A Family for the Farmer (17 page)

That had been his routine ever since the blowup about the horse. He and Emily had been circling around each other like two unacquainted cats. When they'd spoken, it had been about the farm work, nothing else, and they were both painfully polite. The chilly silence was driving Abel crazy, but he couldn't think of a way to fix it. He'd been spending some sleepless nights mulling it over as he carved in his workshop.

He'd already finished enough pieces to keep most of the shops on his roster supplied for a month or two. They were what he called filler pieces, simple carvings that were easy and mindless to make. They weren't particularly satisfying to carve, and once he finished them he chucked them in a box and never glanced at them again. Unfortunately they seemed to be all he was capable of making at the moment.

For once in his life, his heart wasn't in his carving. His workshop had always been the one place he felt whole and peaceful, and he'd always relished the solitude he'd had there.

That had all changed. Now as soon as he finished a carving, he found himself wanting to show it to Emily and the twins. He wanted to hear that soft awe in her voice as she turned the piece over in her hands and traced the grain of the wood with her finger. He wanted to hear Paul's and Phoebe's squeals of delight. His own approval had been all he'd ever needed for his work, but now it didn't feel like enough.

He was miserable. And what was worse, he had nobody to blame for it but himself.

Emily was right about the whole horse thing. He'd overstepped and pushed in where he hadn't been invited. That was the kind of thing that happened when a man let his dreams get the best of his common sense.

As long as he could remember, he'd dreamed about having what he'd experienced sitting at Emily Elliott's supper table. And ever since Danny left and Miss Sadie passed on, Abel's hunger for family had sharpened considerably. The time he'd spent with Emily and the little ones had whetted that appetite even more.

It was a hard thing to be given a taste of something you'd been hankering after all your life. It made a man reckless. That was the only excuse Abel could come up with for the way he'd acted. He'd grabbed with both hands for something that wasn't his, and he'd gotten smacked for it. He figured it served him right, but that didn't make it hurt less.

As he neared the farmhouse, Glory popped out from her hiding place in the moist bed of spearmint beside the back porch and honked loudly at him, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Yes, I see you, and no, I haven't forgotten your treat,” Abel told her as the goose extended her long neck in his direction, swiveling her head up to glare at him with one beady eye. He set his buckets down and reached into his pocket for the handful of sweet feed he always tucked in there. He sprinkled it in front of the goose, who gobbled it up as fast as it hit the ground.

“You're making her worse.” Emily spoke from above him, and he glanced up to see her standing on the small screened back porch, considering the goose with a rueful expression. “And so are the twins. They come out here and feed her their bread crusts every time they can. She's taken to hanging around in that mint bed so much that she always smells like chewing gum.” Her voice actually sounded affectionate, and Abel felt a stupid little flare of hope. If Glory was growing on her, maybe in time she'd start to see other things a little differently, too.

He tamped his feelings down firmly and tried to get a grip on himself. He was reading a lot into a greedy, mint-scented goose. That just showed how desperate he was, and desperation made people stupid. He'd just about had his fill of stupid.

“I'm done in the garden for now,” Abel said, hefting up the full buckets again. “I'll just set these vegetables on the porch for you before I go. Bailey called and said she'd be along to pick up her share in an hour or so.”

“I can get them.” Emily held out her hands from the top step, but Abel shook his head.

“You'd better let me. These buckets are kind of heavy.”

He expected her to stick out that chin of hers and argue. For a second she looked like she was going to, but then she nodded back at him and smiled. “All right. Thanks.” Emily reached over and pushed the screened door open wider for him. He had to pass right beside her to get on the porch.

She smelled good. Not perfumey, but fresh, like clean laundry mixed with some kind of girlie shampoo. He sidled past her, doing his best not to brush against her clothes because he knew his own smell at the moment was a lot less pleasant. He felt suddenly very aware of the sweat that darkened the armpits and back of his shirt and the dirt crusted on his arms and neck. His boots were leaving clumps of muck and mud all over the porch floor, too.

“Maybe I'd better just leave them here.” He set the buckets down on the painted floorboards close to the door.

“That's fine.” Emily didn't spare the brimming buckets a glance. She kept her eyes fastened on his face. “Listen, I hope you've worked up an appetite because I made a huge pecan coffee cake this morning, and I just took it out of the oven.”

“Thanks, but I'd better be getting along home.”

Emily's face fell. “Abel, we had a deal. You've kept on doing the chores after... Well, you've kept your end up, and I want to keep mine up. You haven't eaten a mouthful of my food for days, and if that keeps up, I'm going to have to assume our deal is off. Is it?”

She was looking at him intently, her gray-green eyes wide and worried. There were dustings of flour on her nose, and a tiny smear of batter on her left cheek. She had a faded rose-spattered apron of her grandmother's tied over her pink T-shirt, and her honey-gold hair was pulled up in a soft little roll on the back of her head.

She looked as heart-catchingly sweet as the first rosebud of the summer, and if he tried to sit across from her and eat right now, he'd choke on every bite.

“Well?” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “I know you've got that whole strong-and-silent thing going on, but I'd appreciate an answer. Do we have a deal or not?”

“I don't know.” He hesitated and tried to think this through. As usual that was harder for him to do when Emily was within arm's length. She needed him to do the chores, and she was way too stubborn to let him do them for nothing. Both Emily and the animals would suffer if he couldn't get himself past this. Maybe she'd cracked his heart a little, but that wasn't really her fault. He'd been the one pushing things. And none of it changed the fact that he'd given her his word that he'd help her. “I'm pretty dirty today. I could take some of the cake with me, maybe.”

Something flickered in her eyes. For a second Abel thought it was disappointment, but it was gone so fast that he couldn't be sure. She nodded. “That'll work, I guess. I'll wrap some up for you.”

She went into the kitchen, and he took the opportunity to clean up a little at the utility sink angled in the corner of the shady porch. The cold well water coming through the old faucet felt good as he sluiced it over his face and the back of his neck. He cupped some of it in his hand and drank.

As he dried off with some paper towels, he breathed in the familiar odor of the porch, a mixture of paint, mint and old wood. It wasn't exactly a smell anybody would put in one of those air-freshener things, but it was a peaceful, homey scent.

The smell of the coffee cake that was wafting through the open kitchen doorway wasn't hurting things, either. Abel's empty stomach rumbled loudly just as Emily came back carrying a hefty chunk of cake in a plastic baggie.

“That's music to my ears,” she said with a quick, cautious little smile. “Means you'll do justice to my cake.”

“I always do,” he replied, accepting the cake. Their fingers brushed briefly, and she jerked back as if he'd poked her with a stick. Something dark shuttered down over his heart. He gave her a brief nod.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. You have a good day, now. I'll be back over this evening,” he said, and turned to go.

“Abel?”

He turned around. She was still standing on the porch, twisting her fingers in her apron and looking as twitchy as a jaybird balancing on a fence wire. He waited a second, but she just looked at him.

“Did you need me to do something else?”

Emily drew her lower lip into her mouth and nibbled. “Yes,” she said finally. “Well, no. Actually I'm the one who needs to do something... I need to explain about the other day. About the horse, I mean.”

Abel winced. “That's okay. You were in the right. I overstepped my bounds, and you set me straight, that's all. I've got no hard feelings if that's what's worrying you.” He wished he had. Hard feelings would have been a sight easier to deal with than the ones he had flopping around inside him.

“Then why have you been avoiding me? And the twins—they've been so disappointed not to see you at suppertime. They've asked after you every single day. I didn't mean that we didn't want to see you at all, Abel. Truly I didn't. You've been a good friend to all of us, and we appreciate you. I'm really sorry if I made you think otherwise. I'm just...not looking for a relationship right now. That's all. But I really do value your friendship, and I don't want to lose that.”

He shifted his weight from one muddy boot to the other, weighing the cake in his hand. He tried to think of something to say, some way to explain the knife twist he felt in his gut when he was around her and the twins now, but he came up empty. He couldn't even explain it to himself, much less to anybody else.

“Look,” Emily said after an awkward few seconds, “I've got an hour and a half before I'm due at the coffee shop this morning, and the twins are already at the church day care. Why don't you come in? You can eat your cake with a nice cup of iced coffee, and we'll talk.” He hesitated, and she reached across the space between them and put her hand on his forearm. “Please?”

He could feel every finger of her little hand on his arm, could feel that she was shaking just a little bit with nerves. This rift between them was worrying her, and as uncomfortable as he felt around her right now, he didn't like to think of Emily fretting. The protective wall he'd been building inside himself crumbled a little.

Abel sighed. He might as well face facts. This particular woman could ask him for pretty much anything, and if there was any way for him to get it for her, he would. It didn't make much sense, and given the way things stood, he was pretty sure it wasn't going to turn out all that well for him, but that was how it was.

“All right, then, if you're set on it. Some coffee'd be good.” He didn't know what iced coffee was, but that didn't matter. He'd drink it.

The warm smile blooming on Emily's face halted when it was only half-formed and then turned into a frown as her eyes focused on something just past his right shoulder.

“Somebody's coming up the drive,” she said, “and it's not Bailey. I can't think who it could be. I'm not expecting anybody else this morning. Cute car, though.”

Abel turned to look. When he caught sight of the little car inching over the gravel, he felt like someone had just splashed him with ice water. Pine Valley was a small town, and there was only one person in it who drove a car like that one.

It had to be Jillian Marshall. Abel didn't know much about her except that she had hair the color of ripe red apples and a face full of freckles to match. If what he'd heard around town was true, her temper matched that flaming hair. Word was she wasn't a woman to be crossed if you could help it.

He also knew that her job had something to do with the foster care department of the local Family and Children's Services. That was the part that had him spooked.

Unless he missed his guess, there was a whole lot more than just a cute little car coming up Emily's driveway. That right there was big, scary trouble driving a bright purple Volkswagen Beetle.

Chapter Twelve

“S
it down and calm down, the both of you,” Jillian Marshall said as she settled herself on the prim sofa in the Goosefeather Farm parlor and pulled a fat notebook and a ballpoint pen out of her purse. “Let's talk this out like rational people.”

“Are you kidding me? You can't come out here and tell me somebody's started a child abuse investigation on me and expect me to stay
rational.
” Emily was shaking like a leaf, but she couldn't sit down, couldn't stand still. She paced back and forth in front of the empty fireplace.

This was beyond horrible.

Jillian sighed. “I know. It stinks. But it's happened, and we have to deal with it. Rationally. So please sit down, Miss Elliott. Do you want Mr. Whitlock to stay?” Her sharp brown eyes cut over in his direction. “Is he an...um...interested party in this?” She looked back at Emily. “I'm going to have to ask you some pretty pointed questions, just so you know.”

“I don't have anything to hide,” Emily responded through lips that had gone strangely numb. “From Abel or anybody else.”

She felt Abel take her upper arm and guide her to her grandmother's old plush rocker. Gently but firmly he pushed her down into the chair. Then he quietly pulled up an embroidered footstool and sat down beside her, his long legs bent up so absurdly high that if the situation had been different, she'd have laughed.

There was nothing funny about what was happening here, though.

She probably should make Abel leave. She knew that her refusal to do so had given the caseworker the exact impression she'd been trying to squelch all over town, that she and Abel were in some kind of romantic relationship. At the moment, though, she couldn't have cared less. She needed Abel's comforting presence beside her. He was in his sock feet wearing a frayed shirt with some smears of garden soil on it, but his quiet strength was the only thing holding her together.

“All right.” The social worker fixed them each with a stern eye. “First off, some ground rules. Nobody yells at me. Okay? I'm just the messenger here doing my job. Even when the circumstances of the complaint are a little suspicious, I am duty bound to complete a full investigation to make sure that the children are safe and well cared for.”

“Who made the complaint?” Abel spoke up. There was something about the calm, deliberate way he asked his question that made Emily's spine straighten just a little. He meant business, and he was on her side. She wasn't alone in this.
Thank You, God.

“Well, we often don't give out that information, but in this case, there's no reason I can't disclose the person's identity. It'll come out anyway as the case proceeds. It's—”

“Lois Gordon,”
Emily finished with her. “You should know that Mrs. Gordon and I have a history. Her late son was my children's biological father. She was never happy about Trey having a relationship with me, and when I accidentally got pregnant, things got worse. She blames me for the problems Trey had after I left town, and she's upset that I'm back in Pine Valley.”

“I appreciate the information, but it's not really relevant to my case, at least not at the moment. My only job right now is to make sure that the kids aren't in any danger.” Jillian Marshall leaned back against the back of the sofa, crossing one long leg over the other, ballpoint pen dangling idly from her fingers.

“What I'm trying to explain is that Lois Gordon has a pretty big ax to grind where I'm concerned. I think that's plenty relevant. She's not an unbiased reporter.”

“I never thought she was.” The social worker made a couple of quick scrawls in her notebook. “I don't come across that many unbiased reporters in my business. Most people have an ax to grind if you dig down far enough. I wish I could say that accounts like this were usually generated by people with a genuine concern for the children involved, but that actually happens a lot less than you'd think. However, Mrs. Gordon's motivation for filing the report doesn't make a whole lot of difference at this point. Once the complaint is made, I have to follow through until I'm satisfied that there are no grounds for further action.”

“Emily's an excellent mother,” Abel put in quickly. “Miss Lois is wasting your time and the taxpayers' money with this grudge of hers.”

“Mrs. Gordon pays taxes, too, you know,” the social worker responded mildly. “She's perfectly entitled to have her complaints heard. But as it happens, I'm inclined to agree with you. The workers at the church nursery had no concerns, and the children looked healthy and happy to me.” She flipped back a couple of pages in her notebook. “No bruises, no suspicious injuries or scars of any kind, well nourished.”

Emily flew out of her chair as if it were on fire. “
You went to the church nursery and talked to my children
? Without my permission?”

“No yelling, remember? Yes, of course I talked to your children. It's part of my job. Pastor Stone and the day care program director were both present, so everything was done exactly by the book. Don't worry. The kids are fine, and they have no idea about this investigation. And as I said, they showed no signs of neglect or abuse, and that works in your favor.”

Abel came and stood beside Emily, and she felt the firm warmth of his hand on her arm. “Good. Then once Emily answers your questions, you can close this case and move on to one that actually has some truth to it.”

Emily fastened her gaze hopefully on the social worker's face, but her heart dropped even before the other woman answered.

“It's not that simple. Don't get me wrong.” The social worker held up her hands as both Abel and Emily started to speak. “I don't see any signs of abuse. That's true, but the allegations Mrs. Gordon is making go a little deeper than that. It's going to take time to sift through them thoroughly. And I'm going to have to be very thorough.”

“Oh.” Something in Jillian Marshall's voice tipped Emily off. She looked intently at the redheaded woman sitting on her grandmother's couch. “I get it. Or at least I think I do.”

The social worker shifted on the sofa, but she met Emily's gaze squarely. “Good. I hope you do. That'll make it easier for everybody.”

“Am I missing something here?” Abel looked from one of the women to the other with his brow furrowed.

Emily responded without taking her eyes from Jillian Marshall's freckled face. “She'd close the case if it were up to her, but it isn't.”

“Well, all right. If you're not in charge, who is?”

The social worker hesitated, and Emily answered for her. “Lois Gordon. Lois Gordon's the one calling the shots here, isn't she?”

There was a long pause. Emily was dimly aware that the goose was honking from the mint bed and that the grandfather clock in the hallway was ticking ponderously. She could see dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight that slanted through the parlor windows. She still hadn't gotten around to dusting in here.

None of it mattered. Time halted as Emily watched Jillian Marshall search for some way to balance truth and discretion in her reply.

“Mrs. Gordon is very well connected in Pine Valley. And yes, her allegations, no matter how far-fetched they may appear at face value, are unlikely to be dismissed by my supervisor without a very thorough investigation.”

“Maybe I need to have a word with Mrs. Gordon,” Abel suggested grimly.

“I really wouldn't advise that, Mr. Whitlock. In fact, I would caution you both seriously against contacting Mrs. Gordon in any way. You'll only make things worse if you do.” There was a brief pause before the social worker continued carefully. “However, I will suggest that you speak to a lawyer. Soon.”

There was something about the precise way Jillian Marshall was choosing her words that chilled Emily to the bone. She couldn't speak. All she could do was stand on her grandmother's faded floral rug and stare at the woman across from her. The social worker suddenly found it hard to look Emily in the eye.

“Why does Emily need a lawyer? Mrs. Gordon may have powerful friends in Pine Valley, but they can't make truth out of lies. You've already seen the kids. You know they're all right, so your job is finished.”

Jillian Marshall sighed. “Unfortunately for all of us in this room, I don't always get to decide when my job is finished. Not if I want to keep it.”

“Please answer his question, Miss Marshall. Why do I need a lawyer?” Emily felt like she couldn't get quite enough air. The room felt too small.

The social worker rose to her feet, took a deep breath and met Emily's eyes. “You need to see a lawyer, Miss Elliott, because Lois Gordon isn't just making the allegation that you are an unfit mother. There's more to it than that.”

Emily swallowed hard. “What else is there?”

“She's asking for guardianship of your children. In fact, she's petitioning for permanent custody. She wants to terminate your parental rights and adopt them. And honestly, given her level of clout around here, she's got a fighting chance at pulling it off.”

* * *

Four hours later at his cabin, Abel put down his phone and scratched the last name off his list. That was it. He'd called everybody he knew who might have any influence in Pine Valley for advice and any help they might offer. It'd been a short list, and he'd gotten exactly nowhere.

The bleak picture Jillian Marshall had painted for them in Sadie Elliott's parlor was looking pretty accurate. Lois Gordon's late husband had been fishing buddies with the judge who'd be hearing this case, and since Dr. Gordon's death, Judge Callender was taking a particular interest in his friend's widow. All the people Abel had talked to had expressed the opinion that Emily had better lawyer up and fast. So the next thing he was going to do was find Emily the best attorney in the state of Georgia.

Lois Gordon wasn't taking the twins. Maybe he and Emily had things to work out, but this morning she'd leaned on him. She could have made him step outside, but instead she'd wanted him to stay. When he'd joined in the conversation, she'd let him.

Although Emily's independent streak was a mile wide and fathoms deep, this morning she'd turned to him, and that meant something. He wasn't sure exactly what it meant to Emily. Not yet. When all this dust had settled, he fully intended to find out.

But he already knew what it meant to him. It meant he'd move heaven and earth to make things come right for her. Lois Gordon was getting custody of Emily's twins over Abel Whitlock's dead body. That was all there was to it.

The first thing he needed to do was come up with some money. He didn't know much about lawyers, but he knew they were expensive, and the better they were the more they cost. Emily didn't have any ready cash. Neither did he exactly, but he knew where he could get some.

Abel picked up his cell phone and punched in a number. He was just ending the call when he heard the knock.

Emily stood on his doorstep. Her face was pale, but there were some stubborn lines around her colorless mouth that encouraged him a little bit. They were both going to need every morsel of grit they could come up with.

“Emily, I was just about to call you. Come in and sit down. I've been thinking all this over, and I think the first thing we need to do—”

She cut him off. “I'm leaving, Abel. Today. Right now. I'm already packed up, and the twins are waiting in the car. I came over to tell you and to give you my key to the farmhouse.” She held out the old-fashioned metal key.

“Emily.” It was all he could say.

“My friend Clary knows a lawyer, and she asked for his advice. He said the best thing I could do in a situation like this was to relocate the case out of Pine Valley. If I'm residing in Atlanta, then the case will move there. So that's what I have to do. Lois Gordon's influence is local, and since there's no merit to the case, it should get resolved pretty fast. Hopefully.”

“Listen to me, Emily.” Abel's voice cracked with desperation, but he couldn't help it. He had an overwhelming urge to grab the beautiful, tired, frustrating woman in front of him and just never let go of her if that was what it would take to keep her from running away again. “Get the twins and come in. Let's talk this out before you decide what you're going to do.”

“There's nothing else I
can
do, Abel. You know better than most people how Lois Gordon is, how this town works. Look at how your family's been talked about and treated around here over the years.”

“My family deserved most of the stuff that was said about them, Emily. You're not in the wrong here. That's the difference. This will come right in the end. You'll see. You just need to have a little faith.”

“I can't risk losing my children,” Emily argued shakily. She cleared her throat and took a careful breath. “I
won't
risk it. Nothing's worth that, certainly not a stupid old farm.” Her voice broke as she forced out the words, and in spite of the mess they were in, Abel's heart lifted a fraction.

That hitch in her voice told him Emily didn't think Goosefeather Farm was just a stupid old place, not anymore. She was actually sorry to leave it, and that was what he'd been hoping for all along.

Well, it was part of what he'd been hoping for.

“Look, I know this has you running scared, but we can figure it out. I've been making some phone calls. First off, we'll need a really good lawyer. I know money's an issue, but I can help with that.”

Emily's expression didn't soften. “I appreciate that, Abel. I really do, but I'm sticking to my plan.”

She wasn't listening to him. He bit back his frustration and tried to speak evenly. “You don't have to handle this on your own, Emily. You've got to let me help you.”

“There's nothing you can do. I've already heard from a good lawyer, and I'm taking his advice. The twins and I will move back in with Clary, and Mr. Alvarez has agreed to give me my job back. I'll be all right. As long as I have Paul and Phoebe, I'll be fine.” She tilted her pale chin up in that gesture that always pinched his heart.