He told his father most things regarding the business. If anything happened to him, someone had to know what was going on. How to keep it running.
At fifty-eight, Callum Ridgeway wasn’t that close to retirement. His parents were young when they married and started a family.
His mother was twenty-two when he was born, his father twenty-four. They lived here and worked this farm. They’d known nothing else.
His father’s younger brother went into the service and never returned to the area. He didn’t even know his cousins that well.
But his father and Uncle Aaron were close even with their four-year age gap. Any other career that Clay would have chosen might have come with more fights.
It was hypocritical to him that all his siblings could opt not to take over the orchards and the land, but it was expected of the oldest.
“It’s growing fast,” he said. “Faster than I thought it would. All’s good.”
“Just a lot on your shoulders. I get it. The land can do that to you.”
“It’s not the land,” he said. To him, he had that covered. Funny, considering he never wanted to deal with it before and now it was his life.
But again, doing it his way.
“That confuses you to admit that, doesn’t it?”
He nodded his head.
Comfort and confusion. Not something he’d thought he’d feel at the same time.
But he had that with Meredith also.
“Things are moving fast with the limited edition batches,” he said.
“You always move fast when it’s something you want, Clay.”
“A shot at me leaving?” he asked.
He’d put a lot of thought about going into the Navy. But he’d never told his parents. Not until it was time to enlist. Two weeks before.
Came home from school and said he was doing it and nothing and no one could talk him out of it.
He’d never admitted that he’d been planning it all for a good year. He hadn’t even told Ford.
His closest brother might have tried to talk him out of it.
Nothing was keeping him here back then.
Yet one turn of events had him rushing home.
Two turns, but only Ford, and now Meredith, knew them both.
“Never. You were always stubborn.”
“Got it from you,” he said, snorting.
His father turned his head and laughed. “You did. You do. I like to think I’ve learned patience over the years.”
“More like Mom shoved it down your throat.”
“Along with you in the past two years. Though you learned a lot of it away from home. You had to. That’s how you came home in one piece. Sort of.”
He sighed. “I’m fine, Dad.”
