Hometown Girl

by Courtney Walsh

  Revisiting Fairwind, dredging up the past—it couldn’t bring him what he needed. The ranch, Colorado, his long runs—those were peaceful. Why did his mom seem to think he was still searching for something he’d found long ago?

  And yet, as he weaved to the right to avoid a dip in the trail, he knew peace was about more than a quiet environment. He’d come here in search of something specific, but if he was honest with himself, he was still looking for it.

  His spirit wasn’t at peace, and the realization irked him.

  Some men pursued women or money or fame or power. Drew asked for so little compared to them, yet peace seemed more elusive and much harder to attain.

  Roxie quickened her pace to keep up, panting a little harder than usual. Drew’s mind wandered to the photo in Harold Pendergast’s obituary. He’d grown to see Harold mostly as a nuisance, what with his regular calls begging Drew to come back to the farm. Drew had stopped answering those calls a long time ago. Harold always left messages, but Drew never called back. Then the old man started sending letters filled with new, crazy ideas about the case, and he always listed the reasons why returning to Fairwind might help Drew, not to mention possibly give them the lead they’d been waiting for.

  Son, I’m not asking you to spend a whole summer here like you used to, just a few days to jog your memory. See if anything shakes loose when you walk the grounds. It’s important. Don’t do it for me. Do it for Jess.

  But Drew had never gone. He’d resisted every attempt to reconnect with Fairwind and the old man. Why was he spending even a second thinking about it now?

  Sticks snapped underneath his feet. He inhaled the scent of pine trees, and Jess’s face swept through his memory.

  All these years, Harold had been the one fighting on her behalf, but who would do that now that he was gone?

  As soon as the thought entered Drew’s mind, another one replaced it: This is not your problem. He’d been telling himself that for years now, and he believed it. So why the sudden urge to drive to Willow Grove, Illinois, and see what had become of Fairwind?

  Why now, after all this time, did it feel like maybe Harold had been right? Maybe Drew would remember something or find the closure he’d been craving.

  He stopped and doubled over, winded—a punishment for failing to focus on his breathing. He’d been running too fast. He’d been running too hard and too long.

  Roxie slowed, doubled back and sniffed his face.

  He stepped off the path and sat on a boulder next to the water, watching as the current lapped over the rocks on the creek bed. He could see straight to the bottom. Everything here had always felt cleaner—clearer. Did he really want to go searching through the mess that Harold had left behind?

  Drew had done such a good job of pushing everything down and away, into little boxes he’d neatly stacked at the very back of his mind, but Harold’s death was chipping away at that tidy pile.

  His breathing finally slowed. He stood back up, still inhaling deeply, and stared up at the bright-blue sky. He’d been here at this ranch for years, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt an undeniable push to do the one thing he’d been avoiding.

  He had to go back to Fairwind. Not for long—just to walk the property. To revisit the place where his entire life had changed. He needed to prove to himself that there were no hidden memories locked up somewhere in his mind.

  He needed to prove he couldn’t have been the one to provide justice for Jess.

  He just didn’t have the answers everyone was looking for.

  “Let’s go, Roxie.” He ran home, showered and changed, then called his boss to make arrangements for a short vacation.

  “It’s the start of the busy season, and we’re booked solid,” Doug said. “Be awfully hard to have you gone now.”

  “Have I ever missed a day in the four years I’ve been here?” Drew paced the small living room of his cabin, walking its full length in just a few short steps.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “Then you know it’s important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  There was a pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. “How long are you thinking?”

  “Maybe a week?”

  “Make sure everything is lined up here, and we’ll see you when you get back.”

  Drew threw some clothes into an old duffel bag. It had been years since he’d packed to go anywhere—most of his journeys only led him the few miles into town or, occasionally, down to Denver. Usually, though, he just stayed here. Elkhorn Ranch was his home now, and he was fine with that.

  After he finished packing his things, he went outside and slung the bag into the back of his truck along with a half-eaten bag of dog food for Roxie. The dog had followed him outside and now sat just below the front stoop, staring at him with a tilted head.

  “Come on, Rox.” He opened the door of his pickup truck.

  She stood and barked but didn’t move.

  “You’re riding shotgun, girl,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  She barked again, then finally jumped inside the truck, turning around once before sitting on the passenger-side seat. She stuck her head out the opened window, and he gave her snout a rub.

  “You ready for this, Rox?”

  She whined. He moved around to the driver’s side, got in and inhaled a very deep breath.

  This was going to hurt a little.

  Who was he kidding? This was going to hurt a lot.

  Chapter Three

  The following day, Beth arrived at work promptly at 8:00 a.m., same as always.

  She’d worked at Whitaker Mowers throughout high school, but she’d never expected to stay around Willow Grove after college. After she’d been passed over for a job in the city, she’d graduated and come back home to get her bearings. Then she’d found out about Michael.

  Her dad had reluctantly made room for her at Whitaker—to proofread ad copy, get coffee and restock the office supplies. By all accounts, she was a glorified secretary.

  He’d been against the idea from the start.

  “She needs to move past this or it’s going to define her,” she’d overheard him telling her mother. “She should move into the city and find a job there. Willow Grove is too small for someone like Beth.”

  He’d wanted so much more for her. More than struggling as a starving artist. More than a small, simple life. Never mind that he’d chosen this life after years of working in downtown Chicago himself. Somehow, he’d convinced her she needed the big-city experience to really learn what she needed to know.

  But she was twenty-nine, and so far none of that had happened. What was she waiting for?

  Still, she wasn’t miserable. Whitaker Mowers had been good to her. She’d moved her way up quickly. Little by little, her dad had begun to accept she could be part of the next generation at Whitaker—not Ben, and certainly not Seth. Her brothers had no interest.

  Beth had a knack for running an office. With her dad’s help, she’d learned all she needed to know about this world—a world he’d all but conquered well before his death. Almost daily for the first two years, he’d asked if she was sure this was where she wanted to be.

  “I think I could help, Dad,” Beth had said. “I think I’ll be great for Whitaker. I’m smart. I’m capable. I have a degree in business.”

  “I just pictured you doing something different,” he’d said. “Something, I don’t know—bigger?”

  “Maybe someday,” she’d told him. “But this is good experience for me for now.”

  He let it drop—for a little while, anyway. Months later, he asked again. “You think any more about applying for a job in the city?”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  He laughed her off, but she could see the disappointment behind his eyes. “Just never thought you’d stick around Willow Grove. You couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

  “Things change.”

  She’d tried not to think about how much th
ey’d changed or how she’d all but abandoned her self-confident, dream-seeking courage, leaving it sitting on a roadside somewhere between here and Chicago.

  Months later, he checked in with her again, but by that time, she’d made herself indispensable to the company. She’d had a hand in rebranding their line of riding mowers. She’d even made several improvements to the machines over the years. Added a line of snowblowers and launched a successful ad campaign. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped thinking about moving out of Willow Grove and fallen into a comfortable pattern of working and living in the town she’d always known.

  And yes, she often felt like a failure for it. After all, it had never been her dream to go into the family business and live in a small tourist town in Illinois, even if it was home.

  Yet somehow she’d grown content with the monotony of it all. And now, as her Keurig spit to life and her assistant pulled into the parking lot, she prepared for another day that was nearly indistinguishable from the last.

  She arrived at work early on purpose—she liked to start the day with a little peace and quiet. But as she sat down to enjoy her cup of coffee, her cell phone buzzed in her purse.

  She pulled it out and saw Molly’s name on the screen. It shocked her that her sister was even up before nine o’clock. Beth’s stomach dropped—had something happened to Mom?

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. Are you busy right now?”

  “I’m working.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  Molly probably wanted her to go junking again. Or to go to the animal shelter or some estate sale hundreds of miles away. No matter how many times Beth refused, her little sister seemed to believe Beth could leave work whenever she wanted. After all, it was the family business, which apparently meant Beth could throw all the rules out the window.

  But then, that was the difference between the two of them, wasn’t it? Beth stayed in her office and ran the business while Molly booked trips to Europe, started dog-walking businesses and ordered a car off the Internet.

  “I’ve got a meeting this afternoon, and I need to look over my notes.”

  “But right now in this moment, you’re not busy, right?”

  “Molly, I’ve got work.”

  “It’ll be there when you get back.”

  “Back from where?”

  “I need you to meet me somewhere.”

  Beth stifled a groan. Molly’s excursions didn’t always go as she planned. Beth’s impulsive little sister rarely thought things through. Beth pictured her stranded on the side of the road outside the Superman Statue in Metropolis or at the top of the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier.

  “Come on, Beth, it’s something really cool.”

  “I have a lot to do today.” She glanced down at the planner on her desk. In fact, the whole day was wide open with the exception of one meeting, which Beth knew would take maybe thirty minutes. She’d all but delegated herself out of a job. Most business owners would love the freedom she now found in her schedule, but a part of her felt unchallenged. Maybe even a little bored.

  Still, this was her career, whether she’d intended it to be or not.

  “It won’t take long, I promise.”

  Beth groaned. Maybe mixing up her day was a good thing. “Fine. Where?”

  “Fairwind Farm.”

  Images from childhood turned through her mind like a slideshow of her favorite memories. Fairwind had been a weekly event for the Whitaker family—and for many families in Willow Grove.

  In the fall, they’d fill bushel baskets with handpicked apples, play family-style games in the meadow and, on occasion, spend an evening around the magical bonfire. Beth had sworn there was pixie dust on the falling embers of those flames.

  It was as if Fairwind had been frozen in time. There, everything was perfect. No cheating boyfriends. No sick parents. No panicky guilt.

  In the winter, they’d trudge through the snow out behind the barns to locate the perfect Christmas tree. Every spring and summer, they joined their neighbors for picnics and a countywide flea market that had put Willow Grove on the map.

  But that was years ago. The farm had closed and, last she heard, was now in complete disarray.

  “Why do you want me to meet you there? You know we can’t trespass on Old Man Pendergast’s property.”

  “Trust me, it’s fine.”

  Wes Simpson walked by Beth’s office. The awkward thirtysomething had a knack for hanging around outside her door, just waiting for a chance to come in and make small talk with her. She knew he was working up the courage to ask her out, and judging by his nervous pacing, she thought today might be his day.

  “Okay, when do you want me to meet you?” she asked, turning her attention back to her sister.

  “Now. I’ll be waiting.” Molly hung up.

  Beth glanced up and met Wes’s gaze. His eyebrows popped up, and he smoothed a hand over his balding head.

  As much as she didn’t want to get pulled into another of Molly’s ridiculous schemes, she didn’t want Wes to ask her out even more.

  She stood, phone still pressed to her ear. “I suppose I can make that work.” Nodding, she pretended to listen to a nonexistent person on the other end. Then she picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder and walked out into the hallway, closing her door as she mouthed an “I’m sorry” to Wes.

  He held up a hand to excuse her, and she mumbled a quiet “mm-hmm” as if still talking to someone on the phone.

  Outside, she drew in the crisp spring air and stuffed her cell back into her purse. Several employees were just making their way to work, many of whom she barely recognized. She spent more time in her office staring at the wall than socializing with the rest of the Whitaker team.

  “Love your people, Beth. That’s rule number one.” Her dad had been so good at that. Why hadn’t he passed that on to her?

  Beth drove out to the edge of town, then down a string of country roads that would lead her to Fairwind Farm and Orchard. Gravel kicked up underneath her tires, and a trail of dust followed her to what used to be the old farm’s parking lot.

  Her memories of Fairwind had deceived her. In her mind, the farm was something grand, teeming with excitement and joy, but what she saw before her was a lonely spot of land that had long been forgotten.

  A huge white barn sat at the front of the property. Back in the day, it had been a store, a place to buy apple pie, apple cider or any one of ten different kinds of fresh-picked apples, among other things. And one glorious day in late spring, there had been tents set up outside where locals hosted the county-famous barn sale, the Fairwind Farm Market. Artisans and farmers and vintage collectors sat under white pop-up tents selling their goods and greeting the droves of tourists that spent the day exploring Willow Grove and the farm. People would drive hours to visit Fairwind—made it an annual ritual.

  When had that changed?

  Outbuildings dotted the land, and behind them, rows and rows of trees. The apple trees. The evergreens. How had they fared all these years? She drove along the perimeter, where weeds had grown up into the parking lot. She could almost see the families flocking toward the main entrance, excited to spend their day picking their own apples, the smell of sweet apple-cider donuts filling the air. Children would squeal as goats and sheep and llamas ate from their hands.

  She remembered being one of those children.

  Up ahead, she saw the main house—set apart from the orchard, barns and public grounds. She remembered thinking how lucky the Pendergast family was to live in a place everyone wanted to visit. How quickly that blessing had turned into a curse.

  In the driveway, Molly’s green VW Bug sat, her sister not far away. Never had she known a car to suit someone so well.

  Beth parked and got out, still not sure what she was doing there but certain that romanticizing this old orchard was just about the last thing she needed to do right now. She should be sitting at her desk, working.

  “Isn’t it spectacular?”
Molly was at her side before she even emerged from her car.

  “You can’t be serious.” Beth looked around, saddened by what had become of this place. It had been such an important part of their lives growing up. Now, weeds pushed their way through the earth, overtaking what might have been nice landscaping. The main barn and two visible outbuildings needed paint and some obvious repair. The big white farmhouse off to the left still boasted a grand wraparound porch, but Beth could tell, even from a distance, the old house had been all but forgotten.

  It was weatherworn and uncared for, and it showed. Maybe the rumors were true—Harold Pendergast had gone mad and given up completely.

  “Look around, Beth, don’t you remember this place?” Molly sounded like a kid, all wonder and excitement. Did she really not see how run-down Fairwind had gotten? Beth walked toward the main barn and stopped, taking it all in with a wide smile and a deep breath.

  “I do remember this place,” Beth said. “That’s what makes it so sad to be here now.” Really, truly sad. This was somewhere they’d all come as a family—before her mom’s stroke, before her dad died, before Seth became the black sheep and moved away. It broke her heart to think about her youngest brother—out there on his own, still holding on to old grudges as if he needed them to live. All attempts to reach him had gone unanswered, and while Beth and her siblings had found a way to get on with life, she knew it devastated their mother.

  “It just needs some TLC,” Molly said, turning back toward the main barn and pulling Beth out of the past.

  “It needs a lot more than that,” Beth scoffed.

  “Think about how great it could be. I mean, really, just picture it for a minute—I can practically hear the folk band playing. I can smell that glorious scent of apple-cider donuts filling the air. I can see the rows and rows of pumpkins out back—kids trudging through the fields to pick the perfect one.” Molly squinted toward her, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “We were those kids.”