Chapter 16
RYDER
The sun beats down on the back of my neck as I hoist another bale of hay over the petting zoo fence.
A goat attacks it, tearing into the twine with enthusiasm that borders on violence.
I’ve spent the weekend playing farmhand for our small fun-farm operation while families wander through the rows of multicolored tulips Rebecca planted last fall before the ground froze.
The turnout for the Tulip Festival has been great, but darn it, I wish everyone would just go home so I could finally listen to the ache between my shoulder blades warning me I’ve been on my feet too long.
Get rid of these gloves that smell of alfalfa and animal feed, and soak in a tub until my skin prunes and my body stops protesting.
Just a couple more hours.
“You good on your own for a minute?” Remy appears at my elbow, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He’s been manning the ticket booth, but the afternoon rush has slowed to a trickle. “I need a drink.”
“Yeah, go.” I gesture toward the lavender lemonade stand at the edge of the field. “Bring me one.”
He grins and takes off, leaving me alone with a dozen children squealing over rabbits, a pair of exceptionally patient sheep, and the more aggressive goats.
Rhys is somewhere in the crowd, probably trying to convince another kid that our chickens are small dinosaurs.
He’s been going on and on all week about how Miss Rose taught them that birds are the closest descendants of those prehistoric giants and that velociraptors had feathers.
Guess daydreaming about Faye is genetic.
I haven’t spoken to her since Tuesday evening, five days ago.
Not that I’m counting. After Rhys got into that fight on Monday, she called the next day to pass along the contact of Dr. Sarah Agard, a renowned child psychologist with an office in Osage Beach.
Rhys and I had our first appointment Thursday afternoon, and I have to admit—begrudgingly—that Faye was right.
Dr. Agard helped us navigate the topic of Abigail leaving safely.
She gave Rhys language for feelings he didn’t know how to express, and she encouraged me to be honest and stop hiding harsh truths.
We talked about absence and love and how sometimes people leave because of their own problems, not because of anything we did wrong.
Rhys cried. I teared up, too. And afterward, driving home with my son, chattering about how Dr. Agard had a fish tank in her office and could we please get one, I felt lighter than I have in years.
I owe Faye for that. For pushing me when I was too stubborn to see what I needed. For not letting me hide behind my pride.
But I still haven’t thanked her. I haven’t even sent a text or called her.
This week swallowed me whole. The therapy session lasted only an hour, but it meant leaving the farm in the middle of the afternoon, missing work I have to recoup some other time.
I’ve been getting up earlier or working late into the night to keep everything running smoothly while also making space for this new priority.
No time for a woman in that equation. Maybe I was silly to think I could pursue someone and carve a slice of happiness for myself. I don’t get to date. I get to parent, run the family business, and collapse into bed at night, too exhausted to even—
My train of thought derails as Faye walks past the gates of the fun farm in a floral dress that floats over brown suede boots. Her hair is loose. No complicated twists today. No severe bun. Just… her.
My exhaustion evaporates like water on hot asphalt.
She stops just inside the gate, looking around with an uncertain expression as if she’s not sure she should be here. Her arms are crossed, one hand rubbing her opposite elbow in a gesture that screams discomfort.
Why did she come so late? The festival started yesterday morning, and we’re down to the last hours. The final hayride is scheduled in twenty minutes, and then we’ll close up.
Is she into tulips? Did she want to pick the flowers?
But then Rebecca spots her and waves, jogging over with the boundless energy only my sister possesses at the end of a long day. They hug. Rebecca is talking—I can’t hear what she’s saying from this distance, but from her body language, she must be thanking Faye for something. For coming?
So Rebecca invited her.
That makes sense. They’re close, or as close as Faye is letting anyone be, and see each other at book club every week. Of course Rebecca would invite Faye to the festival.
My heart sinks. She came to see her friends: Rebecca and some of the other book club women who are wandering around, picking flowers, and taking photos for their socials.
She didn’t come for me. Why would she? I’ve acted like a jerk every other time I saw her.
Except Faye keeps looking over her shoulder. A glance to the side, a longer scan across the field, like she’s searching for someone. Her gaze sweeps the crowd, lingering on clusters of people, then moving on.
My pulse kicks into a higher gear.
Is she looking for me?
Hope flares hot and stupid in my chest. Dangerous hope. The kind that could get me hurt.
I want to go say hello. Hear her voice, even if just for a polite greeting.
But I hesitate.
I’m a mess. I have dirt under my fingernails. My scalp is itchy with sweat under my Bobcats cap. My jeans are streaked with mud and who knows what else from wrestling goats and hauling feed. My shirt is clean, at least, but the heat has glued it to my back.
I look like a hick who’s been working since dawn.
And Faye could’ve walked out of a ranch lifestyle photoshoot: country, but make it expensive. A hand lands on my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Remy is back from the drink run, grinning like he can see inside my head.
“You’re staring,” he says, handing me the lemonade.
“Shut up.” I take it and drain the paper cup in one long gulp.
“Breathing will help.” He pats my shoulder. “Just a suggestion.”
“I’m breathing just fine.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” His grin widens. “You gonna go talk to her or what?”
“Remy.”
“If you don’t, a smarter dude will make a move.” My brother nudges me toward the gate.
“It’s not like that—”
“It’s exactly like that.” He crosses his arms, expression turning serious. “I’ve got the zoo. And whatever else you’ve been doing all day. Go talk to her. Don’t be an idiot.”
My boots are rooted to the ground.
Remy’s voice drops, losing the teasing edge. “You’ve been miserable for six years. That woman has made you look alive for the first time in forever. Don’t fuck it up by standing here like a scarecrow.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
Remy flashes me his cockiest smile and steps forward. “If you’re not interested, I’ll go.”
I know he’s baiting me, but I yank him back by the collar of his shirt, anyway. “Don’t test me, Remy.”
“Dad!” Rhys barrels into me at full speed as I’m still wrestling his uncle. My son tugs at my right sleeve, his face flushed, eyes bright with excitement. “Dad, Dad, Dad!”
“What?” I let my brother go.
“Miss Rose is here!” He bounces on his toes. “Come say hi! She’s here, Dad!”
“I see her, buddy—”
But Rhys is already dragging me forward, his small hand gripping mine with surprising strength and even more determination. I let him pull me along, relieved I have at least an excuse to approach. But I’m still nervous.
Terrified, actually.
Of a woman in a frilly dress.
We cross the distance faster than I’d like. Faye is still chatting with Rebecca and a few other women—Lila Callaway, Alejandra Flores, and Aurora Marino.
As we get close, Rhys lets go of my hand and launches himself at Faye.
“Miss Rose!”
She turns in time to catch him. Her face lights up, that smile I’ve been chasing appearing like the sun breaking through clouds.
“Rhys! Hi, sweetheart!” She hugs him tight, and he squeezes back with the unselfconscious enthusiasm of a kid who hasn’t learned to be guarded yet.
I hover by, uncertain, watching them.
But today, Faye’s smile doesn’t fade when she looks up and sees me. If anything, it gets brighter.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey.” My voice scrapes against the tightness in my throat.
Her cheeks flush in response. A beautiful, telltale pink that spreads from her face down to her collarbone, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress.
Mine. That flush is mine. I want all her blushes and all her moans and all her gasps and—
Sheesh, she just said hi and smiled, for fuck’s sake.
She must barely tolerate me. I’ve been rude to her, impulsive, judgmental, prideful, and short-tempered. An all-around delight.
But she’s still smiling at me, and I don’t know what to do with that.
Rebecca inserts herself into the moment. “Ryder! Perfect timing.” She loops an arm through Faye’s, grinning at me in such an angelic way that makes me want to run. “Faye wanted to pick some tulips. Can you take her around the field and show her how it’s done?”
“Err… I’d love to,” I say, and I mean it. Nothing sounds better than walking through the rows of flowers with Faye, watching her pick her favorites. “But I’ve got the hayride in”—I check my watch—“ten minutes.”
Rebecca waves a hand as if that’s a minor inconvenience. “She can come on the ride, and then you go pick the flowers. Problem solved.”
I blink. “The hayride is sold out.”
“Faye can ride up front with you.”
In the tractor cab that’s barely big enough for one person.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Faye says quickly, her gaze darting between me and Rebecca.
“You have to go, Miss Rose!” Rhys grabs her hand. “The hayride is the best part! It goes down to the river and back, and sometimes Dad lets me honk the horn! But I’ve already done my shift behind the wheel today, so you can take the cabin spot.”
“That’s very generous, Rhys, but I—”
“Please, Miss Rose? Please?” He’s showing her big, pleading eyes that are impossible to resist.
Faye laughs, the sound soft and a little helpless. She looks at me, her expression caught somewhere between amused and uncertain. “I don’t want to impose…”
“You’re not.” I sound too eager. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s no bother at all. I mean, if you want to do it…”
Her smile hits me like the first cold drink after a day in the sun—biting, necessary, a little too good. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “I’ll come.”
Rhys cheers. Rebecca looks entirely too pleased with herself. And I remind myself to breathe like someone who’s standing still and not running a sprint.
The megaphone crackles to life, one of our seasonal workers announcing the final hayride of the day. Families start migrating toward the big red tractor parked next to the craft-slash-community barn, the flatbed trailer already loaded with hay bales arranged for seating.
“Come on!” Rhys grabs Faye’s hand again, pulling her in the same direction. She glances back at me, still smiling, and follows him.
I fall into step behind them as my internal compass resets. It does not point north anymore, and I’ve no idea where I’m headed.
It’s just a hayride. Thirty minutes in a tractor. It’s not romantic, and I’ve done it a hundred times.
Except I’ve never done it with Faye Rose sitting next to me.
The families pile onto the trailer, kids bouncing on the hay bales, parents settling in with the resigned patience of people who are about to be jostled for half an hour. Rebecca does a final headcount, gives me a thumbs-up, and then—because she’s the worst—winks at me.
I’m going to kill her later.
Rhys climbs into the trailer and wedges himself between two hay bales, legs dangling out the back.
He waves at Faye. “See you at the end, Miss Rose!”
“Later, Rhys!” She waves back, then turns to me. “So… where do I…”
I gesture to the cab. “In the front.”
The door is already open. I climb in first, settling into the worn driver’s seat that’s molded to my body after years of use. The space is designed for one person.
Faye falters at the door, eyeing the narrow bench seat.
“It’s a tight fit,” I warn.
She nods, then climbs in, and—
Yeah, tight fit is an understatement.
Her hip and shoulder press against mine. Her spicy perfume fills the small space, wrapping around me until I’m breathing her in with every inhale.
“Okay?” I manage to ask, strangled.
She nods, her cheeks pink again. “Yep.”
I force my attention to the controls, gripping the steering wheel with both hands to keep from doing something stupid like putting my arm around her, or pulling her closer, or leaning in to find out if her neck tastes as good as it smells.
I turn the key. The engine roars to life, vibrating through the cab and through both of us.
Faye’s hand shoots out, grabbing the door handle to steady herself. She laughs, a little breathless. “Wow, that’s… loud.”
“Sorry.” I ease off the throttle, bringing the engine down to a low rumble. “Forgot to warn you.”
“It’s fine.” She shifts, trying to get comfortable in the limited space, and her thigh presses more firmly against mine.
Every cell in my body goes feral. If I’m not careful, I’m going to drive us straight into a ditch.
I release the brake. The tractor lurches forward, and Faye sways into me, her hand landing on my thigh to catch herself.
“Sorry!” She yanks her hand back like she’s been burned.
“It’s okay.” My voice sounds as if I’ve been gargling gravel.
I focus on driving. On navigating the worn path that loops through the back fields, past the rows of tulips in full bloom.
The trailer bounces behind us, kids shrieking with delight every time we hit a bump while I rattle out the scripted history of Hollow Creek Farm.
The only reason I don’t stumble on my words is that I’ve led this tour so many times, I could do it in my sleep.
Or, as the case is, with 99 percent of my brain function focused on Faye.
Thirty minutes, I remind myself. I can keep my shit together for thirty minutes.
Probably.
Maybe.
We’ll see.