Maybe Patrick had done Brent a favor, sending him to Galena Landing and Allison Hart.
Brent knew he had.
He left his room in the Landing Pad early Monday morning, telling Franco and Curtis he had some things to check at the building site. The guys smirked at each other.
Brent would ignore that. Yeah, the windows wouldn’t arrive for another hour or so — Patrick had called when the truck left Coeur d’Alene — but Brent couldn’t wait that long to reacquaint himself with Green Acres Farm. To catch a glimpse of Finnley. And Allison.
Would he get up the nerve to tell her everything? He’d try.
He pulled into the farm driveway. So many extra cars. Several motor homes. Even some tents. It took him a few seconds to remember that Sierra and Gabe’s wedding had taken place two days before.
He hadn’t been invited. But why should he have been? Yeah, the men at the farm had extended friendship to him beyond the foreman/client relationship, but they’d probably been waiting to see how things developed with him and Allison. And when there was nothing, he’d been dropped.
No, it was his own fault for bolting from Finnley’s birthday party like he’d been shot out a pneumatic nail gun.
Brent parked in front of the farm school. He closed his eyes. Lord? This is all beyond me. I don’t know how to do this.
Sometimes a guy had to fling himself off a cliff and pray for the best.
A middle-aged couple exited a motor home and crossed to the straw bale house.
Sometimes a guy had to wait for the best time to jump off a cliff. Wait until the farm had resettled into its routine. He wasn’t backing out. Just being selective of the best time to find Allison and apologize.
The apologizing wouldn’t be that hard. It was the explaining that would kill him.
* * *
Finnley knelt on the ottoman, staring out the front window at an acute angle.
“What’s there, buddy? What do you see?”
“Brent,” he whispered.
Allison’s heart surged into her throat. She’d known he’d be back today. She had barely slept all night and gotten up early to shower and spend some quiet time with her Bible open.
Brent. He was here.
“That’s cool, buddy. Soon we’ll be able to move into our house beside Maddie’s. That’ll be nice, won’t it?”
The house that had been planned for one person and a dog. And would now contain two people… but probably not a dog. And which she wished would hold three people. Maybe, some day, more.
Finnley glanced into his bedroom, where the mural on his wall was in plain view.
“Are you going to miss the farm picture Brent painted, buddy? Maybe we can ask him to paint another in your new room.”
“He promised.”
Allison tilted her head. He what? “Did he tell you?”
Finnley nodded, peering back out the window. “He makes Rover.”
Her nephew hadn’t mentioned his imaginary dog in weeks. Allison crossed the room and sat on the chair nearest the window. “How is Rover doing since you came to Green Acres?”
The little shoulder lifted in a slight shrug.
“Do you like it here now? Playing with Maddie and riding the horse with Keanan? Living with me?”
She almost missed that wee nod. Finnley turned wistful eyes to her. “See Brent?”
Her heart clenched. “Remember you can’t go in there without a hard hat.”
“But he’s not working.”
Must’ve been the longest sentence he’d come up with yet. “True. Well, ask him then.”
Finnley slid off the ottoman and headed for the door. He fumbled with the knob for an instant then stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.
Allison took his place on the ottoman, watching as he crossed the yard toward Brent’s truck. Brent opened the truck door and slid out. He noticed Finnley and crouched down, arms wide.
Finnley ran into them and wrapped his arms around Brent’s neck, holding tight while Brent rose and swung him in a circle.
This was what a family could look like. Her and Finnley and Brent. She’d never marry a guy who didn’t love her nephew like his own son, but Brent could. Look at him grinning into the boy’s face.
It would be hard to tell him about her past, but she’d do it. For Finnley’s sake. And maybe, for Finnley’s sake, Brent would hold off judgment on her, and accept them both into his life.
She turned away from the window and walked to the bathroom. She brushed her hair and checked her makeup. Time to follow Finnley to the unfinished school building.
Time to follow her heart.
* * *
Brent set the little boy on the ground and ruffled his hair.
Finnley looked up at him with big brown eyes that dissolved his heart. This child was worth the attempt to set things right with Allison. Not that Brent would humble himself before her only for the boy’s sake. Not at all.
He loved her.
He knew it now. Having Finnley would be the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the mural on the wall. But it wouldn’t do the little man any good to woo his aunt without love.
Not a problem. Love was definitely present. If only it wasn’t for Mallory. How would Allison take that?
Brent sensed as much as heard or saw Allison leave the duplex. She stood on the stoop, her lean body clad in two shades of gray with a yellow scarf around her waist, like a chain of dandelions. She stood, arms around her middle, watching him. Waiting.
“Come on, squirt. Let’s go talk to your aunt.” She wouldn’t shut the door on him, would she? No, then she wouldn’t have come outside at all. Unless Finnley had come outside without her permission, and she just wanted the boy out of Brent’s clutches.
He’d take his chances. He walked toward her, his hand on the back of Finnley’s head. The little man seemed willing to be guided back. Brent stopped several feet away from her. Far enough away that he couldn’t hold her and kiss her without consciously moving a few steps closer. He soaked up the sight of her. “Allison.”
She offered a tremulous smile. “Hi, Brent.”
All the things he’d said to her six weeks ago rocketed through his mind for the millionth time. “I-I’m sorry for the way I left that day.”
Her gaze slid to Finnley, who looked from one to the other. “I’m sorry, too.”
His heart surged. That was a good sign, right? Not that she had anything to be sorry for. It was all him. He was the one with the nasty icy wave waiting to slosh over them all. He was the one who’d closed the doors back then, trying to forestall the wave. “I need to talk to you.”
The door to Sierra’s duplex next door opened and a curly-haired blond woman strolled out. Her quick gaze took in the three of them but, instead of going back inside or heading across to the big house, she closed the few steps between them.
“Hi, I’m Chelsea Riehl, Sierra’s sister. You must be the guy from Timber Framing Plus?” She held out her hand.
He shook it. “Yes, Brent Callahan. Pleased to meet you.” He glanced at Allison, but she was looking down. At what, he couldn’t tell. Maybe at the toe of her sandal tracing the edge of the concrete step.
“I’m going over to the big house for breakfast. You coming?” Chelsea held out her hand to Finnley, but her eyes were on Allison.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Want to go with Chelsea, Finnley?”
The little man’s head shook, hair brushing against Brent’s hand.
“Okay, then. I’ll see you in a few. Nice to meet you, Brent.”
“Likewise.”
Chelsea strolled away. Brent looked back at Allison. “You okay?”
She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “Not sure.”
Brent ran his fingers through the soft hair of his son. “Maybe… maybe this evening I could take you for a drive down along the lake?”
“I’ll see if someone can sit with Finnley for a little while.”
“Sounds good.” It
sounded way more than good. It sounded like a hopeful start to a new beginning. One where he was honest with her, laying out his whole sordid past, and seeing if she wanted anything to do with him afterward.
The result could be bliss, or it could herald several months of misery as he worked on her house and school, seeing her every day, but having a wall between them. The only way to know was to walk forward. Take the step, open his heart, and wait for the results.
“The windows will be here soon,” he said instead. “You’ll be amazed how quickly things take shape once those are in place. Your house will look like a home in no time.”
Well, maybe not “no time.” But it would sure feel like progress compared to the past couple of months.
“That’s great. I can’t wait.”
Her words were so soft he barely heard her. The words didn’t match her voice. Maybe she was as nervous to hear what he had to say as he was to say it.
Several vehicles came down Thompson Road, the other Timber Framing Plus vehicle in the forefront. Franco and Curtis, ready to unload windows. He’d rather not be caught talking to Allison, but he couldn’t walk away abruptly just so the guys wouldn’t razz him.
“You need to get to work, I guess.” Allison glanced at him.
“Yes.” He touched her arm then retracted his hand. “Later.” He tried to pour a promise into the look he gave her.
The guys’ truck jounced past them up the driveway. Franco waved from the passenger side, a smirk on his face.
Two cars drove in behind the truck, parking between the pole barn and the straw bale house. Four young women poured from one of the cars. From the other, a tall man exited the driver’s side and rounded the vehicle to open the passenger door. A woman with short red hair climbed out.
She looked vaguely familiar. Where women were concerned, that was never a good thing. She said something to the man then her gaze slid past him and landed on Brent.
Even from here he could see her eyes widen. She grabbed at the man’s arm and said something. The man turned to look, too.
“I should be going,” Brent said to Allison. He had two choices. Run for his truck and leave the property, or try to catch up with Franco and Curtis.
But it was too late for either. Hand in hand, the couple strolled toward the duplex.
“Brent Callahan? Is that really you?”
He remembered the voice. Remembered the face. But the name escaped him.
“Hi.” As noncommittal as he could come up with as a cold wave rolled over him chilling him from head to toe.
“Gina Dalles. Well, I was Gina O’Haran when I knew you. This is my husband, Parker.”
Gina.
Not in front of Allison.
Chapter 26
The look on Brent’s face spoke volumes. He remembered this woman… but wished he didn’t.
The woman — Gina — seemed to notice Allison and Finnley for the first time.
Allison straightened, dropping her hands to her sides. She stepped closer to Finnley. That it also put her closer to Brent was incidental. “Come on, buddy. Breakfast is waiting.”
Wait. This couple had been to the wedding on Saturday. The guy was Sierra’s cousin or something like that. So that meant they were here for a hearty farm breakfast, too. “On second thought, Finnley, I think we’ll just have toast in our house.”
Whoever that woman was, Allison wanted to stay clear. She reached for her nephew’s hand, and he edged closer to Brent. “Finnley. Come now.”
The little guy’s lip quivered. He glanced at Brent, who nudged him forward.
Allison grabbed her nephew’s hand and all but dragged him back into the duplex. When she shut the door, he slumped against it, his face buried in his drawn-up knees.
She crouched in front of him. “Finnley, you must listen to me. Not Brent. I’m your auntie, and Brent is just…” Just what? Just the construction guy? Not hardly.
Finnley sniffled.
Impatience rolled over Allison. Something was going on out there. Something she wanted to hear, and yet didn’t. The kitchen window was open a few inches. Maybe she could hear from there. And if she didn’t like what she heard, she could turn on the blender or something.
“I hated you for a long time, Brent.”
What? Allison leaned on the counter, closer to the window.
“It was my fault as much as yours, of course. But I was the one who was pregnant.”
The room swam. Allison couldn’t have stopped eavesdropping if she tried.
“I’m sorry.” Brent’s voice. Quiet. Sincere.
“I-I had an abortion. I couldn’t handle the thought of bringing a child into this world. Into my world.”
Silence for a moment. If only Allison could see their faces. Especially Brent’s.
“I’m sorry.” His voice broke.
“It was through that experience I found Jesus. I’ve been praying for you ever since, asking God to help me find you again to tell you I forgive you. To tell you that He forgives you, too.”
“Thanks, Gina. That means a lot to me. I became a Christian about four years ago. God has forgiven me so much.”
Allison’s head buzzed. She clutched at the faucet to keep her upright. Water poured into the sink. She fumbled with the handles to make it stop.
“I’m so glad to hear that, Brent. Parker and I have been married almost two years now. He’s helped me to get over the past. He’s stood by my side even when it’s become apparent I’ll never conceive. The abortion…” Gina choked on her words. “The abortion messed up my insides, the doctors say. I’ll never have children. If I’d only known.”
Soothing murmurs came from the other man.
“I-I don’t know what to say.” Brent’s words were so quiet Allison strained to hear them. “I’m sorry. I wish I could undo those years in Denver. The drinking, th-the drugs, everything.”
Those years? The what? How long had Brent and this Gina…?
“I know I wasn’t the only one, Brent. I knew it then.”
Even worse. He’d preyed on women. Allison’s legs threatened to give out. Only her elbows planted firmly on the counter beside the sink supported her.
This could not be happening. That woman outside. Brent’s quiet voice responding. It was all a bad dream. Right?
He’d said he wasn’t good enough for her. Was this what he’d been talking about? Maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. How far did forgiveness go, anyway?
What Allison had meant to tell Brent — but not anymore — was in a different category altogether. She’d been a victim, not a perpetrator. Brent was no better than Lori. Than John.
The expression on Brent’s face as he looked at Finnley filled Allison’s mind. The ways they looked alike. The fact he’d been in Denver four years ago and more. So had Lori.
No.
Her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. Allison slid to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and wept.
* * *
The delivery truck bearing windows rumbled down Thompson Road before Gina gave Brent a hug. Then Parker shook his hand with a look containing more respect than the derision Brent knew he deserved. Parker slipped his arm around Gina’s waist as the pair made their way over to the big house.
Brent glanced at Allison’s duplex behind him as the big truck’s air brakes stopped the vehicle on the driveway. His gut writhed like a den of snakes. How much had she heard? He hadn’t missed the sound of water running just beyond that open window.
He had to assume she’d heard everything.
The passenger window slid down and the driver leaned across. “Callahan? Where you wanting these windows?” He jerked his thumb at the farm school. “There? Your old man said there were two jobs at this address.”
Brent pointed out the driveway wending up the hill. “You can’t miss it.”
“I ain’t offloading these by myself, Callahan.”
He needed to talk to Allison. “Two of my crewmembers are up at the site. They�
��ll give you a hand.”
The guy shook his head. “Could use all hands on deck. Many of them are a two-man job.”
“I’ll be right there.” He couldn’t resist a glance at Allison’s door, firmly shut against him. It wasn’t like she’d talk to him, anyway. It might be ten times worse if he didn’t make an attempt right now, but the starting point was so horrible it didn’t take a magnitude of ten to be a no-go. He had to try, though. Find out what she’d overheard.
He waved the driver up the hill. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” The truck pulled ahead and Brent turned to the door. Lord? I could really use some help here. Please help Allison to understand… To understand what? That it wasn’t as bad as Gina had said? It had been every bit as bad, and worse. He hadn’t known about Gina’s abortion until today. He hadn’t known about Mallory’s son until a few months ago.
It was almost better, knowing. God, I know You’ve forgiven me. I hold to that fact. If Allison is the right girl for me to commit to for the rest of our lives, please straighten this horrible mess.
He knocked on the door. No one answered. “Allison? May I talk to you?”
“Go away.” The muffled words came through the open kitchen window just a few feet to his right.
Yeah, she’d heard. She’d added enough things up. “Allison, please.”
The door opened, but she wasn’t there. Brent’s gaze dropped to the sad little boy peering through a crack at him. “She crying.”
Should he take Finnley’s words as an invitation to enter? Brent crouched down to his son’s eye level. “I’m sorry.” He’d been saying that a lot — and meaning it. “You tell Auntie Allison that the men came to bring the windows for your new house, okay? I have to go and help them unload the truck, and then I’ll come back and talk to her.” Right. The boy barely strung three whispered words together. Like he was going to pass along that whole message.
He reached out and smoothed Finnley’s shock of black hair. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, squirt.”
Dandelions for Dinner (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 4) Page 18