“Have a seat.” He gestured toward the living room. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No,” Irene said. “We won’t stay long.”
He turned a near laugh into a cough. The only time he’d known Irene to stay less than an hour at someone’s house was when there was bigger gossip to see to elsewhere. Right now, he was the main news in town.
“What about you, Miss Elsie? Can I get you something to drink?”
“Oh, no, thank you. Like Irene said, we’ll only be a few minutes. I—”
“That’s right, ’cause surely you’ve got lots of unpacking to do, Beckett. Now, do you need help? Because I could send my grandsons over.”
“No, thank you. I’ll be just fine. And I have to confess, I’m not the neatest packer, so it would be hard for anyone to help.” He’d been angry as hell the whole time he was packing up the life he’d made for himself. A life that had fallen apart because of the disgusting behavior of the administrators and a number of his fellow teachers, a few of whom he’d considered good friends.
“Well, it sounds like you left in a hurry,” Irene said.
He had. Once the settlement came through, he’d wasted no time stuffing the belongings he hadn’t sold into a moving van and getting the hell out of there. “I didn’t see any point in sticking around once I decided to come here.”
Irene shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine a school that wouldn’t want a fine man like you’ve turned out to be, even if you do have some newfangled notions.”
He bit back his initial reply, reminding himself she meant well. “Supporting equal rights and the freedoms given us in the Constitution is not all that newfangled.”
“True, but people are awful protective of their views.”
“That they are, even when those views conflict with the law,” Beck said.
“I guess they’ve just been doing things one way for a long time, and they hardly know how to change. Lotta folks around here are like that.”
“Not me,” Elsie piped up.
“Her granddaughter’s come out lesbian,” Irene said, her tone indicating he was supposed to be shocked.
Hmm. Maybe things in town would be slightly more interesting than Beck had expected.
Elsie continued. “I don’t see as how that makes her different than she was. Some people think I ought to give her a talking to, but I like her young woman. She’s polite, and she fixed my computer when I couldn’t do anything with it. I think it’s between a person and God what they get up to in bed. I’m not going to treat my granddaughter any different.”
Irene nodded. “Me either.”
Beck wanted to hug them both. It was good to be reminded that not everyone in Ames Bridge was homophobic. “I think you’re both amazing.”
“Aw, hush.” Elsie waved him off. “Now, I hear Cal already came by. Did he try to convince you to sell?”
The gossip mill in Ames Bridge seemed to work like magic. Probably there was some connection like Elsie’s cousin’s grandson worked on Cal’s farm, and he’d texted his girlfriend that Cal was pissed because Beck refused, and then it had eventually gotten back to Elsie.
“He asked me if I was putting the land up for sale, and I told him not right now. That’s all.”
“He’ll keep asking,” Irene said. “He’s been after this place for years.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Irene studied him for a moment. “So you’re staying?”
Beck straightened the afghan that lay on the arm of the chair he was sitting in before answering. “For a few months. After that, I don’t know.”
Irene and Elsie glanced at each other, and then Irene said, “You should stay. Your grandma wanted you to move back here and raise a family.”
Beck started to protest, but Elsie interrupted. “You can do that. They’re letting gay people adopt babies now and everything.”
It was all he could do not to laugh. “I’ve heard that.”
“So, we thought—”
Beck held up a hand, desperate to spare himself from any matchmaking they were about to do. He could only imagine the disaster that would be. “I’m here to sort through the house, make some repairs, and figure out what I want to do after that. This is not a good time for me to start a relationship.”
“Well, don’t work yourself too hard. You’ve been through a lot this last year.”
Losing his grandma. Losing his job. Yeah. He sure had. But even if there were more than two or three out gay men in town, there were too many things that could go wrong if he dated someone from Ames Bridge, not the least of which being that everyone would know his business and feel free to remark on it.
Time for a change of subject. “Would you ladies like a piece of cake?”
“Oh, no, that’s for you,” Elsie said.
Irene cackled. “We’ve got to watch our figures, even if they aren’t girlish anymore.”
Elsie glanced at the mantle clock, which was so old it had to be wound every morning. Despite the fact that Beck hadn’t bothered and it was pointing to six o’clock, she said, “We should probably be getting on.”
Irene nodded. “But first, one more thing: tell me what you’re going to do with the place.”
After Beck explained he was going to make some repairs that had been put off for years and revive his grandmother’s flower beds, Irene just-one-more-thinged him until Elsie dragged her out the door over half an hour later.
Once they were gone, he cut himself a giant wedge of cake, poured another cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table. He turned eating into a meditation, slowly chewing each bite so he could really enjoy it, seeing the sunshine stream through the window, listening to Cal’s horses whinnying in the pasture and then Katie’s deep bark as she found something to tell Cal about. And wait—was that children laughing? Probably some of Cal’s young cousins.
Cake. Focus on the cake. He did, each beautiful, silky mouthful.
The chocolate and pecans soothed him temporarily, but soon he was back to wrestling with boxes and trying to decide what to unpack and where to store the rest. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop fantasizing about Cal as he worked.
CHAPTER TWO
When half the crowd in Trish’s diner turned his way, Cal wished to hell he’d picked up a pizza and gone home. Or that he’d actually learned how to cook. There were times he was very glad his parents had finally bought the beach condo of their dreams, and times when he really missed them. Like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His mama had spoiled him with good food his whole life, but now she was getting deservedly spoiled by spending her days on the beach.
That night he was longing for his mama’s famous chili. So he’d decided to have the next best thing, a bowl of Aunt Trish’s. She wasn’t actually his aunt, but that’s what everyone called her, and she and Cal were related in some convoluted way, third cousins or such.
But even Trish’s nearly perfect chili and cornbread wouldn’t make up for Cal being the source of gossip for the bunch seated at the counter. How early was it? He glanced at his watch. Maybe Irene and Elsie would leave soon. They shouldn’t be on the streets after dark.
Damn. How was it only six thirty? They still had a good bit of light left. He considered turning around and hightailing it home, but that would cause even more talk.
He sighed and headed to an unoccupied seat at the opposite end of the counter from the elderly lady gossip club, though he knew he wouldn’t be alone for long.
After placing refilled napkin dispensers in strategic spots along the counter, Trish ambled down to see him. “Hey, Cal, what can I get ya?”
“A bowl of chili.”
“Cornbread on the side?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She scribbled on her order pad. “What you drinking? Tea?”
Tea wasn’t going to cut it today. “Nah. I’ll have a Corona.”
“You want a lime?”
“Yes, please.”
Trish headed throug
h the swinging metal door into the kitchen. At least she hadn’t said anything about his new neighbor. Yet.
He kept his gaze on his phone, wishing he could turn invisible. But in less time than it took him to open Instagram, Irene had made her way down to his end of the bar.
“How are the farm tours coming along? You must be busy with it, planting season too and all?”
Just relax, like there’s nothing unusual going on. “Tours are good, but you’re right; I’m busy as hel…um…heck. I’m going to try to use up the last bit of daylight as soon as I eat my dinner.”
Irene studied him for a moment. “Too bad your mama’s not around.”
That could mean a variety of things—he looked like hell, he need someone to cook for him, or who knows what else. He decided not to ask.
“So have you seen Beckett yet?”
She’d always called Beck by his full name. “Yes, I saw him this morning. Katie decided to run over there, and I went to fetch her back.”
Irene laughed. “I bet you were glad for the excuse.”
“I would’ve made my way over there eventually.”
“Irene, let that boy alone, and come back over here.”
Cal grinned. Elsie always tried to keep Irene in line.
“I’m just making conversation,” Irene said.
Elsie snorted. “You’re just being an old gossip.”
Trish reappeared with his beer, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “Near as I remember she was a young one too.”
Irene bristled, but she was grinning, so her annoyance was only pretense. “Enjoy your dinner, Cal. I’ll talk to you later when the atmosphere is more welcoming.”
“Have a good evening, Miss Irene.”
Trish stayed at Cal’s end of the counter as he dropped the lime into his beer and took a sip.
“You should take him some produce,” she said. “Lord knows if he can cook it any better than you, but it would be a good way to welcome him.”
“I assume you’re talking about Beck.”
“Of course I am, or has another new man joined our little community?”
Cal laughed. “Hardly.”
Trish gave him a pointed look.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” She headed around the counter to take orders from a group of newcomers.
Her suggestion really was a good one. Leaving things like he had that morning was sure as hell not going to win him Beck’s land. Taking over some vegetables and some frozen meat from last fall’s pigs was a good idea. Beck clearly wasn’t going to be intimidated, so Cal needed to turn up the charm for him. He used to be damn good at that, but lately, he found it too much hassle.
Shit. He was only twenty-eight. How was he already getting gruff and stodgy?
He realized Trish had returned. “Cal, you all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just tired. Two of the sows had piglets this week.”
“Oh, how are they?” Elsie asked. She and Irene had been headed toward the door, but they stopped to chat.
“Good. Healthy, energetic. They’ve worn their mamas out.”
“Sounds just right, then.”
“We lost two, but there are still fifteen in good health.” He was trying a new heritage breed and was hoping for more success than he’d had when he’d tried to raise pigs a few years ago.
He was proud of his farm and the ways he’d modernized it, shifting to organic methods for many of the crops, raising pigs along with the chickens while still keeping the stable going. He was determined to do whatever was needed to stay afloat, even if that meant sucking up to his new neighbor.
Elsie, Irene, and Trish continued talking as his mind wandered. Then Elsie patted him on the back. “I’ll bet you get the land in the end. You can talk anybody out of anything. We all know that.”
If only that were true. “I sure hope so, but for all we know, he’ll decide he loves the place and stay.”
Irene sighed. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. If it weren’t for needing to go through his grandma’s things, God rest her soul, I’m not sure he’d ever have set foot here again.”
“So he’ll stay a bit, clean the house, lick his wounds, and move on,” Cal said, hoping that was the case.
Trish shrugged. “Maybe. Now, don’t you ladies have an altar guild meeting to be at?”
Elsie looked at her watch. “Come on, Irene. We’re going to be late.”
“We’d better not be. We’ve got twice the usual work with it being Palm Sunday.”
“You take care, Cal,” Irene said. “I want to come by and see those piglets before they’re all grown.”
“Anytime, Miss Irene. You just come on by.” Hopefully he’d be out in a field somewhere and one of his hands would show her around. He loved her, but she’d keep him talking half the day.
When he looked back at Trish, she was studying him like she knew something.
Cal narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“I just have a feeling.”
That was not good. Trish’s “feelings” had a way of being more like premonitions. No one went so far as to say she was psychic, but she’d predicted a hell of a lot of things nobody expected. Like her good feeling when Paxton Marshall, one of the town’s few out-of-the-closet gay men, moved back home and started an art gallery/pottery painting business. He’d been so successful, tourists were now heading to the gallery after seeing the bridge. Cal still couldn’t quite believe there was art in Ames Bridge now that wasn’t airbrushed and sold on the side of the road.
Trish had also warned people something was up with Rev. Wilkes, who used to preach at the Ames Bridge Tabernacle. She’d lost some friends and customers over that, but it turned out he was siphoning donations for a new sanctuary into a private account. The man’d had the nerve to tell Cal he was going to hell, while he was busy stealing money from the elderly.
“What is this feeling?” Cal asked.
“That Beck belongs here. That something big’s gonna happen to convince him of it.”
Aw, shit.
A bell dinged. “Order up!” Trish’s husband, Duke, hollered, and a steaming bowl appeared in the pass-through window.
“That’s your chili.” Before she turned to get it, Trish patted his arm. “Cheer up. Everything’s going to be fine.”
He sure as hell hoped so, but Trish’s words—I just have a feeling—were echoing in his head, making him less sure than ever.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, Beck didn’t accomplish much in the way of unpacking. By early afternoon, he was ready to give up and just live in a maze of boxes. When the sight of a box of matches in a drawer had him contemplating burning the place down to avoid dealing with room after room of his and his grandmother’s things, he decided it was time to get out of there.
He considered a walk but dismissed it. There was too big a chance of running into Cal, and he was not prepared to deal with the man again.
While he ate lunch, he made a list of flowers he wanted to plant in his grandmother’s long-neglected beds. In her younger years, she’d been known for the cutting flowers she grew. She sold them to friends for bouquets and to a few florists. Beck had toyed with the idea of revitalizing her business and expanding it. At the very least, he’d like to have some color in those beds.
He wondered if Ames Garden Supply was still in business. He pulled out his phone and looked it up. Sure enough, it was. They even had a website now, a halfway decent one. Beck wondered who he’d run into. Hopefully it wouldn’t be crowded at this time of day, and whoever was running the counter would be too young to know him.
He stuck his phone back in his pocket and headed to his car. He wouldn’t need GPS to get to the store. He’d been there countless times with his grandmother. When he pulled into a parking spot, he saw it hadn’t changed much. The front looked the same except for a freshly painted sign that read: Ames Garden Supply: Serving Ames Bridge for Over Sixty Years.
There wasn
’t anyone behind the counter when he walked in. It was slow that afternoon, so whoever was running things must have stepped into the back.
He wandered down the aisles until he found the flower seeds. They still carried a wide variety of flowers. Once he chose what he needed, he found the section with the gardening gloves, which was near the door to the storage room. As he perused the selections, he couldn’t help but overhear two employees talking.
“Has Cal come to pick up that order yet?” a man asked.
“No,” a young woman answered.
“Has he seen Beck yet?”
The woman giggled. “I bet he went right over there.”
“He’s probably thrilled to have another faggot in town.”
“Dale!” He heard a sound like a slap. “Don’t talk like that.” If the man was Dale, the woman was probably his sister, Lucy. They were much younger than Beck, but he remembered them.
“Sorry, I mean another homosexual.”
Wait. Another? Beck froze. Were they saying Cal was gay? No way.
“Just because Beck’s gay doesn’t mean—”
“It means he better watch his ass around Cal. I hear he can seduce anyone.”
“Dale!”
“I’m just saying.”
They stepped out of the room and saw Beck staring at them.
Lucy squeaked, and Dale turned bright red.
“Please excuse my brother,” Lucy said once she’d composed herself. “He’s ignorant as sin.”
“That’s not nice, Lucy. You don’t have to—”
“Just go back in there and sort orders.” She pointed toward the store room. “I’ll ring up Mr. Davis.”
“Fine.” Dale walked off in a huff.
“Just call me Beck,” he said when they reached the counter. “Mr. Davis was my teacher name.”
Lucy smiled. “Thanks for not walking right out of here.”
“It’s all right. I knew I’d be a topic of conversation when I decided to move into Grandma’s place.” Besides, where the hell would he buy the supplies he needed? The only other places he knew of were almost twenty miles away.
While Lucy scanned his purchases, he debated asking her about Cal. He was dying to know more, but he didn’t want to get caught gossiping about his neighbor.
Down on the Farm (Ames Bridge Book 1) Page 2