They needed it to keep the water temperature at a toasty eighty-two degrees all winter long. He’d eaten dinner with them every night, but Farrah had never stayed.
He hadn’t seen much of her at all, though she texted him back when he contacted her. As he practically fell into his chair after the last load of wood had been stored, Corey said, “You work yourself too hard.”
He gave her a lazy grin and reached for the rolls he’d smelled when he’d arrived earlier that afternoon. “I like to work hard.”
“Don’t give the boy trouble about working hard,” Jim said.
“I’m not giving him trouble.” Corey nudged the butter dish closer to Darren. “I’m just saying he has his own farm to look after.”
“Not my farm,” Darren corrected her. He’d toyed with the idea of buying one, but nothing had come together in his mind. He loved Steeple Ridge and the horses there, and for now, it was where he fit.
“Do you want a farm?” Jim asked.
“I don’t know.” Darren volleyed his gaze from Corey to Jim and back. “What’s goin’ on?” She was definitely wearing a look that said something, but Darren didn’t know what.
“Nothing’s going on.” She lifted her chin. “Let’s say grace so we can eat. Corn doesn’t stay hot for long, you know.”
Jim chuckled and said the prayer over the food. Darren barely heard him. He didn’t like the unsettled feeling he had, and he hated it even more that he felt it here at the Bybees. This place had become a refuge for him, and he craved that peace, that solidity, that comfort.
So though Corey had made roast beef and crispy potatoes—two of his favorite foods—he could only scoop them onto his plate. He couldn’t eat them. “Corey,” he said. “Somethingis going on.”
“Meagan doesn’t want the farm,” Jim said, tucking into his own food like he’d simply said the sky is blue. He chewed while Darren tried to work out what that meant. “Corey’s fishing to see if you want it.” He gave his wife a wry glare. “I told her she should just come right out and ask you, but well, we all have our own tactics.”
Darren could only stare at Corey, who wore a tiny smile. She lifted one shoulder as if to sayWell?
Through a narrow throat, Darren said, “Meagan loves this farm. She works here every day.”
“She wants to raise her twins, not grow cilantro.” Jim stated it matter-of-factly, but Corey flinched.
“She’s having twins?”
“She just found out.” The joy on Corey’s face wasn’t hard to find. “And she should stay home and take care of those babies. The doctor said they’re going to be preemies.” She pushed the cobs of corn closer to him. “Go on, Darren. Aren’t you hungry?”
He looked at his food, then the corn. He scooped some onto his plate, because Corey expected him to. “So…Meagan’s not coming back to the farm at all?”
Jim’s face said no, and Corey vocalized it.
“But she’s still here right now,” Darren said. “Does she really run the whole thing?”
“No, she just does the botanical boutique,” Corey said, spearing her husband with a look that said they’d had this conversation many times. “We need someone to run the farm.”
“I’m—”
“Sixty-eight years old.”
Darren took that opportunity to stuff his mouth full of roast beef. After all, he didn’t get to get into this argument when it wasn’t his.
But what about taking over a farm that wasn’t his? Could he do that? Did he even want to?
And Darren knew that he did. That if Jim offered him the farm at a fair price, he’d buy it. Heck, he wanted it even if Jim asked too much for it.
The meal ended, and Jim started to clear the dishes. His nightly ritual. He’d start the coffee and clean up what Corey had made. Once, he’d told Darren that stacking the dishes in the sink was the least he could do for Corey, who kept the entire household running.
Darren leaned back in his chair, satisfied physically but his mind still churning. “How much are you asking for the farm?”
Jim paused near the doorway, his hands full. He smiled at Corey, who sat beaming at Darren.
“Oh, Darren, we’d love for you to have it.”
