Abby chewed on her lower lip and looked at her car, then me.
I gently touched her cheek. “I don’t mind driving you, babe.”
She opened her mouth and then shut it before drawing in a breath and letting it out. “Honestly, I think some alone time in the car will do me good.”
I nodded but wasn’t about to try to hide the disappointment that was no doubt on my face. “Okay. Do you know how long you’ll be there?”
“I’m not sure.” She stepped away from me and walked to the driver’s side of her car.
“A couple days? A week? Abby, give me something here. I mean, I came home and caught you sneaking away.”
“I wasn’t sneaking!” she snapped back.
“Then what do you call it?”
She shook her head, then pulled open the door of her car and got in. Slamming her hands on the steering wheel, she looked back at me. “I didn’t want any of this to happen.”
My heart hammered in my chest, and I tried not to lose my temper. Did she honestly think I did?
Be patient with her. Give her this space, Bishop.
She saw the hurt in my eyes and sighed. “It makes it harder for me, having you here.”
“You sound like you’re leaving me forever.”
Her eyes met mine, and a part of me swore I saw her answer. She was leaving me…forever.
I pushed those thoughts away. She needed time. That was all, and I would give it to her.
“I just need to be alone for a bit, to think. I love you—I’ll call you when I get to Boston.” Abby shut the door, started the car, and then rolled down the window.
I leaned in and kissed her once more. “If you change your mind and want me to meet you in Boston, just let me know. Okay?”
She dug her teeth into her lower lip and nodded. “Bye, Bishop.”
As I watched her drive away, I had no idea that my entire world was about to be turned upside down.
Bishop
Mid-October, Present Day - Wonderland Tree Farm, Boggy Creek, New Hampshire
“It’s gonna cost you, Bishop,” came a voice from under the hood of my 1943 Ford pickup.
Sighing, I ran my fingers through my brown hair, then rubbed at the back of my neck. “How much, Trent?”
Trent Rogers was the owner of the one and only mechanic shop in Boggy Creek. I could drive forty minutes to get to one of the Ford dealerships, but Trent’s family had been fixing cars in Boggy Creek for the last eighty-plus years. And before that, the Rogers men worked as the town’s blacksmiths. Trent was the only man I trusted to work on my truck.
He lifted his head and peered at me from around the hood. “Bishop, why in the hell don’t you just buy a new truck? This thing is old and a pain in the ass. The parts are hard to find when something goes out, it costs you an arm and a leg to get the parts whenever we do find them, and you need something reliable. This thing is in mint condition on the outside. I’m sure you could sell it for a good amount.”
I looked back at the vehicle. I loved that fucking truck; it was my grandfather’s. I had it repainted six years ago and drove it all the time. “I have a new truck, Trent.”
He looked over my shoulder at the Ford F-250 parked in the driveway. “You never drive it.”
I gave him a humorless laugh. “I drive it all the damn time, when I need to. This one just has…memories.”
He looked back and gave me a sympathetic smile. Yes. The truck was my grandfather’s. That was reason number one I would never sell it. But I also lost my virginity in the bed of the truck. Hell, Abby had lost her virginity the same damn night. Both of us were sixteen at the time, and neither one of us knew what in the hell we were doing, but it was a night I would never forget. Reason number two I would never sell the truck.
“Just find the part it needs, Trent. I’ll pay whatever it is and give you double to fix it.”
Trent shook his head. “Don’t be going off and acting stupid. You’re not paying me double nothing. This truck is easy to work on. Now bring that in—” he pointed to the F-250 and rolled his eyes—“and it’s another story. Fucking computers everywhere in that damn thing.”
I laughed and slapped him on the back as he shut the hood and we headed over to his truck.
“Heard the state bought one of your trees for the capital. That’s real exciting, Bishop. Old man Redmen would be real proud of what you’ve done with the place here.”
Smiling, I looked around at the tree farm. Mr. Redmen had owned it before I’d bought it years ago. When my grandfather died, I had been eighteen years old. He’d left me almost everything in his will. Oh, he’d set my folks up fine with a nice little nest egg, but me…he left me every piece of property he’d owned. I had taken my grandfather’s place on three different company boards and had rapidly learned all about real estate and development.
Most of the property my grandfather had owned was around the Boston area. He’d also owned some in New York City, Miami, and Dallas. To say I was set for life at eighteen was a fucking understatement. My old man had been a bit butt-hurt that Granddad had left nearly everything to me, but he got over it quickly enough. He was the sole reason I was able to keep almost all the properties. He helped me run all of them and then some, allowing me to stay on the farm and grow Christmas trees.
I had worked for Mr. Redmen here on the Wonderland Tree Farm from the time I was fourteen years old. Learned everything I needed to know to grow and run a successful Christmas tree farm. Mr. Redmen had passed away not long ago, after living out his retirement here on the farm and doing some traveling.
After I received the money from my grandfather, I had sat my folks down and told them I wasn’t going to college and that I had bought Wonderland Tree Farm. Needless to say, they were pissed. My father refused to talk to me for a solid six months. It was my mother and Abby who had finally brought him around.
I looked over at the two-story red barn I had built not long after buying Wonderland. I would never forget the day I’d brought Abby here, gotten down on my knee, and asked her to marry me. We were both eighteen. I had dreams for the tree farm, and she had dreams for her family’s flower farm that was right on the outskirts of Boggy Creek. Abby had decided to take online classes to earn a business degree so she could stay and help her folks run and manage the farm. Plus, she’d told me she wanted to stay in town after we’d gotten engaged.
“You ever hear from her, Bishop?”
Trent’s question pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked over at him. I smiled. “How in the hell did you know I was thinking about Abby?”
Trent shrugged. “Because I know that look. Saw it in the mirror for fifteen years until I finally found someone who brought life back into my eyes.”
Sighing, I shook my head. “Nah. She comes into town to see her folks, but she doesn’t ever come out here or call me. I haven’t seen her since the divorce.”
The last time I had spoken to Abby on the phone was a few days before we were set to meet in front of the judge. I was, of course, still pissed at her. I had refused to take her calls. Wouldn’t even talk to her the day of the court hearing.
Those calls had haunted me ever since. If I had taken them or even talked to her that day, would it have made a difference?