I don’t bring up the fact that my friends can’t stand him. They think he’s pompous and spoiled, which maybe he is, but he was never high and mighty, which I liked. Jeremy and I definitely aren’t compatible on paper, but that didn’t bother me.
What bothers me is the way he thinks I should want more than just my farm life. What bothers me is that he would not swim through a flood to save me—he wouldn’t even try.
“Who cares? I love you, Lark.”
The lies I told myself. The excuses I made. It wasn’t until I took the last week, since the storm, to see the holes in our relationship. Ones that were way too big to plug. When you’refundamentally different in every way, there’s no bridge you can build to find common ground.
“And I love you enough to want you to be happy. To find a girl who loves the same things as you. Who you can start a family with and not fight over every decision she makes. You and I would never have that. I want my kids to be rough and tumble, to grow up riding horses, getting dirty, and knowing the farm life. Is that the same future you see?”
I already know it’s not. I’m hoping that I can speak to his more pragmatic side.
“You were my future.” That’s sad. My heart aches at the way his eyes go soft. He reaches his hand out to me. “Lark, please.”
Shit. I’m so not good at this. Like a dummy, I place my hand in his, but I need to stay strong. I know that he isn’t going to be the man I marry. It’s almost cruel to keep trying to convince myself otherwise.
I squeeze his fingers. “I think we both knew we were trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I think you’re a wonderful man. You’re smart, kind, and some woman is going to come into your life, and you’re going to see that she is nothing like me.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am,” I say on a breath. It carries both relief and a touch of sadness.
Jeremy is a good guy, and even if this isn’t easy, I know it’s the right choice. We’re not a passionate couple. He doesn’t make my heart flutter when he walks into a room, but he is steady. I wasn’t worried about him going to the bar and cheating, like my last asshole boyfriend did. Jeremy was different, and while I think it was a good kind of different, maybe it was justtoodifferent.
There’s never been a single night when I wake up dreaming of him, but I dream of another man almost every damn nightsince he took me home, brought my truck back to me, and made my heart race.
He releases my hands and slides back in his chair. “I wish I could change your mind.”
My lips turn up to a sad smile. “I wish you could too.”
But we both know he can’t.
“Momma, let me get that.” I rush over and grab the casserole dish that’s positioned almost ninety degrees the wrong way in her hand.
“Thank you, sweetie.” Her soft voice trembles at the end. It’s been a rough year for her. She fell about six months ago, and my tough, warrior momma would usually bounce back, but there’s been nothing like that. She walks slower, the pain is constant, and a month ago she suffered what we believe was a ministroke.
“You’re welcome. Here, come sit, I can take care of setting the table.”
“No, no, you’ve been out working with the horses all day. I can do it.”
The stubborn warrior lives on.
I learned a long time ago not to argue with her, but I have my ways of getting around her when I need to.
“All right, Momma. How about I just bring the plates to the table then?”
She pats my cheek, her warmth seeping into my soul as she smiles. “You’re a wonderful girl, Lark Gatlin. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“I won’t.”
The two of us work in the kitchen which holds so many memories from my childhood. Momma teaching me to bake sourdough, feeding the starter every morning, and then having terrible bread when I didn’t follow her directions. The cabinet that hangs a little crooked because Ryan thought he could fix it for her and…didn’t, but she won’t let anyone touch it because it’s perfect the way it is.
Not a thing has changed in this kitchen, contrary to Daddy telling her he’d do some upgrades. She loves her oak cabinets, brownish linoleum floor, and Formica countertops. To her, they’re home, and it’s not the things that make a home—it’s the people in it.
We get her famous roast beef, mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, and sweet rolls out onto the table. My mother believes that feeding this family a strong, hearty meal is necessary to keep us going.
Ryan and Deacon think it’s a way to keep them both living on the ranch with them, not that either wants to move since there’s no real reason to. I stay because my parents are getting old, and while Deacon and I stay in the main house, he’s really not helpful. I help with the cooking and the cleaning.
Momma goes to ring the dinner bell. Yes, we still have a damn bell, but before she can pull the cord back, the two bottomless pits known as my brothers come running in, like dogs who smelled the food bin open.
