A Family for the Farmer (18 page)

She took his hand in hers and pressed the cool metal key into his palm. “Goosefeather Farm is all yours, Abel, or it will be as soon as Mr. Monroe hears I've left. Knowing that you're the one who's going to have it makes leaving a little easier. It really should have been yours to start with. I see that now. You're the one who loves all those crazy animals. You're the one who knows how to take care of the fields and the equipment and everything that goes with that place. Grandma should have just left it to you outright. I wish she had.” Emily gave him a watery smile. “I sure could have done without this whole mess.”

“I don't want Goosefeather Farm, Emily. Not this way, not without you there, not without the twins.” Abel dropped the key onto the planks of his cabin floor, where it clanged once and went silent. He took both of Emily's hands in his and looked into her face. He prayed hard for the right words, because without God's help he knew he would never be able to say it the right way, the best way.

“Listen to me, Emily. This whole mess you're talking about? It may have been one to you, but it's been the best time I've ever had. I've never had a family to speak of, and I didn't really know what I was missing until you and the twins came along. Now that I do, I can't even look at life without you. I know I'm probably saying this all wrong, doing this all wrong. But I can't help that. I reckon I've got to say it, and you've got to hear it. I love you. And Paul. And Phoebe. I love all of you.”

“Abel.” Emily was crying. “Don't do this. Please. Just don't.”

“I have to.” He took a tighter grip on her hands and leaned down, trying to hold her eyes with his own. “I'm over my head in love with you. I know I'm not the kind of man you had in mind, and I can't offer you the life you've got all picked out for yourself. I'm not bringing much to this table except a family name that won't do us any favors around here. I know that. But you know
me
, Emily, and what I am...
all
I am belongs to you and the twins. Surely that ought to count for something. We can figure the rest of it out together. Look, I know trusting doesn't come easily to you. I know why, and I've tried to be patient, but now we're out of time. So I'm asking you to stay here and trust me. And I promise you.” He tilted her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “I
promise
you, Emily, I won't let you down.”

For a second, those wide tear-soaked gray-green eyes looked into his, and he thought somehow he'd managed to get through all those walls she'd built around herself, that he'd broken through her defenses and into that well-guarded heart of hers.

Then she shook her head. “I can't, Abel. I'm sorry. I just can't.” Quickly she released herself from his grip and fled down the wooden steps of his porch. Minutes later her little car slipped out of sight down his winding driveway, and she was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

A
month later Emily stood in her apartment's cramped living room and eyed the large box on the coffee table. Abel's name was scrawled on the return address label, and the sticky note Clary had added said
Delivered this afternoon.

Emily untied her green-striped Café Cup apron with shaking fingers. She really didn't need this, not now. She couldn't look back. She had to stay focused on how well things were working out for her here in Atlanta.

The lawyer had gotten the custody case dismissed, something that would never have happened in Pine Valley, not with Lois Gordon pulling every string she could get her hands on.

Emily still had her job, and Mr. Alvarez seemed more appreciative now that he'd done without her for a while. He was even hinting about promoting her to assistant manager, which would mean a small pay raise and more regular hours.

And the twins had happily gone off to their very first sleepover party this evening, so hopefully the hardest part of this abrupt transition back to city life was finally behind them.

It all proved that she'd made the right decision, and she didn't need some box bringing up the memory of Abel's face when she'd left him standing beside that lonesome chair on his front porch.

Well, the porch that stretched across the front of Grandma's farmhouse held two rocking chairs. One day he'd find the right woman for the second one, someone who milked cows from the right side and who never picked butter beans before they were ready, and who was happy to let his big shoulders carry her burdens.

The box blurred, and Emily blinked hard. She was so
tired
of crying, and it was pointless anyway. Maybe her feelings for Abel had been deeper than she'd realized, but what was done was done. That look on Abel's face...there was just no going back from that.

“Please, Lord,”
she prayed, “heal whatever hurt I caused him. Bring him joy, because he's a good man, and he deserves it. And please help me because I've got to open this box, and I have a feeling whatever's in here is just going to make me feel worse. And honestly I don't think I can take it.”

She swallowed hard, slit the packing tape and opened the cardboard flaps.

The inside was crammed with wads of brown paper. She unwrapped one and a delicately carved chess knight rolled onto her palm.

She unwrapped piece after piece and set them on the table. When the chess set was completed, Goosefeather Farm's animals started to appear: Beulah the cow, Newman the rooster, Cherry the goat and her twin kids and finally Glory, wings outstretched, looking for all the world as if she were about to honk.

A tear splattered on Glory's head, and Emily wiped it away with her thumb. She actually missed that crazy goose. She missed so many things about Goosefeather Farm: the peace, the fresh scent of the air, her work at the coffee shop, the comforting warmth of the old-fashioned kitchen...

But mostly she missed Abel.

The last paper ball unveiled a slim twig adorned with a bloom of dogwood. The piece was exquisitely carved and so delicate that she didn't know how it had survived its journey intact. She turned it over, and her heart caught.

Emily
was carved in script on the bottom.

Abel must have spent hours on this, thinking of her as he formed each petal, and after the way she'd hurt him, it was no wonder he hadn't wanted to keep it.

She set the blossom gently aside. In the bottom of the box was a heavy square shrouded in more paper. She ripped it away, revealing a checkerboard pattern. It was Paul's chessboard and taped to it was an envelope bearing her name.

She pulled it free, tracing the scrawl of Abel's handwriting with a trembling finger. Emily fought a silly impulse to lift the envelope to her nose and see if it held his scent, that tangy mix of pine needles and wood shavings and sun-warmed hay.

That smell was another thing she missed.

The envelope contained only a rectangle of blue official-looking paper. Emily unfolded it and gasped, her heart plummeting.

What had Abel done?

* * *

Abel set down his chisel and eyed the half-finished piece on his workbench with a sinking feeling. He considered it from a couple of angles before he gave up, unclamped it and tossed it into the overflowing box of abandoned projects.

He opened the little refrigerator humming under the window and grabbed a bottle of water. Dropping into a handy chair, he closed his eyes and drank.

He had to get past this. Emily and the twins were already out of his life. He couldn't lose his carving, too.

He heard the car crunching up his driveway, but he kept his eyes closed and stayed put. He didn't know who it was, and he didn't care. He meant to install a gate at the bottom of his driveway before the week was out. He might as well work on that, since he couldn't do anything else.

There was a sudden banging on the door. The doorknob rattled, and a female voice demanded, “Abel Whitlock, you let me in!”

Emily.

The knob rattled again. “Open this door! We need to talk.”

Abel set the water bottle on top of the fridge, rose and moved toward the door. Everything felt like it was unfolding in slow motion as his brain struggled to catch up.

Emily was back. Not only that, but for some reason she was pitching a fit that was probably blistering the paint right off his door.

He slid the dead bolt aside with clumsy fingers. Emily stood on his step dappled with moonlight, fists on her hips.

The sight of her struck him like a baseball bat to the stomach. She had her hair scraped into a high ponytail, but the curly bits had pulled loose and were framing her face like they always did. If she was wearing any makeup, he couldn't tell it, and she had on a dark green golf shirt with
Café Cup
and a steaming coffee cup logo embroidered over her heart. She looked so beautiful he couldn't breathe.

She also looked mad enough to bite a chunk out of him.

“What's this?” She waved a little blue rectangle in front of his nose, and he managed to look away from her face long enough to identify it.

“It's a check.”

“You know what I mean! Where'd you get this money, Abel?”

So she was here to fuss about the check. Abel's heart turned to stone and sank to the pit of his stomach. “I don't see how that's any of your business, Emily.”

“See right there?” Emily jabbed a finger at the top line of the check. “That's my name, and that makes it my business! Tell me.” She swallowed hard. “Did you sell the farm?”

“What difference does it make to you if I did?”

Her face crumpled. “I never asked you to sell the farm. I never
wanted
you to sell it! I told you I could handle my problems by myself, and I did. The custody case is settled. We didn't even have to go to court.”

“I heard.” He walked over and retrieved his water bottle even though he wasn't thirsty anymore, wasn't anything anymore.

“You heard. Then why...?” Emily indicated the check in her hand.

“That money's yours.” He dropped back into his chair and took a swallow of his water, although his stomach was churning so hard he wasn't sure it would stay down.

Yeah, he should throw up. That would help.

“I don't want it.”

“Sure you do.” Abel blew out a tired breath. “Relax. There are no strings attached.”

“I'm not taking this money, Abel.” She set the check on the table next to him. “Maybe it's not too late for you to get the farm back. I know you had your heart set on keeping it.”

He couldn't take much more of this. He lifted his head and looked her straight in her greenish eyes. “Goosefeather Farm isn't what I had my heart set on keeping, Emily. I think I made that pretty clear.”

She flushed, and her eyes swam with tears.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don't be. You did what you felt like you had to do. And it sounds like you were right. It all worked out.”

“Not for you.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm.

He winced. “Don't make this worse than it already is.”

“I know I didn't...listen to you that day. It's just...” Her voice wavered. “It wasn't the first time a man told me he loved me and made me all kinds of promises, you know?” A tear streaked down her face, and she made an irritated noise and swiped it away. “I am
not
going to cry. I'm just not. I was terrified that Lois was going to take the twins, Abel. I had to make sure that couldn't happen. Can't you understand?”

“Sure. I understand. You were scared. So you ran away to handle it by yourself because that's what you do. You handle things by yourself.” He rubbed his hand over his brow. Might as well get this over with. “It took me a while, but now I get it. There's no room in your life for a man like me, Emily.”

Emily's eyebrows drew together, and her chin tilted up a fraction. “What do you mean,
a man like you
? Abel, you can't honestly believe this has anything to do with your family! Because it doesn't!”

“No, you're right. This isn't about who my father was or who my grandfather was. It's about who I am, and that's where we hit a snag. You don't want a man like me, Emily. I just can't let the woman I love handle trouble and hard work by herself even if that's the way she wants it. I'm not made that way.” He met her eyes squarely. “I'm not Trey Gordon.”

“I know that!” She sounded defensive.

“I don't think you do. I think you've been sizing me up by his measure ever since you came back to Pine Valley, and I'm right tired of it. You ought to know by now that I've got nothing in common with the likes of a man who'd turn his back on the girl carrying his babies. Do you honestly think for one minute that if those twins were mine I'd have left you to shoulder that alone? Do you think I'd have let my
mother
or anybody else for that matter stand between me and you?”

“No, but I didn't think Trey would, either. I guess I'm a pretty poor judge of character.” Emily's chin was still up, but it was trembling. “I truly never wanted things to turn out like this.”

His anger dissolved abruptly into the tired sadness that had been plaguing him since she left. This was going nowhere. “It's probably for the best. You've got your future all planned out, and I know those plans mean a lot to you. They make you feel safe, safer than I can, I guess. I want you to feel safe, Emily, you and the twins. If marrying me won't do it, maybe the money will.” He pushed the check closer to her with his finger. “Take it. I won't feel right about things if you don't.”

There was a second of silence. When he looked up he saw that Emily's face had gone paper white, and her eyes were wide.

“What?” he asked her irritably.

Her neck pulsed as she swallowed. “Marrying you?”

She seemed genuinely surprised, and Abel shook his head. “I'm not a complicated man, Emily. When I tell a woman I love her, marrying her goes with that territory.”

“I think... I think I need to sit down.” Her voice sounded strangely thin. Abel took one hard look at her face and moved fast. Five seconds later he had her in a chair with her head down between her knees, breathing into a brown paper sack he'd yanked from his trash can.

* * *

“Are you all right?” Abel's voice seemed to come from miles above her. Emily kept her eyes closed and breathed deep.

“This bag smells like chocolate,” she said.

“I've been missing your cooking,” he said. She could hear a thread of amusement in his voice.

This wasn't amusing. This was embarrassing.

Slowly Emily straightened back up in her chair. She wadded the paper sack and tossed it in the trash before raising her eyes to meet Abel's.

There were tired lines around his mouth, but his eyes held a faint twinkle...and a glimmer of something else behind that.

It was the something else she spoke to. “You,” she repeated, keeping her eyes locked on his, “never said anything to me about marriage.”

He didn't blink. “I know I'm not great with words, but it seems to me I made things plain enough. Like I said, if you don't know what ‘I love you' means when it comes from somebody like me, then you don't understand what kind of man I am, Emily.” His eyes stayed steady on hers.

Steady.

He was wrong. She'd been wrong before, but he was wrong now. She knew exactly what kind of man Abel Whitlock was.

He was steady.

“You sent the chess set and the animals to the twins,” she said suddenly.

Now he blinked. Then nodded. “I did. I promised them those things.”

And this man kept his promises, even the little ones.

“And the dogwood was for me. It had my name on it.”

“I made it for you. It was yours.”

“Then there was that ridiculous check.”

Something steely flickered into his gaze. “I told you I didn't want your inheritance, Emily. I meant it. That money belongs to you.”

“Harder to move than a sack of bees,”
she quoted softly.

“What?”

“So, that's the deal? I can take either you or the money for the farm?”

The hope that leaped into his eyes warmed her heart. “That's about the size of it, I reckon.”

A pause stretched between them, pregnant with possibilities. Emily studied the man in front of her. He still looked the tiniest bit exasperated, but the lines in his face spoke of patience and endurance, and the set of his shoulders meant strength.

When this man spoke of love, it was tied so hard in his heart to commitment that he didn't even think it was necessary to mention it.

That
was the kind of man he was.

“Somebody once told me that if a decent man wants something, he asks for it straight out.” Emily lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe you should give that a shot.”