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Chapter Sixteen
Clarissa watched Spencer move his dad’s truck and zip back up the steps. She lost sight of him under the eaves, and that only made her stomach lock down even further. “He said he’d text,” she murmured to herself.
She looked down at her phone, but nothing had come in yet. To distract herself, she left the window and went into the bathroom to begin her nightly skincare routine. The same motions she’d done before many times soothed her, and the minutes slipped by.
Still no text.
Her body ached to go to bed, but her mind felt fully awake.Are you okay over there? Need anything?
She read and re-read the text before sending it. Spencer answered with,I’m okay. Got him to bed, and I’m turning in too. See you tomorrow.
Satisfied, but still worried, Clarissa plugged in her phone, lay down, and switched off the lamp. The house felt too quiet, and she got up again to plug in the fan she used to provide some white noise. She’d never been afraid on the farm, because it was out of the way and people could drive by it in a blink. The only people who came here were those who knew it was here and had a reason to venture this far out of town and down the dirt roads to the milksheds or hay barns.
With the fan going, she fell asleep quickly, but dark shadows chased her in her dreams. She woke early and went through her morning routine. Brew the coffee. Eat breakfast. Get to the milk parlor to pull that day’s orders.
Spencer would have work to do in the stables, fields, and barns, and she’d see him around noon the way she always did. Since they’d been working together in the kitchen the past few days, she didn’t have any inventory to keep up with, and she ended up in the shoppe about nine with nothing to do.
A text from Spencer came in, and she read it quickly.If you wanted to meet my dad properly, he’s up now and mostly sober.
She immediately turned and left the shoppe and got herself over to Spencer’s. If she hadn’t had time that morning, or if she’d been elbows-deep in cheese, she still would’ve gone. She knew what a huge thing it was for him to even be talking to his father.
“Twenty years,” she muttered to herself. What had that initial conversation been like? He’d been so nervous last night. Nervous and angry, and for such an even-keeled guy like Spencer, that was saying something.
She pulled up to his cabin, where nothing had changed. His white truck still sat out front where he’d parked it last night. The other one couldn’t be seen.
Clarissa slowed down as she got out of her car and walked toward the front of the house. She wasn’t sure why her heart beat like a big bass drum, but it was probably just one of its many flaws. She rapped on the door, the sound anxious to her, and Spencer opened the door a few seconds later.
He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look scared as a jackrabbit either. “Hey,” he said easily, the frown between his eyes smoothing out. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she said, torn between looking at him or searching the house for his father.
Spencer stepped back, and the view opened up. His dad sat at the small, two-seat table in the kitchen, and Clarissa entered the house.
“Dad,” Spencer said. “This is Clarissa. She lives next door. Riss, this is my dad, Ernest.” Spencer didn’t move toward his father, and Clarissa stuck to his side too.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice as pleasant as she could make it.
“Mornin’,” Ernest said, cocking his head. “You look familiar.”
“You met her last night,” Spencer said, finally taking a step toward the kitchen. “Coffee, Clarissa?”
“No, I have to get over to the shoppe. But thank you.” She scampered after him, something…unsettling about the way Ernest watched her. He too had dark, deep eyes like his son’s. He hadn’t lost a single hair on his head, though his nearly-black locks had started to turn gray.
He tracked her every move as Spencer said, “He’s staying through the weekend. He’ll be gone on Monday morning.” It sounded like he was telling Clarissa—and reminding his dad.
Ernest nodded, finally looked back at the breakfast in front of him. “Yep, that’s right. Gone on Monday morning.”
Clarissa felt like someone had released her torso from their suffocating grip, and she pulled in a full breath for the first time since entering the cabin. “That’s great,” she said.
Spencer didn’t look like it was great. Ernest didn’t either. She wondered what agreement they’d come to, and she sent up a silent prayer for Spencer.
“Will you still be at the shoppe today?” she asked.
“Yes,” Spencer said. “I’m just taking a break from my morning chores.” He cut a glance over to his father, who was now muttering something to himself under his breath. “He’s promised to stay in the house while I’m gone. I’ll lock the doors.”
Clarissa wanted to tell him the doors locked from the inside, not the outside. She wanted to ask him what he thought would happen if his father wandered the farm. He couldn’t be carrying more than a hundred and eighty pounds on that wiry frame, and his hand shook as he lifted his fork with a bite of egg on it to his mouth. Besides being here after so long, with no explanation and no warning, he didn’t look all that threatening to Clarissa.
But she said, “Okay,” and stepped toward the back door. “I’ll see you in a little bit then.”
