His chin cocked, daring me to challenge him. “I split the farm five ways.”
“What?” I shot to my feet. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Cassie has a fifth for her horse business, Adam has a fifth to do what he wants, Liam has a fifth for his interests, Della has a fifth, and you…well, you, Ren, you have a fifth, too. Just because Patty and I only gave birth to three kids doesn’t mean we don’t have five in our hearts. Our Will didn’t include you guys, and now, it does. You each have fifty acres. It’s a decision I needed to make. And it’s a decision you have to accept because I’m not changing it.”
Della started to cry beside me. “Y-you can’t do that. It’s too much.”
“No, sweetheart.” John reached across and wiped away a tear, his large hand almost smothering her entire cheek. “It’s not nearly enough. I know you and Ren will protect this farm and work it the way it’s meant to. If Adam and Liam want to sell out at some point, buy their shares and claim it for your own.” He flicked a glance at Cassie. “I know my daughter won’t be going anywhere, not now there’s help on hand with her horses, and I love that Chip has entered the family business by running the books. I have no doubt between all of you, you’ll make this land earn its keep ten times over.”
I’d gone silent.
Words had vanished.
Anger twisted with guilt and fired into rage.
Della shook her head. “But it’s not fair Ren and I get a piece each. Just give us one.”
“No. You were two people before you became one. It’s already drawn up.” Sliding a stapled together document, he smiled. “See? You’re listed as my inheritors, but the farm is officially yours now. I want to retire and enjoy my grandbabies. I don’t want to be up at dawn anymore, but I also don’t want to leave this place. You’re allowing me to stay while doing all the hard yards for me.”
I still hadn’t said anything.
Didn’t know how.
Didn’t know if I wanted to yell, kill him, or burst into goddamn tears.
He’d not only given me land but a future I’d been desperate to give to Della. He’d provided for us when that was my job.
It felt like charity.
It felt like a slap in the fucking face.
Did he do this because I was dying?
Did he do this because he thought I couldn’t give Della what she deserved?
My temper steadily grew until John looked up and made eye contact with me.
And he knew.
He knew what I struggled with because despite not being my true father, we were more alike than we thought.
“I’m not stupid, Ren. I know what you’re thinking. You think I did this because of your diagnosis—”
“You don’t know a thing about me—”
“Wrong.” He stood, squaring off with me. “I know what it’s like to love someone so much your only wish is to keep them safe. I know what it’s like to fear their future if you’re not in it. I know what it’s like—” His voice broke, and his fists balled before he growled. “I know what it’s like to face a future without the person you love, and it’s so hard, Ren.”
I vibrated with the urge to hit him.
He made me feel weak and wanting. Made me feel selfish for dying before I’d provided for Della—that I wouldn’t be able to pave her future the best I could so she could walk safely ahead without me.
I was sad for him for losing Patricia.
Of course, I was.
But our situations were entirely different.
“I don’t need your charity, John,” I hissed. “I don’t need you putting words in my mouth—”
“No, you need to accept that this isn’t about you. It has nothing to do with you and has everything to do with love. I love you, Ren. And knowing what you’re going through, it cuts me up inside. Out of anyone, you did not deserve this. You didn’t deserve any of it. Not when you were a kid and not now.”
My nostrils flared; my teeth grated together. “I’ll survive. I always do.”
“I know that. But I also know that love can be as much of a destroyer as it can be a gift. I didn’t do this out of charity. I did it because you deserve it. You and Della. And I did it for me because I want you here. I don’t want you to leave again. I want my farm looked after for years to come.
“But I’m also realistic that eventually, you won’t be able to work the fields anymore. Your energy levels will mean you’ll have to hire people. It’s a responsibility and one that will be yours until your dying day. That isn’t charity, Ren. That’s reality, and I’m giving it to you, knowing you can cope with it.”
His gaze fell on Della, who stood taut and stressed, watching us scream at each other. “I’ll be beside you every step of this, Della. Ren has the hard part of battling this disease, but you have the hardest part by being left behind. I miss Patty every day. And I would never put that on anyone, especially someone so young.”
Della broke into tears, running into his arms.
I couldn’t move.
Glued to the floor.
Confused and lost and howling.
I would never be prepared to say goodbye to Della and leave her alone like Patty had left John. I wished I could take back my wish to die before her and man up and take that agony on her behalf.
She had the worst part of this.
Her pain wouldn’t stop like mine on my dying day.
Her pain would continue, year after year, forever.
Fucking hell.
The urge to vomit prickled my skin with heat.
The diabolical, unchangeable, grief-stricken knowledge that I couldn’t change any of this.
I couldn’t stop it.
I couldn’t refuse it.
None of this was new.
But, somehow, John had made it all so much more real.
I was trapped inside a body that had condemned me, and as much as I raged and begged for a solution—any solution—I wouldn’t get free of my fate.
I clenched my jaw as caustic tears stung my eyes.
Yesterday, I’d married Della and felt as if my world was complete. Today, I wished she’d never met me so I could protect her—like I was born to protect her—and never break her heart this way.
I could call every specialist. I could research every study. I could try every drug, treatment, and experiment, hoping, always hoping, praying, threatening, bribing, selling my soul for a chance…one chance…but eventually…
Eventually, Della would be on her own.
And I’d be screaming in the void, yelling in perpetuity, pounding on the veil of this world and the next, desperate for Della to hear me. For her to know I might have gone, but I would never leave her. I would haunt her. I would be beside her when she slept and next to her when she moved on.
I would be there always because I couldn’t accept anything less.
John looked over Della’s head, his arms tight around her.
He followed where my thoughts had spiralled and gave me the saddest smile. A smile that said he understood. That he’d hold my wife when I was gone. That he would protect her when I couldn’t.
He nodded. He vowed. He made me grateful as well as furious.
Then John’s face slipped from understanding into the authoritative I-don’t-take-any-shit farmer I knew. His voice was harsh and hard and almost cold in its delivery. “You will accept this, Ren. You will be happy about this.”
I didn’t know if he spoke about his oath to protect what was mine, the inevitability of my death, or the land he tried to stuff into my hands.
“This is merely a gift from one man to his son and daughter.” John’s temper simmered. “I’m not stepping on your toes or doubting that you can make a fortune for yourself. I’m not stopping you from living the life you want. If you don’t want it? Fine, sell it. I don’t care. Because it’s yours. You earned it fair and square every day you broke sweat toiling in those meadows. You earned it the day you proved what a great kid you are. So don’t you da
re argue with me on this. Don’t you motherfucking dare.”
His voice broke again before he let Della go and grabbed another piece of paper. With a huff, he threw the document across the table to me. “Oh, and before you say anything, this is also for you.”
I caught the fluttering piece of paper mid-air. My hands shook as I scanned the form and the rage, despair, and absolute dread at facing a future I didn’t want disappeared.
My temper exploded in a bomb of gratitude.
Gratitude I didn’t know how to stop, show, or share.
“Fuck,” I grunted as I stroked the headline from the local building authority, approving a residential dwelling to be erected on the newly subdivided land of Cherry River Farm.
A home with planning permission on the two sections belonging to Mr. and Mrs Wild.
I could hate John.
I could hate myself.
But I couldn’t hate true goodness and generosity.
Lurching around the table, I stood before his large bulk.
A cough fell from my lips.
A cough followed by another, thanks to the stress in my blood and the harsh breathing in my lungs.
And John let me cough.
He didn’t flinch or look away as if I were a walking corpse already.
He merely waited.
Father Time himself, giving me every second I needed.
And once I finished coughing, his eyes widened in surprise as I pulled him into a hug. A hug full of violence and fists and curses. But a hug, nevertheless. “Goddamn you, John,” I muttered into his ear. “Goddamn you for everything.”
He merely patted my back and said, “You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
DELLA
* * * * * *
2022
THE NIGHT REN told me he was sick, my world fell apart.
But…I also fell into something else too.
They said love had the power to make you become someone better than you were, but adversity and hardship revealed the truth about who you were at heart.
Nothing was truer than that.
I learned I had the power to say no to my tears whenever Ren coughed. I had the ability to laugh and stay light, even knowing my husband was on borrowed time.
Sadness was a part of everything we did, but we didn’t let it consume us.
We lived life like we had before—throwing ourselves into work and play and tackling everything we could.
And…there was something else.
Something I’d tripped into, thanks to Ren.
Something I didn’t figure out for an embarrassingly long time. Something that could be classed as unbelievable or just pure coincidental.
I liked to think it was the first one.
A marvel, a wonder, a phenomenon.
The fact that before Ren destroyed me, he’d made love to me, growling at the gods to impregnate me if they felt a shred of guilt for what they’d done to him.
I’d been off the pill for a week.
We’d had sex once before the forest and then multiple times afterward—thanks to getting married and ensuring we consummated the hell out of our union.
But…it didn’t change facts.
My world had fallen apart…
And, I’d fallen pregnant.
I was pregnant.
And for months, I didn’t know.
My body was used to not bleeding—thanks to being on a mini-pill which shut my cycle down. And Ren was the single most important thing on my mind; nothing else mattered.
If I wasn’t with him during the day, I was reading about trials and diet supplements at night.
If we weren’t working every hour the sun gave us in the fields, we were making love or sleeping under the stars.
I felt the same as always. I had no morning sickness, no nausea, stomach pains, breast tenderness, or food cravings.
There were no signs from before.
No hint that I was pregnant—ectopic or otherwise.
And then, John went ahead and gifted us a future that was solid and unbelievably safe, and we had even more on our minds.
One hundred acres of land.
Land with our names on it.
Land that Ren would turn into a fortune.
When I’d stood watching them argue about such a gift, I’d been pregnant.
When Ren took me to bed that night and made love to me roughly, dominantly, I’d been pregnant.
When I went with him to his next treatment and check-up with his oncologist, I’d been pregnant.
Son or daughter?
Boy or girl?
I didn’t know.
Because I didn’t even know I was knocked-up.
The news stayed secret for three and a half months.
There were no missing periods to count. No calendar days to circle. No nudges to perhaps take a test.
As the months went on, Ren and I carved out an hour here and there during the busy season to visit the bank.
The novelty of having drivers licenses—after sitting the tests—and marriage certificates never failed to bring a smile to our faces.
We weren’t illegal or unknown.
We were hard working, trust-worthy, and had assets, thanks to John.
The bank approved us for a loan to build a modest three bed, two bath house on the land John had so kindly given us.
Signing the documents—agreeing to a debt named ‘mortgage’ which literally translated to death pledge in French—we didn’t waste any time. We’d gone from forest children to mortgaged adults, and somehow, we were no longer afraid of ties or roots. We’d found our corner of the world and were perfectly content.
A week later, we’d signed with a building company that promised a full house finished and delivered in six months and broke ground a few days later.
Life sped ahead as if in apology.
The winds blew in our favour, sailing us through smooth waters after being in a storm for so long.
Even Ren’s health wasn’t as terrifying as before. Another three treatments of Keytruda, and Rick Mackenzie decided he’d reached stable condition.
Ren was taken off the three weekly appointments but kept regular check-ups.
He no longer coughed as badly, and his slight rattle was quieter at night. His body was strong and toned, his appetite big and demanding, his smile bright and pain-free.
He didn’t slow down for a moment—despite the nasty secret squatting in his lungs.
If anything, he became more physical, glowing with life and longevity.
I schooled my heart not to get too hopeful.
I begged my ears not to take the good news from doctors and twist it to believe he was cured.
Ren would never be cured.
But we had bought some time.
And we spent every second wisely.
When the diggers churned meadow to mud for the house’s foundation, Ren and I kissed with our boots in the freshly tilled dirt beneath the moon.
When we weren’t overseeing the builders creating our house, we were helping Cassie with her own construction. She’d taken her land and run with it—designing a larger barn, stables, arena, and round pen for her new equine venture.
As I’d been part of the conception and brain storming phase, Cassie asked if I’d help manage it with her. To become her partner, if I wanted, or an employee, if I preferred.
Her eyes gave another offer, too. An offer that said I’d forever have work and a way to support myself…even when Ren wasn’t there with me.
We’d hugged with tears streaming and broke apart when Ren appeared with a heavy sack of horse feed over his shoulder.
He constantly worked.
He never stopped.
He made me nervous.
Yes, his body was stable.
But, surely, he shouldn’t over-do it?
By the time I noticed what was cooking inside me, the foundations of our house were poured, the framework was up, and Ren was site foreman as well as farm ove
rseer, cracking the whip every day to ensure things ran smoothly.
Watching him stride across pastures in faded, scuffed jeans and a white t-shirt stained with toil and tractor grease, I’d never been more in love with him. When he showered away sweat and grime from a long day working, I’d never been more in lust with him.
Just because I knew an end was coming, didn’t mean I could stop loving him. And I fell even deeper when our first income poured in from a smaller paddock that we’d sold as free-standing hay—not having the time to cut and bale ourselves.
The money was more than enough to pay our mortgage payment for the next four months.
Holding that income, Ren had gone quiet, pensive, his thoughts going to that dark place where I couldn’t follow.
The place of urgency to create a world for me before it was too late.
I’d left him to his thoughts, and he’d found me as I finished riding Cassie’s warmblood Mighty Mo, then merely took my hand, and guided me to find John dozing on the deck of his farmhouse.
Ren didn’t wake him up, just merely tucked an envelope of cash into his plaid shirt pocket and smiled at me.
Ren was a proud man as well as selfless and kind-hearted.
And that pride would always be a little bruised at accepting two-fifths of Cherry River Farm.
Thanks to earning money from that gifted land, his principals meant he had to pay John his dues—a rent, a tax…a thank you.
* * * * *
“We’ll put the crib here. And we’ll paint the walls a light green, don’t you think? So he feels at home in the greenness of the forest before we take him there?” Ren spun to face me. “Good idea?”
His health.
His happiness.
His wonderment.
I laughed gently. “Great idea.”
His gaze fell on my belly that had finally shown what was camping inside it.
Six months pregnant and everything was perfect.
Finally, after seventeen weeks of being utterly oblivious to what we’d created together, I’d stood naked before Ren after a shared shower, and he’d frowned at my lower belly. Dripping wet with a towel wrapped around narrow hips, he’d prodded me gently, his eyebrows knitting together at the firmness.
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