“Is that approval I hear in your voice?” He couldn’t resist teasing her, knowing she hadn’t been a fan of him moving to such a small town.
She ignored the question. “The big blue lake in the center of town and the mountains behind it belong on a postcard.”
Yep, he was definitely hearing approval in her voice. “I hope you like the idea of stepping into a postcard.” Hechose his next words carefully. “There’s plenty of acreage at Garrett Farm for someone like you to dig in the dirt to your heart’s content. I know you’ve always dreamed of opening your own greenhouse and nursery. Halle and I would be happy to help. So would the boys. They’ll be even more help as they get older.”
She swiveled her head his way, looking stunned. “You want me to stay?”
“Of course, I want you to stay! You’re family.” Where else would she go? She’d given up everything for him and his boys.
She shook her head in confusion. “I figured after you got married…” Her voice faded uncertainly.
It was the perfect opportunity to continue his pitch. “There’s a hodgepodge of cabins and cottages scattered across Garrett Farm. The Carters have lived in one of them for over twenty years. A few months ago, Rex moved on-site. That leaves two places for you to choose from. Both could use some renovating, but it’ll allow you to add your personal touch.”
She frowned thoughtfully as she mulled over his offer. “Is Halle on board with this?”
“One hundred percent!” He was really looking forward to introducing his two favorite women in the world. “Fair warning. Her only faults are trusting too easily and loving too hard. If you aren’t careful, she’ll win you over before nightfall.”
She’s perfect.Jen Tolliver wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much, but it did. Halle Garrett was everything Owen had claimed she was. She was sweet, funny, and intelligent.Even more importantly, she adored Ryder and Cooper, and they adored her in return. Their found family had all the earmarks of a match made in Heaven.
Joy and contentment had replaced the ache and discouragement in her brother’s eyes. He no longer just smiled with his mouth. He smiled from the depths of his heart.
After a dinner of spaghetti, homemade sourdough bread, and veggies arranged to form an enormous caterpillar, Jen mumbled something about needing to stretch her legs. As beautiful and child friendly as Halle’s dinner spread was, Jen had been too upset to choke down more than a bite or two.
“Do you want me to join you?” Halle offered in a bright voice that sounded forced. She knew something was wrong, but she was too polite to call it what it was.
Jen shook her head and all but ran out of the house.
The last thing she heard was Halle’s murmur of distress to Owen. “Should one of us go after her?” She was ridiculously nice—a far nicer sister-in-law than Jen deserved.
“Nah.” Her brother’s voice was gentle. “Jen is the strongest person I know. She just needs to be alone right now.”
I’m not as strong as everyone thinks.That was the problem with being the older sibling by five years. Jen had always had to look strong and act strong, even when she was shaking in her boots. They’d been raised by a widowed single mom, who’d never remarried, so Jen had been thrown into the role of a babysitter at a very young age. Their mother’s losing battle with breast cancer had further complicated their lives. Somewhere along the way, Jen had forfeited her own childhood.
One of the brightest spots in her life was the friendshipthat had developed in high school between her, Belinda, and Logan; but Logan had dated and eventually married her best friend instead of her, leaving her alone yet again. And now it was happening all over again with Owen’s looming second marriage.
“It’s never my turn.” She spat the words out as she stomped across the back porch of Owen’s completely adorable farmhouse. She was destined to stand on the sidelines, cheering for everyone else’s success. Exhaustion flooded her, seeping all the way to her soul as she trudged down the steps and walked blindly across the backyard.
The cheerful sound of clucking filled her ears, but she wasn’t in the mood to stop and soak up the dynamic beauty in motion of the chickens. The breeze pouring off the mountains and whipping at her hair was a better match to her mood. It blew back the flaps of her olive-green cardigan, making it fly behind her like a cape. Before boarding her flight, she’d slung it around the white sleeveless blouse tucked into her white linen pants—just in case she got cold enroute, which she had. Since she was no longer cold, she pulled it off and tied the sleeves around her waist, tipping her face into the wind to dry her tears.
She walked and wept across the rugged fields, bending over now and then to climb between the slats of fences. The hem of her pant legs grew dusty, but she plowed onward. She arrived at a gravel road that led to a tiny cottage. The surrounding trees needed pruning. A few branches were scratching against the dingy siding that had once been white. Other than that, the structure of the home looked sturdy. Her favorite home improvement show hostess would’ve declared it had good bones.
Like me.Jen’s sturdy bones had been propping up others for years. Just for once, though, she longed to know what itfelt like to be the one doing the leaning. Just for once, she’d like to meet a set of shoulders emotionally broad enough to rest her head on.
She marched up to the dusty front porch, still sniffling and feeling sorry for herself. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a new metal roof replacing the sunbaked, faded shingles. If someone power-washed the siding and added a coat of creamy paint, the home would look as good as new. She wouldn’t stop there, though. The horticulturist in her would insist on adding flower boxes spilling with blooms and window shutters painted robin-egg blue. She might even hang a porch swing piled with throw pillows.
Assuming the interior of the home needed as much of an overhaul as the exterior, she dragged her feet across the porch to peek through the window. The shadowy figure of a man stepped up to the glass, nearly making her jump out of her leather loafers.
She yelped and whirled around, preparing to take off running.
The door to the cottage popped open, and a man’s urgent voice begged, “Please don’t go! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She froze in her tracks, trembling so badly that it was difficult to speak. “Who are you?”
“Rex Turner, one of the farmhands.”
It was a name she recognized. Owen had told her all about the man. She turned around to have a look at him and received her second shock of the evening.
When her brother had described Rex Turner, she’d pictured a much older employee. However, the sandy-haired, hard-jawed man standing in the doorway wasn’t old. He was in his mid-to-late thirties—right about her age. He was taller than her brother, well-built, and wearing abrutally capable expression beneath the brim of his Stetson. Farm work had a way of doing that to a person. On a scale of one to ten, he was a solid twelve.
