by Lainey Reese
Andie looked over the shoulder of the man carrying her toward the grave one last time and felt nothing but contempt for herself over the years that she'd let go by without visiting. It had been selfish and careless of her to just assume he would be there forever and that the phone calls and presents she sent him were a good enough substitute for seeing him in person.
With a pitiful sniffle she would have been ashamed of had she been thinking straight, Andie tucked her head into Luke’s neck, rested her cheek on a shoulder that felt like it was made of iron, and soaked up the warmth that poured from his body like a furnace. She would have thought the heat pumping off him was from the exertion of carrying her, but his breathing was steady and even. Also, the arms that bared her weight as though she were a toddler were as stable and solid as the rest of him.
If this had been any other circumstances and any other man, she would have been flustered and starstruck by the romance of the gesture. Instead, it was buried under too many layers of grief and guilt to register.
"Are you going to the reception in the hall or should we head to the parking lot?" he wanted to know.
"Is the reception here? I thought it was going to be at someone's farm?" She sniffled and asked, "Have you known Uncle Wally long?"
"Yeah." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before adding, "My farm butts up against his." More throat clearing. "I'm sorry 'bout this. I know he loved you. Talked about his city dwelling niece constantly."
When she cracked and started bawling again at that, he faltered for the first time, and she squeaked when he about dropped her. The “sorry” they mumbled to each other was almost comical.
"I should have come home sooner. I should have been here." It was a dejected confession of misery begging for absolution.
Absolution that would not come from here apparently, as his response to that was a terse "Yes. You sure as hell should have." And then he dumped her unceremoniously on her feet at the edge of the paved parking lot then turned on his heel and strode for a beat-up truck without even one backward glance. The gangly teen trailing him glanced back several times though, with wide eyes that were swollen and red, and once they got to the truck, he mouthed, I'm sorry, before he climbed in and they drove away.
Three days later, Andie was sitting on her uncle's beat-up sofa with his executor as he laid out the breadth and scope of what Uncle Wally left behind. He left her parents nothing. Everything he owned was now hers, and, Wow, Andie thought, he owned a lot.
"I never knew he had so much. I mean, I knew he had the farm and that the fruit trees brought in enough income for him to live, but holy cow. How can this be right? He was rich."
"He was wealthy and comfortable but not what some would consider rich. Certainly, if you’re careful and frugal, you will not have to work for the rest of your life if you so choose. He wanted that for you. To have security and to be taken care of. He loved knowing he was leaving you well off. It was his first and only concern during our appointments.
"Now then," he continued as he pulled out a new folder that was stuffed with what looked like a billion papers all tagged with a rainbow of Sign Here and Initial Here stickers. "I've got the contracts and the deed of sale all filled out with Mr. Baxter’s offer—which, by the way, is reasonably over the appraised value of the property—and with your consent, I can roll those funds into an annuity for you that is offering a considerable guaranteed minimum interest that will go a long way toward securing your future."
"Whoa." Andie held up her hands and sat back against the couch as though distance from that file would make it not real. "Sell the farm? Is that what you just said? Is that what Uncle Wally wanted me to do?" Fresh tears that never seemed to be more than a blink away these days filled her eyes. "That can't be right. It just can't."
"Well, umm…." Mr. Blake looked a little flustered and ruffled now. He was handsome and approachable, since he shed his expensive jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. He had on a white dress shirt that he rolled the cuffs of and shoved up to his elbows. There was a mass of tattoos on his right arm. The sleeve of tats was in such contrast to his professional manner it was a pretty clear indication he was a bad boy gone straight. Although he'd left off wearing a tie, he did wear a steel-gray vest that hugged close to his leanly muscled torso.
In what she thought was a very lawyerly move, he set the folder down and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees with his large hands clasped in front of him. He took a moment to study her, and she could tell he was trying to figure out what to say that wouldn't send her into hysterics.
Andie looked into eyes that were a beautiful hazel swirl surrounded by thick, dark lashes and told herself to pull it together. In order to accomplish that, she let her gaze wander over his face. Jaxon “Please just call me Jax” Blake has great bones, she thought. He had a strong brow that stopped just shy of being too prominent, an unbroken nose that flared just a little at the nostrils, and a square jawline that made her think of strength. Strength of character and will as well as physical. The man had almost feminine lips; they were full and looked so soft right now as he studied her. Jax smiled at her a lot since he'd gotten here, and his teeth were just the tiniest bit crooked. She realized she found that sexy as hell, because it kept him from being too pretty and perfect. She also liked that he wasn't imposing and overly businesslike, as he'd worn jeans and black leather Dockers instead of dress slacks and tasseled loafers.
All in all, he was an entirely appealing man, and Andie gave a wistful sigh that she was meeting him under these circumstances instead of socially. She wouldn't mind at all dancing with him and tangling her fingers in that thick wavy hair to find out if it was as silky as it looked.
"Andie," he interrupted her perusal; looked like her mini reprieve was at an end. "You don't have to sell. The farm and everything on it are yours. But, you haven't been here for years, and the upkeep and work it takes to maintain this place is substantial."
"But—" Tears threatened again, and Andie cleared her throat and plunged on. "—Uncle Wally loved this land. This house. It was his life; it meant everything to him." She looked around at the familiar and beloved room with furniture that hadn't been updated for thirty years and wood floors that gleamed not from polish but years of constant wear, and she couldn't even imagine strangers moving in and changing things. "How could he think I would let it go? My whole life, he talked about me being here, taking over where he left off. I just don't understand why you even have that folder with you."
He twined his fingers together so it looked like a two-fisted grip on a gun with pointer fingers making the muzzle and his thumbs made the hammer, and then he brought them up and rested his chin on the thumbs. Those almost-too-full lips pressed against the “muzzle” as he studied her with a Clint Eastwood squint to his eyes.
After a moment, he lowered his hands and spoke words that were hard to hear. But then, the truth was rarely easy on the ears. "You're right. Your uncle wanted you to live here, raise your kids here, and leave it to them the way he was leaving it to you. He never complained about you disappearing on him or talked about what it did to him when he realized you wouldn't be taking up where he left off." His eyes seemed to pierce right through her heart as he continued.
"I have known your uncle for most of my life, and he was the first through my door when I started my firm here. I can tell you with absolute confidence that this—" He held up the folder to motion at her with it. "—is not what he wanted, but rather what he thought you wanted." He tossed it back onto the worn and ancient coffee table and waved a dismissive hand over it as he set back in his chair. "He only made these arrangements, because he thought it would make things easier on you to have it all said and done beforehand. But, before you go and wallow in guilt, think about it this way. He could have made the sale final, could have set everything up so all you got was the check after the fact. He didn't though; he left the sale up to you. So, maybe that was his last spark of hope. Your last chance to dec
ide if you are going to follow his dream or follow yours."
"See?" She pounced on that with a bounce in her seat and even jabbed a finger in his direction. "That's where you got it wrong. This house. The farm. This is my dream. It always has been; that never changed." The guilt was choking her that Wally hadn't known she never lost sight of what was important to both of them.
"I know what you're thinking," she told him with a quaver in her voice. "I didn't mean to stay away so long. I just got so caught up in my work and my life, and it was so far away from here. It's expensive to live in a big city, and it never seemed like there was enough money to take time away from work, let alone the money for a ticket. Before you say what I can tell you are going to say, I know he would have sent me the money for a ticket, but I couldn't ask him for it. I never wanted to let him know things were as hard as they were."
He considered her for a long, quiet moment with eyes so intense she swore there was weight to his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was warmer than it had been since he walked in the door. "He would have helped you. He would have done more than spring for a ticket, but I think you know that." His head tilted to the side, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "I think that's probably why you didn't tell him. He talked a lot about your stubbornness and your hardheaded pride. I guess he knew you well."
"Yeah." She smiled a little herself and used the corner of her sleeve to wipe away the tears. "He sure did. Better than anybody in the whole world. Sometimes I think he's the only one who ever knew me at all."
With a small burst of efficient energy, Jaxon pushed to the edge of his seat and started arranging folders with decisive movements as he spoke. "All right then. No sale. This folder goes in the shredder as soon as I get back to the office." He stuffed it into his briefcase then took out three other folders to replace it. "Now, since you are keeping the place, there is a whole list of topics we have to cover instead. For starters, the pruning of the fruit trees needs to be completed, and the brush needs to be gathered and burned. Then you have to decide on fertilization; your uncle didn't like the last company he hired out to do it, so he was in the process of finding a new one. You also need to get someone in here to sheer the sheep. Wally was putting that off, and now you are running the risk of being late…"
And on and on he went. Andie thought her mind was going to explode with all the information he dumped on her. Everything from managing the money and hiring field hands to waste disposal and burn days. It was so overwhelming that she was sure she had already forgotten more than two-thirds of what he told her by the time he finally packed up his fancy briefcase and headed for the door.
"Look." He paused and turned to look at her on the wide, weather-beaten porch. His gaze was no longer coolly professional; now it was warmed with concern and—unless grief had knocked her way off her game—interest. "I'm going to be here for you. This is a lot to take on, and I will help in any way I can. Just take it one step at a time." He smiled as he shrugged into his jacket, and Andie couldn't help but notice how defined his muscles were when his shirt and that already snug vest were pulled taught over his chest. "So, the first step for you is getting a hired hand in here to help you with the day-to-day stuff. The neighbor kid Logan is a good fit for that. He's been helping out around here off and on for most of his life, so he knows the animals and what needs to be done. His number is on the chalkboard by the kitchen phone."
"Okay," she agreed, since he seemed to be waiting for her compliance before he left. "On the chalkboard."
"Word of warning for you though. His father is the one who was set on buying this place, so I can't imagine he's going to be thrilled you've decided to stay."
"Oh." She felt a weight sink into her tummy like a lump of cold oatmeal. "He's going to be mad, isn't he? Do you think it's all right to offer his son the job then?"
"Sure it is." He gave her a baffled look. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, if he's bound to be upset at not getting the place, doesn't it stand to reason he'll think I'm being insensitive or rude? Like I'm rubbing his nose in what he can't have?"
The man just squinted at her in that universal way all men seemed to do when faced with a thought based on emotion from a woman. Looks like the hot executor was just a man after all.
"Umm," he hedged, still squinting, "yeah, I think you still should. He's a good kid, and his dad would probably take it worse if you didn't hire him on, since he'd practically been the hired hand here anyway."
"Good point. Okay, I'll do that then." She nodded, relieved to have a positive way to look at the situation.
"First thing." One last squint, and then he turned that Clint-like stare out onto the property spread before them. "From the looks of this place, I'd say they've been coming over here every day already. Put my mind at ease and call as soon as you get in the house. Deal?" When he turned back to look at her again, his expression eased to an encouraging smile when she nodded and promised she would do just that.
As Andie watched the handsome Jaxon Blake slide smoothly into his classic red convertible, she wondered why a man with his looks and skill had chosen to open shop in such a small backwater town as this. Surely, from what she'd seen of him so far, he could have made a killing in a big city. So, why was he hiding out in the sticks?
"Oh well." She shrugged to herself. "Not my business. Time to tend to what is." Then she marched back into the house and straight for the kitchen phone, so she could make that promised first step.
Chapter 3
"What the hell do you mean she's not gonna sell?" Luke was sure he missed a step somewhere; he just couldn't see where.
"I mean," Jax told him in a voice way too calm and serious for this to be a joke, "that Wally's niece has decided to keep the farm."
"No." Luke thought his head was going to explode with this news on top of everything else that had gone wrong lately. "No fucking way. That woman hasn't bothered to drag her ass down here for eight years, and now, after all this time, she decides to go Green Acres on me?" They were in Luke’s barn, since Jax had shown up when he was mucking out the stalls and Luke saw no reason to stop working just because the overpaid pansy stopped by to chat. Luke snatched up the pitchfork he set aside and squeezed so hard on the worn wooden handle he was a little surprised it didn't splinter into toothpicks. Then, because killing the messenger was not a viable option, he decided to take his frustration out on the work instead.
He stabbed into the soiled filth lining the floor of the stall in front of him, skewered a hefty chunk of it, and flung the weighty load in the direction of the wheelbarrow. When a large collection of horse apples missed the barrow and plopped onto Jax's shoe, he considered it poetic justice.
"Nice, asshole." Jax shook off his foot without blinking an eye. "Real nice. And this, after I go out of my way to come over here and tell you the news in person. I see common courtesy is still a waste of effort on you."
Luke shrugged. "What did you expect from me? Tea and fucking crumpets?" By the time the next forkful flew the dapper Dan was smart enough to have already moved clear of its trajectory.
"Yeah, I guess I forgot who I was talking with for a minute there." He made his way over to the opening of the stall Luke was mucking and leaned a shoulder against the chewed and time-worn beam. This was Milly's, and the mare chewed on wood more than any horse Luke had ever known, and that was saying something. It was like the damn horse was trying to eat her way to freedom.
"Look at it this way," Jax continued, breaking into Luke's thoughts. "There's no guarantee she’s going to be able to make a go of this. Like you said, she's been a city girl for too long." He looked over his shoulder as if he expected someone to be eavesdropping. Who did he think was going to be blabbing their conversation, Pansy the milk cow? "Between you and me? I give her less than a year. She's soft, Luke. And sweet. Her heart is broken, and she's only doing this out of guilt. She's got enough grit in her to see the farm through the spring and summer, but the first hard winter up here is gon
na knock her on her ass. Mark my words."
Luke considered that for a moment. If that were the case, it wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
"Are you sure she's not just holding out for more money? Or got a buyer set up through some city realtor up wherever the hell she's from? Should we up my offer?"
"No." Jax’s voice and face were all stern business now. "On all counts, no. She honestly wants to make a go of it. If you ask me, she's doing a little self-imposed penance. Just hang tight. She's bound to snap out of this sooner rather than later, and then you're in."
Jax looked at him with a critical eye. "Unless you alienate her that is."
"What the hell are you talking about now?"
"You. You've got the charm of a rattlesnake. And that's when you're on your best behavior. Do yourself a favor and stay away from her as much as possible if you expect her to sell to you when she's ready to bail. If she gets a load of you and your winning ways, she may dig in her heels and stay if for no other reason than to keep the farm out of your grouchy-ass hands."
"You're a funny guy, you know that?" Luke shook his head at Jax while he envisioned impaling him with the business end of his pitchfork. "Why don't you take your show on the road? You and Jeff Dunham could pack the house. Of course, he has puppets. You got any puppets to go with your act? Oh wait. I forgot. You're usually the one with something stuffed up your ass and talking as someone else's mouthpiece, not the other way around." His hands waved in agitation as he advanced, and it gave him a gratifying surge of pleasure to see the other man dodge and weave. He knew Jax was only doing it to avoid the small amount of debris that was flinging off his gloves, but it was gratifying all the same. "I know, you can combine your acts and just go on as one of his. You ask me, I always thought you looked a lot like Peanut anyway. It's perfect."