CHAPTER
31
TREVOR UNLOADED THE RENTED CHAIRS along with the equipment Evelyn had ordered for their big farm dinner tomorrow night.
He welcomed the busywork, but he knew at any moment she could walk out of the bungalow and he’d have to put on a familiar mask and pretend he hadn’t been reliving the previous night’s events over and over in his mind.
He’d done the right thing, but he hadn’t wanted to, and that was the part that had him tied up in knots.
So here he was, trying to occupy his mind with work. He needed the distraction of hauling handmade tables from the wood shop to the white barn. Anything to keep his mind from wandering back to the way Evelyn’s body felt pressed against his.
Around nine, he’d seen Gigi leaving the little bungalow. He kept his head down in hopes she wouldn’t talk to him, but he should’ve known better. She’d spotted him near the stables, hopped in her car, and drove in his direction.
“This dinner is going to be a huge success,” she said with a smile. “Are you warming to the idea of opening your farm to your community?”
Trevor took his hat off and rubbed the top of his messy head. “Do I have a choice?”
The woman had squinted in the morning sun. “Of course not.”
He shrugged. “Guess I’ll warm then.”
She eyed him, suspicion on her face. “I hear you’re quite the hero, Mr. Whitney.”
So Evelyn did remember. His heart dropped. He’d been holding out hope she wouldn’t.
“Ma’am?”
“Don’t ma’am me. My dear friend Dylan Landry told me what happened last night.”
Landry. What a bigmouth. “Not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
She’d leaned toward him then, arm on the car door. “You’re a good man, Trevor. I suspect Evelyn thinks so too, though it will likely take some time for her to admit it. What with your pretending to be crabby and all.”
Trevor put his cap back on his head and wished Gigi would drive away. He wasn’t pretending. Everyone knew he was crabby.
But she kept talking. “Awful good friend you are.”
Something about the way she hung on the word friend gnawed at him. “Just don’t want to see her get hurt, Mrs. Monroe.”
Gigi nodded. “That makes two of us.” She smiled. “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Whitney, if I don’t see you before. And please leave that ratty old ball cap in the house.”
After she’d gone, he glanced at the guesthouse. He should go talk to her, make sure she was okay, but he didn’t. That was when the truck pulled up—perfect timing, it seemed to him.
He knew he could stay busy for hours around the farm, even after the unloading was finished, and that might be just what he needed to do to keep his mind off Evelyn and the way her arms felt around his neck.
By noon, in spite of her resolve, Evelyn still hadn’t worked up the courage to talk to Trevor. She stared at her sketches. So many ideas had poured out of her—ways to make the Whitney Farms Dinner Night not just tasty, but memorable. As if by instant download, she’d sketched an entire layout and design, right down to the white lights in the barn.
If she had any hope of turning the sketches into a reality, she needed Trevor’s help.
But every time she approached the front door, something stopped her.
Shame.
She began to weigh her options. Was there somewhere—anywhere—else she could go to disappear for a while?
Her parents lived in Texas, and while getting out of town had some appeal, staying with them did not. As it was, she’d already endured a gut-wrenching phone call from her disapproving mother, outlining all the reasons she needed to reconcile with Christopher.
“We don’t believe in divorce, Evelyn,” her mother had said. “Your father is just so disappointed in you. Especially since we didn’t think you were mature enough for marriage in the first place. Then, once you did get married, you left him at the first sign of trouble.”
She’d hung up, regretting that she’d called them back and determined not to ask for their help. No matter what.
Gigi had a sewing room that she’d offered to turn into a guest room, but her house was small and cramped. And with the exception of the awkward tension she felt knowing Whit was close by, she’d grown to love that bungalow. It was more like home than anywhere she’d ever lived.
Besides, she couldn’t walk out on Whitney Farms now. Not with these beautiful sketches vying for her attention. More than anything, she wanted to make the event a huge triumph. Not just for Trevor, but for herself.
She hadn’t felt that kind of purpose in years, if ever.
She was walking a circle in the entryway, inching toward the window and hoping for a glimpse of Whit, when a knock on the door made her gasp. Panic washed over her.
He’d come to reprimand her, she was sure. And she deserved it. She would take her lumps like a compliant child, apologize, and move on. Even if he’d decided it would be better for her to find somewhere else to live.
She opened the door, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she stared at Whit’s work boots. They were dirty.
“Hey.”
She gave a slight nod, bracing herself for his disgust.
“Wanna see something cool?”
She frowned, then finally dared to look at him. He wore the expression of a boy who’d just created a working volcano in the garage.
“Get your boots.”
That was it? No lecture about her poor choices or inappropriate behavior? He was just going to be okay after what she’d done?
She tugged on a pair of rubber boots—a gift from Lilian after one particularly muddy day of weeding. She still smiled when she saw them. With their charming cow design, they were more “her” than anything else in her wardrobe.
She stepped out onto the porch and inhaled the warmth of the day. Summer held on and it was hot, but something about the way the sunlight hit her face as she followed Trevor into the yard filled her up from the inside.
When he didn’t turn toward the wood shop, she paused. “Where are we going?”
“Back here. Come on.”
She looked beyond him toward the pasture where the cattle grazed. “Cows aren’t really my thing.” Cute on boots. Pretty intimidating in real life.
He turned and looked at her. “Don’t be such a baby. They’re harmless.”
She scowled. “They’re really big, Whit. And their eyes creep me out.”
“Fine. Suit yourself,” he said, that challenging look on his face. “But you’re missing out.” He kept walking.
The mountains painted the perfect backdrop to the field, and a small creek ran crooked through the ground. She hesitated for several seconds until finally she decided she wanted to know what it was that he found so cool. What it was that he had to share, even after the humiliation of the night before.
She jogged until she caught up with him. In the distance, one lonely cow lay near a tall bed of grass.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s in labor.” Whit put a hand in front of Evelyn and she stopped moving.
“Should we call a vet?”
He shook his head. “Only if she runs into trouble. Otherwise, she’s got this.”
“By herself?”
He glanced at Evelyn. “She’s strong.”
Evelyn turned her attention to the cow as they approached. She moaned.
“I’m not sure I can watch,” Evelyn whispered. “I’ve never seen anything being born before.”
Trevor’s face warmed into a soft smile. “It’s miraculous.”
The cow had separated herself from the rest of the herd. She knew somehow she needed to be alone in that moment, and Whit was right—she was strong.
Her name, Whit said, was Jasmine, and the poor girl seemed uncomfortable. Who could blame her? She was about to give birth. Evelyn watched as Trevor spoke in soft tones to “his girl.” Everything he did let her know she wasn’t alone.
“You’re good with her,” Evelyn said, maintaining a healthy distance.
Trevor stroked the cow’s head. “She’s a sweetheart.”
Evelyn laughed. “Maybe this is why you’re still single.”
His grin radiated shyness. “Could be.” He propped himself up on his knees and checked out the cow’s backside.
Evelyn turned away. She didn’t know if she had the stomach to actually watch this process, and yet something about it held her attention. She found the whole scenario—the sunlight, the pasture, the cattle, Whit—peaceful.
“We haven’t always had animals on the farm, you know.” Trevor stood. “But they’re my favorite part of farming.”
“Because they don’t talk back, probably.” Evelyn crossed her arms.
“Probably.”
She laughed, but it felt wrong to joke with him right now. When things were so upside-down.
“Whit, I—”
“Hey, can you kneel over here?” Trevor glanced up. “I think she might need some help.”
How he knew this, she didn’t understand, but she did as she was told despite her fear of this oversize beast.
She glanced at Whit, who tended to Jasmine with the care of a concerned father, a role she hadn’t seen him play. She’d expected his brutal judgment, but he’d said nothing to her about the way she’d behaved.
Evelyn stayed close as Jasmine demonstrated her strength over and over again, never giving up. That sweet mama cow did what she had to, and about an hour later, a tiny calf emerged and staggered to his feet, looking like Evelyn felt—dazed and confused.
Her life had become something she didn’t recognize, and in her sadness, she’d decided it was a good idea to turn herself into the very thing she despised. Still making small compromises that conflicted with the instincts she’d been ignoring for years.
How had she gotten so far off track?
She watched the baby steady himself. He was fuzzier than she expected and maybe even kind of cute. Trevor, still on his knees, gave Jasmine a bit more attention, but there was a certain pride on his face that made Evelyn smile.
He was one of a handful of people in the world who hadn’t completely abandoned her, and she’d gone and messed it up. Surely he felt the tension between them.
“You must be disappointed in me.” Evelyn stood and brushed dirt from her jeans.
He squinted at her. “Why?”
Her inhale was long and slow. “I’m sorry about last night.”
Whit got up, his vintage-wash red T-shirt clinging to his chest and showing every muscle built from hours of hard work. She braced herself for the piece of his mind he was about to give her.
But he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s all you have to say to me?”
“I have a really bad short-term memory.” He smiled. “But I do know we missed lunch, so do you want to go eat something?”
She watched as he patted Jasmine one more time. “Good job, mama.” Then he turned to her. “Turkey and cheese? Or are you more of a peanut butter–and–jelly girl?”
She smiled. How he could think about food after what they’d just witnessed, she would never know, but she didn’t ask any questions. She had a feeling that, given the chance, she would learn many things about Trevor Whitney that weren’t at all what she thought.
And as she sat at his kitchen table, she felt compelled to find out what those things were.
CHAPTER
32
GIGI PARKED THE BUICK in the lot in front of The Paper Heart and stomped inside. The phone call that morning from Dylan Landry had been a surprise, but it wasn’t just Evelyn’s behavior she had to deal with.
“What’s this emergency meeting about, Gigi?” Ursula barked from the table in the back. “And you better be treating us to Danishes.”
Gigi nodded at Abigail, who returned the nod, then moved toward the pastry counter to accommodate their crankiest member’s tremendous appetite. Gigi joined the others at the table. “Ladies, we have a problem.”
Doris raised her hand but spoke before she was called on. “Shouldn’t we wait for Evelyn?”
“I didn’t invite Evelyn,” Gigi said.
Abigail set a tray of pastries on the table and pulled up a chair, and Ursula snatched the cheese Danish. “These are my favorite,” she said.
“Why ever not?” Doris asked. “She’s one of us.”
“Because Evelyn is part of the problem.”
Now she had their attention. She gave them the highlights of her phone call with Dylan Landry, grazing over the specifics of Evelyn’s behavior as best she could. But she should’ve known the others wouldn’t stand for vague innuendo.
“She was drinking?” Ursula winced.
“In a bar?” Tess frowned.
“With a cowboy?” Doris shook her head. “Was he cute at least?”
“Doris, that is not the point,” Gigi said. “The point is, she was hurting.”
“She’s lost,” Ursula said. “Still doesn’t have any idea who she is.”
Gigi knew Ursula was right. And if Evelyn continued down that path, she’d never find out.
“She’s been playing a part for years,” Abigail said, sipping her mocha. “Maybe we could cut her a little slack?”
“Of course we can,” Gigi said. “Slack has already been cut.”
“Did she go home with this cowboy?” Tess asked, biting into an apple fritter.
Gigi drew in a breath. “Thankfully, Dylan Landry had the good sense to call Trevor.”
Ursula’s narrow gaze zeroed in on Gigi. “Trevor Whitney?”
Gigi shrugged, nonchalant. “She does live on his property. That’s not a secret anymore. Mr. Landry was under the false impression he and Evelyn were romantically involved.”
“Trevor rescued her in the middle of the night?”
Gigi wouldn’t tell them the rest. Not about that. Not about Evelyn throwing herself at him. Not about the look she saw on Trevor’s face that morning when she questioned him about it. And certainly not about her suspicion that she had uncovered the reason for his decision not to marry all these years.
“There’s more to the story, ladies,” Gigi said, trying to get them back on track.
“More than Trevor Whitney playing the part of a knight in shining armor?” Tess asked.
“He’s such a good boy,” Doris said with a grandmotherly smile.
“Mr. Landry observed more than Trevor pulling Evelyn out of the bar,” Gigi said.
A collective frown appeared on the other four women’s faces.
“He said there was a reporter present.”
Doris gasped. “Documenting her indiscretions? Poor Evelyn.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” Gigi said, staring at the table. “She was a petite redhead with freckles on her nose.”
The other women stared at her until realization settled over them one by one.
“Maggie Lawson is the one keeping Evelyn in the news,” Gigi said.
“What did you just say?”
The voice came from behind them, and Gigi spun around in her chair, knowing she had no way of keeping this secret any longer.
“Evelyn.” Gigi stood and took a step toward her.
“Trevor’s girlfriend is the one who reported those things about me? About us?” Her eyes widened and she dropped into a seat at the table.
“I blame myself, dear,” Gigi said. “I don’t know how we missed it. We should’ve been more thorough.”
Evelyn shook her head as if replaying a memory. “She was at the courthouse. The day of the trial. It must have been her. I fell, and a woman helped me pick everything up and put it back in my purse.”
“You didn’t recognize her?” Gigi asked, retaking her seat.
“I didn’t see her face, and I’d only met her once. But after that I couldn’t find my medication. She must’ve taken my pills.”
Gigi didn’t like this
one bit. How they had attempted to match such a sweet, kind man with such a devious woman she would never understand. Maybe they had lost their touch.
“How do I tell Whit?” Evelyn looked up. “I think he really likes her.”
Gigi had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t be too brokenhearted, but she didn’t voice that just now. No sense confusing the situation even more.
“You have to tell him,” Tess said. “If his girlfriend is a liar, you owe it to him to be honest.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Evelyn said. “Not after he’s been so kind to me.”
“It will be a momentary hurt,” Gigi said.
“You can’t wait,” Abigail said. “You don’t want this thing with him and Maggie to get any more serious than it already is.”
Evelyn sighed. “I suppose that’s true. Think what kind of pain the truth could’ve saved me all those years ago.” A sadness washed over her face. “I’ll tell him, but after the dinner. I think he’s nervous.”
“And you?” Gigi asked.
“I’m excited.” Evelyn pulled a large sketchbook from her purse. “Gigi, after you left, I got some ideas. That’s why I came in, actually. Abigail, do you think you could help me decorate the barn?” She laid four sketches on the table, and the others leaned in to get a closer look.
Evelyn had clearly been inspired. She had a plan to transform that white barn into something completely beautiful.
Gigi watched as she outlined the whole idea for the rest of them, amazed by the transformation her young friend had undergone. That morning she’d been emotionally beaten and bruised, and now she was bubbling over with purpose.
It never failed to amaze her what God could do with a willing heart.
“This plan is perfect,” Abigail said. “Of course I’m in.”
“We all are,” Doris added. “I can’t wait.”
“Me neither,” Evelyn agreed. “It’s the first time I’ve felt like maybe I’m doing something special.”
“You’ve been planning events and parties for years,” Tess said. “Give yourself some credit.”
“True, but my heart was never in it, and honestly, I never felt like those kinds of events were really me. Does that make sense?” She tucked her drawings back inside her sketchbook.
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