“Thank you, thank you. So, what are you doing back here?” he asks me, looking me up and down, assessing me a little too hard.
I shift. “Well, Harper—”
“Ah, yeah,” he says, cutting me off and shaking his head. “It’s a real shame what happened.”
Wow. Not even thirty-six hours.
News certainly travels fast around here.
“Everyone hated Charles,” he says. “We couldn’t believe what he did to her—and with Allie, no less.”
“Allie?!” I shriek. This is news to me. This I hadn’t heard.
Allie’s been Harper’s best friend since grade school. They went everywhere together, did everything together, and for the longest time, she even worked here on the farm for our family.
He nods at me softly, sadness and disappointment over the whole situation on his face. “It’s a real shame. Obviously, she quit working here after it all came out. Broke your grandparents’ hearts to see it all,” he says.
I can’t believe my sister didn’t tell me this part of the story. It would have been one thing for it to be a random woman, but the pain Harper must be feeling, the double betrayal from her husband and best friend, I can’t even fathom it.
“Unbelievable,” I say, shaking my head.
Dean’s hand grips my bicep. “Maybe we can catch up while you’re here? Get reacquainted?” he asks, but I don’t like his tone or the way he’s holding my arm a little too tightly.
Suddenly, I feel seventeen again. I study Dean’s face once more, really giving it my attention this time. Time hasn’t been kind to him. He has a little more chin now and his hairline is farther back than you’d expect for someone in their late twenties. His midsection isn’t in the once sleek shape it used to be, but he isn’t carrying the majestic appealing hot dad bod either. He’s just sort of…frumpy.
“Uh, maybe, I’m not sure. I’ll probably be really busy with Harper,” I say, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible. I step back and out of his grip.
His eyes narrow and for a moment, I think he might step forward to keep his hold, but he releases me. A smile spreads across his face and he nods—but I don’t like this particular brand of smile, and I grow uneasy under his gaze.
“Sure, I understand,” he says. “But you know where to find me if you have some time. I gotta get back to work, okay?”
I’m already turning toward the neat rows of apple trees and putting my headphones back in. Truthfully, I need to process the information I just heard. I pick my pace back up to a run, passing tree after tree as I feel the sun overhead.
It’s late summer and a small breeze is in the air, rustling the leaves on both sides of me. In a few weeks, everything will start dying. It won’t be much longer now before the farm starts to prepare for fall. The pumpkin patches will pop up, and they’ll start brewing cider. The sweet aroma of pumpkin rolls will fill the store. The trees lining the property and the ones scattered throughout will turn—being lit on fire by the changing seasons—and it will officially be my favorite time of year.
I make it to the end of the trees and turn toward the barns. I want to check on Paw and Maribelle, my cow. Not just any cow, my cow. I helped Paw deliver her when I was in high school and made him promise to never send her to the butcher. She was born premature and I had to bottle-feed her. She was mine from the moment she arrived. Of course, unlike a cat or dog, I couldn’t exactly take her with me to college or have her in an apartment—let alone in Boston—so she had to stay here. But I do ask about her all the time—always have—and on each of my short trips here, I make sure to visit the barn as often as I can.
I reach for the barn door and lurch forward, trying to catch my breath. I press pause on the music and remove the headphones only to hear someone calling out.
“Who’s there?” Paw asks from inside.
As I lean around the barn door, I catch sight of his face.
He sees me and returns a smile, his shoulders relaxing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, surprised by his unease.
“Just jumpy in my old age, hun, nothing to worry about,” he says.
His statement puzzles me a bit, but I decide not to dwell on it. I step inside the barn and see he’s examining a hoof of one of the cows.
“Oh, hey again,” a voice calls from behind me.
I note that it’s Dean and without turning, I greet him and watch him step to my grandfather’s side. He’s watching Paw with extreme interest, undoubtedly trying to learn everything he can. My grandfather is a genius with animals.
“I just want to visit Maribelle, if that’s all right?” I say, looking around in the pins near me. I know which one is hers, assuming they haven’t moved her since the last time I was here—which was also nearly two years ago.
Damn, that long?
I look back at Paw expectantly and he smiles.
“Of course, honey. You know where she is,” he says.
I walk over to her pin and open the door, stepping inside with care. I reach my hand out to rub her head and she pushes into me. I don’t care what anyone says, cows are smart. I whisper greetings to her. Maribelle is light brown all over except for a small white patch on her forehead. Her big dark brown eyes melt me as I rub her head and pet her. Then, I notice something moving behind her. A small figure. I move her to the side and a small calf appears just out of reach.
What?!
“Paw!” I yell.
“Yeah?” he yells back.
“Is Maribelle a momma?!” I ask, barely able to contain my excitement or surprise.
He laughs and says, “She sure is, honey. She sure is.”
I stare at the calf in shock. She’s a spitting image of her momma—same coloring, same eyes.
“What’s her name?” I ask, trying hard to bury my hurt. I can’t believe no one bothered to tell me.
“Don’t have a name,” he yells. After a brief pause, he adds, “How about you give her one?”
I feel a rush of excitement in my chest. I bend down and gently rub the calf between the eyes and back around its ears. She is so sweet. Too sweet. I study her for a moment and she licks my hand and nuzzles me a bit. “How about Lucy?” I yell over the pin gate at my grandfather.
“That’s a fine name, honey,” he says. “That’s a fine name, indeed.” Paw has a habit of saying everything twice, as if to really convince you of what he’s saying.
I turn my attention back to Lucy and give her and momma Maribelle big smiles before stepping backward out of the pin. I lock it and step farther back, unable to take my eyes off them over the gate. One more step is my doom as my back meets something. What, I don’t know, but it moves—wobbles, really. I hear someone cuss under their breath and then I begin to tumble. Certain I’m going to fall for a second time in the same day, I feel hands on my body. Warm hands. Big, sturdy hands. On my hips. I cover them with mine instinctively and turn to see who’s caught me, both to thank them and apologize at the same time.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. Thank you,” I blurt out.
My eyes meet those of Gentry Bodine. His face is close—too close. Mere inches from mine.
He quickly removes his hands from my waist and clears his throat. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, and continues walking away from me.