Chapter 4 #2
I finished the warning off with a nod. Dammit, when had a simple safety briefing turned into a standoff?
Part of me wanted to come out and ask “who hurt you?” But I killed that instinct quickly. It was none of my business. She was a tenant. We all had shit to deal with. Nothing good would come from getting curious about this woman.
The girls were unimpressed by the machinery, wandering aimlessly but sticking close. But Julian was in heaven.
Memories of following my dad and uncle around when I was his age assaulted me.
By the time I was old enough to go to school, I was desperate to take apart an engine and prove myself.
Dad never let me touch the “good” tools, but I had access to an older set, and he always left broken equipment lying around for me to practice on.
For a moment, I envisioned teaching Julian the way Dad had taught me.
Giving him his first socket wrench as a coming-of-age moment.
I closed my eyes and willed the thought away.
It was stupid. He wasn’t my son, and it didn’t seem like Celine liked to let him out of her sight.
Not that he wasn’t a bit wily. The first time I’d met him, he’d gotten away from her.
I’d add more cameras to the outside of this building and pray that he’d stay out.
She just continued to glare at me like I’d accused her of negligence.
I held her gaze. I wasn’t backing down. Not when serious injury was a possibility. I’d been kind and accommodating thus far, but this was a working farm, and I couldn’t wrap the kid in bubble wrap.
“This isn’t personal,” I said. “It’s safety.”
“Feels personal,” she shot back.
“Not my problem.”
Our staring competition was quickly interrupted by a clanging sound.
In the five seconds we’d locked eyes, Julian had wandered to the far side of the barn and pulled a huge coil of tubing off one of the hooks. What could happen next flashed in my mind. The entire thing coming down on him. Broken bones, head trauma. An ambulance too far away.
Celine shouted sharply, her voice filled with raw fear. The sound punched a hole in my chest. Not hysteria, but memory. The kind a person doesn’t forget once they’ve heard it.
I sprinted over, pushed him aside, and grabbed the coil.
It only weighed about fifty pounds, but if it had fallen on him, it could have done serious damage.
Jaw clenched tight, I rewound it around the hook.
Then I snagged a roll of duct tape from a nearby shelf and taped the end down so he couldn’t pull it loose again.
Next to me, Julian hadn’t moved, other than to lower his head. Rather than fight or flight, his instinct was to freeze. Shit. What a terrible place for that to kick in.
“Julian. You can’t touch,” Celine said, her voice shaking.
The kid didn’t move. He was a complete statue, his lack of response tempting me to inspect him to make sure he was breathing.
I’d barely resisted the urge when he started to shake. Celine wrapped her arms around him, and then he was thrashing against her. His movements were stronger than I could have imagined, but she remained calm. Within seconds, he settled, burying his face in her neck.
She stroked his back. “I know you’re curious. But you can’t touch things in here.”
I stood awkwardly close, at a loss for how to respond, willing my heart rate to slow down. Wayne trotted over and licked Julian’s arm, and finally, the boy came back to life, taking his mom’s hand and letting her lead him outside.
We hiked up the hill and to the garden, then the greenhouses, and the orchard.
The kids loved the apple trees, so I refrained from complaining about them.
They were a major pain in my ass. But these trees had been planted by my great-grandmother, and in the fall, we’d harvest them, and Jenn would use them for baked goods at the café.
We’d keep some too, and we’d make cider using the old press my grandpa had taught me to operate when I was a kid.
And maybe that part was fun. Mostly because my nieces and nephews loved it.
The damn trees, though, were fussy as hell and required constant pruning and maintenance, otherwise they wouldn’t produce.
As we continued on, the tension rolling off Celine eased a bit, allowing my own agitation to subside. I hated that I’d upset her, but I wasn’t sure I could avoid it. During every interaction we’d had, she’d been suspicious and untrusting.
“We don’t drive on this road,” I explained, not sure any of them were listening. “So you can ride your bikes here. But stay off the paved road that cuts through the farm. Trucks come and go down it most days, and in the spring when the sap runs, they’ll be here every few hours.”
“My bike’s broken,” Maggie said. “The chain snapped.”
“I can fix it.” The moment the words left me, I regretted them. Dammit. Why was I getting involved?
Her little face lit up.
Celine shot me a glare, proving again that she was untrusting. The woman treated help like a threat.
But I didn’t have the time to untangle that.
“I told you I’d get to it,” she said to her little girl, still clutching Julian’s hand. “I just need the right tools.”
“Mom.” Ellie turned around and walked backward up the hill. “This guy’s got a whole barn full of tools. We just saw them.”
As much as I resented being called “this guy,” she wasn’t wrong.
“It’s no trouble,” I said to Maggie. “Even got an air pump for your tires.”
When no one responded, I exhaled and continued on, though I kept step with Celine.
“I’m sorry about back there,” I said. “I hope I didn’t scare him. I just don’t want anybody to get hurt.”
She slowly looked over at me, her eyes hard. “I’m capable of keeping my kids alive, thanks.”
“Great.” I scoffed. “Then we’re on the same side. Stop treating me like the enemy.”
“You implied it.”
“I don’t imply,” I said, forcing a soft tone. “If something needs to be said. I say it.”
“Sounds like a threat.”
“Just a promise.” Damn, she was getting under my skin. I didn’t threaten, I prepared. And people who didn’t know the difference were the ones who got hurt. I was usually more collected than this, but this woman had shown up and made me feel like a villain on my own farm.
I trudged ahead, catching up with the girls so I could direct them away from the tree line toward the back end of the property. The steepness of the hill made it a challenge to close the distance between us, but this was the fastest way up here, and I hadn’t thought to take an ATV.
“This is important,” I said as we stepped into a small pasture that flanked the massive rows of maple trees.
I pointed to one side, catching my breath. “See this long hedge?”
Ellie wandered over and studied the massive thicket of bushes. “Are those thorns?”
Maggie joined her. “And berries?”
“This is a blackberry hedge,” I explained. “It’s taken years to get it this large.”
“Kind of looks like something out of a horror movie,” Ellie mused, more light in her expression than I’d seen from her yet.
The branches were winding and twisted, the plantings growing into one another to form a complex maze of thorns, branches, and fruit.
“This is the western border of the property.” I looked out over the land on the other side. “And I’m bringing you up here to show you that this area is off limits.”
“Past these trees,” I said, pointing to a towering row of pines separating the working farm from the wild forest that lay beyond. “You cannot go past here. I don’t maintain the road and the woods get very thick. Do you understand?”
I made eye contact with each child as they nodded at me.
This area was completely wild save for the blackberry bramble I’d planted. I’d put it here for the sole purpose of distracting Betsy Ross and thus keeping her from visiting the farm. My bear defense system. I had cameras, of course, but this worked better than other deterrents I’d tried.
I’d been with them for close to an hour, but the inane questions had drained me far faster than any manual labor. And I was disturbingly sweaty. Maybe it was the end of summer heat or maybe it was the disquieting sensation of having Celine’s eyes on me.
“Can we have a sleepover in one of the barns?” Maggie asked. “Not the scary one where Julian almost got hurt, but there are a bunch.”
“You wanna have a sleepover with the chickens?” I teased.
“Um, that would be awesome,” she replied.
“Do you have raccoons?” Ellie asked, eyes lighting up. “Do they have rabies?”
I took my hat off and ran my hands through my hair. I had absolutely no idea how to answer that question.
“Can we name the tractors?”
“When can we pick the apples?”
“Do the trees cry when you hammer the thingy into them?”
The questions were endless, and Julian had joined in as well, bringing tractors into the conversation.
A prickly unease took over. These kids had already eaten up a good chunk of my afternoon and too much of my attention. This wasn’t like me. I finished my to-do lists. I stuck to my routines. I didn’t get sidetracked. I didn’t get attached. I didn’t get… anything these days.
But here they were, worming their way in without shame. Suggesting cutesy names for farm equipment as Wayne trotted happily between them like an emotional support linebacker.
And their mom. Fierce eyes and wiry strength, but not a stitch of trust for me.
Once I’d left them at the cottage, a wave of relief hit me. But there was irritation there too.
Mostly because I was slightly intrigued by the little family.
Celine’s walls were high and fortified for a reason, and that only sent my instincts to protect into high gear. Yet at the same time, I wanted to retreat to my house and stay there, because I was pretty sure it would take days to recover from this farm tour.
“Wayne,” I hollered to my dog, who’d lagged behind, looking forlornly at the retreating kids. But when I called him a second time, he trotted over, head down. And with him at my side, I strode back to the barn to restart my workday.
“Don’t get attached,” I said to him. “They are tenants. Not friends.”
He picked up his pace, leaving me in the dust, as if he didn’t agree.