A Family for the Farmer (7 page)

He heard the slap of Emily's mop against the old floor, and he felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he'd had more to do with this whole mess than he'd thought. Maybe he shouldn't have let on to Miss Sadie how much the farm meant to him. Maybe that was why she'd left her will the way she had. It would figure. Every time he opened his mouth, he seemed bound to stick his foot in it.

Abel took in a deep, slow breath of evening air and squinted heavenward.

“Lord, I need Your help. I had some ideas about how to set this to rights, but it looks like I'm only making things worse, so I'm putting it in Your hands. You're the only one who can unscramble these eggs and get all this straightened out like it should be. Help me to do my part, and help me to have enough sense not to get in Your way. Amen.”

There. He'd done all he could do for tonight.

Abel blew out one last sigh, gave Glory's silky head a stroke with a gentle fingertip and levered himself up off the chilly step to start the walk back to his cabin. He'd left Goosefeather Farm a thousand evenings before this one, but somehow tonight it felt different.

This time it felt kind of permanent.

Chapter Four

E
mily stopped and pulled the crumpled square of notebook paper out of her back pocket, angling it to catch the beam of sunlight coming through the high barn window. She squinted at Abel's handwritten instructions in the fading afternoon light and sighed. The goats were the next thing on the list, but unfortunately they weren't the last. There was still an awful lot left to do, and it was getting dark fast.

The milking had taken longer than she'd expected. Her hand muscles were sorely out of shape, and she'd had to stop several times to flex her cramping fingers. She'd done her best, but she was pretty sure she hadn't stripped out Beulah's udder nearly as well as she should have.

At least she didn't have to worry about getting tonight's milk strained. Beulah had finally lost the last shred of her patience and kicked the bucket over. Emily knew she should be upset about the waste of that hard-earned milk, but instead she was just thankful she could cross another job off the evening's list.

And now she'd better get started mixing the goat food. Judging from the number of ingredients Abel had put down, that was going to take her a while, too.

“Hello? Anybody home?” a female voice called from the barnyard. Emily tiptoed to look out the window and saw a trim brunette dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt standing on the gravel driveway beside a glossy red pickup truck. The woman glanced in Emily's direction and gave a quick wave before letting herself into the pasture. She latched the gate deftly behind herself and headed toward the barn, her gait easy and relaxed.

Emily glanced down at her filthy clothes and winced. Great. Company. Just what she didn't need right now.

The young woman came through the open barn doorway and stopped. “Well,” she said, amusement rippling through her throaty voice. “You look like you've been working hard.” She flashed a brilliant smile, revealing a deep dimple in each cheek. “I thought for once Pine Valley gossip had to have it all wrong, but here you are. Emily Elliott, as I live and breathe! It's been a long time.”

Emily narrowed her eyes, searching her memory. The voice was familiar, but...

“Now, don't tell me you don't remember me.” The girl raised her eyebrows until they nearly disappeared under the red ball cap she was wearing, her long dark ponytail threaded through the gap at the back. “Here. Let me help you out.” She made circles with her thumbs and forefingers and placed them in front of her eyes like spectacles, stuck her front teeth over her bottom lip, and pooched out her slim stomach.

“Bailey Quinn!” Emily gasped. She laughed and rushed forward.

Bailey took a step backward and held her hands up as a barrier. “Whoa there! Not until you've had a bath! Oh, never mind.” She shook her head, took four quick steps forward and gave Emily a fierce, hard hug. “What's a little crud between old friends?”

“Bailey! I can't believe it! What are you doing here? I didn't even know you were still in Pine Valley. You always said...” Emily trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“We
both
always said,” Bailey pointed out drily. “But here we are. You're standing in a barn covered with muck, and I'm peddling vegetables and homemade jams at the farmers' market and heading up the local 4-H chapter. Looks like country life got us both in the end.”

“Looks like,” Emily echoed faintly, her disbelieving eyes trying to make sense of Bailey's transformation. She couldn't get over how different her friend looked without the big, round spectacles she'd always worn, and with her teeth as straight and white as they could be. Then there was the little matter of her figure. “I can't believe...you're just... Wow. Just, wow! You look wonderful!”

“I ought to. Contacts,” Bailey explained succinctly. “And braces. Five years of those awful things.” She patted her flat stomach. “And a whole lot of carrot sticks and crunches.”

Emily felt a surge of admiration. Her old friend might not have made it out of Pine Valley, but she had changed her life just the same. The mousy bookworm had turned into a dark-haired beauty.

“We need to catch up,” Bailey was saying. “But from the look of you, now's obviously not the time. I just stopped by to drop off your check and take a peep at the garden and see what's coming off for Saturday. Looks like green beans, squash and a ton of tomatoes and peppers as near as I can tell. Time to crank out a batch of my signature spaghetti sauce.” She pulled a folded check out of her pocket and wiggled it in Emily's direction. When Emily just looked at it, Bailey frowned and tilted her head. “Abel didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Bailey snorted. “That man! He'd rather take a jab in the eye with a stick than talk to a person. Your grandma and I had a deal. I've got a little specialty store downtown, Bailey's, and I run a booth at the farmers' market every Saturday. I sold Miss Sadie's vegetables for her, and in return she let me have half of them for the preserves and sauces I'm making for the store. I was hoping it'd suit you to keep the deal going.” Bailey's straight teeth flashed in a quick smile. “Abel Whitlock isn't much of a talker, but everybody knows his vegetables are the best in town. My booth is mobbed every week.” She fluttered the check. “Here. Take it. That's from the last few weeks, so don't get your hopes up that it'll be this much every time.”

Emily reached out slowly and took the check. “You're running a store? Here?”

“Here, there and everywhere, honey. The internet is a marvelous thing. I'm just getting started, but so far so good. How about it?” Bailey tilted her head. “You want to let the deal stand?”

Emily blinked and tried to think fast. She wished Abel had told her about this. She hated having to make spur-of-the-moment decisions, but if Grandma had thought this arrangement with Bailey was a good idea for the farm, it probably was. “Sure. I guess so.”

“Great!” Bailey's face lit up.

“I'm only here for the summer, though,” Emily cautioned quickly. “My grandmother's will—”

“Oh, I know all about that,” Bailey interrupted with a dismissive wave. “That will is the talk of the town.” She chuckled and shook her head again, her ponytail swinging widely. “Lois Gordon is beside herself.”

“I bet she is.” A tiny smile tickled around the corner of Emily's lips as she imagined the scene that had ensued when Trey's mother heard Emily was staying in Pine Valley for three months.

“Yeah.” Bailey's smile faded, and she looked at Emily soberly. A short silence, crowded with the events that had unfolded since the two friends last saw each other, stretched between them. “Be careful there, Emily. Mrs. Gordon's kind of a loose cannon these days. Ever since Trey... Since she heard you were back, she's been...” Bailey gave up and shook her head. “Just be careful.”

Emily shrugged. “Lois Gordon's already done all the damage she can do to me, Bailey.”

“Maybe so. I mean, if you really do plan on selling the farm and leaving town come fall.” Bailey's dimples flashed again. “Got somebody waiting for you back in Atlanta?”

“Just a job,” Emily replied, hoping she was telling the truth. “I'm too busy for anything else.”

“That so? Then who knows? Abel might convince you to stick around here. He always was kind of sweet on you. You two will be spending so much time together out here, you never can tell. Some sparks might start flying.” Emily's old friend's eyes twinkled mischievously.

Emily shook her head. “That's crazy. Abel and I are just friends.” Her mind skipped to that inexplicable moment she'd had in the kitchen, but she dismissed it firmly. That had been nothing but exhaustion. “You're crazy,” she repeated.

“Yeah,” Bailey scoffed. “
I'm
crazy. Abel loves this place beyond all reason, always has. Folks in town thought he'd be happy as a clam to have a shot at having it for himself. Some thought maybe he'd even conned your grandma into leaving things the way she did. I mean—” Bailey shrugged eloquently “—people hear the name Whitlock, and that kind of thing comes to mind. But word is, he pestered the living daylights out of Jim Monroe trying to find a way for you to get the farm outright. Now, why do you figure he'd want to do something like that?”

“He's a nice guy.”

“Nobody's that nice. Although I'll admit, Abel comes awfully close. You could go a lot farther and fare a lot worse, as the old folks say. Well, I'd better be getting on so you can finish up out here. Daylight's burning off fast. Come by the store sometime soon, and we'll have lunch. And be sure to bring those two cute kids I saw out there playing with the hose. I want to meet them. When they're not dripping wet, I mean. And, Emily? Welcome back.” Bailey gave her one last perfect grin and sauntered back out toward the red pickup, waving cheerfully at the twins, who were headed to the barn.

“We filled up the cows' water trough and turned off the water,” Paul announced as the twins came through the doorway. Bailey was right. They were both soaked.

“Are we all done yet? I'm tired.” Phoebe dropped herself down on a hay bale and rested her chin on her hands. Emily opened her mouth to protest. The hay chaff would stick to the little girl's clothes and make a mess in the washing machine. She caught herself just in time and swallowed her words.

Keep things positive
, she reminded herself.

“I know you're tired, hon, but we're making great progress!” And they were...for a city girl and two five-year-olds. “Now we get to go feed the goats! That'll be fun!”

Phoebe sighed heavily. “Nothing's fun here. It's all just work and dirt.”

Out of the mouth of babes. Emily had felt just that way every single summer she'd spent at Goosefeather Farm. She mustered up an enthusiasm she was far from feeling and smiled widely. “You haven't seen the goats yet, sweetie! They're really smart animals, and they love to play. You'll like them.”

“I seriously doubt it.” Paul spoke matter-of-factly from his side of the hay bale. “We haven't liked anything so far.”

Emily gave up and began scooping the goat pellets into a plastic bucket. She seriously doubted it, too.
Lord, please help us
,
she prayed.
Let the twins find something they enjoy here. I hate to see them unhappy, but I don't know what to do to fix it.

Emily checked Abel's instructions again and added another scoop of food. Even preparing the goat food was more involved than she'd imagined. She measured out some brown powder from the bucket marked Goat Minerals and sprinkled it over the bucket. Then she tossed in a handful of black sunflower seeds, a sprinkle of baking soda and a couple of teaspoons full of a probiotic powder. This was more complicated than mixing up a batch of muffins in the kitchen at Café Cup.

Which brought up another stressful point. Mr. Alvarez had been extremely displeased to discover that she was going to have to take so much time off work. He'd made it clear that Emily shouldn't expect him to hold her job until the autumn. If he had a vacancy, maybe she could come back to work, but he was making no promises.

The possibility that she was going to find herself jobless in Atlanta again had shadowed her thoughts all day. That had been one of the toughest times in her life. She still remembered the feelings of desperation and hopelessness.

But God had met her during those dark days. Emily reminded herself of that as she plunked the pail of food and several flakes of hay into a battered child's wagon that had been in use at Goosefeather Farm for as long she could remember. And God wouldn't let her down now.

“Come on, guys. Let's go feed the goats!” Emily forced enthusiasm into her voice, but the twins still groaned before getting to their feet.

“Come on, Pheebs. We might as well get this over with,” Paul said gloomily.

Pulling the heavy wagon along the bumpy red clay path was harder than Emily remembered, and the twins were dragging their feet. The shadows were lengthening quickly as they walked down to the goat pasture, and Emily was glad she'd thought to snag the plastic flashlight from its shelf beside the barn door. She switched it on, and it reluctantly sputtered a little circle of dim light ahead of her. Uh-oh. She shook it, and the light flickered on and off. At least it was sort of working. It probably needed new batteries, but hopefully it'd hold out long enough to see them back to the farmhouse.

“Hear that noise?” she called cheerfully to the twins, who were trudging behind the wagon. “That's the tree frogs down by the creek! There must be hundreds of them this year!” Her observation met with a stony silence.

As they started down the last hill, a new sound broke through the twilight, and Emily stopped short, listening. The wagon she'd been pulling continued down the slope and banged sharply into the back of her calves. It hurt, and she felt frustration rising in her like a wave. She was dirty, sticky, hot and tired, and all she wanted to do was take a bath and collapse into bed. She did not need a weird noise right now.

“Mama, that frog sounds sick,” Paul said worriedly. “And big.”

“That's not a frog, Paul. I think it's a goat.” And unless she missed her guess, it was an extremely unhappy goat. Something was wrong. She left the wagon where it was and sprinted the last few yards to the goat pasture.

In the dimming light she could make out the figures of several goats standing outside their little barn. Nothing seemed to be wrong with any of them, but they were intently focused on the dark doorway to the shed.

She soon found out why. From its depths came a guttural cry that made the hairs prickle up on the back of her neck.

Okay, there was a goat in there, and something was definitely wrong with it. The shed looked dark and spidery and generally icky, but she was going to have to go in there and try to deal with whatever the problem was. That's what responsible farmers did.