The Sowing Season Page 20

  Gerrit grunted and leaned his elbows on the table. Luke had struggled to convince him to attend college because what would be the point if he was going to spend his whole life on the farm? His future was already set. And deep inside, maybe he’d been afraid to go because he thought it would be easier to stay if he never knew what it was like to leave.

  “You’ll have the same problem if you move to Nashville. No place to live. No car.”

  “I could work.”

  “You could work here.”

  Morgan leaned over and scratched Daisy behind the ears with both hands, staring into her eyes like he might find the answers there. For a long minute, he gave her all his attention as if Gerrit didn’t even exist.

  When he finally spoke, his words were quiet but resolute. “Nobody’s gonna hire me around here, Gerrit. I’ve got to get out of this town.”

  “Why not? You know how to work, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why wouldn’t anybody hire you?”

  Morgan kept his eyes on Daisy, maybe so he could pretend he was talking to her instead. “I’ve done some things. Stupid things. I kind of have a record. And my dad . . .”

  Somehow the words he didn’t say told Gerrit more than the ones he did. The weight of a father’s influence, good or bad, could be staggering. He might just know something about that. The weight of bad choices in the past that stuck with a person . . . well, he might know something about that, too.

  Uncomfortable feelings pushed at his rib cage from the inside. He couldn’t let Morgan run off to Nashville by himself. He was just a kid. As he watched Morgan and Daisy, an idea struck. That boy needed his own dog. Maybe if he had a dog to take care of, he wouldn’t be so eager to leave town.

  “Whatever happened to Fangs?”

  Morgan stiffened. “What?”

  “You said she didn’t die. What happened to her?”

  “She ran away.” Morgan rested his head on top of Daisy’s. “My mom’s boyfriend got real mad one time and started kicking and screaming, and it scared her. I looked everywhere, but she never came back.”

  Gerrit looked at Daisy. If she were to run away, it wouldn’t bother him any, of course, but Hannie would be devastated. She would probably mope around and post fliers and all that. And he would probably become desperate to make her feel better and do something dumb like get her a new puppy.

  Hmm.

  GERRIT SPUN AROUND when he heard his name. Rae was jogging up with that David guy close behind. He opened the truck door for Daisy to hop in and gave the boy a hard look.

  “I haven’t talked to you since last week.” Rae came to a stop in front of him. “How are your party plans coming?”

  Terrible. Horrible. There wasn’t enough time. He was caving under the pressure. The whole thing was a stupid idea.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you excited?”

  One side of his lip curled. “I’d be a lot more excited if I could figure out how to make a piecrust that comes out flaky but doesn’t burn too fast.”

  She laughed. “I can’t help you with that.”

  Why had he said that? His mouth must get a kick out of making him look stupid. But the pie problem had been bothering him for days.

  “The secret is temperature.”

  Gerrit and Rae both looked at David.

  He shrugged and smiled. “Keeping the butter and dough cold before baking it is the secret. You gotta use cold water. That’s what my grandma says.”

  Gerrit stared at him. What did he know? The little punk. But it did make sense. If the butter got too soft before the pie went into the oven . . .

  “I’m David, by the way.” The boy held out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

  Gerrit glared at the hand and glanced at Rae. Her cheeks appeared a little rosier than usual. She nodded toward David.

  Fine.

  He shook the kid’s hand. Hard. This guy had already made Rae cry once. If he ever did it again—

  “How’s Bernard?” Rae asked.

  “Still a rooster.”

  She gave him a long-suffering look. “About those flowers for your wife.”

  “What about them?”

  “You never told me what her favorite flower is.”

  He didn’t want to admit the truth, but apparently she could read it all over his face.

  “Do you at least have a guess?”

  He huffed. “I don’t know.”

  “You must. Just think about it.”

  “Any flowers will do.”

  “It has to be her favorite. It’s important.”

  He wanted to believe she was wrong. What difference could it make? Flowers were flowers. But something deep down told him it was important, like Rae said. Maybe they could order a bouquet with so many different kinds of flowers, one was bound to be her favorite.

  “We’ve still got time,” Rae continued. “Think about it and let me know.”

  The concern on her face made him nervous. He nodded. “I’ve got to get Daisy home.”

  He climbed in the truck and leaned an arm out the open window. It’d been warm lately, and he’d discovered the cab could get a little, er, aromatic if he left it shut up when it was sitting in the sun. He’d never noticed the smell before. Had it always been this strong? He started the truck.

  “See you soon, Gerrit,” Rae said with a grin.

  He gave a half smile in return, then shifted the Dodge into drive and hit the gas.

  David waved and called over the roar of the engine, “Nice to meet you.”

  Gerrit pretended not to hear the boy as he drove off.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-THREE

  Gerrit shaded his eyes with his hand. The sun shone bright and cheerful. The temperature was warm but not too warm. If only this weather would hold through Monday afternoon. He wanted the party to be perfect.

  Given all the things he’d messed up in his life, maybe that was asking too much. Regardless, he had to try. For Evi and Noah. For Hannie.

  After putting a pork roast in the Crock-Pot—what a great invention that was, right?—he’d spent all morning and afternoon cleaning up the yard. He’d mowed, trimmed bushes, even wiped down the outside of the windows on the first floor. Daisy had loved every minute of it, rolling in the grass and chasing butterflies.

  He put the last of the tools away in the shed at the back of his property and pulled off his work gloves. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his stomach grumbled. The smell of the roast through the open kitchen window had been driving him crazy for the past two hours, but Hannie would be home any minute. He would wait. Besides, she usually came home a little early on Tuesdays.

  He wiped his face with his sleeve and called for Daisy. When she popped out from the rhododendron bush near the mailbox, he remembered he hadn’t checked the mail yet. He trudged down the driveway, muscles stiff and tired, and paused in the shade of the pony barn. He’d talked to Luisa about going through the boxes in there, about showing her Luke’s old pictures.

  Dust mites danced through the rays of light when he cracked open the barn door. No matter how vibrant the air was outside, how much was going on, inside the barn was always still. Undisturbed by the world going on around it, as if frozen in time. And maybe it was. Frozen in a moment of joy and expectancy. He could almost hear Luke’s laugh as he stepped back for a good look and said, “We did it.” Could almost feel Luke’s hand slap him on the shoulder for a job well done. See the twinkle in Luke’s eye as he shouted that they should celebrate.

  Those weren’t memories. Those were pieces of him. He shut the door. The boxes weren’t going anywhere.

  A cacophony of bangs and whirs and squeals shot over the fence from George’s oversized garage. Gerrit scowled in that direction as he continued toward the mailbox. George had hardly missed a minute of his children’s lives, running a business from his own shop. All that custom furniture and whatnot. Mr. Skilled Craftsman. Mr. Father of the Year. Mr. Soon-to-Be G
randpa. He didn’t have to count the money left in his savings account as if it were years left in his life.

  Gerrit’s neck muscles tightened. What kind of man stole another man’s birthright and then called the cops on his rooster? He glanced around but saw no one except Daisy. Edging closer to the fence, he took a good look at the trees between the two properties. There were some on both sides, and a couple of the oldest ones branched out over property lines.

  He rubbed his chin. That cottonwood there on George’s side, it had seen better days. Some of the branches looked dead and reached their wooden fingers awfully close to George and Agatha’s RV. One big windstorm and that RV could be in danger, especially if those dead branches had been tampered with.

  He leaned over the fence, peering up at the tree. No, he couldn’t. Not that he wouldn’t love to see George’s RV crushed by a cottonwood, but—

  “What are you doing?”

  He spun around, his shirt snagging on the top board of the fence. “Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you pull up.” He hoped his face didn’t look as sheepish as he felt.

  Hannie eyed him with suspicion through the open window of her Toyota. He walked alongside as she pulled up next to his truck, parked, and got out of the car.

  “You’re up to something.” She studied his face, glancing over at George’s house once or twice. “Am I going to be getting a call from Agatha?”

  Gerrit huffed. “No.”

  Hannie shook her head. “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”

  He kept his mouth shut.

  Daisy ran around Hannie’s legs, making her laugh. “Hello, sweet Daisy.”

  Gerrit looked back at George’s shop one more time.

  Hannie peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “Evi called me today.”

  Oh no. She had canceled. She was probably moving out of the country. She never wanted to speak to him again.

  “She was wondering if Travis could come to the party, too.”

  Oh. That.

  “Travis? Who’s Travis?” As if he didn’t know.

  “The boy she’s been seeing. I’ve only met him once, but it must be serious if she’s talking about bringing him here.”

  He looked at the ground and shook his head. He didn’t want to meet Travis.

  “I told her it was up to you since it’s your party.”

  Oh, great. Now he’d be the bad guy if he said no. But how could he say yes? He hadn’t talked to Evi face-to-face in almost two years, and now she wanted to ruin their special weekend by bringing some loser here with her? Sparks burst in his brain. If he saw that kid touching his daughter . . .

  Hannie patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you take a day to think about it.”

  He’d think about it all right. In fact, he’d probably spend the whole night thinking about it. Pfft. Thinking about wringing that kid’s neck. This whole thing was probably his idea.

  Hannie moved toward the house, but looked back at him. “I talked to Luisa today, too. She said you were there.”

  He followed her, trying to dispel the image of his fist slamming into Travis’s face. “Yeah. A few weeks ago.”

  Hannie stopped at the door. “She said you talked about Jakob.”

  His nostrils flared. First they had to talk about George, then Travis, and now they had to talk about Jakob? “She did.”

  “She’s hoping—”

  “I don’t care what she’s hoping.” He didn’t mean to shout, but the words flew from his mouth like bullets, propelled by the feeling in his gut that he was on a speeding train with no brakes. “It’s none of her business.”

  Hannie flinched. “She thinks it’d be good for you to talk to him. She doesn’t want to see you like this.”

  His fists clenched. “Like what? Going on with my life without having to worry about that—that moron taking any more of my money?”

  “Like this, Gerrit.” She tried to put a hand on his arm, but he jerked away. “Letting anger control you. Ruin your life. I don’t want to see it, either.”

  “He already ruined my life. There’s nothing more to talk to him about.” It was more than a shout now. It was the cry of a wild man. “And you don’t know anything about it.”

  He’d said the same thing to Luisa, but he knew it was different with Hannie the second the words escaped his mouth. She did know. She’d been there.

  Moisture brimmed in her wounded eyes. Aw, shoot. The boiling in his veins cooled. What had gotten into him?

  He reached for her, but she shook her head and stepped into the house.

  “I don’t know what got into me, thinking we could ever work together.” Emotion strangled her voice. “I thought maybe things could be different, maybe you could change, but . . .”

  He was on her heels, inside the door, desperately scouring his mind for something to say. Things were different. He could change. She took a ragged breath and looked down. He followed her gaze to the blue-and-white suitcase leaning against the wall like a prophet of doom.

  No.

  No!

  They stood close enough that he could smell lilies and roses and pine. Say something, you idiot. He opened his mouth, but then she looked up, face twisted, tears imminent.

  “You don’t know how many times I’ve stood here at this door, trying to walk out on you. Trying to hate you and your useless cows.”

  His eyes widened, and he inched closer, drawn by her despair. She never talked like that. The desire to pull her into his arms was like a tsunami, washing over him without mercy.

  She struggled to speak. “Now that you’re here, it’s almost worse, because there’s so much more to hope for. At least when you were gone all the time, I could pretend . . .”

  It was one of his greatest fears. That once he was around, once he left the farm and faced the world, she would realize he wasn’t who she’d thought he was. Before he could think, he reached out with hesitant fingers and touched the ends of her hair. He could hardly feel it, so callused were his hands, so unfit to touch something soft and feminine. But it stirred something in him. Something lost. Something unfamiliar and long buried. The gentle weight of her hair in his hand was like a boulder crushing his heart.

  A heifer, he knew how to handle. Knew what she needed and where she should go. But a woman?

  “I love you.” The words were like a foreign language on his tongue, but that didn’t make them less true. His parents never used the words, never talked about feelings or hopes or dreams, never fixed him with a gentle, affectionate gaze. But he knew what love was.

  She’d taught him. She and Luke.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to his chest.

  “I love you.” He said it with confidence this time.

  She sobbed into his shirt then, her arms reaching around his waist and holding on for dear life. He braced her up, his own throat constricting. This woman—this woman who had endured years of suffering for his sake, the mother of his children whose favorite flower he couldn’t even remember—she belonged with him. And he would do whatever he had to do to prove it.

  Even the one thing he swore he’d never do.

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  She buried her face in his shirt, her shoulders shaking, and clung to him. She didn’t respond, didn’t look up, but it was enough.

  He didn’t know how he could ever deserve her. Didn’t know where they would go from here. Yet he knew one thing for certain.

  He wasn’t about to let go.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FOUR

  From her locker, Rae watched Morgan slink through a mob of junior girls and into a classroom. Not much had changed since their accidental encounter at his house. He still avoided her at school as if she had lice. Still gave one-word responses when she tried to talk to him at Community Hope. Still refused to acknowledge her open invitation to join her and Kylee at lunch. But she had noticed one little difference.

  He didn’t seem afraid of her anymore.

  Annoyed? Sure.
Reluctant? Absolutely. But when she did happen to catch his eye, which wasn’t often, he didn’t look like he was terrified of what might happen.

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?” Kylee slammed Rae’s locker door shut, and Rae jumped.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done.” Rae opened it again. “What’s your problem?”

  Kylee stared her down. “I’m sick of watching you pine after some other random guy while stringing David along, that’s all.”

  Rae frowned. Things had been kind of tense and awkward between her and Kylee ever since the day she saw Kylee talking to David after school, but neither of them had brought it up. Rae had been trying to act like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed.

  “I’m not pining after some random guy.”

  “Oh, really?” Kylee crossed her arms. “Then why are you always watching that kid with the black hair? Morgan, or whatever his name is. Why do you always talk to him at lunch?”

  Rae didn’t want to rat Morgan out. Didn’t want to tell Kylee that he went to Community Hope to avoid his mom’s boyfriend or that she’d been there when he got run out of his own house. She’d promised him she wouldn’t say anything.

  This time she slammed the locker shut. “He’s just a friend. Am I not allowed to be friends with boys? You’re the one who always makes fun of me for not talking to them.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re just”—out came the air quotes—“friends.” Kylee leaned closer and lowered her voice. “And meanwhile, David’s still waiting for you like a love-sick puppy.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s not fair to him.”

  Rae narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t had the guts to confront Kylee about talking to David that one day or about saying she would go out with him. Hadn’t thought it would be worth it after she talked with David, and they’d reached an understanding. But now she found herself wondering again what Kylee had said.

  Rae wasn’t leading David on because she’d asked him to wait, was she? It wasn’t like they needed to dive right into a serious relationship. They were only high schoolers.