Chapter 11 Rowe #2
He frowns. “You don’t even get spillover?”
“Sometimes.”
“That seems odd.” He frowns and types something in his phone. “How busy is it this time of year?”
“Since kids are back to school, it’s slowing down except for weekends.”
“But fall is almost here.”
“And tourists will come to see the leaves changing color.”
He considers this. “Fall also brings festivals. Any of those?”
“No, there are none in this area.”
A flash of movement outside the window grabs my attention. I spot a green tractor topped with one Clarice Sinclair. She’s puttering in front of the farm.
In fact, other folks are also driving by. Wait. Not driving—crawling in a conga-sized line of vehicles.
Oh, crap. Even though Cristina deleted her post about Pane, apparently the news about my guest has circulated, and the townies are now vying to get a glimpse of the billionaire.
“What is it?” he asks, turning toward the window.
I slap my hand over his and his head snaps back, his green eyes turning dark with irritation.
“Oh! Thought I saw a mosquito on your hand. Die, mosquito! You don’t want West Nile, do you? I just did you a favor.”
Pane slides his hand away and eyes me uneasily. “Um. Thanks.”
As discreetly as possible, I fire off a quick text to Cristina, begging her to get her butt out here and break up the welcome caravan.
Me: SOS! Pane’s fan club has arrived! Get them gone before he sees.
Cristina: I’m on it!
Me: Also, he’s never eaten biscuits before.
Cristina: What? Was he raised in a barn?
Me: No. In a gilded cage.
Cristina: Oh, right. Of course. I’m such a peasant.
Me: That’s what I thought, too!
He waits for me to finish texting before returning to our conversation, pelting me with questions. “So, no festivals? Not even nearby?”
I tell him what I can, completely distracted and barely listening to myself as I give long, elaborate answers so that I can buy any and all time possible. Cristina doesn’t live too far away, but it will take her a few minutes to get out here and break up the brigade.
While talking, I keep one eye on the traffic, which is now rush-hour heavy. People hold signs out their windows that read Welcome Pane Maddox! Welcome to Mystic Meadows! We Love You, Pane! There’s even a Marry Me sign.
That one has a bunch of hearts under it. Oh, wow. If these people knew what he was like, they’d change their tune lickety-split. They’d be locking him up in their shampers just to get a break from his sour attitude.
Pane rises and stretches, dragging me back to our conversation. “Well, that’s all I need here.”
I rise, too. Must keep him away from the window at all costs. “Great. What’s the first step in saving Wadley Farms?”
His eyes narrow as if he’s smelled a rat. “You excited to get started? Quite the reversal from yesterday.”
“Well, I had time to sleep on it,” I lie. After Cristina went home I tossed and turned, burning up about the fact that Pane Maddox had arrived to save me. I don’t need saving, as I’ve mentioned.
But the fact is, even if I don’t need anyone, the farm does. The farm needs a big heaping dose of assistance if it’s to remain in our family.
He crooks a brow. “Is that all? You just slept on it?”
He’s fishing for some kind of epiphany—a deep truth sitting at the bottom of the ocean, just waiting to surface. “I slept on it and realized that I could have been”—it takes great effort for the words to come out—“nicer . . . to you.”
I exhale. There. I said it. And being nice to Pane didn’t kill me.
Yet. There could be a delayed effect.
He smirks. “Great. Now that we’re on the same page, let’s head into town. We need supplies.”
Outside the window, there’s now a 4Runner rumbling by with a sign that reads Lifetime Member of the Pane Maddox Fan Club!
Wow. Just wow.
Where is Cristina? Oh, there she is! I spot her driving on the road’s shoulder, honking her horn. The other cars chime in, until there’s a cacophony of horns blaring outside the farm.
My body goes still as Pane frowns. “What’s all that noise?”
Oh no. He can’t look!
He starts to move toward the sound, but I grab his sleeve and tug him back. “Supplies? What else do we need?”
His gaze brushes my hand and lingers there for a moment before his eyes flick to mine. Whenever he places his whole focus on me, it feels like I’m shrinking, like I’m falling into a deep black hole. He sucks me in and I can’t think.
I blink to shake off the feeling as he explains, “We also need man power. That’s on the list.” A truck honks loudly, and Pane’s shoulders tighten. “Why are those cars honking?”
He begins turning again, but I pop up in front of his face, diverting his attention. “How do you plan to get this man power, exactly?”
“I’ll tell you on the drive to town.” The honking gets louder and he snaps, “What’s going on outside?”
He starts to whip toward the window. He’ll see the signs, the cars, and he’ll be pissed—so pissed that he’ll probably leave right here and now, and I’ll lose my last shot at saving the place.
I can’t endure that. There’s no way to tell my mom that we had a miracle standing in the middle of our rooster-infested kitchen and I let it get away.
As Pane pivots, time seems to slow to an absolute stop. Outside, the green leaves on the trees shimmer and the scraggly grass seems to grow. The whole place inhales and whispers to me. Whispers for me to save it, to keep this land and this place that I love.
And it tells me how to stop Pane from seeing every car and truck that’s rolling out the red carpet for him.
So as he turns, my arms reach out.
I should not be doing this. He will kill me for this. But it’s a risk that must be taken.
I take the hotel heir by the shoulders and spin him around to face me. Then I grab him by the face, push myself up on my tiptoes, and kiss Pane Maddox.