by Nina West
“Of course. See you around.”
I make my way through the parking lot to my old truck, a thirdhand hand-me-down from my dad that I’ve been driving since I was seventeen.
And I count down the hours until I’m with Henry again, even if it’s just on a screen.
Chapter Three
“Seriously, I don’t know what we’d do without you guys,” I holler over the roar of the farm truck’s engine.
“No worries, Abigail. We’ll help wherever we can while Roger’s getting back on his feet. I wish we could do more but….” Bart Milner shrugs and gives me an apologetic smile.
“You’ve got your own farm. We get it.” Bart has left his son to run the morning routine with their cows three times a week to come over here and help take care of ours, along with the sheep and the pigs, freeing me up to take care of the million and one other things needing attention. He’s been a godsend.
“How’s Roger doing, anyway? I heard something about a head injury?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Mama screamed and yelled at the doctors until they put him through the scanning machines again, only to come back with the same conclusion—his head is fine, save for a few scrapes and bumps. “Going stir-crazy, but the doctor will be releasing him any day now. You’ll have to come to the welcome home party.” It’s been three weeks since his accident. I’ve driven down to Pittsburgh on Saturdays and Wednesdays to spend the morning with him and Mama, playing cards and catching up on farm stuff. I haven’t had much time with him, though, what with Mama hovering over him constantly, interrupting our conversation with her two cents’ worth, which feels more like a bag full of coins dropped on my head sometimes.
“Send them my best when you see them next.”
I give his door a good farewell pat. “I’ll see you at Sunday service?”
Bart winks, revving his engine. “You betcha.”
The big truck bumps along the driveway, kicking up more dust as it hits the countless potholes. I stare longingly after it, nostalgia stirring inside my stomach. It reminds me of driving down the old road into the Wolf family cottage in Alaska.
It’s been almost three weeks since I was in Henry’s arms last.
It feels like it’s been years.
I miss him so much I want to scream.
Sure, he texts me a few times every day—usually in the morning and then again at night. Mainly to say good morning and good night. He’s never been the biggest communicator and especially not by text.
And then there are the nights that we’re able to connect and video call, when I haven’t fallen asleep from exhaustion and he isn’t tied up in meetings, or the time zone isn’t working too hard against us.
Those nights are thrilling, but they’re also torturous. I can see him, but I can’t touch him. Can’t be touched by him. I don’t want to use my imagination anymore. I want the real thing.
I want him to fly back to New York and stay there until I’m free of Greenbank. It’s only a five-hour drive. I will do that drive every week, gladly.
But he hasn’t come back yet. At first it was this ski hill he wants to put in, to make Wolf Cove a year-round luxury resort. Then last week he had to fly to Prague because of a major issue with the new Wolf they’re opening there. Who knows what’s going to happen next week. I’m beginning to think that those few weeks having him in Alaska were an anomaly, never to be repeated.
What if that’s the case? What if this is what he means about leading such different lives? What if it has nothing to do with his money and power, and everything to do with simply not ever being around?
Never settling?
Maybe Henry isn’t the type of man to ever settle down.
I keep myself busy here, collecting eggs and caring for the animals, cutting the grass, paying the bills and answering calls for grain and hay, tending to the gardens until I fall asleep with my phone in my hand and drool dripping down my chin. Then I get up to do it all over again. It’s a big job, trying to keep the farm going.
Still, I live for those messages and calls from Henry.
Sliding my phone from my back pocket, I check for anything new. No response to my “good morning” text yet, though. It’s six hours ahead in Prague so I probably won’t hear from him again until around four my time. Whatever the crisis is over there, it sounds like it’s costing the company a fortune. He’s been grouchy over the phone.
And a lot more demanding.
Trying to shrug off my disappointment, I tuck my phone away and wander over to where Jed, Thomas, and Ben—two sixteen-year-olds from our parish who Daddy hired for harvest—stack the bales of hay. Jean’s out in the fields with the baler.
“What time is Randy’s guy gonna be here?” Jed calls out.
“He said eleven, but Daddy says he’s always late.” Randy Sohm owns a fancy horse farm about ten miles up the road and he stocks his barn with hay from us every year. The deal’s always the same—if we take care of loading our wagons up, they’ll unload on the other end. It’s always gone smooth, up until this morning when an axle on one of the wagons busted on the driveway. Now we’re stuck moving all the bales to another wagon before we can fix it. Sure, I could call up Randy and tell him it’ll be another few days before we can deliver, but Mama said Randy’s an old bugger who might turn around and buy from someone else, just out of spite.
Jed pauses to wipe his forearm across his brow, pushing his hair off his forehead. He lets out a low curse, his eyes rolling over the bales still needing to be moved. He’s already cast his shirt off in an attempt to cool down, showing off his golden, muscular body.
“So we have to assume he’ll be here at eleven. Let’s hustle,” he mutters to the other guys.
They respond with low grunts. It’s hard work what they’re doing. Sometimes I don’t think we’re paying them enough. Well, technically Jed isn’t getting paid at all.
Of course Daddy will insist on handing over an envelope stuffed with cash, and Jed’ll make a big deal of leaving it on the kitchen table, and Mama will coo and say, “Oh, Abigail! See what an honorable man he is!” and I’ll hide my eye roll, because only six months ago I caught him being very dishonorable with another girl.
But, I have to admit… Jed’s really stepped up and helped out around here. I couldn’t have managed on my own without him. It’s definitely helped me put aside my anger for his cheating ways, and that’s saying a lot, seeing as he obliterated my heart.
I fish three bottles of cold water from the cooler and hand them out to the guys, reminding them, “I think today’s a good day for a swim as soon as this is done.” Jed and I used to spend our summers swimming laps around our pond. I haven’t so much as stuck a toe in it since being home.
“Great idea, Abigail.”
“Uh-huh.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I don’t miss a beat, reaching for it, holding my breath. Only to feel the disappointment when I see that it’s not from Henry but from Mama. I taught her how to text so she could send me daily updates on Daddy, or I could ask quick questions that she’d relay to him. As handy as it’s been these past three weeks, I’m sure I’m going to regret it once things are back to normal and she has nothing better to do than meddle in my life again.
My dismay vanishes quickly, though. “The doctor’s cleared him! Daddy’s coming home this afternoon!” I exclaim, feeling my face split open in a huge grin. He should be six feet in the ground, by all rights, but he’s coming home! He’ll be stuck in a wheelchair for the time being but, with help from Jed’s parents and the other church families, we now have a hospital bed in our den for him until he can walk.
Jed drops down from the wagon and before I can stop him, scoops me up into his arms and twirls me around.
“Put me down! You’re all sweaty!” Even so, I can’t help but laugh.
After two full circles, he finally complies, but not without a mischievous look on his face. “Told you everything would be back to normal soon.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. Three weeks haven’t helped break him of this delusion that I’m going to “smarten up” sooner or later and realize that we’re “meant to be.” In reality, the fact that I haven’t seen Henry in three weeks is only encouraging him.
And now he’s standing too close. I take two steps back and then turn to busy myself with fetching another water from the cooler.
He hops back up on the wagon, whistling. “You better call the hens. They’ll want as much time as possible to set up.”
“Right.” The hens. The five ladies from our church who basically run all social events. Roger Mitchell coming home from the hospital after nearly dying is an event they’ll want to celebrate. Reverend Enderbey already put a call out for food at the service on Sunday in preparation, and one of the husbands dropped off a bunch of folding tables and chairs. They’ll be full of casseroles and homemade burgers by four o’clock.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone. Today is going to be a long day.
~ ~ ~
I emerge from the refreshing water in time to see Jed go sailing through the air. I can’t help but chuckle. He still acts like a ten-year-old every time he’s in here, launching himself off the tire swing that hangs from a giant oak tree near the embankment.
The pond sits in the middle of the field, almost halfway between our properties, and is just big enough to tire me out when I swim across. None of us are in a rush to do more than just float today, though. Thomas and Ben have found the floating dock that Jed built when we were sixteen and are sprawled out on its surface, soaking up the sun. Mama wouldn’t approve of this paid swim break, but she’s not here yet to complain about it. Besides, it’s after noon and the boys are done with their farm jobs for the day. They spent the last hour cutting grass and cleaning up around the barn for the party.
Jed swims over to where I’m treading water. “A couple of us were thinking of trying out to Billy Bob’s this weekend. You wanna come?”
“Billy Bob’s? Are you serious?” The roadside bar twenty miles outside of town has been a community nightmare for years. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard the stories of “lewd acts” and brawls. Apparently, it’s run by a biker and crawling with gang members any given day of the week. According to Mama, anyway. Whether any of that is true or not, I don’t know. There was a petition going around town some years back to shut it down because of the loud music and drunkenness. My parents and the Enderbeys signed it, along with the entire congregation.
The Reverend would not approve of his son going, but I’m guessing he’s not going to find out about it.
Jed shrugs. “Could be fun.”
“You should call up Cammie and take her then.”
He rolls his eyes. His fingers slide over my skin to grip either side of my waist. “Don’t be like that. It’s not like you were completely innocent up in Alaska.”
If Jed only knew the kinds of things I was up to in Alaska. That kind of gossip would be hot enough to set wet grass on fire in this town.
I twist my body and stroke away from him, but he follows closely behind.
“Come on, Abigail. I’ve put my life on hold for you. What else do I need to do to prove to you that I’m sorry?”
“It’s Abbi, and it’s not about you being sorry.”
“It’s about your boss, isn’t it?”
“He’s not my boss anymore.”
“You haven’t seen him since he dropped you off. When are you going to admit to yourself that it’s over?”
“We still talk every day!”
“Yeah, when it’s convenient for him.”
“He owns Wolf Hotels. He’s a busy guy.”
“Please. Those rich guys golf and party all day long.”
“Not Henry.”
“Stop being so gullible. When are you finally going to admit that it can’t last between you two? Everyone else around here sees it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His words stab at me though, because deep down, I’m afraid they could be true. Is there really any chance of Henry and me lasting? That his interest won’t stray elsewhere in the weeks—and maybe months—I’m stuck here, running a farm while Daddy heals. The man’s sexual appetite is his only weakness and the occasional video masturbation session isn’t going to cut it forever. He has beautiful, sophisticated women throwing themselves at him wherever he goes. And he hasn’t actually made any big declaration to me, any ironclad commitments. Just, “we’ll see where things go.”
But he also starts and ends each day with a message to me. I have to believe that means something, given the man he is, right?
He wouldn’t bother if he didn’t care.
Right?
“Have fun at Billy Bob’s. I don’t want to go there. Besides, Mama’s gonna need me,” I say, changing the subject from me and Henry.
“My mom will be over here, helpin’ her. Think about it.” Jed swims back for the oak tree, climbing it deftly. Once up, he peers across the field toward our driveway. “Finally! Looks like Randy’s guy is here. And only two hours late.” He snorts. “Guess it’s back to work.”
“You boys stay here. I have to get out anyway. They’ll be comin’ in to set up the food and drinks soon.” I climb up the embankment, adjusting my bikini bottoms before I reach for my towel.
“Eyes elsewhere. That’s not yours,” Jed mutters in warning behind me, his voice unnaturally sharp.
I roll my eyes at his possessiveness. It’s not yours, either.
It’s funny, before Alaska I would have been very aware of the two teenage boys in the lake with us. I’d feel their eyes on my body and I’d be scurrying into the water and out for my towel as fast as possible.
I didn’t worry about having their eyes on me today. I wouldn’t say I’m entirely confident in my skin—what twenty-one-year-old woman is, I guess—but I don’t mind the attention so much. Still, I’d rather have Henry’s. He has a way of setting fire to my skin with just a look.
I sigh as I wrap my towel around my body ever so slowly, thinking about badly I want to leap into his arms.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Jed calls out, a moment before his body hits the water with a splash.
I pick my way along the path toward the house, both sides lined with knee-high grass. There’s a matching cut path on the other side of the pond, leading all the way to the Enderbeys’, wide enough to drive with a farm truck. It’s been there as long as I can remember, Daddy running his tractor over it once a week to keep the grass nice and short, the way clear for Jed and me to run back and forth almost every day of our childhood.
It’s only about a hundred yards to our house, but the sun’s heating my shoulders through the thin cotton of my t-shirt by the time I’m halfway there.
I squint at the shiny black pickup truck that sits in our driveway, silently cursing myself for forgetting my sunglasses and my hat. It can’t possibly be strong enough to pull the hay wagon. There’s no way that’s Randy’s guy. They know better. So maybe it’s someone else looking to buy grain or hay from us. We haven’t had a new customer in a while.
I’m running through all the prices in my head when a tall, dark-haired man in a well-fitted t-shirt and dark-wash jeans steps out of the truck, his muscular body and confident movements impossible to mistake.
My heart skips two beats and then starts pounding against my breastbone.
“Henry!” I shriek, unable to keep any level of composure thanks to my excitement. I take off, running as fast as I can in flip-flops, ignoring the pain in my chest that comes with running in a bikini with crappy support.
He leans back against the side of the truck with his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands tucked into his pockets, and watches me approach with that sexy smirk curling his lip. One he has perfected and should outright trademark.
I may look like a childish idiot, but I don’t care, the gravel crunching under my feet as I tear across the driveway and throw myself at his hard body, my arms snaking aro
und his neck to lock in a tight squeeze.
He slips his hands from his pockets to scoop me up with ease, his deep chuckle vibrating throughout my body. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a welcome quite like that,” he murmurs, setting me on the ground after a long moment.
I take a moment to catch my breath as I admire his marvelous face, committing his crystal-blue eyes and long dark lashes to a fresh memory. And those lips…. I miss the feel of them on me so much. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Prague?” I ask through pants.
His gaze drops to my mouth and my thighs clench instantly in anticipation. “I was, but I had to be in New York tonight for a meeting. I figured I’d stop here first. I can’t stay too long, though.” He leans forward and I close my eyes, waiting eagerly for his kiss. But he pauses. “Why are you all wet?”
“Oh.” I giggle. “I was just in the pond.”
“Hard at work, I see.” He gives me a mock frown but I know he’s teasing.
“We’ve been busting our butts all morning actually. Just took a break to cool off, it’s so hot.”
“Yeah, I’m missing the Alaska temperatures right now.” There’s a pause. “Who’s we?”
“Just my two summer workers. And Jed, of course.”
If my arms hadn’t been around Henry’s neck, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the sudden tension that stiffens him. “Fuckface?”
“Yeah. He’s been helping around here, a lot. I told you that.”
“Right.” He frowns. “How often is that, again?”
“He’s here every day.”
“Every day.”
“You know I can’t do this on my own, Henry.”
“Which is why I offered to arrange for help.”
“And you know exactly why I couldn’t take you up on that.” Mama outright refused to accept his offer. It’s not for pride, because she’s had no trouble accepting help from every last member of our church.
“I’ve been told that she hasn’t stayed at the hotel, either.”
“The Enderbeys have a cousin in Pittsburgh she’s staying with.” In a spare bedroom with no air conditioning that requires Mama—all 370 pounds of her—to climb three flights of stairs every day. Even Jed’s dad tried to persuade her to take Henry’s offer of a luxury suite at the Wolf, but she won’t willingly accept a dime from “the wolf who’s preying on her daughter’s innocence.”