Read A Family for the Farmer Online
Authors: Laurel Blount
A Family for the Farmer
Home to the Farmer
When she inherits her grandmother's farm, Emily Elliott must return to the small town she thought she'd permanently escaped. The citified single mom of twins must live on Goosefeather Farm for the summer...or lose it to neighbor and childhood friend Abel Whitlock. It's Abel's chance to own the land he's always wanted, but he won't do it at the expense of the girl he's never forgottenâor her adorable twins. Instead, Abel will show Emily how to take care of the farm and its wayward animals. He has three months to fight for a lifetime with the family he loves.
She couldn't ignore the gleam in his eyes.
Maybe this arrangement wasn't such a good idea after all. “You know, babysitting wasn't part of our agreement.”
“I've got to do something to pay you back for that lemon pie you made.” One side of his mouth tilted up. “Besides, I like spending time with the twins.”
A burst of childish laughter came from the yard, and Emily saw the echo of her own smile on Abel's face. Her heart bobbed and dipped crazily and her cheeks started to burn.
She'd never had anybody to share such parenting moments with, and there was an intimacy that unsettled her, making her feel like her most vulnerable spots were unprotected.
Abel's smile suddenly faded. “I think you'd better get going.” There was a strange tone in his voice and a stunned intensity in his eyes that struck her like an electric shock.
This was bad. Those silly little sparks flashing between them weren't one-sided. Abel was feeling them, too, and that could only mean one thing.
Trouble.
Laurel Blount
lives on a small farm in middle Georgia with her husband, David, their four children, a milk cow, dairy goats, assorted chickens, an enormous dog, three spoiled cats and one extremely bossy goose with boundary issues. She divides her time between farm chores, homeschooling and writing, and she's happiest with a cup of steaming tea at her elbow and a good book in her hand.
Books by Laurel Blount
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A Family for the Farmer
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A FAMILY
FOR THE FARMER
Laurel Blount
Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your hands, just as we told you.
â
1 Thessalonians
4:11
In memory of my mother,
Frances Russell Medcalf,
who encouraged me to dream,
and for my husband, David,
who made all those crazy dreams come true.
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 himâwood 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 limitedâEmily 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 wasâ” the man glanced up at Abel briefly before finishing “âdelayed. 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.
