A Family for the Farmer

by Laurel Blount

  Once outside, he let the children play on the church’s playground while he worried over Emily and fought the temptation to go back into the sanctuary. He leaned against a handy oak and watched the children swinging on the swing set. They seemed happy enough, glad like any children would be to be playing instead of sitting quiet in a church pew.

  Phoebe dismounted her swing clumsily and went sprawling, and Abel quickly pushed off the tree trunk and started in her direction. Before he could make it to her, her brother stopped to help her up, bending to brush the bits of grass and dirt from the front of her dress and checking her knees for scrapes. She must have passed Paul’s inspection, because a second later the two were off and running to the big curving slide.

  Abel’s heart swelled with an unfamiliar pride. Emily had done a great job with those two. They were good kids, both of them. Any man would be proud to claim them as his own.

  He might as well be honest with himself. He’d be proud to claim them.

  That was something he’d never seen coming. His own dad sure hadn’t been much of an advertisement for fatherhood. And Abel’s struggling teenage attempts to take care of his headstrong younger brother had pretty much strangled any desire to have kids of his own.

  But then Emily and her twins had come back to Goosefeather Farm, and something had shifted loose deep down inside him. New notions had been skirting around the edge of his mind for a while now, and those ideas had come front and center when he kissed Emily on the porch. Now they were all he could think about—though he could see his kiss had spooked her, and he knew he’d have to bide his time.

  Abel’s years around animals had taught him that rushing frightened creatures only made things worse. So he’d let Emily have her space even though the more she talked about working in that coffee shop Stone had dreamed up, the more uneasy Abel felt.

  Jacob Stone was a solid man and a good preacher. He didn’t trip over his own tongue, either, and the women sure seemed to like the look of him. Maybe Emily had Abel’s mind twisted a bit sideways, but he still had enough sense to know that he was no competition for a man like Stone when it came to setting female hearts pattering. If he was as unselfish as he ought to be, he’d push Emily in Stone’s direction and wish them both well, but the very thought of her and her children being claimed by another man, even a decent one like Stone, made Abel’s stomach churn.

  He heard a noise and glanced over toward the sidewalk that led to the church’s rear parking lot. The sight he saw hit him like a punch.

  Lois Gordon was being led to her car by one of her cronies, Gayle Morris. Gayle had one arm protectively around her red-faced friend, who still looked fit to be tied.

  “Can you believe this foolishness?” Lois was sputtering like an angry hen. “Asking me to leave. Me!”

  Abel frowned. He’d better round up the twins and take them back to Emily before Lois saw them and started more trouble.

  As it turned out, Lois wasn’t the one he should have been worrying about.

  Paul and Phoebe sprinted over and planted their little feet on the sidewalk in front of the two ladies. Abel had already started in their direction, but when he saw the look on Paul’s face, he upgraded his walk to a trot.

  “You were mean to my mother,” Paul said in a clear, matter-of-fact tone. “You’re not a nice lady.” Phoebe stood a cautious foot or two behind her brother, but her face had the same accusing look to it. She nodded her agreement.

  “Paul, Phoebe,” Abel called out, trying a tone he’d found useful in dealing with balky animals. “We need to get on back into the church.” Phoebe flicked an uncertain glance in his direction, but Paul kept his focus on the women in front of him.

  “Go away, little boy!” Gayle darted a worried look at Lois’s face and waved her hand in a shooing gesture. Lois’s face had shifted from beet red to pasty white. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Paul.

  Paul favored Trey a good bit, especially around the eyes. Abel felt a flash of pity for the old woman, and when he reached the little group, he spoke more gently than he’d intended.

  “Excuse us, Mrs. Gordon, Mrs. Morris. Phoebe, Paul, I said we need to go back inside the church now.”

  “No! Not yet. Wait.” Lois Gordon never took her eyes off Paul’s face. “Wait just a minute.” She was breathing hard, and her friend clucked worriedly.

  “Lois, honey, are you all right? You’re a terrible color. Do you need to sit down?”

  Lois clutched at her friend’s arm. “You see it, don’t you, Gayle? Anybody could see it! He’s the spitting image. Just the spitting image!”

  “Yes, honey. I see it.” The other woman looked over at Abel, telegraphing her concern with her eyebrows. He nodded, but before he could speak Lois went on breathlessly.

  “I never saw him up close before. And the girl.” Lois moved her gaze over to Phoebe, who promptly took a step backward. “The resemblance isn’t so striking, but I can see Trey in her, too. Don’t you, Gayle?”

  “Yes.” Her friend nodded and patted Lois’s arm. “I see it, Lois. Of course I do. But it’s hot out here, honey, and I think we need to get you on home. You’re terribly upset.”

  “Upset. Yes.” Lois repeated her friend’s words absently, her eyes moving from one twin to the other. Her reaction had flustered them, and they looked uneasily at Abel. He put his hands protectively on their shoulders, maneuvering them off the sidewalk and onto the grass beside him.

  “Excuse us,” Abel repeated, not bothering to put much warmth in his voice. He felt sorry for Lois Gordon, but his pity only went so far. “We’ll let you ladies get on your way now.”

  Lois detached her gaze from the twins and looked up into his face. The shock in her expression ebbed away, replaced by a chilly haughtiness. “Abel Whitlock,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He met her eyes squarely. She didn’t give an inch but met him stare for stare.

  “My Trey never would say, but I know it was you who bloodied his nose all those years ago.”

  She had him there. “Trey and I had a difference of opinion that day, and I let my temper get the best of me.” He didn’t apologize. He still struggled with being sorry for that. Sometimes the line between Christian forgiveness and standing up for what was right seemed mighty blurry.

  “He had to have plastic surgery, you know. We should have sent you the bill.”

  He didn’t blink. “I’d have paid it and counted it a bargain. Ma’am.”

  Trey’s mother sniffed scornfully. “You did it for her, I suppose. Because Trey wasn’t fool enough to shipwreck his life and marry her. That girl always had you wrapped around her little finger, same as my Trey. Only she didn’t give you the time of day, did she? She had her sights set higher back then.” Those icy eyes measured him. “Small wonder. I knew your father. He was a good-for-nothing kind of a man. Your grandfather, too.”

  Abel remained silent, but he could feel a muscle twitching in his cheek. Lois’s sharp eye saw it, and she permitted herself a small, satisfied smile.

  “I don’t like you, Whitlock, but I give credit where credit is due,” the older woman continued smoothly. “I’ve always admired people who are able to pull themselves above the level of their raising. You’ve done that by all accounts, and so I’m going to give you a word of advice. Be very careful where you bestow your affections, or you’ll sink right back down into the mess you came up from. A bad woman can ruin a good man.”

  “Are you calling my mama a bad woman?” Paul spoke up from Abel’s side, and Abel could feel the tension in the boy’s small shoulders. “She’s not bad.”

  “Of course she isn’t, Paul.” Abel kept his eyes locked on Lois Gordon’s. “I’m sure that’s not what Mrs. Gordon meant. Now we’ll need to go back into church, or your mama will be wondering what’s happened to us.” He dipped his head courteously toward the two women
. “Ladies.”

  Gayle only blinked at him, but Lois responded with a curt nod of her own. He turned back toward the church with the children in tow.

  “Mark my words,” he heard Lois Gordon call behind him. “You think your daddy always had a drinking problem? He didn’t, not until he took up with Gina Finch. The Whitlock men always choose the wrong women, and it’s their ruination. Everybody knows that.”

  Abel set his jaw and kept walking. He had to give the woman credit. When it came to pushing people’s buttons, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  The service was over, and people were coming through the church’s arched doorway in a steady stream. Abel stopped beside a large concrete planter full of begonias to wait for Emily. He couldn’t help noticing that people didn’t look nearly so uplifted as they usually did after one of Stone’s sermons.

  In fact, most of them looked a little shell-shocked. Jacob Stone definitely did. The pastor was dutifully manning his usual post by the front door, shaking hands and passing pleasantries, but from the look on his face, he needed a couple of aspirin and the afternoon off.

  But Stone wasn’t Abel’s concern. Emily was. When he caught sight of her slender form coming out of the darkness of the church foyer, he zeroed in on her expression, trying to read it for clues.

  She looked all right, he realized with some relief. The two red spots on her cheeks had faded into pink, and her chin was at its calmer angle. He could see why it was taking her so long to make it out of the church. Every few steps somebody else came up to hug her and whisper into her ear. Emily would be released by one person and would walk a few steps only to be stopped by somebody else.

  As she neared him he saw her eyes dart to her children. A smile warmed her face, and she gave the twins a little wave. But before she could advance more than a couple of steps, Bailey Quinn stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  Emily smiled, but Abel caught sight of the little signs of weariness on her face. She’d had enough. She was worn out, and she needed to go home. She was just too polite to say so.

  Well, he wasn’t. He crossed the distance between them in two easy strides, cupped one hand under Emily’s elbow and crooked his best smile at the two women.

  “Hate to interrupt your jawing, Bailey, but I’m thinking Emily needs to get her children on home now.”

  “Sure thing.” Bailey flashed her dimples in his direction. Her dark eyes flicked between the two of them, and the corners of her mouth tipped up. “Well, well, well. I have to say I like the way this wind is blowing! Now that you two are a couple, Abel, maybe you can talk Emily into staying in town.”

  Abel started to smile in return, but when he caught sight of Emily’s expression, his face froze. Bailey’s remark hadn’t gone over well. Those two red spots were back, and her chin tilted up to its fighting angle.

  “Abel and I aren’t a couple. We’re just friends.” Emily flashed her friend a firm smile. “See you at the coffee shop on Friday. Okay?”

  “Sure thing,” Bailey repeated, her eyes telegraphing worried questions into Abel’s. She was wasting her time. He was just as confused as she was.

  “Sorry about that.” Emily didn’t meet his gaze as they walked back to the parking lot. “I forgot how bad small towns are. Everybody knows everybody’s business, or they think they do.”

  “Didn’t bother me,” Abel responded easily, but he was troubled. Bailey’s remark hadn’t bothered him, but it had sure bothered Emily.

  And that had bothered him.

  * * *

  The next Friday Emily sniffed the air at the Grounds of Faith Café suspiciously and bent over to peer into its unpredictable secondhand oven. She grabbed two pot holders and reached in to slide out the large muffin tin.

  “Moment of truth here,” she said over her shoulder to Bailey, who was busy labeling jars. Bailey leased the use of the café’s commercial kitchen one day a week to process the canned goods she sold in her store. Today she’d been pressure canning spaghetti sauce, and the smell of the spiced tomatoes and peppers mingled with the aroma of fresh muffins.

  “So?” Bailey paused in her labeling, raising a dark eyebrow. “Did you hit the sweet spot this time?”

  Emily inspected her muffins anxiously, then relaxed with a smile. “Looks like it. I was right. This big stinker bakes about fifteen degrees too hot. I just need to reduce the temperature. That’s a relief! You know how small towns are. One more batch of overbrowned scones, and my reputation as a baker would have been ruined forever.”

  Bailey walked over beside her, appropriated a hot muffin and took a careful bite. “Yum!” she said when she could talk. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. At least...” She hesitated. “Not where your muffins are concerned.”

  Emily frowned. She thought she knew what Bailey was referring to, and that meant it was high time to change the direction of this conversation. “It’s about time to open up,” she said brightly.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to go unlock my store.” Bailey paused. Emily glanced at her, and her heart sank. Her old friend had a resolute expression on her face. “Listen, Emily, I’m sorry about making that comment at church. I mean, about you and Abel. I just assumed—”

  “That’s okay,” Emily interrupted swiftly. “No harm done. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Yeah.” Bailey chewed on her lower lip for a second. “Don’t be mad, but I need to say something. All right?”

  Emily sighed. “Sure. Go ahead.” She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began arranging the muffins on a tray. “I’m listening.”

  “Be careful, Emily. I mean, it’s probably no big deal. Abel’s never been serious about a woman since I’ve known him. But there’s always been something in the way he looks at you, even way back, and now... I don’t know. Like I said, maybe it’s nothing. But Abel’s my friend, too, and he’s already had plenty of trouble in his life. Just don’t send him any mixed signals, okay?”

  Emily nodded and managed a smile as Bailey picked up her box of jarred sauce and headed out the back door.

  Mixed signals. Bailey’s advice was coming a little too late. Emily’s mind flashed back to Abel’s kiss and her weak-kneed reaction to it, and the muffin she was holding slipped out of her suddenly clumsy fingers and tumbled across the stainless steel table.

  Annoyed with herself she picked up the muffin and set it precisely on the tray. Then as she grabbed for a paper towel to wipe up the trail of crumbs it had left in its wake, she knocked the towels off the table, and they unrolled lavishly across the linoleum floor. She sighed deeply and began gathering them up.

  This was ridiculous. Lately her brain was like one of those networks that showed marathons of the same movie over and over. She’d relived Abel’s kiss half a million times since that afternoon, and every time she either dropped something or broke something. She was a grown woman. There was no reason for her to be this flustered over a kiss.

  But Bailey had a point. Emily needed to be clear with Abel about this, and she would be...if he ever tried to kiss her again. He hadn’t, not yet anyway. That was a good thing, of course, even if she did wonder just a tiny bit why he hadn’t.

  The little bell on the door jangled, and Emily tugged her apron straight, picked up the muffin tray and headed back out to the counter. She put a bright, welcoming smile on her face and pushed her thoughts about Abel Whitlock to the back of her mind.

  A middle-aged couple was looking around the café with interest. As Emily came up behind the glass-fronted display counter, the pair glanced at each other and approached hesitantly.

  Emily slid the heavy tray of muffins expertly into the display case and turned a reassuring smile on the couple. She’d helped dozens of newbie customers just like them back in Atlanta, and she figured they were feeling a bit bewildered by the assortment of coffees and flavors available.

>   As she began explaining the coffee menu, Emily felt the comfortable assurance of knowing exactly what to do. It was a welcome change from the bewilderment of trying to work the farm. Just yesterday afternoon, trying to prove that this job wasn’t going to keep her from holding up her end of the farm chores, she’d picked a big basket of butter beans only to have Abel explain to her that they weren’t quite ripe yet. Sure enough, when he’d slit open the pods, the little beans inside were barely formed. The goats had enjoyed them, but Emily had remembered the hot, backbreaking work of picking them, and she’d felt irked and stupid.

  Here in the coffee shop it was different. Being here after struggling on the farm felt like slipping on her favorite pair of sneakers after a long day in heels. The sooner she returned to Atlanta and got back to restaurant work full-time, the better.

  And that was just another reason why she had no business kissing Abel Whitlock.

  “Mmm.” The woman took a sip of her mocha latte and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Herb, you don’t know what you’re missing. This is wonderful.” Emily smiled. The lady had a sweet tooth and a weakness for chocolate. Emily had guessed right.

  “You should try one of these muffins, Marjorie. In fact, we should get some to take home.” Herb, who had stubbornly clung to black coffee without frills, was halfway through one of Emily’s supersized cranberry almond muffins, and he looked just as happy as his wife. Emily’s smile widened. These two would be back. She’d just created two more regulars for Grounds for Faith.

  Just as Emily turned back to tinker with the temperamental milk steamer, the bell jangled again. She spoke up cheerfully over her shoulder. “Welcome to Grounds of Faith!”

  “Try the muffins,” Herb volunteered with his mouth full. “They’re amazing.”

  “They always are,” drawled a familiar voice. Emily turned to find Abel giving her his crooked smile. Her heart did its usual foolish little leap in response.

  Stop that, she warned herself firmly.

  “Cranberry almond or chocolate walnut?” she asked him, using her best professional voice.