A Family for the Farmer (16 page)

No matter what Clary said, Emily knew she was backsliding. She was acting just like her mother. When it came to men, Marlene Elliott never made sense, either.

Emily turned into the gravel driveway and stopped the car. She rolled down her balky window to retrieve the mail from the battered mailbox, proud that she'd actually remembered to do so. It was another aspect of country living she'd had to get used to. If she didn't think to grab the mail on her way in or out, it meant a special trek down the long, winding driveway to get it.

Waves of heat radiated off the asphalt through her open window, but it was too hard to manhandle the thing back up, so she left it down as she flipped through the envelopes. Suddenly she froze, her hand on the church's weekly newsletter. Something was wrong.

The ordinary noises of birds singing and bugs chirring still rose from the hot grass, but there was another sound in the mix now, a high-pitched, excited sound.

Somebody was screaming.

Emily threw her car into Drive and stomped on the accelerator. Her tires spun in the gravel as she sped toward the farmhouse.

Chapter Eleven

E
mily's heart was halfway up her throat and pulsing like a jackhammer by the time she rounded the last curve and caught sight of the house.

Her children and that annoying goose were in the west pasture under the plum trees. Both Phoebe and the normally unflappable Paul were running around in circles yelling while Glory stood her ground with her neck and wings extended, honking for all she was worth. For a second Emily thought the twins had been stung by some of the yellow jackets that tended to cluster on the fallen plums. Then Abel came out of the barn, and she understood exactly what was provoking the screams and the nasal honking.

He was leading a saddled horse by the reins.

Emily blinked. There had never been a horse on Goosefeather Farm. Her grandmother hadn't been a fan of horses. She claimed that the animals ruined pastures and were too expensive to feed and look after.

She knew her kids had been disappointed that there was no horse on the farm. She also knew that horses were large animals who required expert handling and who could easily land a five-year-old in the hospital. What she didn't know was why there was a glossy chestnut horse walking out of her barn with a saddle on, twitching its black mane as it bobbed its head up and down in time with its steps.

The twins saw her approaching and abandoned their gleeful hopping to race in her direction. They flung their arms around her waist so exuberantly that she staggered.

“Look! Look, Mama! Mr. Abel got us a horsie!” Overcome with excitement, Phoebe was barely coherent.

“It's a
real
horse, Mama.” Paul's arms were just as tight around her, and for once he was almost as breathless as Phoebe. “Not a pony. Mr. Abel says ponies are too can-tank-erous.” Paul pronounced the new word with pride. “They're not as safe.”

“'Cause they're little,” Phoebe put in, “and being little makes them scared.”

“Like how bantam roosters like Newman are usually meaner than the big roosters,” Paul continued. Emily blinked. When had her son learned that? “She's a mare, Mr. Abel says. That means a girl.”

“'Cause girls are
best
!” Phoebe released her mother, wrapped her arms around herself and resumed jumping up and down as Abel walked the horse over from the barn.

“They are not.” For once Paul's heart wasn't in this particular argument. “Can I ride first, please, Mr. Abel?”

Abel crooked a smile at the boy and waited. Emily frowned as she watched her son's face change from hopeful expectation to resignation.

“I know, I know. Ladies first.” Paul kicked at a clump of grass with one foot. “But are you sure that goes for sisters, too?”

“I'm positive, son. Tell you what. You let Phoebe be a lady and ride first, and I'll let you have an extra five minutes on your turn. How about that?”

“Wait a minute,” Emily interjected desperately. “We need to talk about this.”

“It's okay, Mama,” Paul said with a hefty sigh. “Mr. Abel explained it. Letting girls go first is part of being a man. Even if they aren't really ladies, just sisters. It still counts. Right?” As Emily watched, her son looked up into Abel's face for affirmation.

He got it. “Right.” Abel reached out with his free hand and tousled her son's blond hair in a fatherly gesture.

That did it.

“Nobody's riding anything,” Emily said tightly.

“Mama!” Aghast, the twins stared at her.

“I'm sorry, but my answer is no. Not,” she pointed out, “that I was ever actually asked a question. Neither of you has a helmet to wear, and Phoebe's wearing sandals. I don't know much about horses, but even I know enough to know that you need boots and helmets to ride safely.”

“But Mr. Abel was just going to lead us around the pasture. He won't let us fall off. Can't we ride the horse, Mama? Please?” Paul sounded about two seconds away from tears, and he was the twin who rarely cried. Emily felt even worse.

“And I'll go into the house fast as fast and put on my tennis shoes, Mama! Paul can ride first while I do that. I'll let him be the lady this time. Okay?” Phoebe put her hands together and turned the full force of her pleading eyes on her mother. “Please?”

“Molly here's a gentle, middle-aged girl, Emily,” Abel inserted quickly. “She's good with children and used to them. That's why I chose her. I'll walk 'em slow and just around the field this time. I'll pick up some helmets this afternoon when I go into town.”

“Boots, too?” Paul asked worriedly. “Mama said boots.”

Abel nodded. “Boots, too.”

“I want purple ones!” Phoebe resumed bouncing.

“Nobody is riding this horse,” Emily repeated. “And good boots and helmets are expensive. We can't afford that right now.”

“My treat,” Abel said quickly, and Emily shot him a look that made the smile die out of his eyes.

“No, thank you. Kids, go in the house, please.”

“But, Mama—” Paul began desperately as Phoebe burst into dramatic tears.

“Mind your mother,” Abel said quietly. “We kind of sprang this whole thing on her, and she doesn't know what to think about it. That's my fault.”

“Go to the house. I'll be up in a minute. Watch some cartoons,” Emily suggested recklessly. The children took one look at her face, read her expression and gave up. They trudged off across the pasture toward the white farmhouse with bowed heads. Phoebe was still sobbing, and Glory followed along behind them honking worriedly, her wings outspread.

“Emily,” Abel began when the kids were out of earshot, but Emily cut him off.

“Where do you get off buying my kids a horse without checking with me first? What on earth were you thinking?”

There was a beat of silence. The bridle jangled as the mare shook her head and cocked a wary ear in Emily's direction. Abel stood like a statue with the leather reins looped loosely in one hand. His expression was tense, and his eyes searched Emily's face.

“It looks like I crossed a line somewhere,” he said finally. “I'm sorry. The kids have been talking about horses ever since they got here, and I've had my eye out for one that might suit. When I heard about the Johnsons selling Molly here, I figured she'd be perfect. I told them to bring her on over.”

“Without bothering to check it with me.”

Another beat of silence. Molly stomped a hoof to displace a stinging fly. “I didn't mean anything in particular by keeping it quiet. I just... I wanted to surprise you and the kids.”

“Let me make something very clear, Abel. When it comes to my children, I don't like surprises. What would have happened if I hadn't shown up when I did? You were going to let them ride this animal without my permission or knowledge and without boots or helmets. What if they'd been bucked off?”

Something flickered in Abel's stunned eyes. “Molly's never bucked anybody off in her life. She's as gentle as a tabby cat. Anyway, you don't think I'd put those kids on any horse likely to hurt them, do you? I told you once before that they won't come to any harm when they're with me. I gave you my word on it.”

“Well, letting my kids ride a horse without any safety equipment in open-toed shoes is a pretty strange way to keep that word, don't you think?”

Abel drew in a slow breath and nodded. “I didn't notice Phoebe's shoes. I should have, though. You're exactly right about that. Truth is she shouldn't be wearing sandals anywhere in the pastures, whether she's riding or not. Hooves are sharp. Even a goat can step on a foot and cut it bad enough to need stitches. And then you've got the fire ants and yellow jackets to look out for, too. Paul and Phoebe both need boots. I'll see to it. I don't know if the store in town has purple ones, but hopefully I can find some that'll suit Phoebe well enough.” He smiled that tantalizing crooked smile at her again, and Emily's heart did its customary dip and flip.

More than anything she wanted to smile back at him. She wanted to let this argument pass and let this man buy her children boots and horses and whatever else he wanted to buy them. She wanted to let him kiss her again until all the worries that kept her up at night just dissolved into nothingness. She wanted all that so badly she was shaking, and the strength of her longing terrified her.

She felt a surge of desperation. She had to draw the line right here and right now, or she'd never draw it at all.

“You're not buying my children boots.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, sharp and cold, and Abel's warm smile faded. “Or a horse. Or anything else.”

“Emily, what's going on?” Abel took a step toward her, and she backed up. She had to keep her distance. She couldn't afford to go all fuzzy like she always did when Abel was close to her. She had to keep what was left of her wits about her.

“No,” she said thickly. It was all she could manage, but it did the job. He stopped where he was.

“Emily,” Abel began again, and she could see the concern and confusion on his face. “Listen to me. I'm sorry I've got you all upset. I sure didn't mean to. All I wanted to do was—”

“I don't care what you wanted to do! For heaven's sake, who buys kids a horse without checking it out first with their mother? It's not like buying them a candy bar! A horse is a big deal! And what am I going to do when it's time to sell everything and go back to Atlanta? How are the kids going to feel then? They're already going to have to leave those chicks and...other things they've gotten attached to. It's going to be hard enough without adding more to it.”

Abel kept his eyes on hers, his face tense and still. He nodded slowly. “You have a point there. If you're still set on leaving at the end of the summer, I reckon the horse could be a problem.”

“What do you mean
if
?
Of course I'm leaving!” Wasn't she? Of course she was. There was no question about it. This was all just temporary. Her life, her real life, was in Atlanta, not here with geese and goats and cows and men who bought your five-year-olds horses. “I've been telling you that all along.”

A silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft snorts of the patient horse beside them, the buzz of the insects hidden in the pasture grass and the distant honking of Glory. She'd been left on the back step and was complaining about it. Abel just kept looking at Emily, his face unreadable.

Emily was trembling. She was on the edge of bursting into tears just like Phoebe, but she plunged ahead. She wanted to get this straight. She needed everybody on the same page here. “The point I'm making is that it's not your
place
, Abel. It's not your place to buy my kids horses or boots or riding helmets. And incidentally it's certainly not your place to teach my son manners. One stupid kiss doesn't make us a couple, Abel. We're
friends.
That's it. I'm not looking for more than that, not with you or with any other man for that matter. And if I were, I wouldn't be looking in a place like Pine Valley.”

The horse nickered uneasily beside them, and Abel soothed her automatically without taking his eyes off Emily.

She couldn't quite get her breath. This was all too much for her to deal with, too much to feel. She didn't
need
all this in her life. She couldn't handle it. She'd never been able to handle it, just like her mother. But she wasn't going to make the same mistakes Marlene had made. She just wasn't.

“All right.” Abel's voice sounded oddly tight, and he looked as if he'd been slapped. “You've had your say, and you've made your point. All I can do is say I'm sorry for my misstep.”

His tone was carefully polite, but the pain underneath it cut at her. She hated that she'd hurt him, but she had to put a stop to all this craziness once and for all. So she spoke again, softly but firmly.

“You're not their father, Abel. Please stop trying to act like one.”

He said nothing. She'd seen Abel Whitlock at a loss for words a thousand times before, but never quite like this.

He nodded without meeting her eyes. Then he turned and began to walk the horse back toward the barn.

She lingered in the pasture watching him go. There had been a finality to that curt nod. She still wasn't sure exactly what had been blooming between them, but whatever it was, it was definitely over now.

And that was for the best. Emily swallowed hard and headed to the farmhouse. Hot tears blurred her vision, and she once again stumbled over the tough clumps of grass in the path.

This time, though, nobody was there to steady her.

* * *

Out in Mrs. Sadie's vegetable garden, Abel ruffled the soft green leaves of the last plant in the row, easily finding the cluster of slim beans dangling underneath them. He snapped them upward off their stems and tossed them into the brimming plastic bucket beside him before standing and straightening his aching back. He'd been working in the garden ever since he finished with the barn chores just after dawn. He was tired and sore from bending over, but hard physical work always cleared his mind, and he'd been sorely in need of that.

The refreshing coolness of the July morning had given way to the muggy heat of a Georgia summer day, and he was drenched with sweat and thirsty. But the garden was picked and weeded clean, and the animals were fed. Beulah was milked, and her barn had been mucked out and spread with clean straw. Goosefeather Farm had a contented, well-tended air about it. That gave him a small sense of satisfaction, and nowadays he was finding satisfaction pretty hard to come by.

But now his work here was done. Whether he liked it or not, it was time to go home and either wander around his workshop or go stir-crazy in his cabin. He didn't seem to be able to do much else these days.

Abel hefted the two buckets that were brimming with green beans, squash and tomatoes and started back toward the farmhouse. He would set them on the screened porch, poke his head in the door and let Emily know he was gone until the evening.