There was nothing bad to focus on; only the good to uncover.
Without intending to, Jacob revealed what sort of man was hiding beneath that broken exterior, and I fell hopelessly in love with him.
The day he asked to be my friend, he kept throwing me thankful stares as we worked in the barn together, tossing down hay for customers who came to fill up their own sheds for the winter. It was a long day with blisters on fingers from hauling and blisters on brains from arithmetic and totalling up sales. After the last truck drove away, I fully expected Jacob to leave as he usually did without a backward glance. Him to his place, and me to Della’s. No interaction again until daybreak.
That day, though, he cocked his head and guided me toward the stables where Forrest and a chestnut mare called Gingernut were tied up, waiting for us.
I’d ridden Gingernut before, and out of all the horses here, she was the one I had the best bond with.
I hadn’t told Jacob that. I hadn’t told anyone. Yet he’d chosen that particular horse for me.
He’d read me silently. Knew me intimately. He’d bulldozed past the remaining barriers I had and crushed me into rubble.
That was the first hint of the pain I was about to endure.
The first taste of trouble.
When we tacked up and mounted horses in a splash-perfect pink and tangerine sunset, we didn’t have to speak as Jacob urged Forrest into a gallop and I followed.
We rode for two hours.
He guided me on trails I hadn’t seen and led me through areas of the woods that were horse friendly. Deep dusk decorated tree trunks into skeletal shadows while owls hooted above our heads.
While I rode in a saddle and bridle, Jacob rode in just a halter.
And that symbolism kept me awake that night after we’d put our horses to rest, and I struggled to sleep in his bed. All this time, I’d believed Jacob was too afraid to get close, so he wrapped himself up with barbwire.
But really…he was the most vulnerable.
Just like he was vulnerable when he rode Forrest with no tack. He was vulnerable in life because he had no tricks to protect himself. He couldn’t pretend. He didn’t hide his wounds or deceive those around him into thinking he was anything more than who he could be.
He was honest, raw, and open.
There was nothing counterfeit about him.
And that became obvious as we worked side by side, living in the present rather than the past or future.
A week after our friendship began, Jacob looked at the sky on a scorching summer’s day and turned off the tractor. We’d been patrolling the fence lines, spraying Roundup to kill the weeds creeping high over wire and post.
We weren’t done.
But Jacob merely took my hand and guided me to the pond where I’d watched him stumble from the forest with a concussion.
That seemed an eon ago.
A lifetime ago.
“Ready?” He smirked.
“Ready for what?”
“To swim.” Scooping me up, he threw me jeans-clad and T-shirt wearing into the pond, then cannon-balled after me.
I came up spluttering while he laughed. A happy, deep laugh that made a home in my ears and set up a shrine in my heart.
Droplets danced on my eyelashes as the sun shone on him, turning his dark blond hair honey and distrusting midnight eyes a mystical grey.
He seemed lighter these days too. Not just in mood but in colouring.
As if the shadows that’d hurt him for so long were losing their strenuous grip.
We swam for an hour, slowly peeling off clothes until we were just in our underwear.
When he threw his soaking jeans onto the bank, and his shirtless chest bunched to toss his T-shirt, I sank beneath the surface and screamed.
Screamed for the unfairness and the rightness of it all.
Unfairness because I’d found the man who fit me above all others.
And rightness because we were friends, and if my only purpose was to help Jacob remember how to have a companion, then I was doing everything he needed.
My wish of helping him was coming true.
He was learning to trust me.
He was learning to like me.
And I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that.
I wouldn’t swim over and touch him.
I wouldn’t hug him from behind and plaster my wet bra to his back.
I definitely wouldn’t try to kiss his gorgeous face with hair messy and five o’clock shadow framing the most perfect lips.
Because that would be about me, not him.
And I was done being selfish.
Instead, I tucked up the heartbeats of my pain and stored them deep in an aching chest. I did my best to keep love from my eyes and desire from my voice and stayed perfectly platonic.
The rest of the day was as idyllic as the morning.
Our clothes dried, thanks to the hot sun, and we dressed, his eyes carefully away from my body while mine couldn’t stop roaming over his. Damp but refreshed, we continued weed maintenance in ease and contentedness.
Later that night, we arrived home to a delicious barbecue that John had put together.
Fresh bread, cool coleslaw, smoky sausages, and fried onions, along with salads and chicken wings and icy soda.
Everyone joined in, milling together around the old picnic table overlooking the willow grotto.
It was one of the best moments of my life to be surrounded by family and love, but it was also one of the saddest not to be surrounded by my own mother and father.
As much as I cared for these people, they weren’t mine. They’d never be mine. I was just a visitor, a girl passing through, a side character who would be gone soon and forgotten.
As the evening wore on, I stood slightly apart, smiling in happiness to see Jacob’s family not tensing before they talked to him or flinching if they brought up Ren. The stiffness between them softened, and John pushed his luck by touching his grandson more than anyone.
I hadn’t asked, but I didn’t think John had told Jacob his diagnosis yet. He probably didn’t want to ruin this wonderful summery moment when his grandson was willing to laugh and be a part of his family instead of a loner locked in a cabin on the hill.
Della found me when the strawberry shortcake was passed around.
We stood quietly beneath a tree with sparrows roosting loudly above us. Her presence was once again comforting; a medicine to the illness her son caused.
We ate the sugary dessert in silence, watching Jacob as he discussed turning the back meadow into a full orchard with peaches, plums, and apples with John.
As the sun set on such a brilliantly flawless day, Della turned to hug me.
And I buried my face in her neck, shuddering with the unbearable need to tell her how much I’d fallen for her son. How much he meant to me. How much his happiness cost me because I could never jeopardise this new Jacob. I could never tell him how I felt because all he asked for was friendship and friends were all we’d ever be.
But I didn’t need to tell her because she knew.
Her touch told me she understood the agony of unrequited affection.
Her kiss told me to be brave, to be patient, to weather the suffering because…who knew…perhaps one day, I’d get my happily ever after.
Maybe one day, Jacob would fall for me, and then it would be me begging death not to take him. Me fighting the fear of losing him. I’d regress to that tiny kid who’d clutched a stupid piece of lace after her mother committed suicide.
A silly, pushy girl who wasn’t worthy of being loved.
A girl who wasn’t allowed longevity of such a thing.
That night, I went to bed exhausted and in more pain than ever.
And it wasn’t the only night of agony.
There were so many exquisite moments of togetherness. Working with Jacob was my favourite place to be, but hanging out with him at the dinner table, hearing his husky, melodic laughter, seeing him be so gentle with the h
orses, watching him tend the land as if it were a much-loved family member—it all chipped away at my defences.
By day, I behaved perfectly. I’d smile but not too broad. I’d laugh but not flirt. I’d keep my eyes above his belt and my desire hidden.
But I couldn’t stop my physical reaction.
Couldn’t stop the quickened heartbeats or hitched breath if he came too close; the tingling over my skin or the prickles along my scalp when he gave me a lopsided smile goodbye and tipped his cowboy hat.
I didn’t know how much longer I could love him and not tell him.
The days were bearable (just), but the nights were intolerable. I never went to his cabin uninvited now. I stayed in his bed at Della’s house and fought with fantasies of what it would be like to be more than friends.
I drove myself mad with illusions.
At the end of the month, Jacob surprised me by showing up at dawn outside his old bedroom door. On his back rested a backpack full of things, and in his hands rested another slightly smaller bag, but just as stuffed with belongings.
Luckily, I’d become an early riser and already had a shower. Crossing the room to let him in, I finished pulling the brush through my damp hair and repositioned my locket to glitter over my white T-shirt instead of growing hot against my skin. “Jacob…what are you doing here?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“So?”
“So no work today.”
“We’ve worked Sundays before.”
He grinned, shoving the smaller backpack into my arms. “Not this one.” Not waiting for me, he leapt off the deck with a move so light-hearted and free, it made him look like a rebellious teenager and not a weathered farmer. “I want to show you something.”
Shrugging the backpack on, I found my boots tossed in the corner and shoved them on my feet. “Show me what?”
“You’ll see.” Holding out his hand, he waited as I tied my laces and closed the glass sliders.
With a soft breath, I shoved down another rush of besotted affection, commanding myself to stay calm as I placed my palm in his.
Unfortunately, his touch was fireworks and dynamite. Electricity pulsed up my arm, defibrillating my heart with pain, pain, pain.
With a wince, I tugged my fingers from his, shaking out the tingles. “Where are we going?”
Jacob frowned at my withdrawn hand. “Forest.”
I smiled. “I’m assuming you mean the place with trees and not your horse?”
“You assumed correctly.” He struck off into a ground-covering stride, expecting me to keep up.
I trotted after him, looping my fingers under the backpack straps and wishing I’d had a glass of water. If he kept up this pace, I was in for some hard exercise. “What’s so urgent to see in the forest?”
“Nothing.” He gave me a grin. “Just want to make use of the day, that’s all.”
“Della know we’re leaving?”
“She doesn’t need to know everything we do. Besides, she knows where I go if I leave for a few days. I take after my father, after all.”
“Wait.” My breath came a little faster, but I was fitter than I was a couple of months ago. “We’re spending the night there?”
“You saying you’re chicken?”
I scowled. “I’m not chicken.”
“In that case, yes.” He smirked. “We’re spending the night there.”
* * * * *
For three hours, we hiked.
My thighs and calf muscles grumbled for the first hour or so, then started whinging on the second hour, and by the final stretch, they howled their displeasure.
Every part of me ached.
Jacob, meanwhile, showed no adverse effects. His concussion no longer affected his balance, and beneath the weight of the backpack his spine was strong and straight.
No signs of his painful fall off Forrest lingered, and I was glad. Beyond glad there hadn’t been any long-term damage.
“This is the spot.” Jacob stopped in the middle of a small clearing. Trees soared heavenward while bracken and bushes thickened the undergrowth, ringing us in foliage protection. The ground wasn’t as leaf-littered as I expected, and a circle of ash-covered rocks hinted a camper had been here not long ago and lit a fire or two.
“Is this where you came when you disappeared those few days?”
He nodded, letting his backpack slip from his shoulders and bounce against the earth. “Uh-huh.”
“You walked all that way with a busted back?”
He gave me a careful look. “I did, but it didn’t take three hours. It took much longer.”
“Why travel so far?” I moved around the quaint campsite, loving the niches made by woodland creatures and the obvious human tampering with a carving or two in tree bark and a couple of logs strategically placed for fire gazing.
Jacob shrugged. “Not sure. Anywhere in the forest would’ve done. Then again, this was the first spot Dad brought me, so it’s kinda special. It’s far enough away to make you glad when you arrive and close enough to home if anything goes wrong. Plus, the farther away from human habitation you go, the purer the river is and the easier the game is to hunt.”
I stiffened. “Please tell me we don’t have to kill something for dinner tonight. I’ll happily starve if that’s the case.”
He laughed. “I should make you gut a rabbit just to show you the reality behind eating meat.”
“Why on earth would you want me to do something so gruesome?”
“Because you’re blind. You’re used to meat coming in pretty plastic wrapping. You’ve been desensitised to seeing an animal give up its life for you to have lunch.”
“If you’re trying to make me a vegetarian, it’s working.”
He laughed again, kicking aside weeds as he dropped to his haunches to brush unburned twigs into the fire pit. “Nah, just showing you real life. You’re different from most people, Hope. You weren’t born to this life, yet you’re happier here than the locals. You’re strong, quick thinking, and not afraid to get your hands dirty.”
I flushed with pride.
I hadn’t worked my butt off for Jacob to be proud of me. I’d done it because it’d made me proud of myself. But I also couldn’t deny I liked him looking at me this way—full of awe and friendship and…affection.
But then the look was gone as he cleared his throat and moved toward his discarded backpack, his hands blackened with soot. “It does make me wonder, though.”
“Wonder what?” My boots crunched as I followed.
“Wonder if Cherry River had been a farm that raised stock for slaughter, would you have accepted this world so easily.”
I froze. “I-I never thought about that.”
He pulled out a large nylon tent and shook it open. “Don’t you find it funny that all we farm is grass and keep rescues?”
“No. Because like I said, I didn’t think about it.”
“There’s plenty of money in grass, don’t get me wrong. We ship up and down the country. But there’s money in meat too. But Grandpa John has never been in the business of killing. I think it was my grandmother Patricia who said he could never raise animals if they were destined for a plate.”
Taking off my own bag, I went to help Jacob spread out the tent on a flattened section of earth beneath a tree with bushy branches. “I like the sound of this Patricia.”
“Yeah, me too.” His eyes grew soft. “She died. Like everyone does.” His gaze flashed dark as he forced himself to stay present and not slip into grim memories. “Did you know your grandparents…before they died in that car crash?”
“How did you know they died?”
He snorted. “Google.”
“Ah.” I rolled my eyes. “So you’ll also know Dad sold me as a concubine to a big-shot director for a role?”
“There was a lot of bullshit about you online, that’s true.”
“Meh, I don’t care.” Answering his previous question, I said softly, “I didn’t meet my grandparents before t
hey died. It’s just been Dad and me for a very long time.”
“Do you miss your mother?”
Even though I’d grown used to Jacob asking me questions about myself over the past few weeks and the intense way he pocketed my answers—as if he kept all trivia about me for safe-keeping—I flinched at that one.
My fingers found their way to wrap around my locket where the remaining piece of her lace lived.
His gaze followed, but he stayed silent.
“I think I miss the idea of her more than I miss her.” I glanced away, hating myself, but for the first time, I was ready to be honest. Brutally honest. “Dad loved her. I know that. But I don’t know if she loved him the same way. My memories are starting to fade, leaving only the loudest moments, and unfortunately, those moments were of her screaming at Dad about petty things.” I glanced at the dirt under my nails from harrowing yesterday. “I-I don’t like that I look like her. I don’t want to be that cruel to anyone or that unhappy with life.”
Jacob stopped moving, giving me his full concentration. “You’re not cruel.”
“I know.” I nodded. “But sometimes, I have to work extra hard not to be ungrateful like she was. She had everything in the world. Everything society said she should want anyway—rich and famous with a cute daughter and a handsome husband—but it wasn’t enough. That greed to find something that would make her happy is what killed her in the end.”
Jacob released the tent and came slowly toward me.
I sucked in a breath as he cupped my hand locked around my locket. His grip was dry and warm and protective. His eyes danced over mine. His height shadowed me from the dappling light around us.
For the longest moment, he stared. Stared deep, deep into me, giving me no place to hide. I felt judged and studied and known. And when his fingers tugged the chain around my neck, I moved like liquid into him.
There were no bones left in my body, only malleable willingness to go wherever he wanted because he didn’t see a girl born to acting royalty, or a starlet who had money and a career just waiting to unfold at her feet. He saw me grubby and slightly sweaty in the middle of a forest and knew I wasn’t lying.
The Son & His Hope Page 32