He stormed. He brewed and crackled. He rumbled and thundered with whorls and eddies of darkness.
His eyes were locked on Chase.
But Chase watched him approach, unfazed. He took a final lazy drag of his cigarette and flicked it into the yard. “Heya, Jake. Condolences.”
“Fuck you, Patton.”
Chase put up his hands in surrender and straightened up with the fluid grace of a cat. “Come on now. You don’t want to do this today, do you?”
“Today feels like the best day to do it. If I had my way, you’d already be in your car on your way to your daddy’s house with a broken nose.”
“And since you didn’t have your way, who did?”
Neither of us answered, but I swore I heard a battle cry rattling in Jake’s chest.
“I see,” he said with that cavalier smile on his face. “Well, I think I’ll say my goodbyes.” He turned to me. “It was nice seeing you again, Olivia. Hope next time it’s under better circumstances.”
I didn’t know how to respond, and he didn’t seem to need me to. He and Jake eyed each other like wolves as Chase passed and mercifully left our presence.
I exhaled, sagging against the wall. “God, thank you for—”
“What the fuck did he want, Olivia?”
My brows drew together in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“What did he want with you?”
“Nothing. He just happened to be here when I snuck out for some air.”
“He wants you to sell, doesn’t he? He wants you to sell to his greedy daddy.”
“He talked about working together, but—”
“What did you say?” He loomed over me, everything about him accusing. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing! If I wouldn’t sell to you, why the hell do you think I’d sell to Patton?”
“Chase Patton gets what he wants. This farm. You too, if I know anything about him—and I know too much. He gets whatever he wants, and he’ll take it before you’ve even had a chance to refuse.”
“I cannot believe you,” I said, my hands shaking from fury. “I cannot believe you’d accuse me of—”
“You know better than to get in bed with the devil, Olivia. Don’t give me any more reason to fight you for this farm.”
I stood, dumbfounded, as he gave me his back and headed for the door.
With a slam, he was gone.
And I was alone once again.
7
Farmgirl
OLIVIA
I deserve a gold star.
The shower stream pinged my skin like hot little knives, but I didn’t touch the faucet. Instead, I sighed, closed my eyes, and tipped my head up.
Really, I should have made one of those adult chore charts. Do laundry? Get a star. Make your bed? Shiny little sticker. Shower? That should be worth two. Fill it up, and you get a pair of designer shoes. Not that they’d do me any good out here, but think of how pretty my closet would be.
I’d spent the last three days in bed. Chase Patton had been right about one thing—the day after the funeral had been worse. Even the rest of the wake was unbearable, the sting of Jake’s dressing-down fresh and raw. We avoided each other like a couple of south magnets, the force too great to fight. It was easy to stay away given the density of the ring of people around him. By the look he’d worn, you’d think he was trying to take a nap on a porcupine, but he stood there and listened as everyone offered their condolences. Occasionally, one of them sought me out, offered a few words, and headed away again. But few of them knew me, not after all this time. Some of them had a look in their eyes, a quiet hurt, directed at me.
I wondered how many people thought along the lines of Jake—with accusation that I’d abandoned Pop and the farm—and decided it was more than I was comfortable with.
It wasn’t long before I snuck out the back and wandered into the little patch of woods behind the houses, heels hooked on my fingers and spring grass between my toes. I found the old rope swing and sat there swaying, staring at the spot beneath my feet that had once been bald from use, now as thick as the rest. And I thought.
I thought about nothing and I thought about everything, caught in that state of static, wondering how I could feel so much and still be empty. Flickering memories fluttered in my mind, peppered with questions about my future and the future of the farm. But the threads were impossible to grasp. I stood at a nexus with innumerable paths stretching out before me. I could go one of so many directions, but I didn’t have a single hesitation about which way I wanted to go.
What I didn’t know was how far I’d make it. Not very, if Jake had anything to do with it.
With another sigh, I ran my hands over my crown, the water sluicing down the tail of my hair and to the old claw-foot tub with a slap. For three days, I’d been unable to think about anything except Pop and what we were going to do without him. But today when I woke, I knew it was time.
Can’t gain any ground if you’re flat on your back, Livi, Pop would have said.
So with a resigned sort of peace, I’d hauled myself up and taken my first shower since the funeral.
It was well past time for that one.
While I washed my hair and over-conditioned it on behalf of my curls, my mind wandered to the farm and the quandary I faced. It’d been in mild decline when I moved to New York, but at some point in the last few years, the drop-off had been dangerously steep. I didn’t know why yet, and I wouldn’t until I met with Ed, the accountant. Fluctuations in the price of milk maybe, thinning livestock, upkeep of the farm. Farmers were rarely rich folk, and farms did not run cheap. Even the slightest economic shift could have a serious impact on us.
What I did know was that we needed money. And to get money, we needed more business.
That I could do.
Once I was clean, I dried off, scrunching my hair in an old T-shirt—again on behalf of my curls. A blob of curl cream was the extent of my styling, a bonus of farm life. No blowouts, no eyeliner. There was no point in spending an hour straightening the mess that was my hair if it was going to get hay or mud or who knew what else in it. And the heifers didn’t care if I had mascara on, so why should I?
A few minutes later, I trotted down the stairs in a pair of jeans and a white V-neck in search of my boots. But on a cursory scan of my dump zones for such things, I found nothing.
“Kit?” I called, hinging at the waist to look under the coffee table. “Have you seen my boots?”
“Those pristine pink things?” she asked. “Out on the porch.”
I gave her a look. “They’re gonna get spiders in them.”
She waved a hand. “You’ll live. I cleaned the mud off them.”
“How come? They’re just going to get all mucked up again.”
“Well, I know that, but they’re so shiny and new, and I wanted them to stay that way,” she rambled, her cheeks flushing and a dish towel twisted in her hands. “Plus, you know how I am. I can’t stop doing things or …”
“I know.” We shared a long look. “I want to hug you, but I’m afraid we’ll both cry.”
At that, she laughed, tears already shining in her eyes. “Then you’d better get out of here quick.”