“Of course. Should I meet you?”
“No,” Beth said. “I’ll come to you since he lives just down the road from there.”
And maybe that’s where the familiarity ended. Maybe he’d heard his parents or Jess talking about Davis Biddle. Maybe Davis had nothing to offer Drew’s spotty memory at all.
But there was only one way to find out.
Beth arrived at the door forty-five minutes later, coffee in hand.
“You knocked.” He stood in the doorway, taking her in.
“I felt like I should.”
She’d probably been trying to process what had happened between them. Why couldn’t they just leave it undefined? They’d kissed—was that a big deal?
His gaze fell to her lips.
Yeah, it was a big deal. Because he hadn’t stopped thinking about doing it again since she’d left yesterday afternoon.
“Can I come in?”
He laughed. “Of course. Sorry. What time did you get up?” He led her into the kitchen.
“Early.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“You too?”
She watched him. The expression on her face said nothing and everything at the same time. She wanted answers—he’d only made things more confusing with that very not-polite kiss.
But he didn’t have words for any of it. “We should probably go.”
She looked away with a quick nod and walked outside to the car, with Drew following close behind. The entire silent car ride, he tried—failed—to think of something to say. He had to find a way to tell her how he fit into Fairwind’s sordid past, but every time he looked at her, he lost his nerve.
It was stupid, but he didn’t want to lose her. In his entire life, he’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for Beth. He’d never let himself. He’d been stuck in the past since the day Jess went missing. Thick, heavy, painful memories had kept him grounded, and the longer he stayed at Fairwind, the more he realized that wasn’t going to change.
They arrived at the gates in front of the Biddle estate, and Beth waited to be buzzed through. His silence had to be killing her, yet he had no words to remedy that. Instead, he reached over and took her hand, hoping that she’d somehow understand what he couldn’t say.
Forgive me.
She glanced at him, probably confused by the mixed signals he sent, but he kept his gaze steady on the house in front of them.
When the gates opened, they passed through and drove up the driveway to the mansion at the back of the property.
“I did some research,” Beth said. “He built this house about thirty years ago and lives here with his son. No wife. I think she passed away a long time ago.”
“So it’s just him, his kid and his money.”
She turned off the engine. “And I imagine a whole staff of people to answer his beck and call.”
“Let’s go find out.”
The stone fountain at the center of the circle drive shot water into the air, making the grand spectacle that was the Biddle estate even grander. The mansion itself may’ve been Fairwind’s closest neighbor, but the two homes couldn’t have been more different. While Fairwind had farmhouse charm, the cover of ancient trees and green earth, the Biddle estate had an elaborate and stately appeal.
Drew waited for Beth to comment on the two-story stone structure in front of them, but even as a man let them into the entryway, complete with marble floors and a winding staircase, she said nothing.
The man led them into a study. “Have a seat. Mr. Biddle will be with you shortly.”
On one side of the room, a large fireplace with a thick white mantel held professional photos of a man who must have been Davis Biddle, shaking hands with important politicians and professional athletes.
After ten quiet minutes of watching Beth push buttons on her phone, Drew finally let out a sigh.
“Bet you wish you’d stayed behind,” she said without looking up.
Was she mad at him? He couldn’t blame her, as silent as he’d been. It wasn’t right to kiss a girl the way he’d kissed Beth and then refuse to talk about it the next day. He could’ve at least greeted her with a kiss this morning—anything to let her know he didn’t regret how things might’ve changed between them.
He only regretted that he’d allowed their relationship to grow under false pretenses.
Before he could say anything—as if he would’ve said anything—the oversized wooden door opened, and in walked a sturdy-looking man dressed in a neat suit and tie. He wore an indifferent expression on his face, like he might or might not have been aware of their presence in his office.
Drew waited for something about the man to strike a chord of familiarity, but nothing came. If he’d ever met Davis Biddle before, he certainly didn’t remember him now.
“I assume you’re Beth Whitaker?” The man sat in the chair behind his desk and looked at Beth.
She inched forward and stuck her hand out to greet him. “I am.”
He shook it—one firm shake—and then glanced at Drew. “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.”
Beth tossed a glance in Drew’s direction. “He’s not a guest. He’s my grounds manager.”
Had she just made that title up on the spot? She didn’t even stutter. Something in her had changed, as if she’d become a different version of herself as soon as the man had entered the room. Maybe this was the Beth he’d seen traces of over the past few weeks. She had professionalism and confidence written all over her.
“I see.” Davis regarded Drew long enough to make him uncomfortable. “And your name?”
“Drew Barlow.” He stuck out a hand.
Davis paused for too many seconds before reciprocating the gesture. He hesitated before finally turning his attention back to Beth. “So you’ve considered my offer.”
Beth frowned. “Sir?”
“My assistant spoke with your sister after the auction.”
“She told me. And I suppose, yes, I am here about that, among other things.” Beth leaned forward in the chair. Drew couldn’t help but notice she looked stunning. She’d pulled her hair back and dressed up for the meeting, he assumed to impress the powerful man on the other side of the desk.
He tried to focus on her words instead of the way her black dress pants hugged her hips or how her sleeveless blouse dipped at her chest, showing a simple silver necklace with something he couldn’t read engraved on it.
“What kind of other things?” Davis folded his hands on the desk and stared at Beth. She stared right back. Drew felt like he was sitting too close to a Mexican standoff.
“I was told you had interest in investing in Fairwind Farm.” Beth crossed her legs and leaned on the arm of her chair.
Davis chuckled. “Is that what you heard?”
She frowned. “Have I been misinformed?”
Drew waited for her cheeks to heat red like they usually did when she was embarrassed, but she maintained complete composure.
“Yes. I’m in real estate, Miss Whitaker. I know a lemon when I see it. I respect your sense of nostalgia, but surely you must see this project is doomed. What I’d hoped my assistant conveyed to your sister is that, when you both realize you’ve had too much of this, I’ll take the old place off your hands.”
Beth pressed her lips together. “I see.”
“I would’ve purchased the property myself if I’d been in town when Harold died. My lawyer was supposed to alert me of any change in the property. He didn’t. He’s no longer my lawyer.” Davis smiled.
“I understand.”
One of his eyebrows hitched up. “I’m happy to get you out of this mess, though, if you’re in over your head. I just don’t see it as a wise investment unless I have complete control.”
“From what I understand, you’ve been investing in Fairwind for years.”
Drew wasn’t sure if Davis was surprised or impressed with Beth’s straightforwardness. Drew was both.
“Unless you didn’t
hire someone to maintain the orchards?” she continued.
“Walter.”
“Yes, Walter. He said you’ve been paying him regularly for twenty years. That’s a long time to invest in a property you don’t control.”
He drew in a slow breath, smile holding steady on his face. “I made Harold an offer years ago. The land backs up to my property, and there is value in those apple trees. He wouldn’t sell, but we did eventually work out a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Beth stared at him.
“I hired Walter to handle the orchards, and we split the profits.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Call me a Good Samaritan.”
Beth folded her hands in her lap but said nothing. Drew wondered if she was remembering the rest of their conversation with Walter. According to him, Biddle wasn’t making a penny on those apples.
“Look, you seem like a smart girl.” Davis opened his portfolio, scribbled something on the pad and tore out the sheet of paper. He folded it and pushed it across the desk. “My offer.”
Beth glanced at the paper but didn’t pick it up.
“You won’t get a better one.”
“Why is that farm worth anything to you? You have a whole estate here. Don’t tell me you need more land.”
Davis shrugged. “I have my reasons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” He nodded toward the folded piece of yellow paper. “Be sure to take that with you.”
After the door closed behind him, Beth snatched the paper off the desk, shoved it in her purse without looking at it and stomped out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The nerve of that guy.
Beth stormed out of Davis Biddle’s ostentatious mansion—which had no business in Willow Grove at all—and drove in silence back to the farm.
This man, this cunning businessman, had a reputation of brilliance. Why then would he want to buy Fairwind but not invest in it, especially when, as she saw it, he’d already invested so much in the upkeep of the orchards all these years? It didn’t make sense.
To make matters (and her mood) worse, Drew hadn’t said a word about yesterday. And he’d given her no indication that a kiss like that would ever happen again.
The thought of it lodged a lump in the center of her throat.
They pulled into Fairwind’s parking lot and found Molly sweeping out the main barn, no doubt preparing for the Fairwind Farm Market, which was now only a few weeks away.
They’d begun collecting items from the house and other barns, and soon they’d assemble it all together in a nicely ordered booth for people to browse.
“How’d it go?” Molly looked up when they approached, eyes darting from Beth to Drew and back again.
“Something is weird about that guy,” Beth said.
“So, not an angel investor?” Molly leaned on the broom.
“Definitely not.”
“Bummer.” She went back to sweeping. Something about her nonchalance, coupled with Drew’s silence and Davis Biddle’s insinuation that they were doomed to fail, set something off inside Beth.
“Do you have any idea what we’re up against here, Molly?”
Her sister stopped sweeping and stared at her, wide-eyed.
“He wants to buy the farm when we fail. Not if we fail—when.”
“Okay, well, he’s going to be out of luck, then, isn’t he?”
Molly had no idea what any of this was actually costing, the dire straits they were in. Secretly, Beth had been hoping her meeting with Davis Biddle would go well enough to at least convince him to continue taking care of the orchards—just for a little while.
But that wasn’t going to happen, heaping another huge expense straight into her lap. Not Molly’s—hers.
Beth dropped her purse on the table. “Why did I ever let you talk me into this?”
Molly crossed her arms over her chest and watched Beth pace. “What’s your problem?”
“Are you kidding? Ever since we started this, I’ve been out here every single day clearing out the house, cataloging the furniture, promoting the barn sale, trying to raise money.”
“Well, you’re not doing it by yourself.” She shot a look in Drew’s direction.
“No, but I’m not doing it with you. You’ve been off chasing leads in a twenty-year-old kidnapping case and buying dogs and goats and—”
“You’re always so negative, Beth. I wish you could open your eyes to how much we’ve accomplished.”
“It doesn’t matter, when we have so much more to do.” Beth sighed. “We aren’t going to have the money. We need to be logical here and at least consider this offer.” She pulled the paper from her bag.
“I don’t even want to see that, and I can’t believe you would think twice about this.” Molly turned away.
“Molly, I’m trying to be practical here.” Was she? Or was she looking for a way to escape? She glanced at Drew. Her heart ached for him. She wondered if she’d be so intent on considering Davis’s offer if Drew hadn’t been so cold that morning.
Of course she would. This was about the farm, the lack of money and a clear way out of what might’ve been an even bigger disaster than the one at Whitaker Mowers.
“What’s happened to you?” Molly put her hands on her hips and leveled their gaze. “The Beth Whitaker I know would never just lie down and let this guy walk all over her. She’d take his words as a challenge, and she’d say, ‘You don’t think I can do this? Watch me.’” She shook her head. “Where’s that girl?”
Beth steeled her jaw, biting back words that would only do harm.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an old lady wearing a long, draping dress and carrying a box, canvases in several sizes sticking out the top. Birdie. “What is she doing here?”
“She’s going to have a booth at the barn sale.” Molly cocked her head to one side.
“You can’t be serious.”
“She’s a sensational artist. You’d like her. We’re going to turn her barn into an art barn. Host community art events.”
“Her barn?” Beth did a slow turn toward Drew, as if to ask for help, but he stood, hands in pockets, with a confused look on his face. So much for being invested in Fairwind. So much for being invested in her.
“I told her she could stay,” Molly said. The slight lift in her chin told Beth her sister had just issued a challenge. And this one was even worse than making her confess she was wrong.
This one was crossing a line.
Birdie set the box on a nearby table. “So sorry we’re meeting under tense circumstances,” she said as she approached Beth. “I understand you’re an artist too?” Her singsong voice trilled through the tight air.
Birdie took both of Beth’s hands in her own and led her over to the box of artwork. “Perhaps you can tell me what you think of my work?”
Beth swallowed, her mouth dry. “I’m sorry, I need to talk to my sister.”
“Of course.”
Beth turned, but Molly and Drew had both gone. She faced Birdie. “Molly and I will have to discuss the terms of your agreement with us. My sister likes to make decisions she’s not really capable of.”
“Of course, dear.” Birdie picked up a canvas. “Do you like this one?”
Beth looked down at the painted flowers covering the canvas. Rich, bold colors melded together like a garden, deep with unspoken emotions, the kind that couldn’t be talked about, only painted. Somehow, it moved her. “I like it very much.”
Birdie stilled. “Flowers have such strength, don’t they?”
Beth found kindness waiting in Birdie’s eyes. “I’ve never thought so.”
“Those are gladiolus. They’re known as sword lilies. Tell me there’s something stronger than a gladiator flower.”
Beth knit her brow. “I don’t think that’s what it means.”
“Look it up, smarty.” Birdie took the canvas. “You’re not a flower girl, I can tell.”
Beth cros
sed her arms over her chest. “What makes you say that?”
“I’ve seen you in the garden.” Birdie picked up another canvas, this one covered with deep-red poppies.
“I guess I don’t have much of a green thumb.”
Birdie let out a deep laugh. “No, you certainly don’t.”
Beth turned away. She’d thought she’d been doing a good job in the garden. Drew had probably gone behind her, making sure those plants grew.
Birdie peered at her over a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses on a long gold chain. “What is it you’re hoping to prove with all that work?” She stepped closer. “What is it you need?”
Beth inched away, but Birdie wouldn’t let her off the hook.
Under other circumstances, Beth would’ve called security to remove an unwanted nuisance, but when she met the old woman’s eyes, something told her Birdie wasn’t asking to be nosy.
But then, sometimes people asked questions they already knew the answers to. Birdie sat in the chair beside the table and pulled on Beth’s arm until she sat beside her.
“I’ve seen you down here, running around with your clipboard and your cell phone, trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t make sense to you. I can’t help but wonder what you hope all that work will accomplish.” Birdie waved a stray hair out of her eye, the sound of jangling bracelets filling the barn.
Beth pressed her lips together. “We can’t reopen the farm without all that work.” Wasn’t that obvious? Did she dare point out that some days she felt like the only one with any sense of urgency around here?
“Yes. That’s true. Hard work is an important thing.” She paused. “But it’s not the only thing.”
“Well, of course it’s not.”
Birdie raised an eyebrow. “This farm was built slowly and with a whole lot of love. Do you even take time to enjoy any of it?”
“Sure I do.”
“I don’t think so. You try to force those plants and flowers to grow, and it’s never going to happen. Just water them. Give them light. Eventually they’ll shoot up out of that soil like the gladiators they are. They do it because it’s what they were made to do.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying if you do what you were made to do, then you’ll find the peace you’ve been looking for. You can’t work for it, you know. You just have to rest in it.” Birdie’s words wove an invisible thread between them.
Hometown Girl Page 27