5. Grant
GRANT
The farmhouse is warm and smells like a home-cooked meal. I shrug off my coat in the entryway, and while Hannah finds a hook for it, I check the locks on the front door. Or lock, since there’s only one. It’s an old-fashioned turnkey. No deadbolt, not even a chain.
I start a mental note of security items to take care of, and a front door that won’t budge with a hefty kick is first on the list.
There are no security cameras or a doorbell camera, not even a sensor light. I add it to the list in my head. I’ll get a team on it tomorrow and get this place secure.
Soft chatter comes from the dining room, and it stops as soon as I enter behind Hannah.
An elderly man who can only be the grandfather sits at the head of the table, and next to him is a sister I haven’t met but know to be Abby, from the photos in the cafe and from what Hannah’s told me.
She’s the second oldest, and she looks after Pops and what’s left of the farm. She’s a beekeeper, and her hives supply the fresh honey for the famous Sweet & Strong honey cakes.
Rachel is across the table, and on either side of her are colorful kids’ plates, one with half a sausage and a pile of ketchup. Her kids aren’t in the room.
I note the exits. One door we came through leads to the hallway, another door to the kitchen, and a third to a room warmly lit that appears to be the living room. I’ll need to check the windows in each to make sure they’re secure and any other entry points to the house.
Hannah does the introductions, and I shake the old man’s hand. He’s got a firm grip and a sharp eye.
“I hear you’re looking out for my girls.”
“Yes, sir.”
He releases my hand but keeps his gaze firmly on me. “Do you think whoever vandalized the cafe could come here? Try to hurt us?”
“We don’t know it was vandalized,” pipes up Rachel.
I wonder what her angle is. It was pretty clear to me, and everyone else, that it was vandalized. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, and her way of coping is denial.
“Take a seat.”
Hannah pulls out a chair, and I sit down.
She hands me a bowl of mashed potatoes and then sausages and green beans, and soon my plate is piled high with food.
Hannah takes her seat across the table, and it’s hard to keep my gaze from her.
From upstairs comes the sound of children giggling.
Hannah tilts her head toward it, a soft smile spreading across her face.
One of the kids says a rude word, and I catch Hannah’s eye. Pops doesn’t hear, but the two of us struggle not to smile.
For one brief moment, I let myself enjoy it: the laughter, the warmth, the easy chaos of a family meal.
Then I think of Mason.
Of his widow sitting at a table without him. His child growing up without a father while I sit here enjoying everything Mason will never have again.
My hand trembles around my fork. I set it down before anyone notices and reach for my water.
“So, you’re an ex-military man.”
Pops is eyeing me, and I get the feeling the old man doesn’t miss a thing.
“That’s right.”
“Where did you serve?”
It’s better to ask where I didn’t serve. We were spun up all over the globe. Most places I can’t talk about. So I stick to the facts I can share.
“I was in the 3rd Special Forces Group. Our main region was West Africa.”
Pops nods and for the first time looks away from me. I have the feeling I’ve passed some kind of test.
The clinking of cutlery fills the silence.
“Do you think someone’s trying to scare us off the land?” This comes from Abby. Her hair is lighter than her sister’s and her expression more anxious.
I don’t want to scare the family, but I can’t lie either.
“I think whoever wants this land is willing to do whatever it takes to get it.”
“Well, they won’t get it,” Hannah pipes up. “They’re cowards. They think they can intimidate women and an old man. Sorry, Pops. We won’t be scared off by bullies.”
I like her spirit and the fire in her eyes. She looks beautiful right now, and I wish I was here under different circumstances. I wish I was here because she invited me into her home and family.
“What’s this land got that they want so bad?” Pops muses.
Which is the question the entire town is asking. “There’s a public meeting being organized. Owen has a team on it, looking for answers.”
“And who appointed you security to my girls? Is someone paying you? Because we can’t afford it.”
“I don’t need payment.” My gaze strays to Hannah. I’ve been living off my savings and doing odd jobs for Joel at the retreat. I never spent much while I was in the military, and I don’t have to worry about money for a while.
“Where you staying, Grant?”
“Jake’s Retreat. I’m in the bunkhouse.” Joel built the bunkhouse for retreat guests and those needing to stay a little longer. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s a bed.
“You can stay here with us,” Pops says.
“What?” Hannah almost drops her water glass.
“It’s the least we can do. If you’re watching out for us, then we’ll look after you. We’ll provide a bed and meals until this all blows over.”
“Pops, we’ve got kids in this house.” Rachel’s voice holds a note of parental anxiety.
“Good. Those boys need a man around the place.”
“He can’t just move in,” Hannah protests, but her cheeks have gone red and her eyes are dilated and I detect, behind her protests, that she’s a little pleased.
Pops pushes his chair back.
“Come on, son. I’ll show you to the spare room.”
And just like that I’m one step closer to Hannah, and yet, miles away.