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The savings she’d been able to accrue allowed her some flexibility. And for now, she just wanted to mend the relationship she had with her father.
Her room was exactly as she’d left it when she’d left for her new job. There were still some signs of her growing up here, like the porcelain dolls on the shelves and some childhood collectibles. Her twin daybed seemed so much smaller than the queen bed at her apartment in Germany. That would be one thing she’d miss, but it wasn’t a deal breaker.
An almost timid knock on her door stirred her from her thoughts and she hurried toward it. Her hand rested on the knob, then she thought better of opening the door. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got breakfast for you,” her father’s gruff voice came through the maple door. “Will you be joining me this morning?”
She nodded, then had to remind herself that he wasn’t able to see her reaction. “Yeah. Give me a few minutes.”
“It’ll be cold by then.”
Scarlett bit back a smile. Her father was always so literal. But then again, he had this sense of humor she had never managed to master. “Okay. Give me a second.”
There was no response. She’d waited too long; he’d likely gone downstairs already. Scarlett heaved a sigh and then grabbed her clothes. Today started a new day. When she’d come home last night, she’d told him she wanted to help with the farm. But then he showed her his hand. He’d sliced it on some tool he’d been using. It was wrapped in a torn-up piece of his shirt, and she’d insisted on taking him straight to the ER for stitches.
Ten stitches later, and they were back home again.
But now he wasn’t sure how they were going to get the harvest done. Lucas was the only option that came to mind. He’d appeared more than willing to help out. And just thinking about him made her stomach do a little flip.
It was silly to have a crush on him. He was a year or two younger than her and she’d heard all about his escapades with the local women. But attraction couldn’t be helped most of the time.
She pulled on a t-shirt and hurried into the kitchen, finding her father with a half-empty plate. He glanced up at her and offered a small smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she returned, taking a seat across from him. “How’s your hand doing?”
He lifted it, turning it back and forth before shrugging. “It’s fine. Maybe I was wrong. I can probably get to work this afternoon if I’m careful—”
“Dad,” she said with a sigh, “no. That cut went deep. If you use your hand doing anything strenuous, the doctor said you could rip open the stitches and then you’d have to go back. Did you at least call Lucas?”
Her father frowned, not meeting her gaze.
“Dad,” she groaned. “He said he was willing to help. Just give him a call. They have so many people working over there, I’m sure they can spare someone. And I know that I’m not as well-versed as mom was, but I can help, too.”
His bushy brows furrowed and his dark, worried eyes mirrored her own. “I don’t want you to fret about the farm. We paid for your education so you didn’t have to work hard on the ranch.”
“It’s fine. I should have never stayed away for so long.” Her confession weighed heavy on her—more so than she had ever expected it to. Neither one of them said it, but she could tell he agreed with her sentiments. They were practically strangers now.
“When will you be going back?”
She shook her head. “We’ve been through this, Dad. I’m not going back.”
He didn’t meet her gaze, choosing instead to focus on his plate. “I know you think that, but—”
“I’m not just thinking it, Dad. I mean it. I grew up here. I know this place. It’s my… home.” Her voice broke on the last word. Both of her parents had grown up ranching and farming. They knew the land like she knew her languages. Once upon a time they’d told her that she needed to leave this place and make something of herself.
Well, she’d done that.
And it wasn’t as great as she’d thought it would be.
“I’m staying, Dad. End of discussion. If you don’t want me working the farm, then I’ll… I don’t know… get a job waitressing. I heard that Sal’s is still open. And that country club has a new restaurant. Maybe I can work there—”
Her father let out a heavy sigh but didn’t argue with her.
“So, will you at least call Lucas? If he can help me get started, then maybe I can get a good head start on some things before the season comes to a close.”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, the tight lines telling her more than his words ever could. He didn’t want her here. Her stomach flipped, but not in a good way. She could feel the bile creeping up the back of her throat, threatening to make an appearance. As if in self-preservation, she shot to her feet, grabbing a piece of toast from the plate on the table. “I’m going to gather the eggs from the chicken coop. You need to call Lucas.”
He turned around in his seat and called after her, “Why can’t you call him?”
