’s plenty of room for you in there.”
“I’m pretty sure the band wants me to be here with them, to be in on some jam sessions and whatever.”
“When you’re done doing what you need to do with them, you come back to the farm and work on more songs. It’s not like they’re hurting for money. They can pay for you to fly back and forth. People in business do that all the time.”
“I don’t like taking advantage of people like that.”
“Listen.” I put my hands on his shoulders and stare him right in the eye, shaking him a little. “According to Amber, you’re a hot commodity. They need you, so they’re going to have to do whatever is necessary in order to make this work.” I pray that everything Amber says about those men is true . . . that they’re kind people and interested in having a relationship with us. Because I’m not above using that potential relationship to help Sam and Sadie. “It’s not just about you anymore. You have Sadie to think of. When you made this original deal with the band, you didn’t have a little girl full-time in the picture. You were just going to be here for a short while, for a temporary gig. That’s not the case anymore.” I shake him again. “You told Patty you weren’t going to stay in LA. Why don’t you just move out here permanently? You couldn’t get any farther from California than the East Coast. You could be totally anonymous in this giant city.” My pulse is pounding wildly over the fact that I just asked a man I’ve only known for a very short while to move out to the East Coast . . . where I am. Talk about bold!
“But I don’t like the city. I don’t think it’s good for Sadie.” He searches my eyes, I think waiting for me to take another step forward.
In for a penny, in for a pound . . . “Great.” I swallow with effort, trying to force the lump out of my throat. “Come out to the country. Maybe after you visit our farm you’ll like it so much, you’ll find a place nearby.” God, it sounds like I’m asking him to marry me! I hurry to clarify. “Or maybe you’ll want to move to Upstate New York or Pennsylvania. I don’t know. But you’ll never find out if you don’t at least try.”
“What if . . . I’m . . . afraid?” He shrugs, looking embarrassed.
I step back, dropping his arms. “Are you kidding me? You’re not afraid of anything.”
“I’m afraid to perform my music in front of people.”
I know this fear like I know my own bones, but I can’t let it rule him like it so often does me. “Pish-posh. Baloney. Nonsense. You made a bet with me to do it, and you know you’re going to follow through. Don’t play games with me.”
He twists his mouth around in an almost-smile, making his beard move. “You gonna make me do it, Bossy Pants?”
I put my hands on my hips. “No. You’re going to do it on your own. And for your information, I’m a very non-bossy person with other people. You make me bossy.”
He stares at me long enough that it makes me uncomfortable.
“What?” I finally ask.
“Nothing. Just checking you out.”
“Well, stop. You’re making me nervous.” I resist the urge to fold my arms over my chest.
“Why would it make you nervous to have somebody admiring you?”
“Because. I don’t like it.”
“Tell me why.”
I shrug. “It feels weird to be saying this out loud . . . I don’t know.” I stare at the floor because his gaze is too intense. “I guess I imagine that you’re staring at me and coming up with a list of things you don’t like about me. All my faults, like being bossy.” I never before realized how much Amber and I can be alike. When I’m with her I let her take over because it’s easier, but when I’m with Sam, I feel . . . stronger. More independent and opinionated.
He laughs for a second before he realizes that I’m serious and stops. “That’s ridiculous. Why can’t I be looking at you and coming up with a list of things I do like about you?” His voice softens. “Like your bossiness, for example.”
My heart feels like he’s got his fist around it and he’s squeezing. “Because it’s not realistic?” I finally look up and see him gesturing at me.
“Of course it is. Look at you.”
I tip my head down and see my out-of-fashion hippie skirt and the raggedy top I probably should’ve put in a Goodwill bin a few years ago. “Yeah. So?”
“What do you see?” he asks.
“I see a tired wardrobe and a tired woman who’s been chasing after a four-year-old for three days nonstop.”
“Do you want to know what I see?”
I stand there facing him as my face turns pink. I can’t answer.
“I see a giving woman. Somebody who cares about other people more than herself. I see somebody who will drop whatever she’s doing at a moment’s notice to take care of somebody in need. I see somebody very sexy and smart. I see somebody who’s bold and rare. I see somebody who’s completely courageous and capable.”
“Wow,” I say, totally embarrassed, but in love with this vision he’s painted. I wish I really were this person; she sounds amazing. “You’re seeing a lot.”
He smiles. “Yeah. Pretty much the whole package.”
I wave him away and turn sideways. “Stop. You’re making me blush.”
He walks over and takes my hand. “If I take you into my bedroom, I’ll show you what I think about this body of yours, too.” He traces the outline of my exposed collarbone, giving me shivers. “Words can’t do it justice . . . what we do in the bedroom to
gether is really something special.”
For two seconds I think about pulling away, but then I realize how stupid that would be. He’s right about how good we are together sexually. And he’s allowed to compliment me. He’s allowed to think nice things about me. He’s allowed to see the same things in me that my sisters and mothers see in me. It’s just such a revelation to know that there’s a man out there like him, and he’s standing right in front of me asking me to take a chance on him.
“I think I could be talked into that,” I say, finally facing him.
He looks into my eyes. “I like you. A lot. I’d like to spend some time with you in the place where you grew up. Can Sadie and I come out to your farm for a little while?”
“As long as you don’t mind pitching in, you’re welcome anytime.” I smile, imagining him shoveling horse poop out of the stables.
His eyes narrow. “Why do I suddenly get the impression I’m going to regret inviting myself over?”
I shrug innocently. “I have no idea. I’m sure we’ll find something you can do there that won’t be too difficult.”
He pulls me close and kisses me thoroughly, leaving me a little dizzy when he pulls away.
I put my hand up to my forehead. “I think I’ve had too much wine.”
He grins lazily, unbuttoning my top button. “I think you’ve had too little of me.”
When I see the bulge in his pants, I can’t help but grin. “I think you might be right about that.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Sadie is excited about the idea of finally meeting all of my animals. On the short plane ride to central Maine, she insists that I list all of them by name, over and over, until she has them memorized. By the time we reach our destination, I’m sick and tired of the poor creatures in my care at Glenhollow Farms.
“And I’m going to take Bessie the baby goat, and I’m going to comb her hair with my pink brush.” She’s looking out the window as the landscape flies by. The only one available at the farm to pick us up was Smitty, supposedly. I try not to glare at the back of his head. He is so nosy. I know very well Harold was there, and he could’ve driven out to the airport to get us, but Smitty inserted himself into the situation, and now here he is sitting in the pickup truck, smiling his stupid head off as he chats with Sam. I’m in the small backseat with Sadie.
“How many brushes do you have?” Sadie asks, pulling me out of my mean thoughts about Smitty.
“For animals or paint?”
“Animals.”
“I have lots and lots of them. I don’t think I’ve ever counted. But you could do that if you want. You can count all of them for me.”
“I’m very good at counting. Ask my daddy.” She pauses and then shouts, “Daddy! Dad, Dad, Dad!”
Sam turns around with exaggerated patience. “Is someone calling me back there?”
“Tell Emerald how good I can count.”
Sam glances at me, twisting his head halfway around to do it. “She’s the best. She’s the best counter ever. In the whole wide world. No one counts better than Sadie. You’ve never seen someone count like her. It’s incredible.” He winks at me.
Sadie smiles up at me. “Told ya.”
“I can’t wait to see you in action.” I smile encouragingly, imagining that I’ll have a brief reprieve before I actually have to experience her doing her counting thing, since my animal brushes are all in the barn that’s full of other junk.
I should have known better. The next thing I know, she’s counting trees. By the time we get to the farm she’s accounted for over a hundred. She’s missed some numbers on the way, but rather than point it out, I just go with the flow. It’s mesmerizing in a way, her voice droning on and on in a pattern like that. I’m almost asleep, but then the potholes in the driveway jar me out of my daze and wake me up.
There are a lot more people camped out around the house than there were when I left just a week ago. Has it only been a week? It seems like a lot longer. Harold comes down the front porch steps, smiling. The truck stops just in front of him, and Smitty puts it in park. He turns around and grins at me. “Home, sweet home; farm, sweet farm.”
I roll my eyes at his corniness. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Don’t mention it.” He winks and then chuckles as he faces the steering wheel again. Sam works on getting our bags from the truck bed while Sadie and I climb down.
Sadie and I go over to the front steps. She looks around, her eyes wide and her expression solemn.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“This place is really big.”
“Is it? I guess I never noticed.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I grew up here and saw it all the time.”
She looks up at me. “It is big. It really is. Do I get to stay in there?” She points at the front door.
“Yes, you do. If you go inside and up the stairs, you’ll find a bedroom at the end of the hall that has a pink rose pillow on the bed. That can be your room, if you want.”
“Really?” She looks like I just offered to buy her a pony. She runs into the house, hooting and hollering.
Sam joins me on the stoop. “What did you just say to her?”
“I promise I did not just tell her I was going to buy her a pony.”
He laughs. “Thank you. Please don’t ever do that.”
“I told her which room she can sleep in.”
“You sure you don’t want us to pitch a tent out here?” He looks over his shoulder at the other campers.
“No, you can stay in the house. I’m sure there’s a free bedroom or two available.”
Sam takes Sadie’s and his stuff up the porch stairs, and I start to follow, but a hand on my arm stops me. I find Smitty standing there in his flannel shirt and beat-up jeans. I sigh. I’ve been rude to him, and although part of the reason he’s being so helpful is because he’s nosy, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s done me a lot of favors since I left, looking out for the animals and other visitors so I could go to New York.
“Thanks for everything, Smitty. For the ride and for watching over things.”
“Sure. No problem.” He takes his baseball hat off and scratches his head. “So . . . you here to stay?”
“Where else would I go? This is my home.” I walk to the top of the stairs, leaving him below.
“What about him? He staying too?”
“For a little while. Why?” I turn around to see his reaction.
He shrugs. “Just wondering.” He waves at me and walks off, putting his hat back on as he heads up the road.
“Where’re you going?” I call out after him.
“Help Rose at the clinic.”
“Would you tell her I’m here?” My earlier calls to her went unanswered. All we’ve been able to do since I flew out to LA and back is exchange voice messages. She’s busier than she’s ever been at the clinic, and my life hasn’t exactly been boring. I make a mental note to go down there later after Sam and Sadie are settled in to give her a hand. It’s been way too long since we’ve talked.
“Will do,” Smitty shouts.
I walk inside and take Sam by the hand.
“Where are we going?” he asks as I lead him to the stairs.
“To my bedroom.”
“Am I sharing with you?”
“It’s up to you,” I say as we mount the stairs. “You can share with me or Sadie.”
Sam leans in, taking me from behind in a warm hug, as he whispers in my ear, “Show me to your bed.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Getting Sadie and Sam acclimated to the atmosphere of the farm is a lot easier than I was expecting it to be. She’s a natural with the animals, very gentle and kind, and open to learning about them. And Sam is learning to unwind. His favorite place is the meditation meadow. He’s spent almost every afternoon there since we arrived over a week ago.
Having both of them occupied to some degree has allowed Rose and me a chance to reconnec
t. Not only is she fully supportive of my budding relationship with Sam, she’s as patient with Sadie as her father is, even taking some time with her at the clinic to teach her about basic veterinary care. I’ve been able to slide right back into my routine of taking care of the farm’s animals with hardly a hitch. I hate to jinx things by being too positive about everything, but Sam and Sadie sure do fit in well here.
Sadie and I make our way between all the tents and around the gardens to join Sam in the meadow. We have a picnic basket with one of his favorite sandwiches inside.
“Why is Daddy out here again?” she asks.
“I think he likes it because it makes him feel peaceful inside.”
“Do you think he’s worried about my mommy?”
“I don’t know if he’s worried, but I know he thinks about her a lot. And he misses her.”
Sadie gives an exaggerated sigh. “I miss her too. Sometimes. But not all the time. Sometimes I’m too busy.”
“I’m glad you don’t miss her all the time, because it would be sad if that’s all you could do.”
“Yeah. I’m still sad. But sometimes I think about other things.”
“Like what other things?” I’m curious how a four-year-old girl gets over the loss of her mother. She seems to be adjusting pretty well, all things considered. I can’t imagine I’d do half as well.
“I think about the chickens. I think about Boris the pig a lot, because he likes me to scratch his back a special way, and so I haffa do that every day.” She says it like it’s a factory job and she’s been forced to work double overtime.
I try to take her seriously. “That’s something nice to think about. I’m sure Boris appreciates it.”
“And I haffa do it in a special way, and if I don’t do it like that, then he doesn’t get his special back scratch that is his very favorite. And he gets sad. And he cries. He really needs it.” She looks up at me with a pitiful expression.
I could be wrong, but it sounds like she’s angling for a longer stay. “You think so?” I don’t want to lead her into thinking that this is going to last forever. We’re doing really well right now, but that doesn’t mean Sam isn’t going to want to move on eventually. We haven’t talked about it, both of us trying really hard to appreciate what we have and not put undue pressure on things. He’s mourning Madison and I’m giving him the space to do that. And regardless of whether he wants to move on or not, the reality of his business deal with the band remains. He may not be able to stay here, as much as he might want to. The idea fills me with sadness because I’m having so much fun with him and Sadie. I’m to the point that I can’t imagine my life without them anymore.