CHAPTER TEN #2
Clyde Whalley needed to be stopped. What he really needed was a juvenile detention center and some parents with a backbone, but I didn’t have that kind of power.
Clearly, Sam’s teacher wasn’t doing enough to stop the little hellion.
Maybe I needed to speak to his parents again.
Appeal to them as one parent to another.
Not point the finger, not place blame, but offer to work together to solve the issues between our children.
I huffed a mirthless laugh at that notion as I sprayed stain remover on Sam’s turquoise and white daisy-covered lunch kit.
The last time I tried to talk to Avelyn Whalley, she told me my daughter needed to grow a thicker skin, and that adults were meaner than kids.
So while I didn’t hold much hope for my conversation with them, I had to try.
For my kid, I’d do anything, even try to reason with the devil’s parents.
The rain had started up again, as was typical with the spring, but luckily, the wind decided to take the day off. My wipers were on normal speed as we drove across the island toward Tom’s, my stomach in tight knots at the thought of getting to see him again.
Unlike Gabrielle, who thought her physiological reactions like hot flashes and throbbing in certain areas to Maverick were perimenopause symptoms and not attraction, I knew better.
I was attracted to Tom. Immensely, attracted to him.
But I’d never had a boyfriend, never been on a date, never even kissed or slept with another man besides my waste-of-skin husband.
And he sure as hell never took me on a date.
He asked my father if he could marry me.
My father said yes. And that was it. No courting.
No wooing. Not even a bouquet of freaking flowers.
Not that I expected anything like that growing up in such an oppressive, chauvinistic community.
Women were merely appendages to their fathers or husbands. We had no rights. No bodily autonomy.
I wasn’t sure if it was worse that I knew I was attracted to Tom or not though. Maybe Gabrielle’s adorable ignorance was easier—until it wasn’t and she had to admit she liked a man fifteen years younger than her.
How old was Tom?
He had more salt than pepper in his hair, and some of the lines on his face were more than fine, but he was still incredibly handsome.
Was he fifty?
I was terrible at gauging age. I was thirty-two, and some days I felt twenty; other days I felt forty.
Tom’s driveway came into view, and I slowed down, my mind going in a million different directions as I turned the corner and the gravel crunched under my tires.
His driveway had several potholes, which had now filled with water to create murky, brown puddles.
I slowed down even more to not splash them everywhere.
Cameron Arendelle’s pickup truck was parked in front of the barn, and all the horses, ponies, and donkeys were out in the field, not seeming to mind the rain at all.
I pulled up beside Cameron’s truck, and made to get out, but paused with my hand on the door handle. Sam sat stock-still in her seat staring straight ahead, unblinking.
Uh-oh.
I released the handle and squeezed her arm through her plum-colored rain jacket. “What’s wrong?”
“Does … does Cameron know why I’m coming here? That I’m like Francesca?”
I nodded softly. “He does. He’s the one who suggested it.
But he has a daughter with similar …” I wracked my brain for a word that wasn’t “issues.” Because Sam didn’t have issues, she experienced anxiety, and low self-esteem.
“Francesca struggles with anxiety as well, sweetheart. That’s why she’s here. The animals help her too.”
She clenched her molars until a muscle in her jaw jiggled. “You’re sure they’re not going to look at me like some freak?”
“I’m positive.”
She didn’t seem convinced, but she reached for the handle on the passenger door and opened it. I let go of her arm and met her around the front of the RAV. Together, we entered the barn, where Portia met us, articulating an enthusiastic flurry of grunts and some serious curly-tail wags.
Giggling, Sam bent down and scratched behind the pig’s ears. “Hello, Portia.”
A head popped out from the stall at the far end of the barn, but it wasn’t Tom’s.
“Hey, you two!” Cameron called out.
I gave him a wave, and Sam and I—along with Portia—ate up the distance between us and Cameron.
Tom was in the stall as well, and as soon as I saw him, my face caught fire and my belly did a not so unpleasant little flip-flop.
Francesca sidled up to Sam. “Hi, Sam. That’s so cool that you got to name Midnight. I like that name.”
“Thanks,” Sam murmured, her eyes fixed on the foal, who was nursing like a good thing from the jet-black mare with soft brown eyes. Tom was brushing her as she munched on hay.
“So, this is Raven?” I asked rhetorically, stepping around Cameron to meet the mare from the side. I gently ran my hand over her shiny neck. “Hello, sweet girl.”
“She’s so patient and gentle,” Tom said. “The perfect nurse mare for little Midnight. He has had no issues getting milk. She showed him how, and he caught on right away.”
I swallowed hard as I met his eyes over the top of Raven’s back. “Wh-where is … where is Angel?”
He pressed his lips together. “The men helped me dig a hole at the back of the property near the other animals that have left us. Midnight will be able to visit her when he is a little older.”
I nodded, my neck muscles tight. “Have the other horses met her yet?”
“No. I put them out in the field so she wouldn’t be distracted when she arrived and could focus on bonding with Midnight.”
“She’s beautiful.” I wasn’t sure what else to say at this point.
It was weird having Cameron and Francesca there too.
Tom and I shared a lot with each other last night.
We bonded as we sat with a dying horse and her infant son, and in this very stall.
Now, with all of us in it, it felt strange. It felt almost invasive.
This was our space.
Snap out of that bullshit, Danica. It’s a horse stall, not a quiet, private booth at a hole-in-the-wall Italian bistro with the scent of garlic bread in the air.
Noise in the barn pulled Tom’s attention, and he handed Francesca the brush from his hand, then grabbed another and gave it to Sam before stepping out to see what was going on.
The girls were on the same side of Raven and giggling together as they brushed her.
“What is it?” Cameron asked, following Tom out into the rest of the barn. “Tom?” Cameron spun around to face me with a curious look on his face.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s walking back toward the door.”
I couldn’t explain the reason I stepped around Cameron and out into the barn, but I did. “Watch the girls. I’ll be right back.” Then I started to jog down the center of the barn toward the door Tom had just gone through.
I wouldn’t say I was out of breath, but I was warmer than I had been a moment ago when I flung open the door and found Tom standing on his porch yelling at a man.
“This is my son’s property. You have no right. No right!”
“Mr. Barone, your son is not using the property. My client is also a descendant of Mr. McIsaac and believes he and his mother are entitled to the land. My associate issued you the petition for land acquisition and said you were less than receptive. I’ve come here to sweeten the deal on behalf of my clients. ”
Tom looked ready to explode. “You take your sweetness and get off my land. I don’t want to hear it.”
Slowly, I crept around my RAV and Cameron’s truck toward the two men on the porch steps. Tom noticed me out of the corner of his eye, but only for a second before facing the intruder again, his fists bunched at his sides.
“My clients are prepared to offer your son one hundred thousand dollars—cash—to relinquish the land to them. Given that this land has cost your son—and you nothing—that is a more than fair offer. And given that you’re financially comfortable from your soccer car—”
“Football. It’s football, you … you … stronzo!”
The guy with the impeccable black suit, shiny loafers, and greasy slicked-back blond hair cleared his throat. “Given that you’re financially comfortable from your football career, the fact that my client and his mother are offering your son anything is extremely generous on their part.”
Quietly, I climbed the steps and stood next to Tom in support. He was wound tighter than a top, and the whites of his knuckles glowed as he continued to squeeze them at his sides. “And what do your client and his mother plan to do with the land?” The angrier Tom got, the thicker his accent became.
“That’s none of your concern, Mr. Barone. My clients simply want what they believe is rightfully theirs.”
“Rightfully—” Tom growled. “This land belongs to my son! His mother grew up here.”
“And his mother is dead.”
Tom lunged for the man, but I grabbed him by the arm before he could make contact with the slimeball sociopath, who took two steps back and nearly fell down the stairs, his eyes wide with fear.
“Tom. Tom, it’s not worth it,” I said gently, not letting go of him. I didn’t really even realize what I was doing; it just felt natural, and I slid my hand down his arm and laced our fingers together.
“If your son’s mother were still alive—”
“My wife. She is—was—my wife!”
Slimeball Steve cleared his throat again and stepped back onto the porch to get out of the rain, but kept his distance from us.
“Yes. Your wife. If she were still alive and the two of you lived here, then there would be a reason for my client and his mother to petition for the land. Since the land belonged to your late father-in-law. But since your wife is no longer with us, and her son has chosen not to reside on the land, Mr. Corcan and his mother, Mrs. Corcan, believe that they are entitled to the land. That it needs to stay in the family.”
“It is,” Tom gritted out.
I squeezed his hand tighter.