Wishing a hole would open up allowing her to disappear, she wiped her hand on her pants, uncertain that the act had made her hand any cleaner, and stuck it out in greeting. “Mr. and Mrs. Redding. It’s nice to meet you.” She cast a sideways glance up toward Scott, but he seemed oblivious to her discomfort.
“Why didn’t you guys call?” he asked.
Lifting a brow, his father replied, “We were on our way back home from a trip to Virginia Beach and did try to call. But for the last hour, you haven’t answered your phone.”
His mother finished by saying, “We finally called Lia, and she said she was sure that you would be here working.”
His father’s gaze moved past Lizzie’s shoulder to the barn and pastures behind her. “We were going to stop by to see if you’d like to have dinner. We didn’t realize what kind of work you’d be doing.”
His parent’s gazes now moved to where Scott’s arm was wrapped around Lizzie’s shoulders, firmly tucking her into his side. Lizzie tried to smile but could feel her mouth’s tightness as it was hard to ignore the incredulous looks they were giving her.
Looking up at Scott, she said softly, “Scott, why don’t you head out with your parents and have a nice dinner—”
“No way, sweetheart. You’ve got barbecue chicken, and I know you fixed plenty. We can all have dinner here.”
Unable to discern how to kick him in the shin without his parents seeing it, her tight smile remained on her face.
“We wouldn’t want to put you out,” his mother began, but Scott jumped in.
“It’s no trouble at all. It’ll give you a chance to get to know Lizzie.”
Unable to figure a way out, Lizzie tried to channel her grandparents’ always-welcoming demeanor. “Scott is right. I’ve got plenty. I just need to go in and wash up and then supper will be ready.”
“Mom, Dad, let me show you the animals while Lizzie takes a few minutes to deal with the goat milk.” Looking down at her, he said, “I’ll be in shortly and help get dinner on the table.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Take your time. Really, take your time.” Keeping the smile plastered on her face until the three of them walked toward the barn, she grabbed the milk containers and raced into the kitchen. Her mind whirling, she placed the milk in her refrigerator, checked the chicken in the crockpot, and grabbed several more buns from her breadbasket.
Glancing through the kitchen window, she could see the three of them disappear into the barn and she raced upstairs. Staring at her image in the mirror, she groaned in frustration. How could this be the way she met his parents? Dropping in and Scott invites them to dinner when I’m not prepared! In truth, she had not considered meeting his parents. It was one of those out-there events that she just had given no head space to as she and Scott evolved into a couple.
With no time to take a shower, she stripped her clothes and washed her face after scrubbing her hands. Jumping into clean jeans and a cotton blouse, she pulled her hair from its braid, running a brush through her long tresses.
Hurrying back downstairs, she completed a quick swipe over the dining table, making sure it was clean. There was a pile of mail on the end of the kitchen counter, several boxes of empty bottles and molds for making her milk products sitting in the corner, and Rufus’ dog bed was against one wall. Hearing voices approach, she knew there was no time to clean further.
Insecurities rushed back as she imagined what his parents were thinking. Swallowing deeply, she stomped toward the refrigerator then halted as her gaze landed on the magnet-backed calendar in front of her. There was a circle around today’s date, and she stared, not knowing how she had forgotten. Papa Beau’s birthday. Closing her eyes, she smiled even as her heart ached. Papa Beau always invited a friend over for his birthday. Sometimes it was Preston. Sometimes it was a neighbor. Sometimes it was someone down on their luck. He used to say the only birthday present he wanted was to celebrate another year alive with a friend.
Her cheek felt damp and she quickly swiped at the errant tear that escaped. Well, Papa Beau, this is not how I wanted to meet Scott’s parents. But this is how I’ll celebrate your birthday since I can’t be with you.
Scott’s eyes met hers as soon as he and his parents walked through the back door. Hurrying over, he looked down and whispered, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry they just dropped in on us. Mom let me know that I should never have invited them to dinner without checking with you first. I just wasn’t thinking, babe—”
Reaching up she pressed her fingers to his lips and smiled. “Shh,” she said. “I was caught off guard and confess I wish I didn’t look quite so bedraggled the first time I met your parents.” Shrugging, she added, “But this is me. This is my farm. This is my life. And it was Papa Beau’s birthday today, so we’ll have company for dinner just like he would like.”
Without giving Scott a chance to apologize further, she hurried him off to the bathroom, saying, “Go clean up, and we’ll eat as soon as you're ready."
He leaned down, kissing her gently, his hand cupping her face, his thumb smoothing over her cheek. Passing his parents on the way to the bathroom, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
“How can I help?” Clara asked, stepping around the counter and into the kitchen.
It was on the tip of her tongue to politely refuse any assistance, but seeing the open expression on his mother’s face, she said, “If you would like, you can set the table.” While his mother placed the plates and silverware on the table, she spooned the slow-cooked chicken barbecue into a large bowl and placed it on the counter. Next came the warm rolls, ready to be piled high with barbecue and slaw. Fresh carrots, cooked with brown sugar and cinnamon, completed the meal.
Stanley began questioning her about the farm as soon as they began to eat, and she wondered if she would have to choke her meal down. But it soon became obvious that he was curious about the workings of the farm, not denigrating farm life.
His mother was interested in the alpacas, admitting she had never seen one before. The conversation flowed, and she began telling amusing stories of her grandparents and the farm. By the time they were devouring slices of peach pie, Scott had slid his chair next to hers, his arm draping around her shoulders, his fingertips teasing over the skin at her upper arm.
As they stood from dinner, Stanley looked at Scott. “Take a walk outside with me?”
Lizzie watched as the two men stepped into the backyard, and her heart began to pound, not knowing what his father might be saying. A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump, and she jerked her head around, seeing Clara standing right beside her.
“I’d like to thank you for dinner, Lizzie,” Clara said. “It was terribly rude of us to just drop by and so sweet of you to offer to feed us.”
She smiled, this time her mouth relaxed as she stared at his mother. “You’re welcome here anytime.”
Clara opened her mouth as though to respond, then simply smiled in return. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”
They continued to work side-by-side, but Lizzie’s mind was firmly on the two men outside, wondering what they were discussing.
Scott looked over at his father as they walked through the yard. The evening sun had passed beyond the tree line, causing the shadows to deepen around them. They stopped and stood, side-by-side, staring out over the pastures. A light breeze blew, the fresh smell of farmland all around.