Beverly stares at the rectangular shapes, and I can’t decide if the wheels are turning or if she’s thinking I’m crazy.
“Huh.” She snorts, turning to glance up at me. “Breakfast is ready.” Despite our silent truce, she’s been feeding me three times a day. The woman knows the way to a man’s heart. Now, if I could only figure out how to get to hers. I’d thought we were all good. Contract signed, making me a tenant, paying her rent so it felt legitimate that I could use the land. But she shut down after that. Is it the contract? Does she think that’s all I want? Does she think that’s it?
Oh, how so much has changed.
Her movement out of the room returns my thoughts to the office.
Sixty-two bars, I say to myself as I slip the one that smells like her into my pocket. My shower time just got a whole lot dirtier.
“I think Boone is still in the area,” I tell my sister as I lean against the fence, watching Lucky One and his friend, Firecrack, in the pasture after breakfast. The post before me wobbles under my weight, and I add checking fences to my list of things to do.
“Why do you think that?”
“I found a butter tub in the old house.”
Janice snorts through the phone. “Case solved, Sherlock. Mr. Crawford with a tub of butter in the kitchen.”
“Very funny,” I mock. “I hadn’t seen it before when I’d been there, and it just stood out. Too new. Too bright.” The morning after Bee slept on the cot with me, I noticed a plastic container sitting on her back steps. Not the butter tub, but another disposable bowl with a set of flowers on it, which made me think of the tub. It finally clicked what stood out to me at Hasting’s. A recyclable butter tub.
“Maybe he’s still at the house, and we’re just missing him,” Janice suggests, but we both know that’s wishful thinking. We’ve been there at odd hours to check for him, and I’d been there for days at a time removing materials from the old horse barn. He wasn’t around.
“I think I have a clue as to where he got it.” I take a deep breath and tug my ball cap from my head for a second. “I think Beverly’s feeding him.”
“Butter?” Janice squawks.
“No, silly. She made me some cookies and left them out on the back steps in the tub. I never got them. I think Boone took them. I keep seeing containers on her back porch. She’s leaving food for someone. Then when I saw the butter tub in the old house, I just put two and two together.”
“Let me get this straight. Beverly Townsen made you cookies but left them on her porch for you like a dog or something?”
“Janice,” I groan. “I was building the stables, and she set them out for a treat.” The more I think about the description, the more I realize it does sound like that.
“Let’s back up to Beverly making you cookies.” A heavy pause follows the statement. “What are you doing?” It’s a question my sister has asked almost every time we’ve spoken lately.
“She was being nice.” I brush off the kindness with nonchalance, but a smile creeps across my face.
“You know she filed for divorce, right?”
“How do you know?”
“She came to our offices. Ram is representing her.”
“Shit. You didn’t mention me, did you?” Guilt immediately knocks at my chest. I should just tell Beverly who I am and how I know her.
“Jedd, I love you, but so help me if you play with that woman’s emotions.” Another heavy pause follows her threat.
“Why do you care? Don’t you hate her for what she did to you?” I nearly snarl as I repeat my sister’s words from twenty-seven years ago when her fiancé admitted he knocked up some girl he hardly knew, trying to tell my sister the other woman didn’t mean anything to him. “It just happened,” he’d argued.
“I don’t hate her, and she didn’t do anything to me. It was all Howard.” Janice’s voice drops, an edge of sadness and sympathy in her accusation. “Besides, I got my revenge on him.”
I’m not certain what she means, but I’m relieved she doesn’t blame Beverly. If I had to make assumptions, I’d surmise an innocent girl of seventeen fell for the attention of a twenty-three-year-old man visiting the diner where she worked, and he worked his way into her pants a little too fast.
“Well, you have nothing to worry about. I’m not playing Beverly in any manner. I’m her tenant. I’m using her land. It’s all legit and legal.” The words taste bitter on my tongue especially when I mix in my thoughts of Howard. Shit.
“No side deals?” Janice drawls.
“No side deals.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Does Beverly think I’m playing her? I’ve worked hard to assure her the land is all I want, and then suddenly, I’m all eager to get in her pants. Does she think the two are connected? I swipe my hat back onto my head, like knocking some sense into myself.
“How’s her divorce going?”
“You know I can’t discuss a client with you.”
“You know you did once before. You also know I don’t want Howard showing back up. Why does there need to be a public notice?”
“This is the legal process. I understand it might feel like she’s divorced in the eyes of the community, but in a court of law, she’s still married, and she no longer wants to be bound to him.”
“And you didn’t mention me, right?”
“Jedd, not everything is about you,” she sasses me like the older sister she is.
“I know that. I just…” The words fade. If she finds out…If she connects the dots. She’ll never want me.
“You just what?” Another weighty pause. “Jedd Hudson Flemming, did you sleep with that poor woman?”
“I did not,” I can honestly answer, but I can’t say I don’t want to. Because I do. I so do. “And Jesus, you sounded like Momma there for a minute.” Janice sighs, and the exhale falls on my shoulders. “I miss her, ya know.”
“I know,” my sister agrees.
“I’m going back over to the house,” I tell her.
“Be careful, Jedd. I don’t think Boone is stable.”
“I will.” I’m not afraid of Boone, though. I’m afraid of Beverly finding out who Boone is before I find him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
[Beverly]
It’s been a few nights since Jedd moved into the house, and he’s gone over to Vernon’s for whatever reason. I try not to pry into his personal business, but he’s rather forthcoming with his plans for the future and what he’s doing with the horses. He still hasn’t turned the back pasture like he promised Hannah and me, but the soil can’t be turned until spring when the planting will be done as well. His enthusiasm for all projects is infectious—The Jedd Juncture—and sometimes I get wrapped up in the possibility of a future with him.
Then I remember Howard and note how Jedd keeps his distance. Since the near miss the other night, Jedd hasn’t tried to touch me. That night something in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to stop at just a kiss, and something in mine must have told him I wasn’t ready. Then he sent me to my room like a rejected child.
On this night, neither Jedd nor Hannah are home, and I’m taking a chance that the stranger-savior I’ve been feeding will approach my back steps even with me sitting out here. It’s a calm night despite the chill of November. Stars fill the sky, and a rare moment of appreciation settles over me. The silent night. The dark calm. The crickets and cicadas and anything else chirping after dark are hibernating by now, and I sit with a blanket over my shoulders, waiting on my nightly visitor.
He visits every evening, evident by the cooled dinner I leave for him in a plastic container and find the next morning empty of every crumb. I wish I could give him a hot meal as the nights dip cooler, but it doesn’t seem possible. I’ve watched for him, but he doesn’t appear any earlier than ten o’clock. It’s almost as if he waits until I’m asleep before he approaches. Tonight, I’m trying to fool him. The lights are off in the house except for the soft glow over the stove, which I always leave on for Hannah. No television reflections th
is evening. With making meals for Jedd, plus daily visits out to the stable, I’ve cut back on the number of times I watch Nailed or Rehab Dad. I’d say I miss my old friends, but they aren’t really friends, and life has become a tad more entertaining than the reality programs.
“Hello,” I call out when I hear a rustling on the other side of the garage. “It’s safe to come closer.” Is it, though? Is it crazy that I’m feeding a stranger every night? Hannah hasn’t noticed the missing servings, but Jedd seems suspicious.
Why is there always a plastic container on the steps in the morning?
I leave scraps for the stray cats, I lied, holding my breath waiting on Jedd to remark about lids and how a cat can’t use its paws to open the cap, but he didn’t comment.
“My name’s Beverly,” I say into the dark, not knowing for certain if he’s out there or if it’s just another creature of the night. Please don’t let it be a bear.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed the dinners. I appreciate the gifts.” Whoever he is, he’s brought me little signs of gratitude each morning. First the sunflowers. Then a container full of acorns. One time it was a package of gum, reminding me of Boo Radley from To Kill a Mockingbird. All gifts are complete with the letter B printed on a scrap of cardboard along with a drawing, mostly a buzzing honeybee or a larger bumblebee. The images have given me an idea.
“I make soap,” I say, feeling foolish speaking into the quiet night, but hoping he’s near and listening. “And I need a label for them. I can’t draw a straight line to save my life, so I was wondering if I could use your design, seeing as you sign my gifts with the letter B, and it’s the appropriate letter for my name. Plus, I like the bees you draw. It sort of represents me. Jedd says I remind him of the pollinator because I sting with my tongue.” I chuckle at the comments. First off, how wrong does stinging with my tongue sound? I haven’t done any stinging in that manner other than the kisses with Jedd. Second, I don’t think I’ve stung in a figurative manner half as much as I did a month or so ago, working hard at keeping my calm and strangely finding it isn’t taking as much work as it used to. The bee reference still fits me, though. Bees work hard. They persist and persevere. By the grace of God, I’ve done the same thing, working even harder during the past months than I have in years. Third, I’m speaking out to this bear-man as if he knows Jedd, and finally, the fact I’m speaking to this invisible stranger at all is just ridiculous.
Reaching for the railing, I use it to hoist myself upward and stand. Looking out into the vast darkness, I realize I’m just talking to myself, and I shake my head.
“Enjoy your dinner,” I say softer, letting the mountain breeze collect the words and draw them out to the mystery man. He’ll come for supper when he’s ready, I decide, and turn for the kitchen door. Stepping cautiously, one step at a time, I guide myself into the house without the use of the arm crutches. The supports rest just inside the door, and after I’ve set my arms into the cuffs, I turn back for the outdoor barrier to lock the bolt. Reaching up for the shade, I see a motion in the yard, just inside the shadow cast by the large overhead light on the front of the barn. I pause and notice the outline of something large and shaggy towering near the corner of the garage.
Holding up a hand, I place my palm on the glass as if to wave, and to my surprise, he copies the motion. I’d love to open the door and step back outside, but I understand this is for the best. We shouldn’t interact with one another. It’s safer that he’s out there, and I’m inside. In my heart of hearts, I know he’s grateful for his meals, and my chest warms because I’m happy to share them with him.
The next morning, Jedd tells me he has a surprise for me and to meet him in the barn as soon as I’m ready, but he returns almost as quickly as he left out the back door with the empty dinner container in his hand.
“There’s a piece of packaging or something with this one.” Jedd holds in his hand a panel from a food box, evidently powdered potatoes from the colorful image on one side. He inspects the solid-colored, interior flap and then flips the image, holding it up for my inspection.
“A drawing,” he notes. “Since when are cats artistic?”
Not quick enough on my feet with an answer, I reach for the imperfect piece of cardboard, noticing a sculpted capital B and a beautiful butterfly drawn within the letter. My thumb traces over the line drawing, and I slowly grin.
“Who is he?” Jedd asks, startling me as I’d almost forgotten his presence. My hand lands on my chest, my heart racing underneath my skin. The accusatory tone startles me.
I’d like to lie and tell him I don’t know who he’s talking about, but something in his narrowed eyes warns me to speak the truth, and the old Beverly revives.
“None of your business,” I snap.
Jedd’s eyes don’t shift from their pinched look, but his gaze turns momentarily out the window on the kitchen door.
“What do you know about that house out yonder? The one in the distance from the back pasture,” Jedd asks. His words come slow, hesitant as if he’s calculating what he asks.
“The old Crawford estate?” I question.
His head whips back in my direction. “Yeah, Crawford,” he mutters.
“I don’t know much, other than Ewell and the old man had some issues.”
Jedd shifts his body, swiping his ball cap off his head while he still holds the food container in his clawed fingers. “Oh yeah, like what?”
“It goes back before I was here. Seems Ewell and Crawford both loved the same woman once. Then there was some business about Crawford marrying Ewell’s little sister against Ewell’s wishes. Crawford believed he had the right to this land through the marriage. Ewell said over his dead body would he pay a dowry for a sister he considered dead. Then she died, and that added more troubles between the two farmsteads. Old Crawford remarried.” My voice lowers. “And then Howard was engaged to the daughter when I got pregnant with Hannah.”
My chest aches with the recall of standing on my-now front porch, heart in hand, head filled with hope, to discover it had all been a lie. But I couldn’t go back home unwed and with child, and Ewell saw fit that he didn’t lose his grandchild.
“I wasn’t allowed over there, and I don’t think the sister would have wanted me calling anyway after our first encounter.”
I can still recall the morphing of her face. Surprise and shock to hurt and heartbreak, then fury at Howard as she stormed off the porch for her car, and Howard chased after her, leaving me to watch.
Left behind.
Jedd doesn’t ask for clarification about Howard’s original fiancée, and I’m grateful not to recount the details for him.
“Howard won the deed in a poker game that got out of hand. He presented it to his father like a fatted calf, but Ewell was upset. I’m not certain what happened after that, other than we owned the property. The sister was gone. The parents died. The boy remained.”
“What was the boy’s name?” Jedd asks, taking a deep breath that makes his chest rise.
“I don’t recall. Bob? Tom?” I pause. “No, something unusual, but I don’t remember. I’d never met him, only seen him from afar when I’d wandered to the edge of the property once.”
I’d forgotten all about the time I ran as if I could run away. As if leaving Hannah behind was a possibility. I’d just lost a second baby, and Howard and I were fighting endlessly. I sprinted over the field to the farthest corner to hide under my favorite tree before the forest when a man around my age scared the bejesus out of me. He was kicking dirt from the other side of the large oak and swearing at something, which I soon learned was a horse running off in the opposite direction of its rider. I watched him for a while, wondering if he was friend or foe as I’d been warned about the Crawfords. I’d heard the elder had a temper, strengthened by words and an occasional fist. Heard he ran off one of his sons with his selfishness. I could have used a friend and wanted to approach the young neighbor, but Ewell rode up in his beat-up field truck, and both of us froze as i
f we’d done something wrong when we hadn’t even spoken. In fact, the surprised look on his young face told me he hadn’t noticed me as I’d noticed him.
When the rusty pickup came to a halt, dust flying in all directions, Ewell hollered for me to get in. My eyes met my unsuspecting companion, who’d been equally surprised by the intrusion of the truck. It was as if Ewell had materialized out of nowhere. As I climbed into Ewell’s beater, he cussed at the kid, telling him he wasn’t allowed to look at me, and then he turned on me.
You stay away from that Crawford boy. Them Crawfords are never up to any good, always trying to swindle deals with others. They’re bad news.
I shiver with the memory and remember thinking back then that Ewell was only looking out for me. He reminded me I was a Townsen, and Townsens and Crawfords didn’t mix. I wanted to remind him Howard had been courting their daughter, but I didn’t mention it.
“Does the kid still live there?” Jedd asks.
“Again, I don’t know. After Ewell died and Howard left, I didn’t keep up with the neighbors. I didn’t even know Howard had acquired the land until after his father’s death.”
Jedd’s brows pinch before he asks, “What do you mean?”
“Howard wanted to sell it off. Make the kid buy it back or something, but it didn’t happen.”
“Why not?” Jedd’s breath hitches with the question.
“I don’t rightly know. Just know Howard wanted to sell, and then he didn’t. He left shortly after mentioning it.”
Jedd steps up to me, setting the container on the table as he passes it. “Do you know if he sold it? Does it still belong to Townsen or someone else?” Jedd’s rapid-fire questions morph his face from edgy to angry and then panic before smoothing over into something like relief. His shoulders fall, and he lets out an exhale as he shakes his head as if he’s remembering something he forgot. Then he looks back at me. “He couldn’t have sold it.”
It’s my turn to question him. “What do you mean?”
Love in Deed: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 6) Page 22