by Leah Atwood
“Colin’s an idiot.”
At the rise in Maren’s eyebrows, he realized he’d said it out loud and good Lord, he wished the words back. Not because he didn’t mean them…but because of what they revealed.
Colin’s an idiot because he let her go.
He took a breath, focus fleeing from her face. Sure, she had the kind of laugh a person didn’t get tired of. She constantly made time for his niece—talking about favorite books and reading Winnie’s own writing and even going to that marathon of a middle school concert last week. She’d taken a shine to his town, came to church like she was one of the family, and might be the easiest person to talk to he’d ever met.
But she’d be leaving soon.
And anyway, what business did he have thinking whatever it was he was beginning to think when he couldn’t even pull his family together? When he had no idea whether his new career would pan into anything?
But it has to.
“Anyway, farming may not be the job either of us planned on, but it’s a good life. It was good for Grandpa and Dad. And I would know that Colin…” His words wilted as he turned.
He’d know that Colin would be okay. “You’re a good man, Drew Renwcyke.”
He stood then, Maren’s closeness suddenly somehow claustrophobic. He’d told her she was wrong about Colin. But the thing was, she was wrong about him too.
He reached for the Thermos again, ignored the cup and drank straight from the container. “When I was seventeen, I threw a massive party in the barn.” He turned in time to see Maren’s startled blink. “I know, it doesn’t sound like me. But there was a weekend when Grandpa and Grandma and Mom and Dad were all at some church couples things. And I don’t even know why I did it.” His fingers curled around the Thermos. “Just one of those weird whim things. Pure impulse.”
“Like me showing up at the farm after nothing more than a year-old casual invite?”
His grin was fleeting, fading into memory. “Colin and Leigh were in on it. We all invited our friends, thought the worst that could happen is we’d have a mess to clean up before our parents got home. But there was this girl there I was into, so that’s where my attention was all night.”
He took another breath, gathering the energy or maybe just the willpower to tell the rest of the story. Maren simply waited, sandpaper long since abandoned.
“And anyway, I didn’t notice Leigh sneaking off with one of my friends. That’s the night she got pregnant with Winnie. She’s told me tons it would’ve happened regardless—that she’d been on that path plenty long. But still. And Colin…” A heavy exhale filled his pause. “He got ahold of some beer…a lot of it. Ended up driving through the yard in one of my grandpa’s old tractors. Hit and killed our dog. Which, I’m telling you, that thing was Colin’s best friend.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, the story’s finish squeezing his composure before he’d even uttered it. “But the worst is, Grandpa had a heart attack that night. My parents tried calling us over and over.” He felt the glaze in his own eyes, heard the ragged pitch in his own voice.
“Oh, Drew.” Maren stood.
“One stupid decision, one night. And I know it was fifteen years ago, but it still…” His voice shriveled then and Maren closed the remaining gap between them. “Things just never got better. Leigh dropped out of high school, Colin decided he was James Dean or something. I think my Dad resented having to run the farm on his own. I don’t know why I’m even telling you—”
But she cut him off as her arms wound around his waist. She buried her face in his shirt and simply waited.
Until he let go of his last reserve and circled his arms around her.
Chapter 7
Maren woke to the distant sound of a door rattling against its hinges, the murmurs of a pulsing wind.
And someone else’s breathing.
Where…?
A toasty warmth wrapped around her, tempting her back to sleep. But confusion tugged her eyes open.
Generous sunlight poured through a lone window, trickling over her surroundings—slabs of wood propped against the wall, tool counter, table saw, headboard.
And then the pillow she had one arm draped over moved. Except…
Holy cow. Not a pillow. Definitely. not. a. pillow.
She pitched upward as realization chased away the last of her fogginess. But the movement was too quick—it jolted the swing where she’d apparently spent the night, curled against Drew, sent it and her and Drew toppling backward before she could steady. She landed on Drew’s chest with a thump, one leg caught underneath the arm of the bench, Drew’s gasped “What the—?” muffled by her hair.
She kicked her leg free and lifted herself up, one palm on the floor and the other on Drew’s chest. “I…am so…sorry.”
His slumber-tinged grin drawled across his face. “Attacking me in my sleep, Grant? Really?”
She gave a scoffing laugh and poked his chest before pushing away from him, the chilled floor underneath her barely noticeable. “Let’s just acknowledge that was your swing we were sleeping on. You built it. Not my fault if it’s not stable.”
“You accusing me of shoddy craftsmanship?” Drew sat up beside her, hair tousled and hands rubbing his eyes, sleeping still clinging to his voice. Like a little boy awakened in the middle of a dream.
Except not at all like a little boy. Her breath caught as sunlight sifted over his profile—the lines of his face, the muddy river-blue eyes, the wrinkles in his shirt where she’d spent the night.
“Not shoddy.” Her voice was a near-rasp. “Just…tipsy.”
And then the memories slid in, honey-sweet and heady. Of Drew’s arms around her last night after he’d told her his story. Of his feet nudging the swing as yesterday faded into today. Hushed conversation to the tune of the space heater’s hum.
They must’ve simply drifted off at some point.
Drew stood now, and Maren blinked as he extended one hand toward her. She placed her palm in his, let him pull her up and had to level her own breathing all over again when she came up mere inches from him. And that’s when she realized she was wearing the hoodie he’d discarded earlier in the evening, zipped halfway up over her striped pajamas.
“So we slept out here?”
She swallowed. “Seems that way.”
“Did you at least sleep good?”
She could only nod. Surprisingly good. Her neck should ache, her back should protest. Instead it was only her common sense that nagged her now, felt the need to remind her that until two weeks ago, she hadn’t even known this man who still held her hand. And she had a book to finish and a life to return to and he’d made it clear his family and farm were his focus and…
“Mare?”
She met his eyes.
“What are the chances we make it inside without Leigh or Winnie realizing we spent the whole night out here?”
“Well, it’s Saturday, so if we’re lucky, they’re sleeping in.”
More of last night replayed in snatches. They’d finished sanding Winnie’s headboard while trading stories. She’d told him about her book and confessed that maybe the reason she couldn’t complete it was the unexpected pressure that came along with a publishing dream-come-true, the worry that it’d be her last contracted book. He’d told her more about how his parents had signed the farm over to him last year. Given him permission to sell it if he wished, do whatever he wanted with the money.
And he’d told her how Colin had flipped over that. Which is why their last time seeing each other—well, second to last time now—had gone so horribly.
“I know he was just hurting. And honestly, I’m surprised Leigh doesn’t resent it, too.”
Drew had talked more than she’d ever heard him talk.
And she’d wondered—over and over and over—how in the world she was going to tear herself away from this place in a few days.
This place or this man?
“Hey.”
His hushed voice dre
w her gaze once more.
“Last night…I don’t know how you do it, Maren Grant. Get me to talk, I mean.” He glanced down to their linked hands. “But I needed to last night and you somehow knew it and…” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “And thanks.”
His thumb slid over her hand and in that one languid, stretched out moment, she knew. Colin had been a crush. A flighty, fanciful crush born of whim and fueled by daydreams.
But the man in front of her now? She knew him. She knew him.
And once she left for Minnesota, snatches of memory, a postcard or two, reliving these last few weeks in the moments before she drifted to sleep…none of it would be good enough.
“Drew, I…” Her voice trailed as her thoughts stalled.
Just tell him.
Tell him what? That two weeks and one night in a woodshop had convinced her she’d yearned for the wrong Renwycke all this time? He’d think she was crazy.
Crazier than showing up at his house unannounced? Climbing up the trellis?
The woodshop door swung open.
“There you are! Scare a household half to death, why don’t you.” Leigh’s voice scurried in. “Winnie and I couldn’t figure out why the coffee wasn’t made and—”
Leigh cut off as her vision apparently adjusted to the dim room and she caught sight of the two of them—Drew still holding Maren’s hand, the tiniest wedge of space between them.
Drew practically jumped away. “Leigh, sorry. We were working and…”
“Uh-huh.” Droll amusement edged her scant reply.
The cold of the morning finally began to creep into the shop. Maren zipped Drew’s hoodie the rest of the way up. “Yeah, it was…we were…” Oh, just never mind. “Anyway, I have a lot of writing to do today, so…”
She reached for the coat she’d discarded at some point last night. Started for the door, tripped over the tipped swing. Drew’s arms jutted out to steady her.
She only allowed the briefest glance of thanks before escaping past Leigh and into the sprawling yard. She took a long, anxious breath tinged with frosty air. Heard the snatches of conversation behind her.
“You spent the night with her?”
“Not like that.”
“Drew, you know I—”
Her phone cut through the voices and she plucked it out like a lifesaver, barely registering the name on the display before answering. “This is Maren.”
Dayton didn’t even bother with a greeting. “How fast can you ditch the frozen tundra of Iowa?”
She halted in the middle of the yard. “Why?”
“Got a call from a professor friend at the University of Minnesota and apparently there’s some English department alumni holiday banquet or something happening this weekend. Their keynote just backed out and they’re looking for a speaker. Prof knows I work with you, knows you went to U of M. And they’ll let you sell and sign books after.”
Drew and Leigh’s voices drifted from the woodshop. Sunlight glinted off the metal of the machine shed and behind the building, tufts of snow rose and fell like waves, descending into the grove of trees where Drew said he used to spend hours as a kid.
“We’d play hide and seek for hours out there. Once we actually lost Leigh. Turned out she’d wandered out to the west field, started playing house by herself in a corn crib.”
“Well, do you want the gig?” Eagerness crowded Dayton’s tone. “You’d make my friend’s day. Pay is good and that’s a ton of people to get your books in front of. Besides, didn’t you say you like speaking? Could be a big moment.”
She glanced down at Drew’s hoodie, its too long arms flopping loose around hers. It smelled like him—that same minty, spicy smell that lingered in the second floor every morning after he’d gotten ready for the day.
A big moment.
The very thing she’d come to Iowa looking for. “It’s just…”
Drew emerged from the woodshop, Leigh beside him.
“I think I might be having a big moment right here.” Or at least, she was on her way toward one. Because if Leigh hadn’t walked in when she did…
Goosebumps climbed up her arms underneath the sweatshirt and oh, she had to look ridiculous. Standing in the middle of the yard, one arm hugged around her torso. And smiling—a dopey, toothy, goofy smile.
“You’re having a big moment.”
“Don’t sound so doubtful, Dayton.”
“It’s just…Iowa. And anyway, I thought you went there to write.”
“I did and I have been. I’ll send you some chapters, if you want.”
Drew and Leigh reached her then and Drew mouthed something about the cold and how she should get inside and Leigh gave a pointed glance toward the hoodie she wore.
And Dayton let out an impatient sigh. “What I want is an answering on the speaking gig? In or out?”
* * *
“I just want you to be careful, Drew.”
Drew poked a fake tree branch into its spot in the metal center. At least, he’d thought it was the right spot, but the evergreen branch protruded awkwardly. He glanced around the Christmas tree to see his sister holding the tree skirt. Shoot, he probably should’ve fit that thing in place before putting the bottom of the tree together.
“Careful of what? Poking my eye out with one of these branches?”
He’d already scraped his arm once and snagged his sweater, too. Served him right for dressing up for a day at home—if a black sweater and his only unfrayed pair of jeans counted as dressing up. Didn’t even know why he did it.
It’s just, when they’d come inside and Maren had told them about the phone call she’d just received, how she’d actually turned down a speaking engagement so she could stay an extra day or two—if it was okay with him—his staid, practical side just snapped. And he’d found himself nodding and smiling like a dolt and then suggesting they put up the Christmas tree today. And now here he was dressed like it was Sunday and shirking his work and listening to Frank Sinatra croon about being home for Christmas.
Maren and Winnie sat in front of the fireplace on the cream-colored rug, sorting through the boxes of Christmas decorations he’d hauled in from the garage.
And Leigh—he glanced back at her—had apparently been watching him watch the others. “You know what I’m talking about, big brother.”
Drew yanked the stubborn branch out. Shrugged and reached for a different one. “Honestly, I don’t. But why so serious? It’s a good day, Leigh. It’s Saturday. You’ve got the day off. Winnie’s happy.”
“You’re happy.”
He fit the branch into place. “And that’s a bad thing?”
Leigh rounded to his side of the tree, voice lowering. “I want you to be careful about Maren.”
Of its own accord, his gaze scooted back to Maren. At some point this morning, she’d traded in her striped pajamas and his hoodie for leggings and some kind of shirt-dress thing with a loose cord belt at the waist. And if he wasn’t mistaken, those were Winnie’s slippers on her feet.
“What about her?”
Leigh perched on the arm of the wingback chair near the window. “Come on, don’t make me spell it out.”
“Well, you’re going to have to if you want me to understand what you’re getting at. Be careful? She’s not a wild animal. No claws or fangs.” He arranged the wired branches he’d already fit into place, filling in the sparse spots. “She’s not a vampire or zombie or whatever paranormal thing is popular right now.”
“She’s eventually going to leave. I just don’t want to see you disappointed or anything. And then there’s the fact that she clearly had feelings for Colin when she first showed up here.”
“Leigh—”
“And maybe she doesn’t anymore, but if that’s the case, what does that say about her? She flip-flopped from one brother to the other that quickly?”
He couldn’t help another glance Maren’s direction, relieved that she apparently wasn’t hearing any of this. She and Winnie were laugh
ing over something—probably a clumsy old ornament he or one of his siblings had made in school.
“You’re worrying over nothing, sis. And she didn’t flip-flop. She went on one date with Colin.”
“Yes, and saved the postcard he sent her for a year.”
So what? It was just a generic postcard with two lines of scribbling. “You don’t know her, Leigh.”
“And you do? She’s been here two weeks. Like a pet up in the attic who emerges when she’s hungry.”
He poked another branch into the metal center, not even caring if it was the right spot. “Do you not like her or something?”
“Of course I like her. She’s great. Winnie practically dotes on her. I wish my daughter would spend half as much time with me.” Leigh rose and handed him another branch. “But I care about you, Drew, okay? And you seem…you’re so…you’re wearing a sweater. And you let her talk you into trying that gingerbread creamer this morning.”
“You heard her. She was going to heckle me until I gave in. I saved time by trying it.” He turned away from the tree, finally giving Leigh his full attention. “I appreciate the concern, little sister, but I’m the one who’s supposed to worry about my siblings.”
And besides, she was simply reading too far into things. So he’d diverted from his usual flannel for a day. So he’d let Maren doctor up his coffee for once.
So he’d poured out more of his heart than he’d ever meant to last night, let Maren see a side of him few people ever had.
So he’d fallen asleep with his arm around her.
So maybe Leigh isn’t seeing things.
“You know, you could’ve gotten a real tree.”
He blinked at Leigh’s abrupt change in topic, recognized it for the offering it was. She was letting him off the hook.
“Pine needles make you sneeze like crazy. You were always stuffed up and headachy around Christmas.”
“Yeah, but it’s already December fifteenth. So it’s not like it’d be up that long. And I know it’s what you’d choose if Winnie and I weren’t here.”
Except he might not have decorated at all if they weren’t here. If he had this big house all to himself. What would be the point?