She’d been so excited—so sure she’d found something that would save money. They’d streamlined the material, made it more affordable so shops like theirs didn’t have to pay as much. The best part was they wouldn’t have to change what they charged because nobody would ever know the difference.
She worked for two weeks straight on a presentation to take to her dad. Now that she was managing the office, keeping costs within their budget was something she was responsible for, and she wanted nothing more than to do him proud.
She’d hardly gotten through the opening paragraph of her presentation when he held up a hand and stopped her. “No.”
She stood, slack-jawed, in front of his desk. “You haven’t heard what I’m going to say.”
“I know where this is going. I’m not changing the materials in our parts. Our customers rely on us. They know they’re getting the best. This stuff”—he waved a hand across her paperwork—“is not the best.”
“It could save us a lot of money.”
“And it could ruin our reputation. I appreciate your work on this, Beth, but the answer is no.”
She recounted the conversation for Drew, then paused to take a breath.
“It might’ve been the first time in my life I didn’t do what my father said.” She stared at her folded hands in her lap. “And I should have. About six months later, customers started complaining. Because of the change, our clients’ mowers were defective, and three of them got together and sued my dad’s company.”
Beth could feel the tears building behind her eyes. Drew hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time they sat there. He only listened. She supposed men who hated talking were good at that.
“I’d never seen my father so angry,” she said. “Especially at me. At my brother Seth, maybe—but me?”
Beth had been so ashamed. Whitaker Mowers was being sued for the first time, and it was because of her. She’d tarnished the reputation of the company her father had tirelessly worked to build.
“The worst part was that he took the blame.” She wiped a traitorous tear from her cheek and stared at the ground. “He never told anybody it was my fault. And neither did I.” Of course Darren Sanders had found out—a paper trail tattled on her. When he’d confronted her on it only a few weeks ago, she’d almost felt relieved.
Almost. As far as anyone in her family knew, she was still working at Whitaker. How was that for shameful?
“Is that why you work so hard? You’re trying to make it up to him?”
She shrugged. “He died before I could. He had a heart attack. I can’t help but think that was my fault too. I caused so much stress. I broke his heart.” Another tear slid down her cheek. “But a part of me has always felt like I had something to prove.”
“Right, because you’re supposed to do something more.”
She stilled. “More than Willow Grove? Yes. Great dreams don’t come true in places like this.”
“Sometimes they do.”
Slowly, she found his eyes.
“Mine don’t. I’m not like the people who live here. People like Callie. She never had big dreams like I did. She likes this small town. She bakes pies for a living—and she loves it. The only thing missing from her life is a husband and a carload of babies. Once she has that, she’ll never wish for anything else the rest of her life.”
“And that’s not okay?”
“It’s great for her.” Beth wiped her palms on her jeans. “Not for me.” She paused. “I just thought I’d be closer to my goals by now, I guess.”
“You do realize you are one of the people who live here, right?”
She frowned, then looked away.
“And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
He didn’t understand. How could he? He hadn’t grown up here.
He took another drink. “Did you ever think maybe the something ‘more’ you were supposed to do is exactly what you’re doing right now?”
She didn’t even know how to answer that. Renovating an old farm was hardly in her ten-year plan. She was supposed to do more. Didn’t he get what that meant?
Drew’s stare, a little too intent, rattled the cage around her heart.
“You know, for a guy who doesn’t say much, you sure have some smart things to say.”
He hitched two fingers underneath her chin and flashed that lazy grin she’d come to crave. “You can’t corner the market on guilt, you know. We’ve all done things we regret.”
A quiet beat passed between them. “So what’s your story?”
He pulled his hand away and wrapped it around the disposable coffee cup. Something in him shifted.
Perhaps they were more alike than she’d thought.
“Ah, well, that’s a story for another day.” He swallowed his last swig of coffee, then stood and threw the cup in the tall metal garbage can behind them.
She sat, unmoving, feeling like she’d said too much. She didn’t make a habit of unloading her regrets on people—especially strangers—but there was something safe about Drew. Or at least there had been until he’d reciprocated nothing.
Maybe opening up to him had simply been another in a long line of bad choices.
Chapter Twenty-Four
So she was human.
Drew had started to wonder.
Listening to Beth unload the baggage she’d been carrying around had been a sort of therapy for him. Somehow, knowing he wasn’t the only one with massive regret weighing him down had done him good.
It would probably do her good too, to know that she wasn’t alone, but he just couldn’t go there. Not yet. Probably not ever.
Not only had he kept the truth from her, but the truth was awful. Working didn’t dull the pain of it anymore, not the way it used to. What would he do if he couldn’t find a way to keep the thoughts at bay?
He’d spent hours in Harold’s hidden room. He’d read and reread every scrap of paper the old man had collected over the years.
Nothing but nightmares came.
Now, standing in the seats outside the band shell, waiting for Beth, he wondered if it was time to get back to his real life. Back to Colorado, where at least he wouldn’t be faced with the memory of Jess every time he walked outside.
“Do you have time to walk around for a little while?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line. Somehow he didn’t feel right about leaving her alone.
She looked genuinely surprised he’d asked.
She finished off her coffee and threw her cup away. “Sure.” She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking it out behind her and just about driving him nuts in the process.
If he wasn’t careful, he could fall in love with this girl. And that couldn’t happen. He needed to stay focused—if happily ever after was not in the cards for Jess, it wasn’t for him.
“Do you think less of me now?” she asked, avoiding his gaze.
He grabbed her arm and stopped. “Beth, no.”
She wouldn’t look at him.
“I’m glad you told me.”
Finally, he had her eyes—she looked like she wanted to say something, but apparently thought better of it.
“I mean it,” he said.
She gave one quick nod and started walking again.
“So, tell me about this big barn sale you’re going to have.” He hoped the change of subject would lighten her mood.
Thankfully, she smiled. That smile he’d started to dream of.
They started walking, Roxie between them. She told him about the old days when the Fairwind Farm Market was the biggest event in town.
“They did it in late spring, but I think we can get away with doing it in the summer,” she said.
“So it’s like a big rummage sale?”
She stopped walking and glared at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “This whole thing sounds really girly to me.”
She shoved him in the shoulder, and he held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Molly’s done a really good j
ob securing vendors,” she said.
“What kind of vendors?”
“All kinds. Art, jewelry, handmade signs. Like the stuff you see here. One couple makes and sells organic dog biscuits. You should get some for Roxie.”
“And how do we make money on this?” He realized his mistake as soon as he said it. “Sorry, I meant you. How do you make money on this?”
“I actually like the way you talk about the farm, like you’re a part of it. My dad always said the best employees are those who take ownership of their work.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy.”
“You would’ve liked him.” She smiled. “He would’ve liked you.”
Why did he feel like he’d just passed a test he didn’t know he was taking?
“To answer your question, all vendors pay a fee to be part of the event, and then we charge admission. Plus, we’ll sell what we can from the farmhouse.”
“And you think it’ll be profitable?”
“I think it could be amazing.”
With her in charge, he had no doubt.
“Maybe next year I’ll even be able to sell my own vegetables there. I mean, I haven’t managed to kill anything yet.”
No, but it had been close. She’d nearly flooded the raised beds twice.
“I appreciate you sharing your knowledge with me. I’ve never had much of a green thumb.”
He glanced at her. “Or maybe you don’t like dirt under your fingernails?”
Her eyes went wide. “Are you saying I’m prissy?”
“I’m not saying a word.” He couldn’t help but smile.
“Someday maybe we’ll clear out that whole section of land and turn it into a big garden,” Beth said. “Don’t tell Molly or she’ll rent one of those Bobcat things by Monday just because she thinks it’d be fun to drive.”
“Speaking of Molly.”
Beth followed Drew’s gaze to the end of the row, near Dickerson’s Produce, where a black Lab lumbered toward them, dragging Molly behind.
“Twenty bucks says she asks you to train that dog,” Beth said, keeping an eye on Roxie, who sat at attention as Molly and the other dog approached.
“Daisy. Sit.” Molly had done her best to sound commanding, but the puppy continued to circle around them.
“Need some help?” Drew handed Beth Roxie’s leash and commanded his dog to stay, then took Daisy’s leash and gave it a tug. With his free hand, he pushed Daisy’s hind end down to the ground. “Sit.” She sat for a split second, and he pushed her backside down again. “Sit.”
The dog finally obeyed, but they knew it wouldn’t last long.
“You gotta help me with this dog, Drew,” Molly said, trying to catch her breath.
Drew met Beth’s eyes, and she mouthed the words twenty bucks. He rubbed Daisy’s head. “She’s a good girl,” he said. “She’s just a puppy.”
Roxie whined.
“I’ve been handing out barn-sale postcards since I got here,” Molly said, thrusting a stack of them at Beth. “You can do the rest.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail and wrapped an elastic around it.
“I designed them. You were supposed to hand them out.” She handed them back.
Molly frowned. “Do you know how hard it is to talk to people with this dog?”
“Maybe you should’ve left her at home.”
Daisy sniffed Roxie, who looked irate but didn’t move.
“That’s the other thing,” Molly said.
Beth glared at her. “What’s the other thing?”
“My landlord said no dogs. She’s going to have to live with you and Mom.”
Beth said nothing.
Drew looked at her, then at Molly and back to Beth. “She can come live at the farm.”
“Yes!” Molly practically shouted.
“No!” Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “This is exactly what I was talking about, Molly.”
“Not now, Beth. I have good news.” She took a step closer. “I talked to Bishop about that case.”
Molly’s train of thought looked a lot like the inside of a pinball machine.
“He’s pulling the file and bringing it over tonight. We’re going to look through the entire thing.”
Beth shook her head. “He could get in trouble for that, couldn’t he? Showing you a case file?”
Molly ignored her. “I went to the courthouse yesterday and had them print out everything that’s public record, but maybe Bishop’s file can fill in the holes.”
Drew gave Daisy’s leash a firm tug and stood. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, gosh. You probably don’t even know!” Molly said. “Twenty years ago, there was a kidnapping on our property. The owners’ only daughter.” She pushed a postcard into the hands of a passerby.
For a moment, Drew lost his breath, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs by a high-powered vacuum cleaner.
Beth drew in a deep breath. “Can you keep your voice down, Molly?”
“It’s not a secret.” Molly looked around, like she was only just that second aware they were in public. More postcards into more hands.
They were digging around on the case? Why? And why was this the first time he’d heard anyone mention it?
A bohemian-looking woman in a long purple skirt stopped beside them and looked at the glossy card. “You’re the Whitaker girls.”
“That’s right,” Beth said. “I’m Beth, and this is my sister, Molly.”
The woman turned her gaze on Drew. “And you are?”
“Drew Barlow.” He shook her outstretched hand, jangling the bracelets halfway up her arm, but his mind was elsewhere.
“He’s not from here,” Beth said. She glanced at him, and he got the impression she thought she was protecting him from something.
The curiosity of nosy townspeople, maybe? Beth had deduced how much he didn’t enjoy small talk—he appreciated the gesture, though it did little to calm his wary nerves.
“You can call me Cricket,” the woman said.
“Cricket?” Molly smiled brightly. “I love that.”
“It’s a nickname,” Cricket said.
“Because your last name is Chirper.” Beth must’ve heard of her.
“That’s right,” Cricket said. “Everyone knows the crazy Chirper family. We’re the ones with the pink house out on the edge of town.”
“I love that house.” Molly could win an award as the most easily excited person Drew had ever met. He knew it annoyed Beth, but he found the younger Whitaker amusing.
“I love this barn sale idea,” Cricket said. “I’d love to bring my jewelry out there, especially if it supports Fairwind Farm. You girls have been so kind to allow my mother to continue to use her art space. I know she’s thankful.”
Beth’s jaw went slack as she turned to Molly, seemingly expecting her sister to connect the dots, but Molly shrugged—she clearly had no idea what Cricket was talking about.
But Drew did.
His heart sank.
“Oh, no,” Cricket said, assessing their faces. “You didn’t know she was there.”
Beth looked at Drew. “Did you?”
His eyes widened. “What now?”
He couldn’t lie—not to Beth—not when he’d withheld so much from her already.
Cricket closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. “I’m so sorry. After the auction, I told her to contact you girls and find out if she could continue to rent the barn loft. I saw her last week, and she told me she’d had it all cleared with you.”
Beth’s smile looked forced. “She’s using one of our buildings?”
“I would go drag her out myself right this second, but I’m manning a booth in ten minutes.”
Molly simply shrugged again. “Well, if she’s not hurting anything—”
“Why don’t I go talk to her?” Beth cut in.
Cricket grabbed Beth’s hand. “Go easy on her. Birdie is a good, old soul. She’s just always been off in her own world.”
; Possible that ran in their family.
“She loves that space so much,” Cricket said. “She and Harold had an arrangement.”
“Do you know the terms?”
“Not really. Just that Harold allowed Birdie to paint in the loft of one of his old barns. They’d been friends for years, all of them. Birdie was nice to Harold when no one else was.” A soft smile warmed Cricket’s face. “And I think Harold was nice to Birdie when no one else was too.”
“Don’t worry,” Beth said. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I’ll go with you,” Drew said.
Cricket nodded and thanked them, then walked away, leaving the trio and two dogs.
“Since you’re both going out there,” Molly said, “can you take Daisy?”
Beth glared at her sister, who grinned and walked away, pushing postcards on everyone she passed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I really can’t believe this woman would continue to use the barn knowing there were new owners. It’s just common sense, really. And how did she stay hidden this whole time? We’re out in the yard nonstop. What barn is she using?” Beth prattled on as Drew drove in silence, two barking dogs in the bed of his truck. He wished he had a way to warn Birdie she was about to be evicted, though he had reason to believe the woman would not go quietly.
And if she let on that he knew she was there, what then? Would Beth kick him out too?
His mind spun with excuses. He should just come clean. He should tell her everything—that he knew about Birdie but didn’t have the heart to make her leave, partly because she was the only person he’d met who’d been around at the time Jess went missing.
But an admission like that would require the whole truth—not just about Birdie, but about why he was there in the first place.
And he wasn’t ready to get into all of that. He didn’t want to show her the secret room in Harold’s closet or the bulletin board he spent his evenings studying. He’d even added to it: Davis Biddle’s business card. The wrapper from a piece of chewing gum he’d swiped off Birdie’s desk. Photocopies from his own collection of articles—anything that might help jog his memory.
So far nothing had.
“I just can’t believe the nerve of some people. If she wants to pay rent, maybe we can talk—we could use the extra income. But to have someone out there not paying a dime? That’s just not how it’s done.” Beth crossed her arms over her chest, working herself up with every mile marker they passed.
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