Chapter 70
70
Hudson
The gravel of the driveway crunches under the tires of my Mustang. We probably should have driven Molly’s car, but since we hauled ass out of Redville right after I rescued her, there was no time to go back to her place.
Driving up this path in my car always makes me cringe.
A paved road would be so much better for my car. Not that I can change it.
They can’t afford it, and although I have offered, they will never take my money.
It’s annoying as all hell.
I work hard, and I just want to help them.
But as we pull up to my parents’ farmhouse, the sight of it never fails to hit me in the chest, even after all these years.
It’s the same house I grew up in, but now it’s weathered by years of neglect. I wish my father and mother weren’t so prideful.
The small and quaint house has faded white paint and a wraparound porch that faces the soybean fields.
“This is where you grew up?” Molly’s been quiet since we left the main road, her eyes fixed on the scenery.
“It is.”
“It’s beautiful.”
I narrow my eyes and shake my head as I roll to a stop. Is she seeing what I’m seeing?
The peeling siding.
The roof begging to be replaced.
Now, as I turn off the engine, she leans forward in her seat, her gaze sweeping over the house, the barn, and the fields in the distance.
“Crop farming?”
“Yeah, soybeans.”
“I didn’t even know that was something people grow out here.”
I turn to face her. “It’s actually one of the most prominent crops grown in Illinois.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “The more you know,” she jokes. “Well, it’s beautiful. When I was a girl, and I used to have panic attacks, I would imagine myself no longer in the—” She stops herself, and I wonder what she was going to say. Her jaw looks tighter, but then she exhales and looks back out toward the property. “I used to imagine myself going to a farm like this. In the dream, I’d sit under a large tree, sun in my face, wind blowing my hair, and I’d be drinking a big glass of lemonade.”
“That’s pretty specific.”
“It was a good dream.” She looks wistful, and I want to give her that dream.
I want to make her happy.
The realization hits me in the gut. My head starts to spin with what that means for the future and how I can give her everything she wants.
An idea comes to me, a crazy one.
Maybe this is where I can help her.
Maybe this is the place to make Molly’s dreams come true.
“Come on.” I open the door, then walk around until I’m by her side, opening hers wider for her before reaching my arm out and grabbing her hand until she’s standing outside the car.
“Hudson, I’m capable of getting out of a car.”
“Yeah, I know. But you’re my wife.”
“Is it because your mom is peeking out the window and watching us?” Molly groans, and I laugh.
“Of course it is.”
Stepping around to the back of the car, I pop the trunk and grab our bags. “Let’s get inside before Mom bans us from eating dessert since we are late.”
“Would she do that?”
“Hell yeah, she would. She wields the control over who gets her famous cookie bar like a power-hungry demon.”
Molly laughs. “That’s mean.”
I shrug. “It’s the truth. Wait. You’ll see. Dad is always in the doghouse; he never gets seconds.”
Molly laughs nervously, and I can’t help smiling. She’s out of her element, but she’s here. With me.
We aren’t even up the path to the main house when the screen door swings open. My mom steps out, her hands on her hips and a grin on her face.
She’s wearing her usual faded jeans and a T-shirt, this one with a giant soybean on her chest. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
I love that about my mom. She’s not one to change who she is for anyone else.
The king of England could be coming to our house for dinner, and she would still look and act the same.
“Hudson. Molly, you’re here. Finally.” Way to play it cool, Mom.
With Molly in tow, I climb the stairs and pull my mom into a hug. “Hey, Mom. You remember Molly?”
My mother swats me on the arm. “Of course, I remember my daughter-in-law.” I look back at Molly and see that she looks a little tense, but it’s short-lived because soon Molly is being pulled toward my mom, who’s hugging her like her life depends on it. “You know this is the most proud you ever made me, Hudson.”
“You weren’t this proud when I got called up to the pros?”
She doesn’t answer.
Molly shifts in her arms.
“Mom. Let her go. I don’t think she can breathe.”
“I’m fine, Hudson,” Molly says, meeting my stare and practically begging me to shut the hell up. “Hi, Mrs. Wilde.”
“I already told you. It’s Mary.” She lets Molly go finally. “I have so many stories to tell you. And pictures to show you. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.” My mom turns to me, narrowing her eyes. “I thought you’d be bringing a girlfriend home, not a wife. But this will do.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom. Happy to have your approval.”
“Shh, Hudson. Or there will be no death by chocolate for you tonight,” my mom fires back, making Molly laugh.
“What? No. That’s unfair.”
She places her hands on her hips and challenges me to continue.
Molly watches us like a person watching a tennis match, her gaze bouncing back and forth. “Stories, huh?”
Damn. She caught that.
“Only the good ones, okay, Mom?”
“No promises,” she says before giving Molly a once-over. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
Molly blushes, stammering out a thank-you, and I feel a weird sense of pride swell in my chest.
“You guys go get settled in Hudson’s old room—”
“Mom, it might be better if Molly sleeps in the guest room since I only have a twin bed,” I say. While I’d love to sleep in a bed with Molly, I want her to be comfortable and sharing a twin isn’t ideal.
“Oh, about that…Don’t you remember. I turned the guest room into a craft room.”
I narrow my eyes but don’t say anything.
Since when?
Something tells me this is a new renovation…
One that happened just for us.
As the night winds down and the sun dips lower in the sky, I can’t help but stare at Molly.
She seems so much more relaxed than she did back in Redville.
It’s almost like the whole reporter debacle from earlier today never happened.
She’s laughing at one of my dad’s corny dad jokes, many about the farm, which I bet she doesn’t even understand, but she’s a good spirit about it all.
My mom busies herself clearing the table, swatting away any attempts to help.
“Hudson, grab the death by chocolate pie from the counter.” My mom motions to the kitchen.
“Yes, Mom.” I push back from the table and catch Molly’s eye. She’s already helping stack plates despite my mom’s protests.
She fits in perfectly.
It’s like she’s known them all for years.
I grab the pie, then set it down in front of her.
Mom starts serving everyone a slice.
Molly takes a seat at the table. “That’s . . . um. Too much.” Molly’s eyes are wide.
The piece takes up half the plate. Mom does love to cut the slices very generously.
“Trust me when I say it’s not enough. It’s the best dessert you’ll ever have,” I promise as Molly takes a small bite.
Her eyes widen. “This is incredible.”
“See, Hudson? At least your wife appreciates my baking.” My mom beams.
“I just called it the best pie she’d ever eat, Mom. Jeez.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Get off my case.”
We all eat in silence, other than the groan of appreciation that slips out of my dad’s mouth.
He’s really annoying when he eats Mom’s pies, but I don’t call him out since Molly is here.
After dessert, Molly stands to help clear the plates again.
“Stop helping,” Mom says. “Hudson, take Molly outside.”
I glance at Molly. “I’d like that.” She smiles.
“Come on.” I grab her hand and lead her toward the back door. “We’ll start with the short tour of the property.”
The gravel crunches under our feet as we cross the driveway.
Molly looks around, her gaze lingering on the horizon, where the sky glows in shades of orange and pink.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
“This is the best time of day,” I admit. “It’s peaceful.”
“It is.”
We walk toward the fields, the sky darkening as the stars begin to peek out. Molly stops every so often to take in the scenery.
She looks deep in thought, and I wish I could hear her thoughts and know what she’s thinking. Instead, I give her space.
After a few more minutes of walking in silence, I take her right hand in mine and lead her to the large oak tree at the edge of the property.
“This is it,” I say, stopping beneath the tree. “The place from your dream.”
As the words leave my mouth, I thank fuck that none of the boys from the team are here to hear me. I’m laying it on thick with cringe, but the thing is . . . Molly deserves it.
She looks up, her eyes softening as she takes in the wide trunk and the large branches that act as a canopy. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s almost perfect.”
Molly raises an eyebrow, clearly not understanding, but then I reach into my pocket and pull out a small thermos I snagged before we left the house.
Her eyes widen as realization must hit her. “Not quite lemonade, but close enough.” I pour her a cup of iced tea and hand it to her.
She laughs, shaking her head. “You thought of everything.”
“Not everything. But it’s a start.”
She sits beneath the tree, her back against the trunk, and I join her.
We sit in silence, the only noise coming from the sounds of the farm as day turns into night.
“This is nice,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” I agree, looking at her instead of the horizon. “It is.”