Fearless Hope: A Novel (26 page)

She knew this was a bad idea. Going back there went against all her training. She shook her head. “No, Logan. I’m sorry, but . . . no.”

Gently, she closed the door in his face and locked it, shutting him out of her life.

Then she watched from behind a curtain as he walked away and climbed into his car.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat in the driver’s seat with his head thrown back against the headrest as though he was napping . . . or thinking. She grew nervous. Was he never going to leave?

In a few minutes, he opened the car door and walked back to her house. He knocked again.

She opened the door a crack. “I have given you my answer.”

“I don’t think you have.”

She was ready to slam the door shut and lock it again if necessary. He had never been anything but kind to her, but one never knew
what
an
Englisch
man might do. Perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she thought. Sunday had certainly been a surprise.

“I promised you I would think about something. That’s what I’ve been doing while you were peeking through the curtains. Keeping my promise. Thinking.”

“About what?”

“Do you think you could gather together whatever you and Simon need to make your father’s farm productive again?”

“Of course, but why?”

“I see farmers starting to till their soil. Evidently they think it’s warm enough to start planting. Seems to me like it would be a good idea to put some crops in, and I don’t have a clue.”

“Wait a minute.” She was incredulous. “You are offering to make me, a pregnant Amish woman, your farm manager?”

“I sure am. You can manage the farm, Simon, Agatha . . . and me for that matter.”

“But why?”

“Here’s the problem, Hope. I have a deadline coming up in a couple more months and this book has to be stellar. I
have
to concentrate, and I can’t with Simon and Agatha mooning around in my kitchen. I can’t send Simon back to his father to get beaten up again. I’m tired of people asking me if I’m planning to let my property grow into scrub. I’m sick and tired of hearing about what a good farmer your father was and how straight he made his corn rows.”

She was stunned. “Why did you not offer this before?”

“Because I was afraid you’d overwork yourself.”

Hope tried to wrap her mind around his offer to let her farm land that she knew like the back of her hand.

“You can oversee all the planting and sowing and manure spreading or whatever else it takes to grow crops. Purchase the livestock you need. Hire the workers you need. One restriction, though. I don’t want you doing anything stupid like getting behind a plow. The idea is for you to
manage
—not work until you drop.”

She swallowed. “You are serious about this?”

“Dead serious.”

Was this an answer to prayer? Or a temptation straight from the devil?

She couldn’t help it. Excitement flared in her heart at Logan’s words.

“My father made a good living for us on that property,” she said. “He used the old farming methods and cared for the soil.”

“I’ll give you complete freedom.”

Her mind was already whirling with calculations. “You would be willing to back me financially and work on shares?”

“I would.”

A terrible thought struck. “What if I put time and effort into getting the farm up and running again, and you decide to sell it?”

“I won’t. I’ll put it in writing if you want.”

She could feel her resistance melting. It would be foolish to pass up this opportunity. It would probably never come around again.

“I have so many ideas! If my methods and crops are successful, there is a good chance I might be able to buy my own farm in a few years!”

He smiled, enjoying her enthusiasm. “You seem to have given this a great deal of thought.”

“I have been thinking of better ways to make a living off the land since I was ten and started reading my father’s farming magazines.”

“Farming’s a gamble. What if the weather doesn’t accommodate your plans?”

“I have in mind a diversification of crops and animals that could see us through any weather. If hail takes our wheat crop, then our organic chicken business would create a stream of income. If a weasel gets at the chickens, the corn crop will still bring in some money. Sheep can bring in profit several different ways. This land is good at growing briars and wild blackberries. Why not take advantage and plant the new hybrid, thornless blackberries? With all the new knowledge of the benefits of blackberry juice, I know I could sell any amount. It’s a perfect summer job for two children. And blueberries! They are so easy to grow and so healthy. People would drive miles to pay for a chance to pick their own. You have two hundred prime acres. You won’t
believe
the various businesses, crops, and livestock I can work with on that much land!”

Her words came to an abrupt stop. Too many dreams and
thoughts had just poured out of her mouth. He would think she was talking foolishness.

She was reassured by the kindness in his eyes. He was pleased with her joy.

“Your father gambled on blackjack and horses,” he said. “I think he would have been wiser—so much wiser—to have gambled on you.”

•  •  •

While Hope and Simon made plans about which crops to plant and where, Logan headed back to New York. It was time to break things off with Marla.

His reasons had little to do with Hope. Any fantasy he’d had about Hope was just that . . . a fantasy. Still, the feelings he had for her made him realize how very wrong he and Marla were for each other. It would not be fair to allow her to go ahead with wedding preparations.

Even if Hope had not been in the picture, he needed time to sort out where he was spiritually.

He felt so bad about initiating this breakup that he was seriously contemplating allowing Marla to keep the apartment. That would be quite a consolation prize to her and she probably deserved it. It also might ease the awkwardness of the breakup. Marla had her grandfather’s trust fund to blow on expensive handbags and clothing for herself, but she would never have the funds to purchase an apartment like the one in which they lived.

On the other hand, the apartment would bring quite a substantial price.
If
he decided to sell it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to relinquish all ties to New York—only his ties to Marla. It had been his home for a long time. Still, visions of the good that even part of that equity could do for Ivan Troyer’s thirsty children made him feel selfish for thinking about hanging on to
such a valuable asset. Plus, he had no idea how much start-up money Hope would need.

The doorman at his building seemed a little agitated when Logan showed up, which surprised him. He’d purposely not called Marla ahead of time because she was astute when it came to reading the tone in his voice, and he was afraid she’d know that something was wrong and start interrogating him over the phone.

He wanted to be face-to-face with her when he explained. It would be cowardly not to.

He stepped into the elevator that would take him to the top floor, thinking about the fact that he would miss the view from his apartment if he sold it, but not much else.

He opened the front door and threw his keys on an antique table, walked into the living room, and stopped cold. There, wearing one of his own bathrobes, sat a man so famous that grown women had been known to faint when he walked by.

He had met a few actors, he’d even been on movie sets when three of his books were made into movies, but Jebulan Steele was like a demigod to moviegoers. At least he had been. Movie stars tanked quickly, and Jebulan’s past two movies had bombed.

But still . . . he didn’t know whether to be upset or ask the man for his autograph. Jebulan Steele was right here, drinking coffee and eating a bagel with cream cheese. In fact, the movie star had a smudge of cream cheese on his upper lip. Both of them stared at each other in openmouthed surprise. Jebulan found his voice first.

“
Who
are
you
!” His impressive voice was imperious. “And what are you doing here!”

“I happen to own the place,” Logan said. “The question is, what are
you
doing here?”

At that moment, Marla came out of the bedroom. She
quickly belted the flimsy robe she was wearing, leaving no doubt as to their relationship.

“Logan! What are you doing here!”

It was like a very bad comedy routine.

As his shock drained away, Logan felt a great calm come over him. There would be no need for explanations, no need for recriminations. His reason for breaking off the engagement had been handed to him on a silver platter.

A part of his brain also recorded the fact that there was a reason things had felt strange to him when he’d been here before. That’s why his suits had been shoved to the side, and the contents of his drawers moved. That’s why Marla had wanted him to go out to the foyer while she made a phone call. She had given Jebulan a warning to clear his things out. This affair had apparently been going on for some time.

But why hadn’t she broken off the engagement if she was in love with another man? Jebulan was famously single.

“I’ve been decorating his house,” Marla said. “It’s—it’s not finished yet.”

He could see her eyes darting around the apartment as though searching for an alibi. “His apartment is being renovated. He needed someplace to stay and . . .”

In spite of his initial shock, her attempt to give him an innocent explanation struck him as funny, as did the caught-in-the-act look on the movie star’s handsome face. It wasn’t as though Jebulan couldn’t afford to stay in an upscale hotel while his apartment was being renovated. Both of them seemed to be holding their breaths, waiting for him to react.

He had been so geared up about breaking up with her—finding her with this man—he had to collapse on the couch while he reevaluated everything he’d been thinking up to this point.

Strangely enough, his first thought was that real estate was
in a slump right now, but the apartment was primo. It should sell within the year.

“I hope the renovations are about done,” he said.

“We’re close to the end. Why?” Marla said.

“I want to sell this place as soon as possible. I have no desire to hang on to you and your boyfriend’s love nest a minute longer than necessary. I want you to move out as soon as possible.”

“We will, but for what it’s worth, Logan,” Marla said, “I am sorry you found out this way.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Very much so. We’re talking about getting married.”

“Well, at least you already have the wedding dress.” He was surprised at the bitterness he heard in his own voice.

“Don’t be that way, Logan. I took good care of you for a long time.”

“You did,” he conceded. “But were you ever truly in love with me?”

“I care deeply about you, but . . .” She hesitated.

“Go ahead and say it,” Logan said. “Let’s be completely honest with each other for once.”

“I may have my faults, but I keep my promises,” she said. “I always have. You know that.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Marla came and sat down on the overstuffed hassock directly in front of him. “Before Ariela died, she asked me to take care of you. She wanted me to try to love you as much as she did.”

It sounded just like his wife. “And you actually promised?”

“Of course I did. Ariela was my friend, and she loved us both. She thought she was giving me and you the gift of each other. I tried, Logan. I’m really sorry, but I did try.”

He leaned forward and smoothed his hand over her hair. She really was quite lovely. The crying shame was that he felt so little pain over the breakup. Instead, it was beginning to feel
as though someone had just given him a get-out-of-jail-free card.

“You do realize old Jeb over there will cheat on you, don’t you?” he said in a low voice. “You deserve better than that.”

“I hope he won’t.” She glanced worriedly over her shoulder. “I do love him.”

“Then I wish both of you well.” He rose from the couch. He’d never particularly liked that couch. In fact, there were a lot of things in the apartment he didn’t care for. All were things that Marla had insisted on. Chrome. Glass. White leather. White rug. Stainless steel. Art on the walls that cost the earth and looked like a kindergartner had painted it.

“Take anything you want when you move out,” he said. “I don’t want a thing.”

“Where will you go if you sell this place?” she asked.

“Holmes County, of course.” He was almost surprised she would ask. “Home.”

Then, putting his hands in his pockets, he sauntered down the plush hallway, rode the elevator all the way to the main floor, and tipped the nervous doorman as he left.

It felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Tonight he would take his mother out for a nice dinner, if she was free, and spend the night. Tomorrow, he would make his way to his Realtor’s office and put his 2.5-million-dollar apartment up for sale.

Then he would head home to his old farmhouse, where a child’s fingerprints wouldn’t cause a meltdown and where he could put his feet up on his sturdy oak coffee table if he wanted to. Where Hope and the children and Simon and his friends would come and go and fill his life with laughter.

He and Hope might not be able to be together as man and wife, but getting to watch her doing what she loved as she brought his farm back to life would be joy enough for now.

T
he next few weeks reminded him of the days leading up to Hope’s family hosting church in his house. It seemed as though he could not walk out to his porch without tripping over one of her relatives or some workman she had hired. He wasn’t quite sure what-all was being accomplished, except that once a week Hope would knock on his office door, sit down with a notepad, and explain everything that she had done or hired done, then hand him a bill for things he needed to pay for. Considering all the activity going on around his home, he was frequently surprised at how little it was all costing. The same amount of activity in New York City would’ve bankrupted him.