She let the phone drop from her ear and thought for a second. Okay, then. She’d just have to go to his house. “Um, this is Jenna Bellingham, Hogan’s friend. May I have his address?”
“Sure thing. Let me grab that for you.”
She found paper and pencil and jotted down the information.
“Thank you so much,” she said and hung up.
She stared at the piece of paper. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq. She would just have to drive to the far end of the county to return the beautiful diamond she’d become so fond of these last weeks.
She needed to clean the ring. Didn’t want to give it back all smudged and marred. Like their relationship was now.
The little jar of jewelry cleaner was under the bathroom counter. She unscrewed the lid, twisted off the ring, and dropped it into the solution.
As she polished the platinum circle, she tried to devise a plan for handing it back over. She wished she still had the box. But Hogan had taken it and said she’d never need it again because she’d never take off the ring again. Tears formed in her eyes and dripped down her face. That was all she needed—to look all puffy when she said her final good-bye. Stop it.
She’d be strong and get the job done. Like she did when she stayed beside April when she was in that accident. Like she was doing when she tutored Ben. She was not your typical wilting Southern belle. Oh, yeah. She could look the part. All decked out in the latest Lilly Pulitizer fashion with pearls draped about her neck. And her pedicure all perfect in the latest Louboutin sandals. But she was anything but.
Heck, she’d learned how to cook from Amberlee, helping her in the kitchen, making biscuits and frying okra. She’d run amuck on the plantation as a child. Barefooted and all scraped up from trying to keep up with Anson. As she helped Jasper keep all the gardens in order. While she handled snakes. In a way, she was getting ready to handle a snake now. A lying snake. Though that had been his only flaw, she would never marry a liar.
She held the ultra-polished ring to the window and allowed the waning sunlight to sparkle a million little rainbow colored lights all over the room. Too bad things had to be this way. She didn’t know what he was going to do with the beautiful thing when she gave it back. Maybe he could return it to the jewelry store. Or maybe he’d keep it to remember how much he probably hated her. Because he bought it and then she broke up with him. No matter. This was her life. And she wasn’t marrying a man she didn’t even know. Because Hogan was a liar.
But all she could think about was his smile, his dark hair and the way his eyes melted her. How he towered above her and how much she loved holding onto his hard waist when she rode the bike with him. The way he’d involved Ben in their engagement—their extremely short engagement. She wished she’d never even gone to that stupid charity auction that night.
In her car, she programmed Hogan’s address into the GPS. Her family’s plantation was on one side of Summerbrook, and his farm was on the other side. The wrong side. At the very top end of the county, so she’d better make good time if she were going to get there and back before dark.
She drove, listening to some Australian guy’s voice telling her where to turn. It amused her to hear the accented voice say, “Turn right on Old Orangeburg Road.”
As she made her turns, she kept thinking about how things might have turned out had he not lied. Lies screw up everything. Her family’s lies had screwed her up. Big time.
The shape of the county was long and slender, and Hogan resided as far away from the gentrified Charleston crowd as one could get and still have a Summerbrook address. After the longest time of listening to Mr. Down Under tell her where to turn, he said, “Arriving at destination.”
She pulled off the road and stopped. This was not what she’d imagined. Before her was a large arch that had white fencing running for what seemed like miles in either direction. The sign read, “Thorpe Farms.” How could he not tell her that he’d owned a farm? Not a pig farm or a truck farm. A very large commercial farm by the looks of things. Well, of course he wouldn’t. He was a liar. Remember?
Beyond the gates were thousands of acres, planted in honey-yellow grains in various stages of growth. And beyond that was a large white home with a wrap-around porch that looked like it was swiped from the pages of Southern Living magazine. Behind the house were green things that she could tell were all sorts of combines and tractors. What an operation. This wasn’t some little dirt farm with a cottage. Like Mr. Smithers had portrayed. It was what plantations were back in the South’s heyday. Not some ornamental, good-for-nothing-but-tourist plantation like hers. This baby was for real.
But for all that he had, she knew something was even more precious. She recalled Anwar Sadat’s quote in her book that read, “Peace is much more precious than a piece of land...” Right now, she needed peace.
She pulled through the gates and made her way over the bumpy road that led to the main house. When she got close enough, she saw Hogan’s Rover in the circular driveway, and when she got even closer, she saw a small figure sitting on the front porch with her bare feet on the first step. It was a little girl. Hogan’s.
She parked behind Hogan’s car and walked a few paces. “Hey, there,” she called out gently, so as not to scare the little girl. The small child never moved. Never even acknowledged someone was there. Her hair and dress were a pale wheat color, and she stroked the hair of a bare Barbie doll in her lap. The hair on the doll blended in with her dress, all soft and delicate like the nature around them.
“My name’s Jenna. What’s yours?” she asked, already knowing that her name was Savannah, from what Scarlet had revealed at the engagement party.
Savannah’s tiny hand monotonously moved over the doll’s yellow hair again and again, like she was trying to get some comfort from it, like it was a security blanket or something. Jenna’s heart tore a little. She’d heard that the little girl was broken. Damaged. And that was why her mother had left.
Savannah was beautiful and angelic, probably a miniature version of her mother, because she looked nothing like Hogan with his dark features. But how could a mother leave something so precious?
Jenna moved slowly to walk up the edge of the steps as far away from the little girl as possible so as not to frighten her. “I’m looking for your daddy.” She paused. “So I’m going to ring your bell, all right?” Yes, there was an actual bell beside the door that needed to be rung. Not a door knocker. Not a doorbell. A real bell.
Jenna rang it and saw the little girl’s head spring up. Oh, no. She’d frightened Savannah. The little girl jumped up and ran inside on her tiptoes, holding the doll by the feet, letting the hair sweep the porch floor.
Moments later, the door opened fully. It was Hogan, standing in the way. With his frightened little girl hiding behind his right knee, her eyes fixed on her dolly, stroking its hair.
He stepped back with his left leg and then moved Savannah back even more. His hand remained on her little head. “Jenna? What are you doing here?”
She glanced at the little girl and then back into Hogan’s dark eyes. “I needed to return something.” She looked at the little girl again. “Could we talk? Alone?”
Hogan knelt down and looked into his little girl’s face, but she made no acknowledgement of his presence. “Savannah, sweetie, I’m going to let you wait on the porch a while. He stood and guided her to the front railing, and she sat in the very same place she was when Jenna had first seen her.
Hogan left the large front door open when he walked back into the wide hall. He stopped where he could keep an eye on his little girl. He shook his head, ran his fingers through his dark locks and let out a weighty breath. He lifted his eyebrows and said, “So, I suppose I know what this is about.”
A rock formed in Jenna’s stomach. It ached for what she was about to do. This was way more difficult and complicated than she had figured. It was no wonder why Hogan had not jumped on telling her immediately about his little girl. Had put off revealing Savanna
h’s problems. If she had not seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have known how to explain it either. Poor child. Poor father.
She touched the ring on her finger. “I…”
He touched her hand. “You know you don’t have to give it back. I bought it for you. No matter what.” He pulled his hand back. “I don’t know what I’d do with it now anyway.”
“I wouldn’t feel…right,” she said. But she didn’t feel right giving it back to him either.
He raked his hand through his hair again, checked Savannah, and then turned to her again. “I don’t know what to say. Any more than I have already.” He looked up at the large brass light in the hall. “I’m sorry. I know I embarrassed you at the engagement party. And screwed up the whole inheritance thing for you.” He stepped back and then forward again. “We…you and I…just happened so unexpectedly. And then I thought I could help with the trust and plantation, so I asked you to marry me before I’d had the chance to think it through, even before I had the chance to see if you’d be okay with Savannah.” He put his hands in his pockets. “It was all my fault.”
“Speaking of Savannah…is she okay out there?” Hogan stood in the way of her seeing the little girl.
“Yeah, I can see her on the front porch.” He moved.
Jenna glanced out the side light and saw the little girl in the same place she had been, frozen, except for her little hand gliding along the doll’s hair. The sun was setting, and the low light silhouetted the child in the most angelic way.
“She’s beautiful.” The small thing was pretty. And pitiful.
“And all locked up inside. Another teacher quit her. I can’t have this continuing to happen. It’s damaging to her.” He stepped behind her and stared at his daughter. “I’m going to have to close the Harley shop. The guys are going to lose their jobs.” He paused. “It was a place for me to escape the weight of the farm and… Anyway, her doctor said he advised his parents of children on the spectrum to get an outside hobby to reduce the stress. Stress is not good for autistic kids. They sense it,” he said.
“I’m sorry about the shop.”
“Before the party, I was hoping that you might like it out here. And, well, maybe agree to help her. You know, teach her.” He inhaled the weight of the heavy air around them.
That rock inside Jenna’s stomach turned into a boulder.
Chapter Twelve
“The love of property and consciousness of right and wrong have conflicting places in our organization, which often makes a man's course seem crooked, his conduct a riddle.”
~Abraham Lincoln
Hogan smelled the citrus scent waft from Jenna’s sun-kissed blonde hair, which had grown even more past her shoulders now. He liked the way it waved over the curve of them. She was staring at his little girl. A part of his heart started to melt. But then he thought she might just be assessing her for the broken thing that she was. That would be bad. He willed himself to stop thinking that. This whole thing with Jenna could have turned out so differently. So beautifully. It was all his fault that he’d kept his mouth shut and made it look so deceitful. It was intended to be anything but.
And now she was there to give him his ring back.
He heard someone enter the house through the side door.
“Hog? Where you at, man?” The farm’s foreman, Buck Derrickson, came around the corner, taking off his gloves. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know you had company.” He straightened his leather vest. Which was not exactly useful on the farm.
“Buck, this is Jenna Bellingham.”
Jenna turned around, and Buck’s mouth dropped. “You didn’t tell me you were keeping such lovely company these days.” He reached out his hand to shake Jenna’s.
It must have taken her off guard because she first started to lift her left hand, and then she corrected herself and reached out the right.
“Too bad, there, Hog. Looks like this little lady is taken.” He smiled the best pick-up smile he could.
Jenna looked up at Hogan, and he glanced down at her. Was. Was taken. He’d take her again if she’d forgive him.
“Buck, I think you left your good manners in that field out there,” Hogan said.
“Speaking of fields. That mechanic from the combine company came and worked on the brakes again. Still feels a little slow to me. Thought you might take a quick ride and give me your thoughts—before we lose the light.”
“Buck, I can’t. I have company. Ask Colton.” The last thing Hogan needed to worry about was the farm right now. That was why they’d hired Buck in the first place—to give him more time for his daughter and ease the burden on Colton since Hogan needed to get away to the shop—the motorcycle business that he’d once loved. Only now, it was just getting in the way of helping Savannah.
“Yeah, but Colton’s gone to town for some oil, and the mechanic guy is sittin’ his old butt in my office, waiting on a check. Didn’t want to pay him until you gave the go ahead. Remember what happened last time?”
Hogan nodded, ran his fingers through his hair, and glanced out the window.
He touched Jenna’s arm. “You up for a little ride?”
“What? In a combine? In a dress and pearls? And these heels?” She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “Why not?” She stepped into the open door.
“Yeah, why not?” Hogan asked.
“What about Savannah?” Jenna asked as she looked at the little girl with her bare feet on the first step.
“Buck here can watch her. We can finish talking out there.” His lifted his head toward the field to the left of the house. “I just need to give her something.” He picked up an old tattered book off the coffee table. Mommy and Me. “It’s her favorite.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Okay. Buck, grab one of those old rockers on the front porch and take yourself a break until I get back,” Hogan said. “Savannah will be fine. I just made her a sandwich, so if she gets hungry, it’s on the counter in the kitchen.”
“Sure thing. Could use a break about now. Been dealing with that darn irrigation system all day.” He took out a bandana from his back pocket and wiped the back of his neck.
They all walked onto the wide wrap-around porch, and Buck dragged a rocker a few feet over so that he’d have a clear view of Savannah.
Hogan descended the steps and bent over to look at his daughter. He handed her the book and kissed her on the cheek. “Daddy’s going to check on one of his combines, sweetie. You stay here with Mr. Buck, and I’ll be right back.” He always made a point to speak directly to Savannah, to let her know that he would always be back. Unlike many of her teachers who just left without notice. Unlike her mother had done. Never once, though, did he get any response. Never even once.
He stood, looked at Jenna and pointed toward the combine.
“Okay, let me see if I have any other shoes in my trunk.” She pressed her key, and her trunk popped open. She leaned deep inside the back. As she balanced precariously, he noted the long, slender, shapely curve of her leg. It was not going to be easy to be around Jenna and keep his thoughts where he needed to keep them. “I guess I must have taken them out. I’ll just have to go in my Louboutins.”
That was the name of Bentley’s favorite shoe designer, too.
“Ever go barefoot?”
“All the time when I’m on the plantation.”
“I did, too, when I was a kid. And Savannah hates shoes.”
She slipped off her shoes and tossed them in the trunk like a pair of sneakers. The two started toward the combine in the dim light.
He couldn’t help but let Jenna keep a step ahead of him so that he could admire her from behind. Every part of her seemed to move. Her mint green sundress flowed all about her when she walked, and her silky hair bent and waved beyond her shoulders. She was all uptown when she’d arrived, but here in the dirt—with her bare feet—she looked like she belonged. She looked like the mistress of the whole place.
They entered the field of uncut hay, and he
watched her eyes and body animate even more. She lifted her hands and twirled as she walked. “This smells heavenly.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the warm grasses. “Is that wheat?”
He grabbed a piece and broke it open. “Hay. And soil and fresh air. I left a section of the grass to test the combine when we got it fixed.”
“I’ve never been on a working farm before.”
He picked at more grass as he walked along. “Grew up here. Fifth generation.”
She twirled around again to face him as she walked backwards. In her flowing dress. “It’s huge. How many acres?”
“Almost seven thousand.”
“Seven thousand? Heavens to Betsy. We don’t even have three thousand left at DeBordieu Plantation. Heck, we only started out at around ten thousand. You’re about what we were in our heyday during the plantation era.” She looked like a ballerina as she almost danced playfully through the hay.
“What happened?”
“Had to sell it off to pay taxes and keep the stupid place running and looking like our neighbors’ places. I’m so tired of keeping up with the Middletons.” She smiled and turned to walk like a normal person—forward.
“That’s still a nice chunk of land. What are you going to do to keep things afloat?”
She stopped. “I’ve researched everything. I looked into a horse farm, growing mushrooms, a botanical nursery. The last thing I looked into was a winery. Muscadines and scuppernongs grow easily in that area.”
“I’ve heard.”
“The trouble was, the endeavors either took too much capital or didn’t give enough yield. I also wanted to stay true to the plantation’s history, and I didn’t want to cut down all the trees to grow crops. And now I’m caught in a conundrum.”
“A conundrum?”
She nodded. “Abe Lincoln once said, ‘The love of property and consciousness of right and wrong have conflicting places in our organization, which often makes a man's course seem crooked, his conduct a riddle.’ That’s my situation in a nutshell.” She downed her head.
Fireflies and Lies (A Summerbrook Novel Book 4) Page 17