by Lex Martin
“I don’t know, but I thought I should ask.”
“Kat, you’ve lived here longer than I have. You don’t need my permission to borrow Melissa’s car.” He rubs his neck. “What’s wrong with yours?”
I grab my coffee and take a sip. “Not sure. I hadn’t driven it in a while, and it barely got me to the farm when it died. I’ve been saving up to get it repaired.” I cringe, hating how it makes me feel like a kid when we had two cars but neither of them worked.
“Where are your keys?” I stare back at him, and he tilts his head forward. “So I can take a look at it.”
Oh. “That would be really awesome. If you can fix it, I will totally pay you.”
He frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. Keep your money, Kat.”
His cell phone rings down the hall, and he strides out of the room. Kat. He’s been calling me Kat this morning.
No one calls me that. Before this biker boy drove up, I’ve always been a very prim Katherine, the girl who stays in on Friday nights and does homework. The girl who always does what she’s told. The girl who’s… boring.
Kat sounds like she has a social life and throws caution to the wind. Like she dances on bars and tosses back shots. Like she lets hot guys work on her car.
I think I like Kat.
13
Katherine
The next morning, I drag myself to my laptop. While I know what to expect when I open my email, it doesn’t make finalizing the funeral arrangements any easier. Brady reviews the print out with a stoic expression and signs off on everything, even the ridiculously expensive flowers.
I want to cheer him up, but I haven’t a clue what to do besides make sure he eats and hand him an occasional cup of coffee. He sounds worried sick about his father. I can’t imagine what he must be going through right now, so I try to be as upbeat as possible.
And maybe, wanting to cheer him up is a little selfish on my part because I love seeing him laugh. His green eyes warm, and his shoulders relax. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, that one dimple comes out and taunts me.
Needing a distraction from thinking too much about my new housemate, I return to my laptop to finish the logo for Mel’s new honey-lavender lotion. I have no idea if Brady will continue making Mel’s bath and body products, but it seems wrong to stop the design now. I’ll finish, and he can do with it what he will. I’m no graphic designer, but I had to do so many graphics for the senator’s campaign that I got pretty decent.
Besides, I need it for the farmers’ fair.
Oh, dear Lord. The farmers’ fair.
Mel and Cal were planning to host this big event next month. Since the winter is slow around here, everyone thought it’d be fun to do something to promote all of the nearby farms. The neighbors are bringing some of their goods to sell, and Mel wanted to set up a little petting zoo for the kids.
I rub the throb in my temple. Like Brady needs one more thing to deal with.
Worst-case scenario, he can cancel. Or maybe one of the other farms can host.
Clicking over to my other email account, I check to see if I have any more responses from the newspapers about the event.
I can still hear Mel’s voice, teasing me that I’d spend hours on her press releases when I wouldn’t take the time to apply to the opening on Congressman Mitchell’s staff. But I’m not sure I want to return to the lion’s den.
Is it wrong that I love working on the farm? I enjoy everything, from harvesting the crops and distilling the essential oil to perfecting Mel’s products and finding the best way to sell them. But if I tell my parents I love doing the very thing they loathe—farming—would they understand? They’ve always wanted something different for me, a better life, because farming represents a lifestyle that just beat them down.
I know they want me to give Austin another shot, but I don’t think I can deal with seeing my ex around every corner, which is bound to happen because those political circles aren’t that big.
Glancing at my worn jeans and flannel shirt, I can’t imagine what Eric would say if he saw me “slumming it” again.
When I hightailed it out of Austin, I left everything behind that came from him—my clothes, my phone, my job. He can keep it all. Because when the going got tough, he bailed.
That’s not what I need. Who wants a man who doesn’t fight for what he wants? For the woman he supposedly loves? No, Eric got cold feet at the worst possible time. When I was alone and scared. Who can respect a man like that? Look at Brady. He’s obviously knee deep in family responsibilities and you don’t see him running for the hills.
I barely know the man but already I respect him so much. He might be kind of grumpy sometimes, but who wouldn’t be with this much stress? He’s busting his butt to take care of his parents and his niece.
You need to tell him.
My stomach nosedives. God, I need to get this over with.
After the funerals. Maybe on Sunday once we’ve gotten through the worst of it.
But I vow to tell him soon. Although I hate keeping secrets, I think if I told him now, it would be more to ease my guilty conscience than anything. I can handle the nightmares if it means he has less to deal with this week. I just hope he understands.
14
Brady
“You’re kidding me.” This isn’t right.
Davis DeGregory, my brother’s attorney, clears his throat. “I can assure you this is correct. You’re the beneficiary of the farm, all businesses relating to the farm, and all of the family’s assets, assuming you take custody of Isabella.”
I press my palm into one eye and then the other before I mumble into the phone, “So the will doesn’t list my parents or maybe one of Melissa’s relatives? I just don’t see why they’d consider me.” Cal and I weren’t talking. He knew I was pissed. “Is it possible the forms are outdated?”
“No, we spoke last month. Your brother found out Melissa was pregnant again, and he wanted to make sure she’d be cared for in the event something happened to him, so he executed a will. Had he been the only one who passed, his wife would have been the beneficiary. But in the event something happened to both of them, everything defaults to you. Both signed the documents.”
My head is reeling. “He didn’t think our parents would be a better choice?”
“He said your father had health issues.”
“And Melissa didn’t have any relatives?”
The sound of papers shuffling in the background comes through the line. “Not that I’m aware of. Except…”
“Except what?”
“They mentioned a friend. Someone who lives on the farm. I think they considered her as a potential legal guardian should you decline custody.” He pauses. “Here it is. Katherine Duran. She’s the woman who cared for Isabella in your absence, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lucky she was there to care for the child. Dealing with Social Services is a nightmare, and that's where Isabella would've gone without a family friend to intervene. In any event, Cal and Melissa decided you were more appropriate since you’re related, but they thought Katherine was a strong candidate to get custody of their daughter, which is why I didn’t object to her caring for Isabella until you arrived. However, if you decide to decline conservatorship, the state then looks toward a child’s grandparents as the next suitable option.”
Why the fuck would I decline custody? And they considered giving Izzy to Katherine over our parents?
“You’re saying the state of Texas is just going to hand me a child?”
“You’re a blood relative, and you’re listed on the will. So, basically, yes.”
“And Child Protective Services doesn’t need to make sure I’m not a bank robber or anything?”
He chuckles. “With no history of abuse here, CPS doesn’t get involved. But I will need you to sign off on a full background check to ensure you don't have a criminal history." He pauses briefly. "You don't have a criminal background, do you?"
"Surprisingly,
no."
He laughs again. "That's good. You'll need to hire a social worker—I have a few you can call. He or she will need to come to your house for an interview, but that’s pretty much the extent of the state’s inquiry into your suitability.”
“How many visits does the social worker make?” If I had to guess, I'd say a dozen. We're talking about handing the welfare of a child to someone named in a will. If Izzy were my baby, I'd want at least that many visits to make sure the person wasn't some closet drunk or dope fiend. Fuck me sideways. How will I deal with a dozen visits?
Sweat beads my brow, and I grip the phone and await his answer.
“Just once. The person will conduct an interview and walk through the house to make sure it's inhabitable. The rest of the process is pretty simple. I file a few documents. You come before the court and swear to take care of Isabella. You pay the fee—about seven hundred dollars—and that's it.” He lowers his voice. “We'll also need death certificates, but I'll handle that. Can you get me a copy of the baby's birth certificate?”
I mumble yes even though I have no clue. Maybe Katherine knows where Cal kept those records.
Closing my eyes, I wade through a dark tide of emotion. “How long does this process take?”
“Two to three months typically.”
Two to three months. Did I really expect to head home sooner with a child and a farm to look after?
When I get off the phone, I’m nauseous.
All this time I'd been thinking Cal was a delinquent for not coming back to Boston, but here he was, making out a will and taking care of his family.
A deep ache in my gut starts to spread as the realization of what all of this means.
My brother gave me Izzy. The farm. His life insurance policy. Everything.
He thinks I’d be a good parent? A single, twenty-six-year-old tattoo artist who rides a Harley and hasn’t a clue what the fuck he’s doing with his life? What the hell was he thinking? Before this week, I’d never even held a baby.
I may have changed a diaper or two in the last twenty-four hours, but that doesn’t qualify me to be a parent or guardian or whatever this is.
A dozen scenarios race through my head. What am I supposed to do when Izzy gets sick and wants her mom to comfort her? Or when she wants her real parents to come to the open house at her school? Or when… Oh, Jesus. Someday she’ll date, and I’ll have to kill the poor asshole who thinks he’s getting his hands on that little angel.
I am not equipped for this.
All this time, I assumed I’d be bringing Izzy home to my parents after my dad got better. That was the only thing that gave me the confidence to think I could care for her while we were in Texas. Because I was handing her off to my parents who had already raised kids.
How do I tell them? Will this come as a relief or crush them?
Of course, I agreed to adopt her. How could I not?
The office door creeps open, and Izzy comes cruising in on some kind of baby walker on wheels.
“Hey, Bella, we need to let Uncle Brady work.” Katherine runs in behind my niece. “Sorry about that. She’s getting faster in this thing.” Katherine’s smiling until she gets a good look at me. “Are you… Are you okay?”
I shake my head, not even knowing where to begin.
Typically, this is something I’d discuss with my parents, but given that my father is heading into surgery tomorrow, I can’t.
Katherine frowns. “Wanna talk about it?” Hesitantly, she sits next to me on the couch.
There’s something about those big hazel eyes that makes me want to confide in her. She knew Cal and Melissa better than anyone.
So I unload on her. When I’m done, her eyes are wide. “Okay. Well, I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but I can’t say I’m surprised you’re getting custody of Bella.”
“What?” I rub my neck. “I don’t know how much my brother told you about me, but we’d been arguing over him being in Texas. For a while.”
“Sure, but he loved you, and even though you guys were pissed at each other, you’re the kinda guy who puts his family first. It’s why you’re here right now. It’s why you were upset with him in the first place. Because of your parents. So, see, deep down he knew there was no one better to take care of his baby girl than you.”
My eyes sting, and I blink several times, feeling overwhelmed. Dropping my head, I brace my elbows on my thighs.
We sit in silence, the only sound coming from Izzy as she scurries back and forth across the room in her walker.
“Did… Did he ever talk about me?” I hate how needy that sounds, but Kat gives me a warm smile.
“Of course he did.” She places her hand on my arm. “He said you were his hero. That there was no one he respected more.”
Fuck.
That’s when it hits me. How angry I’ve been at him. Not just for refusing to come back to Boston, but for dying. For leaving when everything was unresolved between us. For not giving me a chance to tell him how much I loved him and appreciated him as my brother.
He called you that night. He called. This is on you.
I lower my head again and clench my eyes. All that time I wasted being upset with him.
“He loved you, Brady,” she whispers. “He’d want you to make peace with this.”
I nod, not able to look up yet.
We sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with the sound of Izzy’s chatter in the background. Then I realize Kat’s rested her head on my shoulder. And for a quiet moment, we share the loss. Together.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in her spring scent of flowers and citrus. It makes my heart knock against my chest and wish for something simpler in my life. Something different than this endless treadmill I’ve been running. Is that what my brother found here? Is that why he left everything behind to be with Melissa?
With an easy squeeze on my arm, Katherine pulls away. “If it makes you feel any better, Cal once told me there were two things I needed to know about you. One, that he was better-looking, and two, that you were a stubborn son of a bitch.”
She giggles, and suddenly we’re both laughing. How am I laughing right now?
“Yeah, maybe I am stubborn,” I admit. I laugh again. “Fucker, he wasn’t better-looking.”
“And hey, don't worry. I won't tell the social worker about your porn addiction or your inclination to flash innocent bystanders.”
I snort. “Ha. Funny.”
She grins again and stands up. “Okay, big guy, I need to change the baby.” She nibbles on her lip a second. “I haven’t shown you all of the property yet. Wanna come along? Bella and I can give you the grand tour. It’s kinda nice outside today, and since this place is yours now, you probably need to get the big picture and see what you’re dealing with. Maybe take your mind off all this deep stuff for a little while.”
I heave a sigh of relief. “That would be great.”
Her lips lift a little higher, and I have to admit it feels pretty good to have that smile aimed at me. I start to wonder what a girl like her is doing on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
On her way out of the office, I call her name, and she stops in the doorway.
“Thanks again. For everything.”
She glances down and smiles shyly before walking out.
I can see why Cal and Melissa adored her. It’s a little hard not to.
15
Katherine
I thought it’d be good to get Brady out of the house for a little while, to distract him from the heavy conversations he had this morning, but based on his frown and the tightness of his shoulders, mentioning the farmers’ fair wasn’t the way to do it. And now that we’re touring the property, he looks even more tense.
He’s wearing a faded Red Sox baseball cap curved tight and pulled low over his handsome face while he scribbles in his notepad.
“Explain that again,” he mumbles.
“We prune in the spring and again in the fall. We grow English lavende
r, which is the type that most people think of, along with Provence and Grosso.”
“Three different kinds of the same flower.”
“They’re not all ‘the same flower’ exactly. One is good for cooking.” I point to the adjacent field. “The other is great for potpourri and other crafts.” I motion toward the rows behind us. “And the third—the plants just over that hill—is what we use for essential oil and hydrasol, or linen spray.”
“Potpourri?” he deadpans as he scribbles more notes.
I ignore the derision in his voice. He doesn’t get it. What do you expect? He’s a guy. Most guys don’t get it. That’s why Mel loved Cal so much. He understood. In fact, he encouraged her. He loved that she made lotions and bath salts and linen sprays.
It’s hard not to marvel at how different Brady is from his brother, and I wonder what it would’ve been like to hang out with both of them back when they weren’t at odds.
Hearing Brady ask about Cal, wondering if his brother ever talked about him, nearly broke my heart. Every part of me wishes I could go back in time and force the brothers to work things out.
Izzy tugs on my leg, and I reach down to pick her up. “You’re such a big girl.” I bounce her on my hip, and she giggles.
We trudge along for a while as I point out the different fields of lavender and the issues they’re having, like pH balance and drainage. Finally, Brady sighs and turns to me.
“What?”
“Give me the baby.”
I stare back. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m not going to let you lug her all over the farm. She weighs half as much as you do.”
I snort laugh. “Hmm. I doubt that.” Squinting in the bright sun, I tilt my head up at him. “I should’ve brought the baby carrier, but I got excited to show you the farm.”
“Baby carrier?”
“Yeah, it’s this fabric contraption I use to strap her to my chest.”
Those intense green eyes dip down my body, and I briefly wonder if he’s as attracted to me as I am to him, but just as quickly they dart away. He clears his throat. “Next time, let’s get the baby carrier, and I’ll use it.” He rubs his palm against his stubbled chin. “For now, though, let me do the heavy lifting.”