Chapter 9
9
You can have everything in life you want,
if you will just help other people
get what they want.
Zig Ziglar
B aylin fell into bed at her usual time, exhausted after a long day, but also restless with an energy that bubbled just beneath her skin.
With Teddy’s help, she’d checked a decent number of items off her never-ending list of chores.
With Teddy’s help…
Staring at her ceiling, images of Teddy helping throughout the day invaded her brain.
Teddy in the henhouse. Teddy feeding the goats. Teddy singing while making them sandwiches for lunch and whistling while cleaning up after they ate. Teddy saddling Eros without needing instructions, keeping up while they rode fence lines, checking for breaks, and murmuring to the horses while brushing their coats after their ride.
Teddy, Teddy, Teddy.
Again. Ugh!
Baylin flounced to her side, abusing her pillow with a few punches for good measure.
She hated to admit that having him around was nice.
Having someone to talk to throughout the day, to share the workload with, to laugh at when he was goofy —which was all the time — was also nice.
Maybe more than nice.
Baylin rolled to her stomach, burying her face in the mattress.
She didn’t want to like him. She really didn’t.
Guys like Teddy Gwenn — hunky, handsome, sweet, funny, book-loving, hot guys — didn’t fall from the sky. They didn’t quote Alice in Wonderland, get lost in Dickens, and whisper sweet nothings to her horses.
And they never stayed.
Not long-term.
No, whatever or whoever supplied Teddy with a rare, collectable, and very expensive car would expect something big from him in return, something not in Green Hills. The job that came with a schedule so flexible he could drop everything to spend a week helping on a farm in Oklahoma, would call him back to duty. He’d go back to his own life, and the sooner, the better.
Baylin had avoided asking him personal questions.
She didn’t want to know his story, wasn’t interested in his history…or what made him so stinkin’ jolly all the blasted time…or why he’d been on Road 214, just beyond her slice of heaven, when his precious Boxy had broken down.
Baylin had no desire to meet his family or friends.
She didn’t care what other books and authors he liked to read, didn’t wonder why the sun had bleached light streaks in his thick, dark hair smack-dab in the middle of winter. She hadn’t even noticed how his tall frame should’ve been wiry, but was deceptively strong instead.
Liar.
If she’d been legally blind, she still would have noticed the way his neck muscles corded and his shoulders filled out his flannel shirt while they’d been moving hay bales that afternoon.
Baylin rolled onto her back again, grabbed her pillow, and considered suffocating herself with it.
She gave up on sleep for the time being, slid on a thick robe and slippers, and crept downstairs to retrieve her spiral notebook. In the kitchen, the tea kettle caught her eye, and a cup of calming hot tea promised to soothe her frazzled nerves.
While the water heated, Baylin read through her to-do list, checking off tasks she and Teddy had completed and making notes of what else needed attention. She had developed her method of tracking chores and reminders back in high school, when juggling homework and group projects, volleyball practices and games, and extra-curricular activities like student government and FFA competitions filled her days to the point of overflowing.
Since then, she’d perfected the system to coordinate the farm’s day-to-day operations, to track finances, and to keep up with her numerous side gigs and community obligations, which she loved doing. She’d also learned what it actually meant to be pulled in so many directions she’d never, ever catch up.
Baylin had become a top-rate logistics expert, putting out fires wherever they popped up, and she prided herself on extinguishing them at a very high level.
She jotted down a few last-minute ideas for her booth at the Sweetheart Festival. From sunup to sundown, Teddy had refused to give her a moment’s peace. If he remained that determined to shadow her every step, she might as well put him to good use, which meant some of the merchandise she’d taken off the inventory list could go back on. With his help, she’d be able to tag, price, and package more of the textile products…perhaps even more of the goat milk soaps that had been great sellers the year before.
Deep in thought and crunching the numbers, Baylin jumped out of her chair when the kettle whistled. After fixing her tea, she returned to her spiral notebook, her pages of plans…her happy place. Running the farm challenged her in the best ways, pushing her creativity while tapping into her need to make things neat and tidy.
By the time she’d finished her tea, she’d filled in another sheet of bullet points. The lavender and chamomile brew had done its job, and her eyelids drooped.
As Baylin rinsed her teacup, she might’ve glanced out the window and across the yard toward the barn, out of habit. She wasn’t looking for lights, and she wasn’t looking for a man.
Even one who meandered back into her thoughts as she climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep.
T uesday morning, Baylin couldn’t remember her dreams, but judging by her pervading sense of peace and restfulness, she suspected they’d been nice.
Just as the sun peeked over the horizon, she skipped down the stairs with a pleasant excitement thrumming through her veins. Community events, in particular the Christmas and Valentine’s Day festivals, put a hop in her step.
Creating and decorating her booth, adding to the ambiance and environment of Green Hills coming together, and visiting with friends she didn’t see often enough put her in a wonderful mood.
Finding one Theodore Gwenn cooking at her stove did not.
“Why are you here?” she asked, stopping in her tracks on the bottom step.
“Good morning,” Teddy replied, eyes gleaming and silly smile in place.
“How’d you get in the house?”
“Are you hungry?” he countered.
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast,” he said, his tone indicating she should’ve been able to figure that out for herself. “Do you prefer your eggs scrambled or fried?”
“Neither, I?—”
“Oh, grab those toasties from the oven for me, please,” he interrupted.
Baylin frowned at the back of his head, but she did as he asked…only because burnt toast equaled wasted bread and a stinky kitchen.
Coffee Monday, a full breakfast Tuesday. What in the world would Wednesday bring?
Nothing. Wednesday will bring nothing. It will simply be one day closer to the day he leaves.
Baylin pulled the cookie sheet from the oven, set it on a quilted hot pad on the table, and walked to the pantry for a new jar of blackberry jam. If she had to eat breakfast, she might as well enjoy it.
“Fried it is,” Teddy announced as he cracked an egg in a skillet. “They’re my specialty. Is sunny side up okay?”
“Fine,” Baylin said, giving in. “Why are you cooking breakfast in my kitchen at the crack of dawn?”
“Because you cooked for me.”
He said it so matter of fact, as if that made all the sense in the world.
“I cooked for myself and just happened to have enough for you, too,” Baylin argued. Was she trying to convince herself, perhaps?
“Two nights in a row,” Teddy added, less matter of fact and much more I see right through you .
“Yes, well…you’d earned a decent dinner for all the work you helped me do leading up to those meals.”
“Of course.”
He might as well have said Whatever you say, dear… in the world’s most placating tone.
Rather than respond, Baylin set the table for two.
The bacon smelled very good, and her stomach growled.
She poured two cups of coffee, added sugar and cream to one for herself and left the other black and bitter for Teddy, and put them at their places just as Teddy declared, “Breakfast is served.”
I’d sooo like to wipe that victorious smile from his face.
But Teddy hadn’t lied about the eggs…delicious. And the bacon? Even better than it smelled.
Her coffee tasted like ambrosia, and the buttery toasted dinner roll — leftover from their dinner the night before — with a dollop of homemade blackberry jam, gave the morning a sweet start.
In fact, it set the tone for the entire day.
They worked side-by-side…feeding and watering animals, gathering the day’s eggs, repairing damaged boards on the pigpen, and cleaning out the barn stalls. Teddy chopped firewood while Baylin piled extra hay and straw in various places for added insulation against the wintry nights.
Baylin begged him to take a break, to leave her alone to do her work in hopes she might catch up on her list. She provided every excuse she could think of to get him out of her hair, but Teddy ignored her pleas. He never hesitated in the slightest to chip in, never balked at the grossness of mucking animal waste.
Nor did Teddy stop talking and smiling. No matter how dirty the job or how menial the task, his litany of questions, curiosity, songs, and stories continued.
His tales were generic, detailed enough that Baylin got the gist of his personality and quirks, but not so much that she could tell where he’d grown up and what his childhood had been like. She still didn’t know how he’d come into the fancy sports car, how he managed to have endless days off work, or where he was headed when he found himself stranded for Valentine’s Day in Green Hills, Oklahoma.
As the hours passed, his eternal sunshine and good mood stopped driving Baylin so crazy. After lunch, his silly songs became entertaining. His jabbering made the time pass and the work more enjoyable than when she did so much on her own.
Baylin taught Teddy how to cut, roll, and tag fat quarters of quilting fabric for her booth. His attention to detail and accuracy surprised her. He proved to be a quick study when she showed him how to package soaps and attach labels for each scented variety.
“Can I help with your quilt?” Teddy asked when they settled in the parlor after they’d cooked, eaten, and cleaned up their dinner.
“I’m pretty much finished with it…just in time to submit it for judging,” Baylin answered, astonished she’d be delivering it to the Busy Bees’ Quilt Guild on Wednesday.
“It’s beautiful; you’re going to win.”
Again with the blatant, matter of fact confidence.
If only I had a fraction of that certainty.
“I doubt it. Our local guild and sewing groups are full of quilters accomplished far beyond my skill level.”
“But this design is so unique. It catches your eye and fills your heart… It boasts I’m not afraid to shout my love from the mountaintops! A real showstopper… I think it’s perfect. Definitely a winner.”
His praise filled Baylin with hope. She didn’t stand a chance, not with Sadie Jones’s immaculate piecing which produced perfect joints and never nipped a point, or Judge Dorothy Roberts’s exquisite appliqué that couldn’t be matched, or Maree Davenport’s lovely fabrics, designed right in her shop on Main Street and then sold all over the world.
But Teddy’s pep talk encouraged Baylin to be proud of what she’d accomplished.
“Thank you,” she said with earnest appreciation.
Baylin smiled at him…an actual smile, void of the distance and barriers she’d tried in vain to maintain. It was a smile straight from her heart.