Marc tightened his jaw. His left eye twitched. “Talking won’t bring Dad back. Talking doesn’t get the farm work done, or the house painted, or get Jess where she needs to be each night, or the feed store up and running every single morning.”
“And it doesn’t bring Kayla back.”
“That’s got nothing to do with anything.”
Craig packed his kit into an insulated bag. “Sarah heard from her last week.”
Marc wanted to ask how she was doing. Was the trip down okay? Was she safe, was she sound?
He stayed silent, his eyes trained on the distant woods.
“She said it’s funny, but she misses the north. Said Virginia’s beautiful, but she feels out of place. Like she doesn’t belong.”
“She belongs wherever she wants to be. She’s beautiful and smart, a trained professional. She can make a go of it anywhere.”
Craig flicked Marc a look. “Still, she says she misses everything she left up here.”
A tiny spark leaped in Marc’s chest, then ebbed.
Her missing the North Country meant little when they were still the same two people with the same issues. Marc turned Craig’s way. “Jess misses her.”
“Kayla’s a special lady,” Craig noted.
“With baggage.”
“Everyone’s got baggage. Checked the mirror lately?”
“I deal with my past each and every day. I have to. There’s Jess to consider.”
“So you’ve forgiven your mother? You understand she made a foolish choice and compounded it?”
Marc grabbed Craig’s sleeve. “Kayla told you that Dad wasn’t Jess’s father? She broke the rules of confidentiality?”
Craig’s expression told him he was way off base. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I meant your mother left a wonderful family because she didn’t like the compromises she had to make. What do you mean about Jess’s father?”
Marc groaned. Why didn’t he learn to shut his stupid mouth? Why couldn’t he—
“Forget I said anything.” Marc scrubbed a hand across his face. “It’s complicated.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t mention this, please. Not even to Sarah.”
“You have my word. But Kayla knows?”
“Yes.”
“Does Jess know?”
“She overheard me yelling at Kayla about it.”
Craig frowned. “You really need to stop doing that, man. Get a clue.”
Marc twisted his face in regret. “She’s gone. Not much to worry about there.”
“The road travels both ways.”
Marc scowled.
Craig stepped closer. “She wants a man of faith, someone to love her, to worship with her. Someone to stand by her side through thick and thin. Kayla’s never had that privilege.”
Marc mentally replayed her history. “True.”
“Then get your sorry backside into church, beg God’s forgiveness and see if you can’t change the direction your life’s taken.”
“Quick turnabout?”
Craig shook his head. “Maybe not so quick, but you’ve got nothing to lose. You and I did youth group together, back in the day.”
A smile tugged Marc’s right cheek. “Truthfully, I was more interested in Mary Sue Thompson than the Bible.”
Craig grinned. “You were fourteen. Mary Sue was a sight for sore eyes, wasn’t she?”
“And then some.” Marc scrubbed a hand across his neck again. “I can’t deny I’ve spent time praying these last months, taking Jess to church and all. I hear the words, but they don’t touch me.”
“Kind of rough with that cement wall you’ve erected.”
“I’ve got a lot on my plate.”
“All the more reason to share.” Craig jerked his head west. “Come to Trinity with Sarah and me. Maybe it’s not the words but the location. The delivery. Maybe you need something new.”
The offer was tempting, but unrealistic. A change of venue couldn’t lighten his burden.
Still…
Jess could use some different exposure. Hadn’t he been saying that for months? Maybe driving to Grasse Bend for church would be a good start.
“What time is the service?”
“Ten. We can meet you there.”
Marc stared at the summer sky, considering.
Craig waited, silent.
“Okay. Sunday, it is.” He reached out a hand to shake Craig’s. “Don’t expect miracles.”
Craig grinned. “I not only expect them, I see them. Every day.”
Marc considered Craig’s position. A devoted wife, a beautiful daughter, a second child on the way. “I guess you do.”
“Sunday.” Craig reiterated as he climbed into his SUV. “And take a bath, would ya?”
Marc grinned and realized something.
It felt good to smile. To relax with a friend. He angled his chin and ran a thoughtful hand over his scruffy face. “I might even shave.”
Craig laughed. “God won’t care one way or the other, but the rest of the congregation might appreciate it. At least when Kayla was around, you smelled half human.”
You smell good, she’d told him. Like winter nights and sweet hay. His chest tightened at the memory.
He missed her so much he hurt inside. He had trouble separating his losses. His father. Kayla. The look in Jess’s eyes that told him she couldn’t forget the revelation she’d heard on a cold, dreary night.
So much, grouped together. He breathed deep and backed away from Craig’s car. “I’ll see you Sunday morning.”
As Craig pulled away, Marc strode toward the house. He needed to check Jess’s schedule. If she and Rooster made it to the finals, those would be Sunday afternoon.
And church Sunday morning?
He tried not to think of what needed to be done, the work waiting for him at every turn. A swan’s call pulled his attention.
The graceful birds swam, necks arched, ever-calm. Well, except if something threatened their nest. Same with the geese. They knew, intrinsically, that things would work out. Day would follow day.
He swung back, toward the house, and saw it, really saw it.
The old place looked bleak. Unloved. None of the subtle touches that made a house a home were evidenced outside.
Where the pond lay lush with peaceful life, the house reflected Marc’s inner turmoil. Peeling paint peppered the sun-scarred surface. The shutters still sat in the basement from two years back when he’d intended to get the whole thing scraped, primed and painted.
Then his dad’s illness flared and everything went on hold. Suddenly there was one set of hands where there had been two. Priorities insisted that farm work take precedence, but at what cost to their home?
Eyeing it, he tried to see the house through Kayla’s eyes.
She’d always seemed comfortable there. She liked the warmth of the wood stove, the luster of the old oak moldings, but the exterior stood stark and spare. It looked sad. Uncared for.
He and the house had a lot in common.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marc straightened his tie for the tenth time as he and Jess approached the white clapboard church.
At the moment, he had no idea what he hoped to gain. He’d tried to listen to their heartfelt minister the past few months. He’d made an effort to be a good brother, a churchgoing man, for Jess’s sake. He’d sat and stood shoulder to shoulder with a roomful of Christians, and felt nothing.
Maybe nothing was better than downright hypocritical like he’d been six months ago. Who would have thought of “nothing” as a step up?
Pathetic, DeHollander.
That was him, all right.
“Marc.”
Marc swung around. Sarah gave him a big hug. Her rounded belly made it awkward. He set her back and laughed. “You’ve blossomed.”
“Oh, yes.” Sarah’s quiet, deep tones were half joy, half lament. “I’m a whale.”
“You’re beautiful,” Jess proclaimed. She hugg
ed Sarah, then looked around. “Where’s Craig?”
“Behind you.” Sarah motioned to the garden surrounding the church’s gazebo. “McKenna likes to ‘mell da fowers.’”
“That’s so sweet!” Jess laughed. “I love baby talk.”
Marc felt the familiar clench, half loss, half envy. “She loves flowers, huh?”
“She does.” Sarah confirmed. “Kayla walked her in the flowers from the time she was a newborn. She’d show McKenna the different leaves, the colors. McKenna sucked it up like a sponge.”
Kayla. Babies. Gardens. Marc swallowed a lump of self-pity the size of a small town.
It was easy to picture her among the blooms. Her eyes so blue, her cheeks fair. The narrow jaw, the quick smile. My dream home, she’d said, eyeing the picture of a small, thatched cottage.
It wasn’t the house she envisioned. He realized that now.
It was the tranquil setting, surrounded by faith, adorned with flowers, flooded with light.
Something tweaked inside him. Something warm and flowing.
Church bells pealed their call to worship. This time Marc went willingly.
“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.”
The pastor regarded the congregation. “Proverbs is filled with abbreviated wisdoms. Ben Franklin used Proverbs as a basis for his early work.”
Marc’s heart quickened. He stared at the graying man.
“God grants us choices. We choose what food to eat, what deodorant to use, the toothpaste we apply to our brush.
“We choose whom to see and what to do. Where to dine, what to say.
“Free will allows us more than mundane choices,” the pastor continued. He paused, contemplative, his gaze gentle. “Free will allows us to accept God’s word or reject Him. To embrace His ways, or disparage them. To come to the altar, or sit in our seats, hating those who wronged us.”
His words seared Marc’s soul.
Was it that easy? Was it all about choices, his choices? Not those of the parents, but those of the son?
McKenna reached for Marc. She flashed him a dimpled grin as he gathered her in. He held her, her softness warm against his chest, his cheek.
He wanted the peace he saw in Craig and Sarah. He wanted Jess’s simple conviction, the faith of a child. He began to understand Kayla’s withdrawal from a man who bore no belief system.
A candle flickered, its flame bright, inviting.
He wanted to be a better man than he’d been. Could he do it?
He wasn’t a man accustomed to failure. How much stronger could he be with faith to uphold him?
Come unto me, all who are burdened…
Could it be that easy? Could he lay down his burdens to God, to Christ Jesus?
A glow flickered within him.
Come unto me, all who are burdened…
Light flooded his soul. It started from the edges and worked its way inward, teasing and bright.
McKenna burbled in his arms, her baby voice bright and funny. “Wuv ooo, Unca Marc.”
His heart filled. He put his lips to her forehead, while a goofy grin spread across his face. “I love you, too. Shh…” He laid a finger to his mouth. “We’ve got to be good,” he whispered. “We’re in church.”
The toddler nodded sagely. “I be good.”
Jess fought a giggle. The baby’s antics were pure, a source of light.
I see miracles every day, Craig had declared.
Marc wanted to recognize them. He wanted the assurance of his father, the faith of a child.
I’m yours, God. Give it your best shot. I’m stupid and stubborn, but I’m good with cattle.
His prayer might seem lame, but God understood cattlemen. Wasn’t he the original sower, the first farmer of all? God knew a farmer’s heart. He created a farmer’s soul. He’d understand the intent behind the words.
“Hey, Jess, can you load the dishwasher before we head out?”
“Sure. We have to leave in an hour, okay?”
“I’ll be ready.”
She’d made it into the finals the previous day. Luckily, this show was close enough to avoid an overnight stay. Heading toward the barn, Marc added, “I’ll talk to Jerry, make sure he knows what needs to be done.”
After locating the hand, Marc headed back to the house, whistling.
He felt rejuvenated. Like he’d finally made a step toward the future meant for him.
In a house that looked bedraggled.
Marc frowned. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and furrowed his brow deeper.
Time to paint escaped him, no matter how hard he tried to fit it in. Painting a big, old farmhouse was no easy task. Nothing to be undertaken lightly. The prep work alone was monumental. Scraping. Stripping. Caulking. Bleaching the two shaded sides that leaned toward mold.
But it was past time to prioritize the work. Marc tightened his jaw, considering.
He recalled the picture in Kayla’s living room. He drew a deep breath and angled his look.
The picture had been a garden print with light pouring from the front window, bathing flowers below. Her dream home, she said.
Marc narrowed his gaze, eyeing the walk, the grass, already scruffy from heat and sun.
An idea took shape in an ill-used corner of his brain. A ghost of an idea, a hint of what could be with a little time, a little care, some cold, hard cash and a bottle of Roundup.
“Hey, Marc? You want to wait until tomorrow to cull the herd since you’ll be gone today?” Jerry approached him from the far side of the barn.
“Yes.”
Jerry turned. Marc stopped his progress with a question. “Jer, is your brother still looking for work?”
“Yup. He’s got a spot at the market, but he’s looking for extra jobs. College tuition’s a killer.”
Marc understood that. His father had worked hard to pay his way. He wondered now if he appreciated the sacrifices Pete made without a word of regret. Probably not. “Tell him to come around. I need to get the house painted and I’m running out of time. I’d like to get started on it ASAP.”
“I’ll call him right now.” Jerry grabbed his cell phone. “He’s good at that kind of stuff, too. Almost girly, he’s so fussy.”
“I won’t mention you said that.”
Jerry shrugged. “Nothin’ I don’t tell him every day. I’ll get those young ones moved back up the hill.”
“Thanks, Jer.”
Fresh paint. Hung shutters. Maybe a new porch light, one that bathed the front of the house at night. The kind that welcomed someone home after a long day at work. A light that beckoned.
And a garden. It was late to start a garden, but he had a hose. He could water things through the heat of summer. Lay down a thick bed of mulch. Come fall, the new plants would welcome the cooler days with strong root growth.
By next spring, this sweep of land could be lush.
Jess would help. She loved to get dirty. She’d help him pick plants that meshed shades of green with a host of color.
And those wavy grass things. There were lots of those in Kayla’s picture. He had no clue what they were, but he’d find them, one way or another.
He approached the steps, wrestling misgiving.
It could be for nothing. He knew that. He understood she hadn’t left a scarred-up house and a scrabbled yard. She’d left him, because he wasn’t what she needed.
Could he be?
He didn’t have that answer yet. But he knew one thing. A farm wasn’t built in a day. It took years of painstaking planning, stage-by-stage growth, a focus on tomorrow.
Why hadn’t he realized that life and love required that much time and respect?
Step by step. If nothing else, he’d have a farmhouse that looked good and a yard that said “welcome.” And maybe, just maybe, another chance at the gold ring he’d missed so completely that winter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kayla waited for Sarah to pick up the phone, her toe
tapping impatiently against the ceramic tile.
Didn’t happen. The Macklins’ answering machine greeted her in Sarah’s soothing tones.
Kayla headed outside, disgruntled. She strode into town, her soft-soled shoes no distraction in the Sunday afternoon quiet.
She didn’t want to spend another Sunday doing nothing. She wanted to visit friends, play with babies, romp through gardens.
She’d loved taking McKenna through the flowers. The baby’s eyes widened at the sight and scent of fragrant blooms. Kayla saw the wonders of the universe reflected in that childlike innocence.
She missed Sarah and Craig. She missed the baby. She missed her job in the North Country, the comfortable routine, the established trust relationships she’d earned.
She refused to dwell on Marc and Jess. Some chapters were meant to close. That didn’t keep her from missing the give-and-take at the diner when she’d grab her coffee. Or the tête-à-têtes with the nursing staff, the daily commiseration.
Why hadn’t she realized how different it would be to start anew?
Beautiful Virginia, green and majestic, the hills awesome in verdant splendor.
But it wasn’t home. Not hers, anyway.
That thought halted her progress. When had the North Country become home? Her plan had always been to leave at the end of her contract. When had her feelings turned around?
Marc’s face sprang to mind, the touch of field-roughened hands against her cheek, her jaw. Hands that tussled full-grown cattle grew tender around her.
She wondered how Jess was faring, but didn’t call. That would reopen a door best left closed, despite her affection for the teen. Jess didn’t need an occasional friend. She needed someone willing to go the distance.
A soft gust shifted Kayla’s hair as she surveyed the small town nestled in the mountain’s crook. She turned into the breeze, basking in the cooler air.
She knew why she had to leave Potsdam. Avoiding Marc had been next to impossible those last weeks, but she’d done what she needed to do.
Marc DeHollander knew more about her than any other person on the planet. She didn’t like that, but accepted it. At least he’d come to understand what had been clear to her. Two people harboring their problems should never consider happily ever after. Life wasn’t a Disney presentation, and she had no interest in becoming a statistic in the column of broken homes. She’d do it once, she’d do it right, no qualifiers allowed.
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