My body twitches with nerves, and my eyes scan his mangled face and posture. His flannel shirt is ripped at the shoulder, and his jeans are covered in dirt.
“What happened?” I finally ask.
“George Jamison is what happened. He sucker punched me when I was only trying to help.”
Confused, I leave my safe place and dare to come closer to Kip, desperate for answers. “George hit you?”
I notice Kip’s right eye is swelling shut, and the blood vessels under his skin are ruptured, discoloring his skin. His mouth is bloody, and his lower lip is split open. I’m concerned by the sight of him while trying to come to terms with George causing someone bodily harm.
Sweet, gentle, caring George.
Something horrible must have happened for him to lose control and erupt into a violent fistfight with his nemesis.
“I told him the truth. I told him you don’t really love him.”
My cheeks immediately flare with heat, and I see red. My words come out in a rush of anger through gritted teeth. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s the truth.” He wrings out the bandana and takes a step toward me. I step back. Kip’s beaten face is unreal.
He points a crooked finger at me. "I’m on to you, Miss High and Mighty.” I hold my breath, my eyes wide with trepidation.
“You didn’t quit your job. You have an automatic email letting your clients know you’re onvacation.”
My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.
Ididquit my job. I gave Kevin my two-week notice as a professional courtesy. He needs sufficient time to transition my enormous responsibilities to someone else on the team. I would never leave him high and dry. A two-week notice is a standard practice, and I’m not burning any bridges, even knowing I’m never returning to that stressful lifestyle. I would, however, like to keep my professional reputation intact.
“Have you been… spying on me?” I ask. I grip the bouquet tighter so I don’t come completely unglued and lunge at Kip, ready to finish him off.
He drags the bandana across his forehead and winces. “Yeah. I’ve done some digging and figured out where you live in Atlanta. You better believe I showed George that too. You should’ve seen his face when he realized his fiancé is a high-maintenance gold-digger.”
I inhale a quick gasp when I realize Kip is the one who scared George away. Not my job or my address. It all makes sense now. It’s always been Kip, with his confusing words and angry tone. Kip, with his bullying and jealousy aimed at George all these years.
And now, because of me, this man is fearful he’ll lose the only opportunity he’s had to own a piece of this farm. Filling George’s mind with suspicion and insecurity to get me out of the picture is his last ditch effort to get what he wants. It’s the lowest of lows.
And I won’t give him the satisfaction of a rebuttal.
“Where is he now?”
He scowls. “I ain’t telling you. It’d be best if you took your scrawny butt back to Atlanta and let him be. I can’t believe you tried to pull a fast one on him like this, tricking him into marriage, especially with his grandfather so close to death. I gotta hand it to you, though; you must be pretty great at your job stealing other farms, wheelin’ and…”
I don’t hear the rest of Kip’s sentence as I take off with the bouquet in my hand, running as if my life depended on it.
And doesn’t it?
My life finally started to fall into place when I met George.
And I won’t let some scorned, inadequate farmhand take that away from me.
Chapter Thirty
George
Sunlight glimmers on the pond’s surface like tiny diamonds. The gentle ripples calm me, and I almost forget about my heavy jaw and ringing ears. Lifting my hand, I’m shocked by my bruised and battered knuckles where my fist made contact with Kip’s face.
I’ve never hit a man before.
I contemplate my violent actions and realize I’ve held onto a lot of resentment and anger over the years. It’s no wonder it came out in the form of a fistfight. But why did this have to happen today of all days?
