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Tears had slipped down her cheeks. “I don’t know, Ray. That was our dream. I love you. I wanted children with you.”
He’d given her a tight smile. “And I wanted them with you. But that’s not how this story ends. I’ll be gone. You have to keep living. There’s someone special out there for you. He’ll love, protect and care for you. And he’ll give you babies to love. You always wanted a house full of kids. Don’t give up on that dream. You’ll make a terrific mother.” He squeezed her hand with a surprising strength. “Promise me you’ll give yourself the chance.”
He wouldn’t calm down and sleep until she’d made that promise. At the time, she’d had no intention of keeping it.
In the past three years, she’d worked so hard she hadn’t had time to date, nor had she wanted to. No man had pushed past the grief of her loss or awakened her desire.
Until Gerard.
There’s someone special out there for you.
Ray’s prediction echoed in her memory.
Gerard was special. He could be the one. Only he would be a work in progress to get past his own baggage instilled by an abusive father.
Bernie pushed away from the wall, stepped into a cool shower and quickly rinsed off. After she dried herself with a towel, she pulled on the panties and bra. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and winced. How had she attracted a man looking like something the cat had dragged in?
Quickly running a brush through her hair, she worked out the tangles, pulled it back and braided it into a thick plait that hung down the middle of her back.
Ray had loved her hair long. It was even longer than when he’d died, but only because she hadn’t taken the time to get it cut.
For a moment, she considered applying a little blush and mascara but ended up leaving the bathroom with her face bare. They’d be working in the field later. Any makeup would end up running down her face in sweat.
She left the bathroom, found a pair of jeans in her closet, pulled them up over her hips, and then found a clean, heather-gray T-shirt. She was a farmer, not a fashion model. After slipping into socks and her dingo boots, she made her way into the kitchen, following the rich aroma of coffee.
Gerard, fully dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt and tennis shoes, handed her a travel mug full of steaming brew. “I didn’t know what you wanted in it. It’s black.”
“Perfect,” she said and sipped, careful not to burn her tongue. “I can whip up some eggs and bacon if you’d like.”
He nodded toward the counter, where a stack of toast lay on a paper towel. “I’m okay with toast if you’d like to hit the road as soon as possible.”
She nodded. “Sounds good.” She wrapped the toast in the paper towel and headed for the door, snagging her purse off a hook on the wall.
Once outside, she glanced right and then left at the porch. “That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” he asked.
“Howey is usually asleep on the porch at this time.”
Gerard grinned. “Isn’t he usually asleep on the porch at all times, except when he’s guarding the watermelon patch from intruders?”
Bernie descended the steps, careful not to spill her coffee. “Exactly.” She glanced around the yard and looked toward the barn. “Howey!”
The dog didn’t respond.
She ducked and looked beneath the porch. “Sometimes, he likes to sleep beneath the porch. He hides all his treasures beneath the steps. I have to clean it out every so often when he drags a dead animal under there.” She frowned. “Howey?”
The dog didn’t come out. She straightened. “He came back from the watermelon patch last night, didn’t he?”
Gerard nodded, descending the stairs to stand beside Bernie. “I scratched behind his ear before I entered the house last night. He was sitting there by the door.”
“Maybe he’s out looking for more treasures,” Bernie said with a smile. “He’ll show up soon enough.”
She led the way to where they’d left the truck hooked to the trailer with its huge cardboard boxes filled with watermelons.
Bernie double-checked that the hitch was safely connected and the lights and brakes were plugged securely into the back of the truck. When she turned to look at the boxes on the trailer, her brow dipped low. The bottom of the cardboard boxes were dark, as if they’d somehow gotten wet. Her heart skipped a beat. They’d been careful to pick them when they were dry and had loaded them carefully into the containers. A sense of dread crushed her chest as she climbed over the rail into the trailer and peered down into one of the boxes. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Gerard asked.
