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"My back is fine. And clothes wash," he replied as he hiked her up a little farther on his chest. "You're going to break your leg trying to walk in those stilts you got on. I can't believe you made it as far as you did."
He could tell she was going to argue with him at first, but instead, she looked over his shoulder at the graveyard, shrugged, and said simply, "You know what? Neither can I." Then she laid her head on his chest and cried.
* * *
Andie couldn't believethis rotten day. She was wet and miserable, and everything hurt. Not just from her fall either. Life was not supposed to be this hard. She wasn't supposed to hate her job or her friends—who all seemed so shallow and callous with only one exception—and most definitely not herself. But she did. That last one most of all. She hated the way the night had ended with Luke. Hated that she had opened herself to him and shared not just her body but her heart, only to have it come crashing down so horribly afterward. And now Luke was here. Like a giant slap in the face from life, telling her that everything she did was wrong.
Uncle Wally had been the best part of growing up. Her parents had moved like nomads, bouncing her from one low-income neighborhood to the next without warning. Her uncle's farm had been the only constant in her inconsistent life.
Not just the farm either, but the man himself as well. With the never-ending fights and the biannual “we love you, but your mom and I have decided to go our separate ways”speech she got from her folks, Wally had been as dependable and steady as the land he lived on. Always calm and stoic. Never mean or volatile, he had been the one person in her life who she knew would never let her down. The only person in her life she knew loved her unconditionally and without strings attached.
Andie looked over the shoulder of the man carrying her toward the grave one last time and felt nothing but contempt for herself over the years that she'd let go by without visiting. It had been selfish and careless of her to just assume he would be there forever and that the phone calls and presents she sent him were a good enough substitute for seeing him in person.
With a pitiful sniffle she would have been ashamed of had she been thinking straight, Andie tucked her head into Luke’s neck, rested her cheek on a shoulder that felt like it was made of iron, and soaked up the warmth that poured from his body like a furnace. She would have thought the heat pumping off him was from the exertion of carrying her, but his breathing was steady and even. Also, the arms that bared her weight as though she were a toddler were as stable and solid as the rest of him.
If this had been any other circumstances and any other man, she would have been flustered and starstruck by the romance of the gesture. Instead, it was buried under too many layers of grief and guilt to register.
"Are you going to the reception in the hall or should we head to the parking lot?" he wanted to know.
"Is the reception here? I thought it was going to be at someone's farm?" She sniffled and asked, "Have you known Uncle Wally long?"
"Yeah." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before adding, "My farm butts up against his." More throat clearing. "I'm sorry 'bout this. I know he loved you. Talked about his city dwelling niece constantly."
When she cracked and started bawling again at that, he faltered for the first time, and she squeaked when he about dropped her. The “sorry” they mumbled to each other was almost comical.
"I should have come home sooner. I should have been here." It was a dejected confession of misery begging for absolution.
Absolution that would not come from here apparently, as his response to that was a terse "Yes. You sure as hell should have." And then he dumped her unceremoniously on her feet at the edge of the paved parking lot then turned on his heel and strode for a beat-up truck without even one backward glance. The gangly teen trailing him glanced back several times though, with wide eyes that were swollen and red, and once they got to the truck, he mouthed,I'm sorry, before he climbed in and they drove away.
Three days later,Andie was sitting on her uncle's beat-up sofa with his executor as he laid out the breadth and scope of what Uncle Wally left behind. He left her parents nothing. Everything he owned was now hers, and,Wow, Andie thought,he owned a lot.
"I never knew he had so much. I mean, I knew he had the farm and that the fruit trees brought in enough income for him to live, but holy cow. How can this be right? He was rich."
"He was wealthy and comfortable but not what some would consider rich. Certainly, if you’re careful and frugal, you will not have to work for the rest of your life if you so choose. He wanted that for you. To have security and to be taken care of. He loved knowing he was leaving you well off. It was his first and only concern during our appointments.
"Now then," he continued as he pulled out a new folder that was stuffed with what looked like a billion papers all tagged with a rainbow ofSign HereandInitial Herestickers. "I've got the contracts and the deed of sale all filled out with Mr. Baxter’s offer—which, by the way, is reasonably over the appraised value of the property—and with your consent, I can roll those funds into an annuity for you that is offering a considerable guaranteed minimum interest that will go a long way toward securing your future."
"Whoa." Andie held up her hands and sat back against the couch as though distance from that file would make it not real. "Sell the farm? Is that what you just said? Is that what Uncle Wally wanted me to do?" Fresh tears that never seemed to be more than a blink away these days filled her eyes. "That can't be right. It just can't."
"Well, umm…." Mr. Blake looked a little flustered and ruffled now. He was handsome and approachable, since he shed his expensive jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. He had on a white dress shirt that he rolled the cuffs of and shoved up to his elbows. There was a mass of tattoos on his right arm. The sleeve of tats was in such contrast to his professional manner it was a pretty clear indication he was a bad boy gone straight. Although he'd left off wearing a tie, he did wear a steel-gray vest that hugged close to his leanly muscled torso.
In what she thought was a very lawyerly move, he set the folder down and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees with his large hands clasped in front of him. He took a moment to study her, and she could tell he was trying to figure out what to say that wouldn't send her into hysterics.
Andie looked into eyes that were a beautiful hazel swirl surrounded by thick, dark lashes and told herself to pull it together. In order to accomplish that, she let her gaze wander over his face.Jaxon “Please just call me Jax” Blake has great bones, she thought. He had a strong brow that stopped just shy of being too prominent, an unbroken nose that flared just a little at the nostrils, and a square jawline that made her think of strength. Strength of character and will as well as physical. The man had almost feminine lips; they were full and looked so soft right now as he studied her. Jax smiled at her a lot since he'd gotten here, and his teeth were just the tiniest bit crooked. She realized she found that sexy as hell, because it kept him from being too pretty and perfect. She also liked that he wasn't imposing and overly businesslike, as he'd worn jeans and black leather Dockers instead of dress slacks and tasseled loafers.
All in all, he was an entirely appealing man, and Andie gave a wistful sigh that she was meeting him under these circumstances instead of socially. She wouldn't mind at all dancing with him and tangling her fingers in that thick wavy hair to find out if it was as silky as it looked.
"Andie," he interrupted her perusal; looked like her mini reprieve was at an end. "You don't have to sell. The farm and everything on it are yours. But, you haven't been here for years, and the upkeep and work it takes to maintain this place is substantial."
"But—" Tears threatened again, and Andie cleared her throat and plunged on. "—Uncle Wally loved this land. This house. It was his life; it meant everything to him." She looked around at the familiar and beloved room with furniture that hadn't been updated for thirty years and wood floors that gleamed not from polish but years of constant wear, and she couldn't even imagine strangers moving in and changing things. "How could he think I would let it go? My whole life, he talked about me being here, taking over where he left off. I just don't understand why you even have that folder with you."
He twined his fingers together so it looked like a two-fisted grip on a gun with pointer fingers making the muzzle and his thumbs made the hammer, and then he brought them up and rested his chin on the thumbs. Those almost-too-full lips pressed against the “muzzle” as he studied her with a Clint Eastwood squint to his eyes.
After a moment, he lowered his hands and spoke words that were hard to hear. But then, the truth was rarely easy on the ears. "You're right. Your uncle wanted you to live here, raise your kids here, and leave it to them the way he was leaving it to you. He never complained about you disappearing on him or talked about what it did to him when he realized you wouldn't be taking up where he left off." His eyes seemed to pierce right through her heart as he continued.
"I have known your uncle for most of my life, and he was the first through my door when I started my firm here. I can tell you with absolute confidence that this—" He held up the folder to motion at her with it. "—is notwhathewanted,but rather what he thoughtyouwanted." He tossed it back onto the worn and ancient coffee table and waved a dismissive hand over it as he set back in his chair. "He only made these arrangements, because he thought it would make things easier on you to have it all said and done beforehand. But, before you go and wallow in guilt, think about it this way. He could have made the sale final, could have set everything up so all you got was the check after the fact. He didn't though; he left the sale up to you. So, maybe that was his last spark of hope. Your last chance to decide if you are going to follow his dream or follow yours."
"See?" She pounced on that with a bounce in her seat and even jabbed a finger in his direction. "That's where you got it wrong. This house. The farm. Thisismy dream. It always has been; that never changed." The guilt was choking her that Wally hadn't known she never lost sight of what was important to both of them.
