The snarky sister nodded. “Mm-hmm,” the woman hummed before tossing him a knowing wink.
He hit the gas as he turned onto the country road that led to Muldowney Farms. Despite his determination to show Mabel that he understood what she meant when she told him he needed to accept all of her—the heels and the hats and the fashion and the farm girl that lived inside her—he still hadn’t formulated a plan to pinpoint exactly how he was supposed to prove to Mabel that he’d gotten the message—that he did love and accept every part of her.
He needed a clue. He required direction. He should have asked Betty if his horoscope had any specifics for getting the girl.
It would come to him.
He pulled up next to Elias’s truck and cut the ignition.
“What can I do to show your sister that I understand?” he whispered, talking to Jamie when Cal the Goat ran by with something pink in his mouth.
“Mabel’s goat got out!” Kenny called to him.
“I got him,” he replied, hopping out of the truck, then scooping the little creature into his arms. “What do you have there, Cal the Goat?” he asked as he removed the pink fabric from the animal’s mouth.
“I think it’s one of Mabel’s scarves,” Kenny replied. “Do you want me to put it in the house?”
Cal shook his head, then thought of his best friend, knowing that Jamie had orchestrated the goat and scarf encounter.
He needed to return the scarf to Mabel’s room. The answers he required were there. He knew it. Call it a hunch. Blame it on the stars. A force unlike any he’d ever known propelled him forward.
“No, I’ll bring it in. Can you put the goat back in the pen?”
“Sure thing, Cal,” the man answered, taking the animal from his arms.
Cal stared at the main house—a house that had been as familiar as his own. Just as he had a million times with Jamie at his side, he entered through the kitchen door and ascended the steps two at a time. His heart pounded as he headed for Mabel’s room. If there was any place that could give him a clue to get her back, it was her bedroom. He opened the door and placed the scarf on her desk when the creak of the second stair whining under the weight of another’s foot caused him to freeze.
Was she back? He inhaled a tight breath, then turned to find not Mabel but Elias standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing in here, Cal?” the man asked with a curious look in his eyes.
It was now or never—and thank God, Mr. Muldowney didn’t seem to be armed.
“I failed your daughter, and I need to make it right. You always say, what’s done is done. But I disagree. I have to do something because I love every part of Mabel—all of her.”
Elias frowned and cocked his head to the side.
Dammit! That came out completely wrong.
“I mean,” he began, “I love every part of who she is—not her body parts. But she does have an amazing body. I love everything about her body, too.”
Fucking hell!
He raked his hands through his hair. If there was an award for going out of your way to try to get shot for falling for the farmer’s daughter, he’d win first prize.
Elias entered the room, his expression giving nothing away, and sat down on the chair at Mabel’s desk. “No,” the man replied.
Cal shifted his weight from foot to foot. “No, you’re not okay with me being in love with your daughter?” he questioned.
Elias surveyed Mabel’s room. “I never looked around in here. Sure, I’d come in to talk to her or tell her to make her bed, but I didn’t pay much attention to who she was. That’s where I failed her.” Elias pinned him with his gaze. “What’s done isn’t always done. I was wrong, Cal. I think we both were wrong when it comes to Mabel.”
Cal exhaled a sigh of relief laced with sadness. He’d underestimated her. He’d thought of her as Jamie’s little sister when she was so much more.
“I agree, sir,” he answered, surveying the cozy space.
The two of them stared at Mabel’s corkboard that not only included images of the cities she’d dreamed of visiting but the Eat Elverna logo.
“She really is something,” Elias mused.
“She is,” Cal agreed. “She deserves the world.”
The world!
He stared at the pictures as a plan formulated. A plan so crazy that it might just work.
“I have something I need to tell my daughter, and I think you do as well,” Elias said with the hint of a grin.
“And that’s where this comes in.” Cal removed his wallet from his pocket and pulled out the white rectangle.
“What’s that for?” Elias asked.
His heart pounding in his chest, Cal stared at the state flag emblem at the top of the card. “I’m calling in a favor, Mr. Muldowney. It’s time I put everything on the line for Mabel.”
Elias smiled—actually smiled. Who knew the guy had such nice teeth?
“Any chance an old-timer like me can get in on that?” his boss inquired.
Cal held the man’s gaze as fireworks that could put the Fourth of July to shame erupted inside of him. He was a man on a mission—and failure was not an option.
Mabel would never see this coming.
“Done,” he answered, and they didn’t have a second to lose.
Chapter 9
Mabel
“Hey, lady! You, in the big hat! Are you looking for heirloom tomatoes? You won’t find any better than these beauties,” came a man’s voice with a thick New York accent.
Mabel glanced over to find two gentlemen, one older and one younger, sitting in folding chairs next to a table piled high with tomatoes and cucumbers. Clad in overalls and matching ball caps with Vamosi Farms written in faded lettering, the men immediately sat up when she turned their way.
“Your produce looks wonderful, but I’m only out for a walk,” she replied when the younger of the two gasped.
“It’s her, Dad!” he said to the older one.
The men stood and came toward her.
“Could we get a picture with you?” the older gentleman asked.
She frowned. “With me?”
This was the third time this had happened in the last hour.
“Yeah! Would you mind?” the young man asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.
“Um…no. I don’t mind,” she answered, glancing around. She didn’t see other merchants doing this with customers. Still, these guys seemed like nice enough farmers—just like the others who’d asked to take a selfie with her—but she couldn’t piece together why anyone would want their picture with her.
The older gentleman grabbed a ripe, red tomato from the booth. “I’m Russ Vamosi, and this is my son, Ricky. These are from our organic farm in Upstate New York. Do you mind holding one of our tomatoes in the picture?”
“Not at all,” she stammered, still caught off guard by the odd reception. No one in Elverna’s farmers’ market ever requested photo-ops with her.
The men crowded in, and the younger of the two held out his phone and snapped the picture.
“Thanks a million! And you can keep that tomato,” Russ said with a tip of his cap.