Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
LAYLA
“Sit,” Mom says, and I obey because I’m tired. Having my damn car break down was not on my bingo card for the day.
“You need to get rid of that electric car,” she starts. “Not practical.”
“Not practical here ,” I correct. “Very practical in Charlotte where I was commuting twenty miles each way.”
She looks at me sympathetically. “You know, I really appreciate you doing this for me. I know you prefer the city, though I’ll never understand why.”
“Small towns aren’t for everyone,” I reply. “I loved everything about the city except the cost and the commute.”
She nods, even though I know she doesn’t understand. “And your job? What were you doing again?”
She’s asked me this at least four times since I left here seven years ago. She’s only fifty-three, her memory shouldn’t be this bad. “I was the director of marketing for a large mortgage company.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Why would a mortgage company need marketing?”
I sigh and refuse to get into it. “They just do. Anyway, I quit, to answer your question, but they said I was welcome back anytime. Though, I’m sure they’ll be filling my position soon so it won’t be at the same job if I do.”
“Well, I’m sorry you had to do that. I just need help around here. I thought I could do it, but Andy did so much, and now it’s overwhelming. Even with a couple of high school kids I hired to help on the weekends. I have to show them what to do and it gets to the point where I might as well do it myself.”
“I understand, Ma. I’ll help with anything. But… have you thought about selling this place? Maybe get yourself something smaller? They’re building that new subdivision on the edge of town. It has an HOA. You won’t even have to mow the grass; they’ll do it for you.”
She’s already shaking her head by the time I finish. “No. I love this house and this farm. I got four acres and nobody bugs me out here. Well, except the bugs.” She laughs at her own joke and I smile, happy to see her smiling.
“Okay,” I reply, since I already knew what her answer would be. I thought maybe being so overwhelmed would make her rethink being here all alone with so much responsibility. Plus, the cows, chickens, and the massive vegetable garden is her income. The house, car, and farm equipment are paid off, but she obviously still has expenses. “So, what exactly do you need me to do?”
“How long are you going to stay, Layla?” she asks instead of answering me.
I resist a cringe. “As long as you need me.” I love her but I really had no plans to spend the rest of my life—or hers—in Chestnut Grove.
“If you can take care of the cows, chickens, and eggs, I can do the rest. The garden is my baby and I have things just the way I like them out there.”
Yay, getting up at the ass crack of dawn to do farm chores.
Groan .
“So, Jake Parsons, huh?”
I whip my head around. “What about him?”
“Oh, I only thought it was sweet of him to give you a ride. He smells real nice, too. I bet he’s got lots of muscles under that flannel. He runs his family’s ranch out there on 64, you know.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Strong, smart, hardworking.”
And he refuses to leave this small town… of course I don’t say that.
“No sparks at all? None?” she pushes.
“Drop it, Mom. He was just being polite, helping me out of a jam. Same ol’ Jake.”
“Okay.” She gets up and pats my knee. “Go change your clothes. We need to go through Dad’s stuff. I tried to a couple a’ weeks ago, but it got too overwhelming. I’ll make us some lunch.”
I nod. “You got it.”
After three hours of sorting through everything, there were lots of laughs at old photos and silly stuff my dad collected, and a lot of tears, too. This was harder than I thought it was going to be and I feel bad for my sour attitude at having to come home.
When Mom first asked me, I told her no. I didn’t want to go back to Chestnut Grove except to visit. I was happy with my life in Charlotte. I had offered to pay for full-time farm hands to help her. She refused, telling me never mind, she’ll just do it herself or find some high school kids to help out. And she did, but the daily chores of the farm became too much.
After we have almost everything of Dad’s packed in boxes and bags, I go into the kitchen to check my phone. Not that I’m expecting anything, but old habits die hard. I frown as I look around and don’t see my purse. Then I check the living room and see my suitcase waiting by the door but no purse.
“Did I even bring it in?” I murmur to myself.
I can’t remember.
“Ma, have you seen my purse?” I call out where she’s down the hall taping up boxes.
She comes out and furrows her brow. “Now that you say that, I don’t recall you having one when Jake dropped you off.”
“Crap,” I mutter. “I must have left it in his truck. Dang it!”
Mom looks at me with a smug smile. “Better call him. He did say his number was the same.”
She’s right, but now I’m dreading it. Walking to the house phone my mom refuses to give up, I pick up the cordless receiver and dial the seven digits I’ll never forget.
“Hello?” he answers in that voice that has my stomach clenching.
“Hi, Jake? It’s Layla.”
“Forget your purse, Clapton?” he asks with a smile in his voice.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“I didn’t notice it until I got back to the ranch, but I didn’t have time to turn and go back into town because one of the cows went into labor. I am still dealing with that, but I can bring it to you tomorrow, if that’s okay?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “I’ll drive out to get it.”
“See you soon. Gotta go.” He hangs up and I sigh.
“Mom, car keys?”
“On the hook, like always,” she answers.
“Wanna come?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, I have to peel potatoes.”
Of course you do.
“Be back later.” I wave and snatch the keys, heading out to her ten-year-old Kia SUV.
The tires of the SUV crunch over gravel as I drive under the Parsons’ Ranch wrought-iron arch with the large P in the center. Their sprawling ranch house comes into view and my stomach clenches with memories of coming here during high school. It was so long ago and yet it looks the same, a few modern touches gracing its exterior. I see Jake’s truck parked in the dirt out front and I park next to it.
I get out and head to the passenger side, hoping my purse is still sitting there and I can simply grab and go.
Of course, no such luck.
I walk slowly to the front door and knock.
After waiting for what felt like minutes, Mrs. Parsons answers. “Can I help you?”
I smile and wave. “Hi, Mrs. Parsons. It’s Layla.”
Her eyes go wide and she wipes her hands on her apron before quickly opening the screen door. “Oh! Hi, Layla! Back in town?”
I nod and head inside. The place looks the same, and my stomach rumbles when I smell apple pie. This woman makes the best pies on the planet and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.
“Jake helped me out earlier. I left my purse in his truck.” I look around and spot it on a side table in the living room next to the sofa. “Oh, there it is.”
She laughs and grabs it for me. “I didn’t even see that sittin’ there. Must have been too busy with the pies.”
“Well, they smell delicious. Tell Jake thanks for me?” I say, holding up my purse.
“Nonsense. Go out back and say hi, and I’ll get one of these pies wrapped up for you and your mom.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to, Mrs. Parsons. Really.”
She laughs and waves me out the door. “I baked like six. Jake’s daddy don’t need all these extra sweets lyin’ around anyway. I had to bake a couple for the church bake sale and I guess I got carried away.”
I laugh with her. She was always the sweetest. Acted like a grandma even when she wasn’t close to being one.
I head out back and see Jake and his dad and some other ranch hands in the paddock surrounding a cow. As I come closer, I can hear it wailing and I furrow my brow.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
They turn and look at me, then go back to what they were doing.
“Calf’s breech. Give us a hand?” Jake says.
No, I really don’t want to, but it’s not like this would be my first rodeo. I swallow hard. “Sure.”
“Gloves.” Mr. Parsons points to a wood box.
I put them on and they go almost all the way up to my shoulder.
“Push on her belly and we’ll pull,” Jake says to me.
I bend down and do as he says. The cow is still whimpering and mooing. I pat her face. “It’s okay, girl. Baby’s almost here.”
“One hard shove and I think we got it,” Mr. Parsons says.
I push as hard as I can, feeling bad when the poor cow wails, but the baby is suddenly out, all limbs and blood.
“It’s a girl,” his dad says, and I laugh.
I look at the cow, whose eyes are half lidded, as she must be exhausted. “Congratulations, mama.”
Jake picks up the calf and hands it to mama cow, who immediately starts licking it clean.
Gross.
I stand up, brush hay and dirt from my jeans, and put the gloves back into the box. They didn’t even get dirty—thank God.
“Thanks for your help,” Jake says.
“Hey, Layla. Long time no see. Sorry about your pop.” His dad looks sincere.
“Thanks.” I force a smile.
“Your purse is on the sofa table,” Jake says after a beat of silence.
I nod. “Yeah, I got it. Came for a purse, got to witness a birth. Just another day on the ranch, huh?”
Both men chuckle.
“Seems that way. Mom’s making pie. Wanna stay?” Jake asks.
Yes.
“I should probably go,” I say.
“Okay, whatever you want. Thanks for coming to get it. I was busy, as you can see.” He points to the cows.
He walks me back to the house and I pick up my purse, and of course a pie I’m not allowed to leave without, and head out to my car.
Jake walks me there. “Well, enjoy your pie.”
I try not to laugh. Don’t make it awkward.
“Thanks again, Jake,” I say, for some reason hesitating before I get into the Kia. He’s so tall, and now in nothing but a sweaty black T-shirt, dirt on his face and arms, and I find him more attractive. He’s definitely beefed up since high school. He played football, but I bet he’d have loved to have this body back then.
He shuts my door after I get in with a thanks. As I drive away, my mind starts spinning. I don’t even know if he’s single. I didn’t see a ring, but that doesn’t mean much when you have the type of job he does.
“Stop thinking about Jake Parsons!” I snap to myself.