“I’m an idiot.”
A chuckle sounded from Lia as she lifted her hand to attempt to stifle the noise. “I hardly think you’re an idiot.”
“Oh, yeah? I show up in these clothes, the ones that are perfectly acceptable for our office, then proceed to offer to help her with chores on the farm. Let’s just say she was not impressed with my offer.”
“I’m sure she was just overwhelmed.”
Slumping in the chair, he shook his head in dejection. “So, any advice on how to help?”
Now it was Lia’s turn to observe him carefully, tilting her head slightly to the side as she held his gaze. “Well, you could just leave her alone.”
“That’s part of her problem,” he protested. “She is alone!”
“Hmmm,” Lia murmured. “Just how interested are you in helping Lizzie?”
Sitting up straighter, he defended his interest. “I liked her grandfather, and I liked how he talked about her. He had so much admiration for her, and yet wanted to make sure that things were set up so that she would be taken care of. I want to make sure that his wishes are carried out.”
“Well, you can keep it just professional. Wait several weeks and then make an appointment to stop by or have her come here. Go over the taxes, the estate, and see what you can do to help her financially.”
“It doesn’t seem right to just let her flounder on the farm alone. Beau once said that she doesn’t get out much and had little time to make friends.”
Tapping her fingernail on her desk as she appeared deep in thought, Lia said, “I know that Jillian, Tori, and Belle were planning on making a trip out to see her soon. Maybe that will give her some female companionship.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face and nodded. “You’re probably right.” Pushing himself to a stand, he walked back into his office. He was soon buried underneath a pile of papers, entering the sums and figures into his computer, but his mind continually drifted to the Weston Farm… and Lizzie.
6
Lizzie struggled to get out of bed the next morning. The weight on her chest had not dissipated, and while her mind accepted that it would be a long time before she could think of Papa Beau without feeling crushed, she wondered how she was expected to keep going. She had worked the previous day, pushing herself beyond her limits, hoping that fatigue would take the place of her sadness. All it had done was make her tired in addition to being sad.
She spent the morning tending the animals before driving the golf cart around the property to check the pasture’s gates and fences. Several of Papa Beau’s farming friends had called during the week, offering to help her with anything she needed. She appreciated their gestures but politely turned them down, knowing they had their hands full with their own farms.
Getting out periodically along the fence row, Lizzie checked to make sure the pasture was secure for animals. Papa Beau had been so careful, and she did not want to ignore a potentially loose area in the fence so that the goats or alpacas could get out. There might not be a lot of traffic on the road that went by their farm, but she would hate for any of them to have an accident.
The goats were frolicking in their field, and as she drove through the next pasture, all three alpacas followed her. She could not help but smile as she watched their antics, their long necks bending as they placed their heads closer to hers so that she could run her fingers over their fleece.
“Caesar, it’s going to be shearing time soon. It’s getting hot and I don’t want you, Mark Antony or Cleopatra to be miserable.” Moving on to the next gate, they followed her as she continued her conversation with the alpacas. “I was going to get Papa Beau to help me with the shearing, but I’ll have to see if I can get someone else to help. I just don’t think I’m ready to try to do it by myself.”
Glancing into the pasture where the goats were, she grinned as several of the kids hopped around, climbing on the wood stumps that she and her grandfather had placed out for them. Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, then tilted her head back so the sun beamed down on her face. The ever-present ache was still there, but she realized how much freer she felt outside.
The sound of crunching gravel had her turn to see a shiny black pickup truck coming to a stop nearby. Even from a distance, it was not hard to see the words Giordano Farms emblazoned on the side of the truck. Licking her suddenly-dry lips, she watched as Luca Giordano climbed from the driver’s side and walked toward her.
His hair was silver, combed back neatly. Clean-shaven, his face gave no indication of his age other than the deep lines emitting from his eyes. Years of working in the sun had etched themselves where he had squinted. He was wearing khakis, neatly-pressed, along with a navy shirt, his farm’s logo embroidered on the pocket. Boots were on his feet, worn, but not scuffed. He looked the part of the farmer who no longer had to work the land but had an empire under him to do so.
She watched as he approached and lifted her chin slightly, waiting to see what he had to say.
“Ms. Weston,” he began, “I wanted to come by and express my condolences. I enjoyed talking with and doing business with your grandfather. I considered Beau a friend, and his presence will be greatly missed.”
Breathing in and out through her nose as she pinched her lips together for a moment, she nodded. Clearing her throat, she replied, “Thank you. Yes, he will be missed.”
His gaze left hers and drifted over her shoulder toward the pastures where the alpacas were staring at them and the goats were munching on the grass.
Turning back toward her, he said, “This place will be too much for you to handle.” She bristled, but he threw his hand up in a placating manner. “I’m not trying to be insulting, Ms. Weston. With the animals you’re raising, you’ll never be able to bring in enough money to keep this farm going. Beau would not have wanted that for you.”
Tilting her head to the side slightly, she tried to lock down the trembling that was moving through her body. Whether it was from adrenaline, fatigue, or rage she had no idea but was determined to remain calm on the outside. “I know that my grandfather wanted me to continue our farm and do it in any way that I saw fit.”
“That may have been what he said to you, but I know he had concerns.”
At that, she jerked as though slapped. Had Papa Beau talked to Mr. Giordano? Had he thought that I couldn’t do this? Tamping down her panic, she shook her head. He would have never done that.
“I’m sure he had concerns because he loved me. But I’ll be fine. Just fine.”
Luca held her gaze for a long minute, his neutral expression giving away nothing. Finally, he inclined his head slightly and said, “Well, Ms. Weston, I wish you all the best. But please, remember me. Your grandfather sold me a number of acres over the last few years. He was paid a fair market price, and I’m more than willing to do the same for your farm.”
She had been determined to not show weakness but wrapped her arms tightly around her waist as though to ward off his words, his offer, and his insinuations—and to quell the quaking of her body. With a short, jerky nod, she replied, “Thank you for your condolences. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”