Her Heart's Desire (Sunflower Series Book 1) (9 page)

“Did it break?” she asked, her voice warbling
as she searched the deck in the dark on her hands and knees.

He shook his head. “No.” He scooped up the
crystal glass. “All in one piece.” Setting the glass on the deck
beside the foot of his chair, he asked, “But are you?”

“I know you and Lucas have concocted some
plot concerning me,” she snapped, standing against the deck
railing.

“There’s no plot.” Had she figured out about
Karl and the surprise birthday party? Could Karl be worthless with
a secret?

“It was clear today with Lucas. The minute
Karl walked up, Lucas said he needed me to find a carving knife. He
knows darn good and well where that knife is kept. And it all makes
sense”—she pointed her finger at his nose—“you’re the reason why a
man only asks me out for one or two dates. Lucas would never stoop
so low to interfere in my love life without prompting from
you.”

“Is Lucas trying to pin something on me?”
Craig asked.

“Of course not, he’s too loyal for that. He’d
fall on his sword for you.”

“Interesting,” Craig muttered. Did Lucas’s
feelings for Amelia run deeper than he let on? His interest in
Amelia couldn’t have turned...romantic? He groaned.

“Aha!” Amelia snapped her fingers.

“What?”

“That groan is as good as a confession. When
I asked Karl out, Lucas happened to be there. His exact words were,
‘Craig isn’t going to like this.’ You’re purposely dissuading men
from dating me. Lucas is doing your dirty work. You’re a...a,” she
sputtered. “I can’t even say what I think you are. Mother would
turn in her grave. Dad would find a way to wash my mouth out. But
know this, Craig Britton. I’m staying on the farm, and I’m going to
date whomever I like.”

Craig held up his hands in surrender. “Okay.
I get it. At least about the dating part. However, like it or not,
if the crop and your painting don’t put you in the black, you’ll be
off the farm before Christmas. Sorry, Amelia, but it’s a business
decision. Nothing personal. I won’t let you take me down over your
silly sentiment.” Let her stew on that. If it took tough love to
make her see reason, then he’d dish it out.

“You’re worse than the bank that stole the
Dwyer’s farm.”

“A bank didn’t
steal
it...” Craig
stood. The conversation turned in a direction he hadn’t wanted to
go. Given the cost of Amelia’s studio in the city—he paid the rent
monthly—plus contributions to farm expenses, the business decisions
had to be made rationally.

“Don’t get all technical with me. The end
result is the same.” She sneered. His younger sister, the woman who
had adored and looked up to him, acted as though he were the same
as a bug on a pile of cow dung.

“Let’s face facts. You’ve made it this year
only because of the sales from the stuff Mother stashed in the
barn. Once that’s gone, that revenue stream is dry. Your only
recourse is to paint more. And you can do that rent-free in the
city.”

“I’m not a robot,” Amelia whispered. “I don’t
paint by numbers or paint on demand. It never occurred to me I’d
ever see the day when you’d truly use the farm against me. Pull my
home out from under me. I guess I need to talk to Lucas...ask for
his advice...since you weren’t able to help Mr. Dwyer save his
farm. I now know I can’t count on you to help me out. When the
noose is around my neck, you’ll be the one to tighten it.”

Amelia knocked back the rest of the whiskey
in her glass. “I’m going to finish off the bottle. I’d ask you to
join me while I drown my sorrows, but I’m afraid you might really
do it.”

“Do what?” Craig asked.

“Drown me.” Amelia opened the door, and Jack
followed her inside. She slammed the door so hard the glass
rattled. For a moment, he wondered if it might crack. That would be
yet another expense to pay for.

He looked out over the property bathed by
moonlight. He’d run the numbers again and again. He couldn’t afford
to indulge his sister in her fantasy of farming. Why was he the bad
guy for being the voice of reason?

Had he been wrong to interfere in Amelia’s
life? Maybe. Probably not. All the numbers said he was correct. She
needed to move back to the city.

How could he ever convince Amelia of
that?

Chapter 7

Lucas stabbed the ground again with a shovel
turning over the scooped earth. Garden cleanup. One of the
necessary evils of life. Digging up all the existing bulbs,
dividing the multiples, and replanting the flowerbed lining the
back of the house, ate up more time than he had to spare, but he
did it for Megan. A short break might soothe his boredom. With the
sun continuing to rise in the sky along with the heat of the day,
he preferred lemonade to quench his thirst rather than a beer. He
wanted to set a good example for Megan.

“Quit grunting. I know you hate this. You
want lunch in a few minutes?” Megan asked as she divided a clump of
irises. “We’ve been at this for three hours now. I’ll make
sandwiches since you cooked breakfast. You’ve gotten good at ham
and cheese omelets.”

Lucas glanced at his sister. Streaks of light
blond framed her face in the warm, fall sunlight. Jeans and a
purple college jersey replaced her old farmer coveralls, the kind
she’d worn as a kid when she followed their father around doing
chores, feeding chickens, exercising horses, and tinkering with
tractors. Watching her now, he still saw an innocent young girl who
idolized their father. He wanted to believe she lived by the values
their parents instilled in them. Honesty. Compassion. Integrity.
He’d gone to war to fight, not only for freedom, but for their way
of life—liberty and the pursuit of happiness—where a person had a
chance to make something of his life regardless of his humble
beginnings. He believed deeply in the American experiment and
accepted setbacks came with forging new paths.

Sweet Megan. His brotherly protectiveness
tugged hard at his heart, so hard it wouldn’t surprise him if he
sweated blood. She deserved a good life and he wanted that for her,
just as he understood all the reasons Craig tried to protect
Amelia. But the difference between Megan and Amelia was the
difference between sunflowers and deep red roses. Sunflowers in
their simplicity turned their faces to the sun and tracked its path
across the sky, whereas the hardy winter roses used their heady
fragrance to captivate and their velvety petals to seduce. Amelia
was his red rose. She stood a much greater chance of succeeding on
the farm alone than Megan ever would.

“Earth to Lucas.” Megan waved at him.

“What?”

“Lunch?”

“Sure.”

He surveyed their progress. Completion of the
project would require another hour.

“Why women in this family insist on bulbs,
especially tulips, I’ll never know. Between icy cold winters and
scorching hot summers, the darn things rot. If the weather doesn’t
destroy them, the squirrels and rabbits munch them,” he grumbled.
Tulips never stood much of a chance in a prairie garden. Only half
the bulbs they’d planted last year came up this spring, though the
daffodils, hyacinths, and irises had survived. Splotches of brown
soil, visible between the plants, reminded him that his mother’s
garden had always looked colorful and charming.

“What are you so angry about?” Megan asked.
She moved to sit in the grass next to the stone-edged garden and
finished sifting through the surviving bulbs.

“Nothing. I got new bulbs for you, didn’t
I?”

Megan snorted. “Yeah, right about the bulbs,
but since when did you start lying? If I guess what’s wrong, will
you tell me?”

Lucas continued to work the soil. When had
his sister become such a chatterbox?

“You’re mad about the land. But, you still
own ten acres and the house.” Megan stood and dusted off her
jeans.

“No sense in being mad about losing the farm.
We. Megan. We have ten acres.”

“Nope. I’ve decided,” Megan said with a
determined jut of her chin. “Since you’re helping me with all the
expenses of school, my graduation present to you is my half of what
we own.”

Lucas stopped shoveling. “That’s generous of
you. I appreciate what you want to do, but ten acres doesn’t keep a
man employed to feed and clothe and educate an entire family.”

“Not as a fulltime farmer, but it’s enough
land to produce food to eat, including some chickens. A house with
four bedrooms, though not a sprawling two-story like the Britton’s
place, has enough space to raise a family. Besides, you have the
combine contracts. You’re the best around. I heard you even turned
down business this year because you’re in such high demand.”

“Megan, really, I appreciate your offer.
However, don’t listen to gossip. And, combining is not
farming.”

Lucas glanced at his sister as he stabbed the
shovel into the dirt point first, into earth so hard the farming
tool stood upright on its own. Megan shook her head and sighed.

“I know you mean well,” Lucas said. “Half of
what we have is yours. I like the idea of us sharing this place
together for holidays and summers. Here our kids will have a
connection to each other. And to the land, especially since Dad was
an only child, we never had cousins locally...we didn’t see much of
the ones out west.”

“You sound like you’re leaving.” Megan’s brow
furrowed.

“I’ll be on the road for the harvest season
with my crew. I’m thinking about staying with Mom and Dad in
Arizona after Christmas. Getting out of the Kansas cold for a while
this winter.”

“But…” Megan sputtered. “What about me?”

“What about you? You go back to school after
the holiday. Your entire freshman year, you only came home to visit
once each semester. Cell phones do connect in Arizona.”

“But what if I want to come home more on
weekends?”

“You’ve got a key.”

Megan’s eyes watered. She jumped up and
bolted for the back door.

“Wait!” Lucas kicked the shovel and started
after her, but before he reached the door, a car horn blasted. He
turned, surprised to see Amelia with Craig. They must have come
straight from church.

Slam!

From inside the house, a door slammed. Megan
and her anger. Maybe it was his punishment for not taking her to
church, like his mother had insisted when they talked last night on
the phone. Thank goodness Amelia had arrived. His sister would
respond better to female intervention than a two-male invasion.

“Glad you could come by before you left,”
Lucas said to Craig. He turned to Amelia, “Could you talk Megan
down? She’s upset. She ran inside. If I’m not mistaken, she’s
crying. I think it was something I said, but...for the life of me,
I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Brothers,” Amelia grunted. “Can’t live with
them, can’t kill ’em.” She headed toward the back door. He watched
her go. Her hips swayed as she picked her way across the yard in
high heels. For months, whenever she was near, his gut clenched as
though he’d been sucker punched. A deep ache made him want to take
her in his arms and hold her. Feel her softness and her warmth. It
had become near impossible to hide his feelings about her.

He jerked his attention to Craig to clamp
down on his growing desire and to avoid alerting Craig to his true
feelings. It would be uncomfortable if his friend caught him
gawking at Amelia.

“You couldn’t have planned that better,”
Craig said.

“How do you mean?”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but
we need to talk.”

Lucas pointed. “How about in there? It’ll
give us some privacy.” They walked the worn path away from the
house to the large metal building that served as a workshop and
storage for farm equipment. Once inside, Lucas led Craig to the far
corner where several easy chairs faced a flat screen TV. When he
had time, he let his inner football fan cut loose. It wasn’t a man
cave, but a place of his own requiring cleaning only when he got
around to it. Tiny dust particles danced in the light when Lucas
flipped the switch and the fluorescents flickered on.

“What’s your call?” Lucas asked, reaching for
the fridge door.

“Root beer.”

“Take your choice of seats.” Lucas pointed to
the grouping of easy chairs that had seen better days, then to the
three-legged wooden stools by the workbench. Craig grabbed a dingy
rag and wiped the top of a stool before parking on it. Lucas rolled
his eyes. The city boy didn’t want to get his suit pants smudged
with a little dust. His friend had surely changed.

“Talk.” He handed a bottle of root beer to
Craig before settling on the next stool. A small motor on the
workbench caught his eye. He needed to pick up parts to finish the
repairs. Tasks awaited him everywhere he looked. And the garden
wouldn’t have a harvest if Megan didn’t pull her weight and
complete the task.

“I’m asking for your help.”

“Go on.” Lucas took a long draw on his root
beer.

“Someone made me an offer on the farm. I’m
going to sell.”

Lucas coughed, spurting a trickle of brown
liquid. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The shock of Craig’s
confession had his brain turning round like a whirligig. Amelia
would be crushed. “Say, what?”

“I want your help. Talk Amelia into leaving
the farm.” Craig set his drink on the workbench, rose from the
stool, and began pacing. “I have an offer. Have had an offer, but
the buyer wants the whole thing, not just my half. I never wanted
to push her off the farm. I always wanted leaving to be her own
decision. But...it’s been a year. Now, she says she’s resolved to
stay. You and I know everything hinges on the harvest. I don’t want
her to fail. It will crush her if she loses the farm.” Craig
stopped in front of the large flat screen TV. “I want her to see
the truth
of the situation and decide to go on her own.”