Читать книгу A Family For The Farmer - Laurel Blount - Страница 9

Chapter One

“I don’t want a peanut butter sandwich. I want one of the hamburgers we smelled outside.” Five-year-old Phoebe’s voice sounded unusually whiny, and Emily Elliott sighed as she dropped the baggie-wrapped offering back into her purse.

She knew her children were tired. She’d had to roust them out of bed early to make the drive down to Pine Valley from Atlanta in time for this appointment with her grandmother’s lawyer. She could have saved herself all that heroic rushing around, because the attorney had already kept them waiting twenty minutes.

And of course his office would have to be located downwind of the small town’s one and only fast food restaurant.

“You can’t have a hamburger, Pheebs. There’s no money.” Paul spoke calmly to his twin as he flipped through the book on reptiles he’d just pulled out of his backpack. “There never is.”

Emily’s heart clenched, and she cast a quick glance over to the desk where the sleek secretary was busily clicking the keys on her computer. The other woman caught her eye and gave Emily a pitying smile. She’d heard.

Emily felt her face flush. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself sternly. She was here to get the details of her grandmother’s estate settled, not to impress Jim Monroe’s secretary.

Her daughter pushed her bottom lip out. “I’m tired of sitting here. You said this would take just a few minutes, but we’ve been waiting a really long time.”

“We have been waiting a long time.” Emily shifted uneasily in her chair. She really hoped Mr. Monroe wasn’t going to ask her to reschedule this meeting. If she had to drive down again, it would cost gas money she didn’t have, and she’d have to ask Mr. Alvarez for another day off.

Asking for this one off had been bad enough.

Well, there was no point fretting over all that now. “All things work for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose,” her minister had assured the congregation last Sunday. Surely that included late lawyers and cranky bosses. Emily forced a smile and smoothed a stray tendril of blond hair away from her daughter’s sulky face. “Try to be patient, honey. I don’t think it’ll be much longer.”

“Here, Pheebs.” Her son pushed his reptile book over so that it rested halfway in his sister’s lap. “You can share my book. It shows the inside of the lizards, not just the outsides. See? That’s his guts.”

“Eeww!” Phoebe made a face, but soon she was as absorbed in the book as her brother.

Emily sighed again and fished the rejected sandwich out of her bag. She was starving, and those hamburgers had smelled good. She broke off a small chunk and tucked it discreetly in her mouth while avoiding looking in the direction of the elegant secretary. The peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth and made her long for the travel thermos of double-strength coffee she’d left in the cup holder of her elderly compact car.

The twins were almost to the end of the lizard book. By the vigorous way Phoebe was kicking her small tennis shoes against the legs of her chair, Emily knew that keeping her small daughter appropriately behaved was about to get even harder. Something had to give.

Emily rose, and the twins looked up at her expectantly. “I’m going to walk outside and let the children stretch their legs for a minute. We’ll be right back.”

The secretary glanced away from her computer screen and blinked. “Of course,” she murmured politely. “Why don’t you give me your cell phone number in case Mr. Monroe comes in while you’re out?”

“Mama doesn’t give out her cell phone number,” Paul interjected helpfully. “It’s just for emergencies. Minutes cost money. Like hamburgers.”

The secretary’s gaze slid over to her son, and Emily was suddenly aware of how rumpled and sticky they all looked after the three-hour drive in her old car with its wonky air-conditioning system. She tilted up her chin.

“We’ll come back in about fifteen minutes. I’m sure Mr. Monroe won’t mind waiting for us if he gets back before then.” The secretary looked as if she thought Mr. Monroe probably would mind, but Emily was past caring. She pushed open the heavy door and ushered the twins out into the early-summer sunshine.

It was only eleven thirty in the morning, but the Georgia heat had already settled over the town like a hot, moist blanket. Emily hesitated in front of the old storefront that housed the lawyer’s office, blinking in the strong sunlight.

Jim Monroe’s office faced the town square. The brick courthouse loomed directly across the street from where they stood. Its lawn looked lushly green, and shade from a huge magnolia tree dappled a bench near a concrete war memorial. Emily took her twins’ hands and headed in that direction, hoping to put some distance between Phoebe and the smell of grilling burgers.

While the twins ran off some of their energy chasing each other around the tree’s gnarled trunk, Emily sat on the bench nibbling at the sticky sandwich and feeling uncomfortably conspicuous. Passersby curiously glanced her way, and she could see them wondering who she and the twins were, trying to place them. This was a small town, and outsiders stood out.

She hadn’t always been a stranger here. She wondered how long it would take before somebody figured that out and remembered the last time Emily Elliott had been downtown in Pine Valley. That had been the day her grandmother had marched her into Donaldson’s Drugstore to buy a home pregnancy test.

She’d felt pretty conspicuous then, too.

Emily’s eyes flickered to the twins, who were clambering over the twisting roots of the ancient magnolia, and she felt her nerves ease a little. That had been the beginning of the toughest time in her life, but God had brought two amazing blessings out of it. He’d get her through today, too.

“I’m telling you, this isn’t right.” An emphatic male voice broke into Emily’s thoughts, and she glanced up to see two men rounding the corner of the courthouse. “None of it’s right.”

Emily frowned. The man had his dark head turned away from her, but his voice sounded oddly familiar. He was tall and casually dressed in jeans and a red cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His companion was older, and either the Georgia heat or the sharp edge of the tall man’s voice had the fancy-dressed gentleman sweating through his very expensive suit.

“You’re the lawyer,” the familiar-sounding man continued. “Find a loophole.”

“There isn’t one.” The other man mopped at his balding head with a handkerchief as he struggled to keep up with his companion’s long strides. “We’ve been over this, Mr. Whitlock. Repeatedly. And all I can do is tell you the same thing I’ve been saying all along. There’s nothing I can do.”

Whitlock.

Emily squinted at the dark-haired man, and her heart jumped. She stood, shading her eyes with one hand to get a better look. “Abel? Abel Whitlock?”

The man stopped walking and turned toward her. “Emily?”

She felt her lips tilt upward in her first real smile in two long weeks. She took four running steps and flung herself into the tall man’s arms hard enough that he staggered backward a step.

For a second she held on to him without thinking, her nose buried in the softness of his shirt, inhaling the scent of him—wood shavings, soap, the wild tang of the pine woods that surrounded his cabin. “Oh, it’s so good to see a friendly face.” She backed up a step, still clutching his upper arms, feeling the solid strength of his muscles through the worn cotton of his shirt. She peered up into his face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you truly are!”

His blue eyes, startling in his tanned face, looked bemused. He seemed at a loss for words, but that wasn’t unusual for Abel. She’d met him when she was fourteen, and he was the lanky eighteen-year-old who helped out on her grandmother’s farm. He hadn’t been much of a talker back then, either.

“Emily,” he repeated.

She laughed self-consciously and released him. “I know. I’m terrible, flinging myself at you like that. I just couldn’t help it.” She turned back and motioned for her twins to approach them. “Phoebe, Paul, this is Grandma Sadie’s friend Mr. Abel. He takes care of her animals.” She smiled up at him. “He and I knew each other when I used to spend my summers with Grandma Sadie out on the farm.”

The twins approached them slowly. Their experience with men in general was fairly limited—Emily didn’t trust most men around her children. But this was Abel Whitlock, and he was in a category all by himself.

Abel detached his gaze from her face and dropped his eyes to the two tousled blond heads beside her.

“Well, now.” He lowered himself slowly onto one knee and considered the children soberly. “So you’re the famous twins I’ve heard so much about! I’ve waited a good while to meet you.” He fished in his shirt pocket and produced a couple of striped discs of candy. “Do you like peppermint?”

Emily’s smile widened. She’d seen him use the same technique countless times with skittish animals. Move slow, talk low and have a treat ready, he used to tell her. They’ll come around.

The children considered his offering warily, glancing up at their mother for direction.

“You can take it. Mr. Abel’s a good friend.”

“You’re big. Like a tree.” Phoebe blinked her green eyes at him as she accepted her candy. Abel’s mouth crooked up in a lopsided smile that jarred half a dozen more memories loose in Emily’s mind. How could just that sideways quirk of his lips bring back so sharply the details of her Pine Valley summers? She could almost smell the odors of drying hay, fresh sliced tomatoes and green beans processing in her grandmother’s pressure canner.

“I am that,” Abel said, agreeing with her daughter. “And you’re sweet. Like a daisy.”

“She’s not sweet all the time.” Paul popped his own peppermint in his mouth and held out his hand. “I’m Paul Thomas Elliott, and it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for the candy.”

Abel shook the proffered hand. “I’m honored to meet you, sir, and you’re welcome.”

“I’m not a sir. Not yet. I’m just a kid.” Paul cocked his head on one side, and Emily could see him weighing her old friend carefully. “But when I am a grown-up, I want to be a pilot. Of an airplane. Or maybe a rocket. I haven’t decided yet.” Emily smiled. Abel must have passed inspection. Paul was her reserved child, and he didn’t share personal information easily.

“Good to know,” Abel said gravely. “I like a man with a plan.”

They nodded solemnly at each other for a couple of seconds before Abel got back to his feet. When his blue gaze returned to Emily’s, it held a lingering gentleness that made inexplicable tears prick at the back of her eyes. She blinked furiously and managed to keep them from spilling over. Good grief. She was crying over everything these days.

Abel held his hand out to her next. “I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the funeral. I want you to know how sorry I am about Miss Sadie.”

“You of all people don’t have to tell me that.” She took the hand he offered, feeling the dry roughness of his calloused skin. She squeezed hard, looking up into his face. “Grandma’s death is just as much your loss as mine. I know that.”

“Now, see there!” the stocky man interjected jovially. “It’s always nice when folks get along. And it sure makes my job a whole lot easier.” He offered his own hand to Emily. “Jim Monroe. And you must be Miss Elliott.”

Her grandmother’s lawyer. Finally. “Yes.” She took the man’s perspiring hand briefly in her own and couldn’t help comparing its flabby softness to the hard strength of Abel’s.

“I’m late, I know. Sorry about that. I was—” the man glanced up at Abel briefly before finishing “—delayed. Whew, it’s hot as blazes out here! Why don’t we take this little reunion inside where it’s air-conditioned? The three of us have a lot to talk about.”

* * *

Inside the lawyer’s office Abel shifted his weight in the captain’s chair he’d been assigned, and it creaked irritably. He ran a fingertip along its polished arm, assessing the wood. Cherry, he thought absently, with a pretty, rosy grain to it.

Any other day he’d have offered Monroe cash for this chair and hauled it back to his cabin. He’d have taken it apart, stripped off its polish and studied the grain of the wood, looking for the secrets he could carve out of it. But not today. Today he had other things on his mind.

Abel stole a look at Emily, who was standing at the doorway of the conference room talking earnestly to her twins. She was wearing a white shirt with short, filmy sleeves and pale green slacks, and she had that bright hair of hers pulled into some sort of soft little roll at the back of her neck. She was leaning over with her slim, city-pale arms extended, her hands resting gently on her twins’ shoulders.

She reminded him of a dogwood tree just coming into blossom in the earliest days of spring, when its flowering branches looked like bits of lace tangled in the pines. Emily had always had something of the refreshing chanciness of springtime about her, and she’d always given Abel the same fluttering, uncertain feeling in his belly that the first days of March always did. That sense of waking up after the dull darkness of winter.

When she’d run up and grabbed him outside, he’d felt just like he had last fall when Miss Sadie’s ornery little bull calf butted him squarely in the stomach. But then Emily’d always had a knack for knocking him off balance, for making him feel clumsy and foolish, like he was wearing his boots on the wrong feet. Back when she spent her summers on Goosefeather Farm, he’d done his share of mooning over her.

That was what happened when you put a lonesome boy and a pretty girl in the same general vicinity, he reckoned. Of course, Emily had never looked twice in his direction, not that way, and he’d never seriously expected her to. The Whitlock and Elliott properties might butt up against each other, but the families were worlds apart in every other way. Even back then, he’d had enough sense to know that much.

All that was water under an old bridge, because once Emily heard what this lawyer had to say, Abel didn’t figure on getting another hug from her any time soon.

“You be good for Miss Marianne, now,” Emily was telling her children. “Mind your manners.”

“I always mind my manners,” the boy, Paul, answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s Phoebe who forgets.”

“I do not! Well...” Phoebe stuck one finger between her pink lips and hesitated. “Sometimes I forget.” In spite of the knot of nerves in his belly, Abel found himself smiling.

Emily’s twins were cute little things with bright expressions and golden hair exactly the color of wildflower honey, just like their mama’s. The boy had Trey Gordon’s brown eyes, though, and the girl had something of Trey in the set of her chin.

The memory of Trey Gordon made the smile fade from Abel’s face. The summer that Emily Elliott had fallen for Trey had been her last in Pine Valley, and the recollection of it still rankled more than he liked to admit. Still, the man was dead and gone. If Abel couldn’t bring himself to be overly sorry about that, at least with the good Lord’s help he could toss a little mercy at Trey’s memory.

Miss Sadie had taught him that much.

“The kids will be fine.” Jim Monroe sounded impatient. “Marianne loves kids, don’t you, Marianne? Take ’em down the hall to the library, and let them watch cartoons on the television in there.” Monroe dismissed his secretary with a wave and began rummaging through the files stacked on his desk. “Have a seat, Miss Elliott, and we’ll get started.”

Emily had her head stuck out into the hallway, watching her children. She glanced at the lawyer, but she lingered where she was, apparently reluctant to let her children out of her sight.

She’s a good mother, Abel realized, which was pretty remarkable considering that her own mother hadn’t exactly been cut out for parenthood. He’d only met Marlene Elliott a few times, but he remembered her as a flighty woman who always seemed to be in the middle of some kind of man-related crisis. Maybe Emily had inherited her common sense from Tom Elliott, Miss Sadie’s son. He’d passed on before Abel came into the picture, but Tom was remembered in Pine Valley as a solid, upstanding man.

“Close the door if you would, Miss Elliott.” The lawyer darted an uneasy look at Abel. “In these situations privacy is important.”

Emily hesitated another second, then eased the heavy door shut. She came over to take her place in the second chair angled across from the lawyer’s desk.

“Now, Mr. Whitlock, Miss Elliott, you’re here because you are both beneficiaries of Mrs. Sadie Elliott’s last will and testament.”

Abel’s heart sank, and he glanced over at Emily wondering how she’d take this first blow. Emily turned to him, her face lighting up like a spring sunrise.

“Oh, Abel. I’m so glad! You’ve been such a help to Grandma all these years. She’d never have been able to stay on Goosefeather Farm without you, and we both know she’d have been miserable anywhere else. I’m so happy she remembered you in her will!”

Abel winced. He’d thought he couldn’t feel any worse about this whole thing than he already did.

He’d been wrong.

“I never expected her to.” Abel cut another look at Jim Monroe, who winced and pulled a tissue out of the box on his desk to dab at his perspiring forehead. “And, Emily, I want you to know before we go any further, that I had nothing to do with this.”

“We’ve been through all that, Mr. Whitlock,” Monroe sighed heavily and continued as if Abel had directed his comment toward him. “I’m well aware of your sentiments on the matter. But as I’ve already explained to you, Mrs. Elliott set out her wishes very clearly in her will, and like it or not, all three of us are going to have to abide by her terms or accept the consequences.”

Emily frowned. “Of course we’ll abide by the terms of Grandma’s will. Why wouldn’t we?” She looked from one man to the other, her expression puzzled. “What consequences are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Fifteen minutes later she knew.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Emily sounded bewildered, but she didn’t sound angry. Not yet. Abel had his elbows on the desk and his chin cradled in his hands.

So far this was going just about the way he’d figured it would. Not well.

“I’m afraid it’s no joke, Miss Elliott.” Jim Monroe slid his glasses down his nose and looked at Emily sympathetically. “As I said, Mrs. Elliott was very clear. Either you reside on Goosefeather Farm for three months and care for its livestock and crops to the satisfaction of the county extension agent, beginning now, or you forfeit the farm and the rest of your grandmother’s assets to Mr. Whitlock here. Lock, stock and barrel.”

Abel’s gut clenched. Emily was pale except for two spots of red burning high on each cheekbone. She looked like she’d just been slapped.

He couldn’t have loved Miss Sadie Elliott any more if she’d been his own flesh and blood, which was no wonder when you considered that she’d done a sight more for him than any of his own people ever had. When she’d died it had felt like somebody had cut a chunk right out of the middle of his heart. But she’d sure left him in a mess with this crazy notion of hers.

“I can’t live here!” Emily was protesting. “I have a job and an apartment in Atlanta. Phoebe and Paul will be starting kindergarten in August. I’ve already registered them.” She shook her head. “I just don’t get it. What was Grandma thinking?”

“As it happens, we may have an answer to that question.” Jim Monroe slipped an envelope out from under the papers neatly stacked in the manila folder in front of him. He slid it across the table toward Emily. “She left this for you.”

Emily accepted the letter, which bore her name in Miss Sadie’s spidery writing, but she kept her eyes fixed imploringly on the lawyer. “You don’t understand. I can’t stay in Pine Valley,” she repeated. “I just can’t!”

“If you’re unable to meet the conditions of the will, then I’m afraid Mr. Whitlock gets the farm and all your grandmother’s monetary assets, which while hardly extensive are not inconsequential. I’m very sorry, Miss Elliot. I can see this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I agree that it’s quite unusual. I also want you to know that I did encourage Mrs. Elliott to speak to you about it when we drew up the will a couple of years ago. Obviously she didn’t take my advice.”

“This is crazy.” Emily closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with trembling fingers. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” The confusion and hurt on her face reminded Abel of the time he’d happened across a tiny fawn tangled up in the rusty remains of a barbed-wire fence. Emily’s expression tore into his heart just the same way. Only this time he couldn’t ease the pain with a pair of wire cutters and some salve.

Monroe coughed. “Miss Elliott, this isn’t a decision to be made in haste. Read your grandmother’s letter and think things over. You can come by tomorrow and let me know what you decide. ”

“I was going back to Atlanta this afternoon. I have to work a double shift tomorrow. It’s the only way I could get today off.”

The lawyer made a sympathetic noise as he got up from the table. “Here’s your copy of the will, Miss Elliott. And yours, Mr. Whitlock. Should you have any questions, you can give me a call. But as I’ve already explained to Mr. Whitlock at some length, this will’s going to hold. I drew it up myself, and I know my business. You’re welcome to consult with another lawyer if you choose to fight it, but if he’s worth his salt he’ll tell you the same thing.”

And charge you a pretty penny to do so, Abel thought grimly. He’d already called another attorney, and he’d gotten nowhere.

Monroe shook both their hands. “Take your time if you want to discuss it. The children are fine with Marianne.” He nodded and then exited his office with an air of relief, pulling the door carefully shut behind him.

The silence in the room was leaden. Emily wouldn’t look in Abel’s direction.

“Did you know about all this?” she asked finally, keeping her gaze on the hands she held tightly in her lap.

“Not until it was too late to do anything about it. Monroe called me the day after Miss Sadie passed and told me the basics.” He’d been looking for loopholes ever since, but he hadn’t found any, so he saw no sense in mentioning that.

“Mr. Monroe didn’t tell me anything over the phone except that Grandma left some special condition in the will. I thought it had something to do with finding new homes for the livestock. You know how she was about her animals. I never imagined...” Emily massaged her temples again. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this. Mr. Monroe should have given me the same information he gave you so I could have been prepared.”

“He was probably afraid to,” Abel said honestly. “I’ve been giving him kind of a hard time about all this.” The truth was, he’d hounded the life out of the lawyer, desperate to avoid this very moment. The look on Emily’s face made him wish he’d tried a little harder, although he didn’t see how he could have.

“Really?” Emily’s voice chilled. “Why would you do that? As it stands, all you have to do is wait for me to fail, and you end up with Grandma’s farm. You’ve always been crazy about the place. It seems to me this is a pretty sweet deal for you.”

His heart dropped to the bottom of his gut. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, what had kept him awake half of last night. He’d worried she’d think he’d finagled this somehow, that he was the kind of person who’d have conned an elderly lady into something like this.

She wouldn’t be alone in thinking it, either, and for good reason. He was the son of a man like that and the grandson of another one. He’d worked hard to build a different kind of reputation for himself in Pine Valley, but it had been uphill work. Easier, his younger brother, Danny, had said, just to move off and start fresh in a place where the Whitlock name wasn’t muddied up with generations of lies, bad debts and shady deals.

Abel had argued, but Danny had had his heart jammed up by some girl who’d looked down her nose at him and he’d been in no mood to listen. His brother had left, and Abel had set his jaw and started the long, slow work of forging trust with his wary neighbors. One day Danny would feel the call of home. Everybody did, sooner or later. And when that day came, he was going to find out that the Whitlocks had a different reputation in this town. Abel intended to make sure of that, and he’d come too far to see it all crumble into dust just because Miss Sadie had come up with one of her crazy ideas.

He met Emily’s eyes squarely. “I’ve already told you I had nothing to do with any of this. If I wanted Goosefeather Farm, I’d have asked Miss Sadie to sell it to me and given her a fair price for it. I’d have asked her straight out, too, like a decent man does when he wants something. I would never have gone behind your back and wheedled her into giving it to me and shortchanging yo—” He stopped short when he saw Emily’s bottom lip trembling. He was about to make her cry, which was just about the only thing that would make this situation even worse than it already was.

“Emily,” he began helplessly but then floundered. He had no idea what to say. Words never came easily to him, and this was way beyond his skill level.

She got up, pushing her chair back so abruptly it almost tilted over. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’ve got to find somewhere to think...and to read this letter. I’ve got to make sense of this somehow.”

Abel reached deep in his jeans pocket, pulling out an old-fashioned key. “Here. Why don’t you go out to the farm? I’ve been locking up since...for the last couple of weeks and taking care of things.”

Emily’s eyes flashed angrily, and her chin went up a notch. “I already have a key, thanks. It was my grandmother’s house after all.”

Abel winced. He was trying to help, but he’d managed to put his foot in it instead. He felt like he was trying to plow a field blindfolded.

“Emily,” he tried again, but she cut him off firmly.

“Don’t try to talk to me right now, Abel, please. Just don’t. I’m tired, and I’ve got a lot to think about. You and I’ve known each other for a long time, and you were always nice to me when I came out for the summers. You looked out for me, and I haven’t forgotten that. You even used to sneak around and do my chores sometimes when Grandma wasn’t looking.” A smile flickered briefly on her lips. “You’re probably the only friend I have left around here. I really—” Her voice broke again, and she coughed and restarted. “I really don’t want to say something to you right now that I’ll regret later.” Her voice sounded thick, but whether it was clogged with tears or anger, he couldn’t tell.

He sat like a stone, listening as she went down the carpeted hallway and gathered up her twins, who protested at leaving in the middle of their cartoon. He waited until he heard the outer office door shut solidly behind her. Then he sighed and rubbed wearily at his eyes.

He had no idea what Miss Sadie had been thinking, but surely this wasn’t what she’d been hoping for. Emily was hurt and angry, and Abel felt like he’d just murdered a puppy. And he had a hunch things were going to get a whole lot trickier before they got any better. If they ever did.

He got to his feet, folding up his copy of the will into a square that would fit in his shirt pocket. He was anxious to escape this stuffy office and get back outside, where he could breathe. Emily wasn’t the only one who needed to think. Maybe a walk in the woods and some time in his workshop would clear his head. He’d spend some more time praying, too. He always felt closer to God out alone under the pines or with his chisel in his hand than he did indoors crowded up next to other folks. It was something he’d had a hard time explaining to the new minister when he’d pestered Abel gently about his spotty church attendance.

Yes, he’d have another long talk with God. Maybe this time the good Lord would give him some clear instructions about how to handle all this. He sure hoped so, because Abel was going to need all the help he could get.