10. A Change of Heart
CHAPTER TEN
A Change of Heart
O wen pounded the hammer into the board long after the nail was flush with the wood. Adrenaline still surged through his system from the storm a few days earlier. Or rather, its aftermath.
Paige… Hurt… Sick…
THWACK… THWACK… THWACK.
It was too reminiscent of his past, of the other losses he’d incurred.
He’d talk to someone about it, but who? There was no place but the farm to let out the chemicals in his system that told him danger drew near.
Flee , they told him from experience. Run like you’ve never run before. Get away from this place or you won’t make it out alive.
Reason chimed in. You’re fine , it told him. You’re not only alive, but healthy and in the best place you’ve been financially, and professionally. Still, the feeling nagged and he was quickly running out of board to pound.
Over the last three days, he’d redone every square foot of the fencing to his property, shoring up the posts and replacing weather-worn rails and razor wire. Except for the last twenty feet, which he was using as a battering ram for every pent-up emotion he’d had since he got out of the Marines a year ago. Losing his three Marine brothers— BAM! Then getting told he’d need to take a medical retirement— WHACK! After which he’d been told he couldn’t even act as a contractor for the Marines— THUD!
Don’t forget Paige , his heart told him, beating hard against his chest whenever he thought of her. WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.
What was he thinking, falling for a girl who couldn’t stick around? Even before the accident and the devastating news at the hospital, he’d known she would leave Banberry eventually. Even now, hearing that this incredible woman had cancer— cancer! —he cared for her more than he wanted to admit. He also knew how much good that would do him, since she’d be gone as soon as she got the green light from her physician post-surgery.
BAM. BAM.
A low growl emanated at his feet. Penske, Marge and Alan’s pup, aggressively tore at Owen’s discarded flannel shirt that fluttered in the wind. Normally he would have taken a break, tossed a stick for the little guy, but his sour mood didn’t include puppies, not even adorably obnoxious ones like Penske. He only served to remind Owen of Marge and Alan.
Which, of course, was a beeline to thinking about Paige.
Did he really think one lovemaking session—albeit a damn good one—would be enough to entice her to stay? Maybe not, but he’d seen the glint in her eyes when she looked out over the valley a few days ago.
She had a connection to this place. If he could nurture that, maybe she’d see Banberry through his eyes and stay. It had almost worked, until Justice had thrown Paige from her back.
He’d thought that was as close to a tragedy as he’d seen, but now, working on the last ten feet of the fence, he was certain it had saved her life.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Except, now she’d always see this town as the place that gave her two broken ribs and cancer, and she’d never think of him as anyone other than a one-night stand and the guy who brought her to the hospital. Not to mention her pissed-off brother who blamed Owen for the whole thing.
Owen had panicked when he’d heard Justice whinny and the hard thump that had followed. He’d jumped off Ares and been at Paige’s side in seconds, his heart racing and his hands trembling. Both of those things still happened when he imagined Paige lying on her side, limp and pale, like a shitty movie he couldn’t pause.
He’d carried her down the mountain on his lap, careful to keep Justice on a lead that gave them plenty of berth if she spooked again. He’d called Brad the second they got to the valley and her brother had met them at the house angry—and scared, Owen now understood—treating Owen like a man that had attacked his sister instead of the concerned friend he’d been.
He’d never have let anything happen to her on his watch if he could help it. But he had, and the guilt of that was much worse than anything Brad could throw at him.
Penske barked at the offending sleeve of the flannel, rearing back like it was going to attack, but when the wind picked up, raising the fabric like it was possessed, he keened and hid behind Owen’s boot.
“Stupid mutt,” Owen growled, feeling immediately guilty for taking his piss-poor attitude out on the innocent animal.
Unfortunately, he was pissed and no amount of roughhousing with Penske could fix that. Good whiskey might, but it was still early. Besides, he didn’t think even hard alcohol would erase the memory of the accident.
Lord knew he’d been trying to make it. He’d gone through an eighteen-pack in the three days since…. Since.
Alan told him he was grateful for the accident, tried to make Owen see that without it, Paige might not have lived to see her thirty-fifth birthday. It was true, in the way science is true whether or not someone believed it to be. But that didn’t mean that he believed Paige lucked into getting hurt so they could find the other ways her body was killing her. No, Owen had taken Paige up to the top of a cliff with the sole intention of showing her all the reasons she should stay in Banberry—selfish reasons that benefited Owen and Owen alone—and was so hell-bent on that mission he hadn’t prepared for the one thing that could screw the whole plan—the weather.
He deserved getting told to shove off by her. She had family to take care of her—what the hell would she need him for?
She didn’t know that he’d gone back later that night to talk some sense into her, explain his feelings and make her see the truth in them, only to hear her mumbling about him in her sleep. Telling him to leave all over again, that she couldn’t have kids, so what good was she to him now? Mumbling about Aurelie coming to save her from this hick town.
He reached in the box of nails only to find it empty. Frustrated, he heaved the box against the fence with a grunt, unsatisfied at the way the cardboard sailed through the air and lightly tapped the wood beam it was aimed at, rather than shattering into a thousand pieces the way Owen wanted it to. Again, science knew better than emotion.
“Taking it kinda rough on the fence, there, aren’t you, son?”
Owen turned around, hammer in one hand, the other woefully empty.
“Mr. Connors,” he said by way of greeting Paige’s dad. He was simultaneously surprised to see him, and embarrassed to be caught manhandling his fence.
“I gotta tell you to call me Alan one more time, and we’re gonna have some problems there, neighbor.”
Owen chuckled. “I just talked myself out of calling you ‘sir,’” he said, happy for the calm Alan emanated. He was the steady to his wife’s storm, Owen noticed. Much like Brad to Paige. The women in that family ran hot, there was no denying that. “Calling you Alan may take a bit to get used to.”
“Fair enough,” Alan said, still smiling. He gestured to the box lying on the ground beside Owen. “What, pray tell, did the box do to offend?”
“Not have enough nails for me to take out on the fence. Not shatter like glass when I got frustrated by the first thing. You know, the usual.”
“She’s going to be okay,” Alan said, his eyes narrowed on Owen.
“Oh, I know. I’ll head on up to Mitch’s and grab another couple boxes. It’s no big deal.”
“I mean Paige, Owen. She’s going to be okay. At least that’s what the idiot of a doctor said.”
At the mention of Paige, the very muse to his hammering and throwing of stuff, Owen froze. A small tremble shook his left hand. He transferred the hammer to it, hoping to get rid of the tremor, but it only picked up in the right hand.
Dammit . A feeling of relief flooded through him and tears sprung to his eyes. He wiped at them, laughing weakly.
“Thanks, Alan,” he said. “I’ve been so damn worried.”
It was the truth, too. He’d been pissed at himself, sure, but beneath all the guilt, all the frustration, lay fear. Fear that Paige wouldn’t make it out of this, that she’d be forever changed in a way that would prevent her from living the life she’d dreamt of. He’d been too stubborn after that first visit back to check in on her, which made him nothing more than a giant wuss.
“I know you have, son. I know. I also know you’ll want to hear that she asks about you damn near each time I bring her anything, which is about a dozen times a day. I tell her the same thing—you’re working on your farm, you’re doing okay far as I can tell, though I might not say the same for those there posts,” he said, pointing his arm towards the one Owen had just unloaded two dozen nails on. Owen’s cheeks warmed, most likely now the shade of the red flannel Penske sat growling at.
He admired the persistence of the little bugger.
“Yeah, I guess this one got it worse than the rest. Liability right now—anything that can be pounded I’m darn well going to. Beats beating myself up any more than I already have.”
“I’ll bet you’ve been doing a fair amount of it still, and I know part of it’s cause that little girl of mine saw fit to ask you to leave her alone, but if I know my daughter, and believe me, son, I do, she was just protecting her heart from experiencing what the rest of her body is right now. Stubborn like her mom, that one. I reckon you don’t have any plans on making that heart hurt, though, do you?”
“I don’t, sir, not even close.” Owen bit the inside of his cheek to keep from bawling like a newborn.
“And I’m not being too forward assuming you like her?”
The heat in his cheeks scorched him. He ran his free hand through his hair, his ball cap hanging limp at his side with the hammer.
“No, your assumptions would be correct on that end.”
“Okay, then. I’ll expect to see you for Sunday dinner tonight. Bring some of that corn you got growing there, and we’ll take care of the rest.”
Alan walked away. Owen, for the life of him, couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin from his face.
“You’ve got it, sir,” he called after him. Alan turned back around, waved a finger at Owen like he’d broken a rule. “Shit, sorry. You’ve got it, Alan.”
Alan smiled and winked, put his finger to his nose like Owen used to see Santa do in old Christmas films. “Bring that hammer of yours too, son. I’ve got some nails and a shutter I’d like your advice on. Maybe we can put that pounding of yours to some good use. Penske, come.”
Owen nodded, turned the hammer in his hand so the head faced down and shimmied it into his work belt. Penske followed his owner willingly, but kept looking back at his plaything, tail wagging.
Damn, wouldn’t it be nice if life was that simple. Have a frustration, get called away from it, forget about it altogether.
As he cleaned up his work, he thought about the dinner he’d just accepted an invitation to, nervous and excited both. Paige would be okay, but that was all the news he’d had since before her surgery. Now, she was post-surgery, in recovery, and Owen had no idea what to expect.
He glanced at his watch. He recalled from the first family dinner he’d been invited to that their dinners began at five, and it was only just two in the afternoon.
What the hell was he going to do for the next two and a half hours? He looked at the post he’d mutilated and laughed, shaking his head at himself. He supposed he should start by taking out the extra hardware he’d added above and beyond what was necessary and use it to finish the last eight or so feet of fencing. Then he’d shower up and head into town to buy some more nails and screws for the shutter Alan had mentioned. He didn’t want to use the man’s nails if he brought his own tools. It seemed wrong somehow.
He got to it, finishing up the last run of fencing in half the time it had taken him to do a quarter of the length before that. He smiled at his work, noticing how much more productive he was with the motivation of seeing Paige to light a fire under him. She was turning out to be quite the muse—helping keep his nightmares at bay in the darker hours, making him work for his money during the day.
Deciding there wasn’t any time to run into town after all, Owen ran his hands along the stalks of corn ready for harvest. He selected ten ears that looked better than edible—they looked perfect, befitting of the dinner where they would be served. White, round kernels, a sweet aroma that reminded him of the cornmeal his grandmother would knead by hand to make into homemade corn tortillas for her own family dinners.
Before she’d lost her only daughter and son-in-law, that is. That had ended not only family dinners, but anything resembling a family period. His grandmother had fought for custody of him but lost that battle as well as her livelihood to a stroke. He wondered how different his life would have been under her loving care instead of his abusive uncle.
Up on the ridge he hadn’t wanted to tell Paige much about his history, but now that she was sick, he wished he hadn’t shied away from her in any respect. He had nothing to be ashamed of—he’d done his best to make a name for himself after he’d booked it from his uncle’s house at seventeen.
Owen sighed. He didn’t want to keep making the same mistakes, keep himself locked in tight, afraid of what would happen if he was at all vulnerable. Paige made him want more. Maybe he’d get a minute to tell her that evening at dinner.
Before he got to the door, he looked back at the work he’d accomplished over the past three days. There was a pride spreading in his chest as he surveyed the fruits of his labor.
Hardly an animal alive in the Northern Hemisphere could breach his new stronghold. Damn, did it feel good knowing he’d done the work himself.
He couldn’t wait to share that with Paige, too.
Leaving the corn to steam before he finished it up on the grill, Owen stripped the sweaty, dirt-crusted clothes off his equally sweaty, filthy body and jumped into a hot shower to clean up. He took a cursory look at himself in the mirror when he was ready. He wasn’t so modest he couldn’t appreciate how the flannel shirt hung on his frame. Frankly, he was surprised at the way he’d filled out in the matter of a few weeks. He’d always been strong—his job had demanded it from all the men on his team as a matter of survival. But now, he could see the difference between vanity muscles and functional fitness. The latter changed his physique entirely.
Every muscle on his thinner frame was visible through the fabric in stark detail. He was sinewy, built like a track sprinter, but with the bulk of a powerlifter because of all the on-the-farm crap he had to lift. He finally had the deep-V muscles at the bottom of his abdomen that led south of his jeans, a muscle he’d once admired on ultra-athletes. He was proud again, this time of the way he’d used his body in a way that was purely on-demand. Gone were the hours spent in the gym to build muscle he’d never use.
Now, he ran because the mountain air restored him, but otherwise, the farm acted as his daily workout. Hopefully, Paige didn’t mind the change.
Owen headed downstairs, trying not to think too hard about the dinner that night as he wrapped up the corn and whipped up the sauce. He was just a friend of the family, checking up on one of them who’d recently had a pretty major surgery.
Which, of course, was bullshit. Paige was much more than just a friend. Sex definitely muddied the waters of friendship.
Which left Brad. What was he supposed to say to the guy at dinner? Brad had been his buddy one minute, helping fix Owen’s fence, his mortal enemy the next when Owen had brought Paige off the mountain, badly bruised and broken. He understood the brotherly instinct to protect a sibling, especially a petite woman like Paige, but Brad had to realize Owen would protect and help Paige at any cost. If he could have prevented what had happened on the mountain he would have.
He shuddered to think how that would have wound up though, with Paige’s diagnosis and all.
The whole thing was a mess. He would just apologize to Brad for putting his sister in a precarious situation and hope that was enough to smooth things over, for dinner at least. They didn’t have to be best friends, but he hoped they could be amicable when Owen stopped by. Because if Paige wanted Owen in his life, no force on Earth was going to keep him from her.
Not even her brother.
Owen sighed, figuring he’d better get on his way. He was never late, and tonight wouldn’t be a good time to start.
Walking up the path that wore flat through the tall grasses to the Connors’s farm, Owen noticed how nice, how mature all the landscaping was in their front yard. How the simple but classy modern rustic furniture complemented the foliage. The whole design was remarkably similar to his own tastes, that was if he ever got around to decorating his place. The farm came first, would always come first, but that suited him fine. That’s what he was there for, after all. It wasn’t like he entertained much anyway.
That could change. If he and Paige got off on the right foot at dinner, he would love to have her over. Cook for her. Care for her. His heart fluttered imagining that particular iteration of a future.
Paige as his future.
Owen knocked, careful to keep the corn and sauce steady. He was so preoccupied he didn’t notice the door open until he heard a small cough to get his attention.
He whipped around to find himself face-to-face, or rather chest-to-face, with Paige.
“Hi,” was all he could get out.
She looked the same, just more tired. Her hair rose in spikes, like normal, and she wore a loose-fitting sundress that still managed to show off curves he already knew by heart.
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but this wasn’t it. Though his heart pounded like it would knock a hole in his rib cage, other, more primal, parts of him woke up to the sight of her. She bowled him over, every time, and after surgery was seemingly no exception.
“Hi, yourself,” she said, a smile curling the right side of her lips.
“Um, I brought the corn.”
I brought the corn?! He mentally flagellated himself for such an asshole of a statement. I brought the corn, and how was your cancer removal surgery? Jesus.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head at himself, wishing he could disappear behind his hat and hair.
She laughed, a lighthearted giggle that lifted his spirits. He didn’t miss the way her eyes crinkled in pain, though.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, but her hand gripped the doorknob so hard that her knuckles turned white.
“I probably shouldn’t be up, but I knew it was you and I wanted to steal you before everyone else did.” He looked down at her from behind curious eyes, his head tilted slightly. “I wanted to do this,” she said, stepping up on her toes.
The movement clearly cost her, but she feathered her lips on his. He reacted on autopilot. His body bent down so she didn’t have to reach. His free arm wrapped gingerly around her waist. He fought against the urge to pull her into him, throw her against the door, never letting her go again. Instead, he rubbed his thumb along her jawline, kissed her softly again before taking a step towards the edge of the porch.
“That came out of nowhere,” he said. He was out of breath and had to adjust the way he stood so she couldn’t see the way his erection pushed against his jeans. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added. He almost came when she smiled up at him, lips swollen with desire.
“I was wrong to send you out of the hospital room without giving you a chance to tell me what you wanted,” she told him.
“You were.” He ran the edge of his hand along her cheek. “You know I want you , right? Not for a one-night stand, Paige. I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”
She gave him a soft smile and leaned into him. He pulled her into him as carefully as he could manage, holding her there for what seemed like hours, the tray of corn on his other hand, balancing like an anvil. He couldn’t have cared less. He’d have endured the throbbing that built in his forearm for days if it meant he could keep Paige close.
“Can I ask you something about that day?” she asked him, her breath shallow.
He nodded, mumbled a “yes” against her head that smelled of coconuts still. He’d never been a fan of the darned things, but now he couldn’t get enough. There was something else, too. Lemons? No, it was lime.
“How did you know before anyone else? That’s why you were so quiet, right? Because you knew?”
He nodded again.
“I did. I was heartbroken, but didn’t know what to say when the rest of you didn’t know.”
“Yeah, but how did you know?” she asked, pulling her head back to look at him. He pressed it back against his chest, took a deep breath and tried not to smile.
“The doctor assumed I was your husband. I didn’t correct him.”
She shook against him. He looked down to see her laughing and a weight lifted. He’d been afraid of how she would react to that little secret he’d been harboring.
“Sneaky, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve,” he told her. “How are you feeling, though?”
His chin rested on her head. He kissed the part in her hair, inhaled her scent so that it became a part of him.
“I’m okay. Like a stampede of buffalo stomped my stomach and chest, but otherwise like I could run a marathon.” Her breath ignited like flames on his chest and the warmth spread to the rest of his body.
“And now you’ve got many marathons in your future.” For some reason, the gravity of what Paige faced hit him head-on and tears burned the back of his eyelids.
“Yippee.” He looked down at her, worried by the tone in her voice, until she looked up at him and offered a weak smile. “That’s maybe not the thing to tell a girl who can’t get from here to the fridge without a walker.”
“Good point. Then let me be the first one to tell you how many of these you have in your future.” With that, he leaned down and lifted her chin so that her lips met his. Paige collapsed into him. He caught her, almost dumping the corn, but didn’t mind the near miss. He had everything he wanted, corn be damned.
“Hey, you two lovebirds, time for dinner. Paige, you shouldn’t even be up.”
They shot apart to see Brad standing in the doorway. Paige stuck her tongue out at him, but he just jacked his thumb towards the house, a serious look on his face. She obliged her brother, a scowl on her face, but based on the way she stumbled, how her arms braced much of her weight on the random pieces of furniture strewn in her path as she moved towards the kitchen, she was worse off than she let on.
“Owen, you mind hanging back for a bit?” Brad asked Owen.
He nodded. What choice did he have?
“Last time someone asked me that, though, it wasn’t good. Should I just hand over the corn and make my way back home?”
Brad shook his head, and if Owen was seeing things right, a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips.
“No. My sister, my parents… hell, all of us want you here. I just wanted the chance to say I’m sorry. As you can tell, my sister is perfectly capable of making bad decisions on her own.”
Brad looked over his shoulder at Paige as she slid into an overstuffed armchair someone had moved to the dining room table. “I know how much you’ve been beating yourself up over this, but I also know it somehow took hurting her to save her life, so thank you. I guess.” Owen’s chest loosened and his shoulders relaxed.
“Thanks,” he said, reaching out a hand to Brad, who shook it, pulling him in the house. “Thank God. I was beginning to think I was going to eat this pile of corn by myself on the porch.”
“No way, man. That smells delicious. So, my dad told me about your insane hammering abilities and that you might be taking a look at the damned window and shutter on our barn?”
“Yeah, I was taking some, uh, frustrations, out on a few posts. But I wouldn’t mind helping put a shutter back on. Mind if I ask why me? I mean, it’s a shutter. You and your dad could handle this with your eyes shut and one hand tied behind your backs.”
Brad eyed him warily. “I want to hear you say that again when you’re finished trying. Note I said ‘trying,’ not ‘done fixing it.’ You’ll see. For now, though, we eat.” He clapped Owen on the back, more of an apology than the exchange they’d shared outside.
Owen nodded, feeling better. Alan stood next to his wife, a finger outstretched to try whatever batter she whipped up. One arm wrapped tightly around her, but she playfully batted his hand away. Alan looked over his shoulder and waved at Owen.
Owen returned the smile, set down the corn and gave them their space. He loved the easy way the family moved around each other, used to, yet appreciative, of each other.
Brad pulled down water glasses from an ornate cabinet with gold inlays and a teal stain. He only counted five spots, though.
“Isn’t Julia coming?”
Sadness, maybe even a trace of anger, flitted across Brad’s eyes.
“Not this time. Busy with something at work.”
He lowered his voice, nodding to the chair at the other end of the table, Paige sunk low, buried in her chair under blankets.
“If you don’t mind, don’t mention it to Paige, though. She’s never really been fond of Julia and I don’t want to upset her today.”
Owen nodded, but thought back to meeting Julia at the party, how she didn’t seem that devoted to Paige or her family back then. Was the writing on the wall for she and Brad?
Then Alan and Marge walked in, arms full of food and Owen’s stomach growled loudly, drawing a laugh from Marge.
“That’s how we like our guests to arrive,” she said. Paige perked up as everyone came in, but Owen couldn’t help but notice how pale she still looked.
“Thank you for having me, ma’am. I’m glad to be here again. And the dinner smells amazing.”
“Well, with compliments like that, I don’t know why we didn’t invite you sooner,” Marge quipped, smiling broadly. “Sit, everyone. I don’t want this getting cold. But save room for dessert. key lime pie; not Paige’s, but it’ll have to do until our girl gets back on her feet.”
Owen’s stomach roared its approval and they all laughed again as they found their seats, piling their plates high with the corn Owen had brought, mashed potatoes, steak, and a fresh greens salad that came from their garden. How anyone ate out when there was fresh food like this was beyond him.
“So, any luck on finding jobs?” Brad asked his sister. Owen whipped his head around at Paige. She was still thinking of leaving?
She didn’t flinch. “Nothing yet, just a company or two asking for some consulting work at hospitalist programs. No, thank you. I’ll keep looking, though. I’ve got the time,” she joked, laughing weakly.
“You’ll find something,” Alan said. “You always do.” Only Marge remained silent, apparently sharing Owen’s lack of enthusiasm for Paige’s continued search for a life outside of Banberry. Especially under the current circumstances.
Owen was thoroughly confused. Paige had to be here for treatment for the next few months, and she was still looking at jobs abroad? Why had she called him here, then? Why not let him go, move on with his life?
Paige looked over at him, her eyes big despite the dark circles underneath them, and reached for his hand. He bent down and kissed the top of her head, not caring that her parents and brother watched on. For now, he’d make the most of it, careful not to let his heart get too carried away with her. Yet even as he made himself that promise, he knew he’d never be able to keep it.
It was already too late. He’d fallen for a woman who would break his heart.
The dinner was delicious, Paige’s family fantastic, but midway through, Owen looked over to find Paige asleep in her armchair, her plate of food barely touched. She was small anyway, but there beside him, curled up into the fetal position, she looked like she could disappear with a light breeze. How she survived the fall half a week ago was a mystery he didn’t like thinking about.
He slid his hand from hers and she barely moved, still cozy in her cocoon. It broke his heart to leave her, but she needed her rest. Besides, he couldn’t be a lazy dinner guest. It wasn’t his nature.
Getting up from his seat, his stomach so full he wondered if he’d ever be hungry again, Owen balanced a stack of plates and made his way to the kitchen.
“Can I help with these?” he asked Marge.
“Absolutely not. You’re the guest. Maybe in a few Sundays I’ll let you, but for now, just keep me company.”
“Yes, ma’am. That pie was fantastic. Thanks.”
Marge smiled not unkindly.
“It’s a poor substitute for Paige’s. Have you been able to try hers?” Owen shook his head. “Ah, well, soon enough,” she stated, patting him on the hand with a crumb-filled hand. He liked this woman, saw an older version of Paige in her steadiness. He also didn’t mind hearing he’d be invited back to more family dinners.
“How has she been?” he asked Marge. She took the plates from him and sighed as she loaded the sink with warm, soapy water.
It looked like a Thanksgiving feast had happened. His stomach agreed.
“She’s been good. The surgery went well, no complications, and she has an appointment in two weeks for a follow-up before radiation. She’s been resting, but every time she wakes up, she asks Alan about you. If he’s seen you, how your fence is working, if the horses are okay after the rain. You’ve made quite an impression on her.” Marge smiled broadly, a compliment of the highest order.
Owen smiled, but he didn’t feel the happiness that usually came with talking about Paige. She was still sick, still healing from the fall and the surgery, and he’d listened to her, staying away when he should have beat down doors to get to her.
“I shouldn’t have stayed away,” he admitted to Marge.
She put a soapy hand on his again and squeezed.
“You couldn’t have come until she was ready. She needed to realize her mistake on her own and come around to it. My little girl may have inherited my stubborn streak.” Marge shrugged, her smile never waning.
“ May have?” Alan joined them in the kitchen, a jovial smile on his face that made him look remarkably like a real-life Santa with his white beard and cherry-red cheeks.
Marge nudged him with her hip when he slid in beside her, kissing her shoulder. He was shorter than his wife, but they made a perfect pair.
“All right, son. Time for you to earn your supper.”
Marge slapped her husband on the arm, a more intimate smile belying her affection for him. Owen put his hands on his hips.
“How can I help?”
“You will not make our guest help out around the house, Alan Connors,” Marge commanded, her voice firm.
“I will, too,” Alan retorted, but his voice didn’t carry quite the weight his wife’s did. “I want him to take a go at the shutter.”
“Oh, well then. Be my guest,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “If you can take care of it, there’s a to-go pie with your name on it.”
Owen was intrigued. He liked a project that challenged him, he just didn’t see how a measly shutter and window could offer him that. He’d had a bear break through his fence, for crying out loud. He wasn’t worried about a couple slats of broken wood. The pie would be good for breakfast.
“You’re on,” he told Marge. “I’ll grab my hammer from the living room and meet you on the back deck, Alan.”
He donned his utility belt and headed out, surprised by the coolness in the air. It was still warm enough for rolled sleeves, but Owen could sense autumn approaching quicker now. Even Brad shuddered as he walked out. A slight scent of smoke wafted in the air from a lightweight’s wood stove.
“Almost fall,” he commented.
“It is. Cooler than a few days ago even.”
“It’ll snow before we know it, and all those hot days won’t be anything but a nice memory.”
“At least you get to work indoors in the winter,” Owen observed.
“Yeah, but I go to work in the dark and come home to the same, so it leaves a bit to be desired. And that’s not taking into account the grading of shitty student papers,” Brad joked.
Owen agreed about desiring more. He preferred to work outside, even with weather cold enough to shrink the parts of him he didn’t want to think about shrinking.
“Quit your whining and let’s get this shutter taken care of, boys,” Alan joked, coming up behind the men with his own version of a tool belt that looked like he could have headed to combat, not just fixed an old downed shutter on a barn.
“So, neither of you have been able to nail this thing down? Pun intended,” Owen added, a smug smile playing on his lips.
“You joke now, but this thing’s wily. Even had Mitch himself come look and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”
“Mitch?” Owen asked.
“Dad’s best friend and local handyman. He owns the supply store downtown.”
“Oh yeah, nice guy. Helluva selection.”
Owen had a hard time believing a man who owned a supply store would have trouble with a simple repair either, but he kept his mouth shut.
Alan headed down the path that led from the gate at the house to the barn, lugging the large belt over his shoulder. He was pretty damn adept despite his age. Farm life hadn’t been as hard on him as it had others.
Just the other day Owen had seen five signs up in town offering a helping hand if any of the farms needed it. It promised expertise, hard work ethic, and if needed, land to be leased for more crop yield. When Owen asked Alan about it at dinner, Alan explained to him that about 20 percent of farms in Elks Ridge didn’t make it year by year, that the struggling farmers faced two choices: sell or lease and get work elsewhere.
Neither sounded good to Owen.
They got down to the barn and Owen looked up at the shutter. It sat crooked, hanging by a thread, or rather one lone screw attached to a hinge. The window itself looked like there was a one-inch gap between it and the surrounding boards, leaving the impression it floated in mid-air, if not for the single pine slat affixed to the southeast corner of the glass pane. Otherwise a small pile of screws at the base of the barn looked like they’d been scattered by birds.
“Can’t get ’em to stay in to save my life. This thing’s been the bane of my existence for a year now. Don’t know if it’s got another winter in it.” Alan looked at the shutter like Ahab had at his great white whale. An insurmountable problem that he couldn’t back down from. Nor defeat.
“You tried putting the hinges a couple inches lower? They’re probably stripped,” Owen observed.
“Done that. Twice. Even moved the shutter. Replaced the siding around the window. Didn’t help.”
“Huh,” was all Owen had. He walked around it, taking the problem in, working it out in his mind like he’d done a thousand times before in his previous life. Now, though, for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what to do to get it to hang right. He fingered the hinge, pulled at it.
“Have you thought of—”
“Taking it off altogether? We have. But we use them in the winter to keep the heat in.”
“What about—”
“Replacing it with something new? We’d have to redo the siding on the barn to make it so anything else’ll work.” This time it was Brad who chimed in, again, cutting him off at the pass.
“So, you’ve really tried everything, huh?”
“We have. Hoping your fresh eyes’ll see something we haven’t. Because I won’t be the man who can run a farm but gets bested by a shutter.” Alan chuckled. Owen looked over at him, smiled too.
“That’d be embarrassing.”
“I’ll say. So, Sergeant, what do you see?” Warmth flooded Owen’s chest at the use of his old rank. It’d been a while since he’d been addressed with the reverence and respect his military rank afforded him. It might’ve embarrassed him from anyone else, but Alan understood what it meant.
“Well, Alan, not much of anything if I’m being honest. I think residing the barn sounds like a project for the spring, after the snow’s on its way out, but it doesn’t sound half bad. I mean, this guy’s done for in my opinion.”
Alan sighed, hands on his hips, head shaking in bewilderment and resignation. “Yeah, mine too.”
Owen bit the inside of his lip, not wanting to give up that easily, for Alan’s sake at least.
“Let me see what I can do, though.” Alan perked up. Brad smiled at Owen. It was hopeless, but Owen figured they needed to at least try to give the old man a win.
“Hmm,” he muttered under his breath, a sigh of his own escaping his pursed lips. “Can you hand me the Phillip’s head?” he asked Alan.
In a second, the screwdriver was in his hand. He fiddled with the hinge, for a moment thinking he’d done it. He’d added a longer screw, hopefully acting like a lever that would counterbalance the weight of the half-rotted board. It held. He’d only need to add back in the framing around the window and it was a done deal. Not too shabby, if he did say so himself.
He turned back to Alan, a wide smile on his face. Alan just smirked at him, his arms crossed. He nodded back to the barn. When Owen turned around, the shutter hung lopsided again.
He groaned. Alan just chucked mirthlessly.
Half a dozen more attempts, and he finally joined the other two men on a bench outside the barn, the three of them facing the setting sun. The sky was littered with pink and orange-tinted clouds, the normal blue background transformed to a light yellow. It would have been magical if not for the tilted slat of wood that gave them more hell than any lance corporal ever had.
Owen looked over at Alan and Brad. “It’s a shutter,” he told them, disbelief lining his voice. “A worn-out piece of wood.”
“Yup,” they echoed in unison.
“Wood and a couple screws. You wouldn’t think, would you?”
“Nope,” came the chorus. They all three shook their heads. Owen would have laughed if he didn’t feel so defeated.
“I guess we should break the bad news to Mom,” Brad said, putting his hands on his knees and hoisting himself up. The sun was almost completely buried below the horizon, the ridge in front of them dark blue and contrasted against the now-pink sky.
“The only real tragedy here is the loss of perfectly good pie,” Alan said. He shook his head sadly and stood as well.
“I couldn’t fit another bite in my stomach if I tried,” Owen admitted. “I don’t know how you two don’t weigh three hundred pounds apiece with the way Marge cooks. I’d eat y’all out of house and home if I lived here.”
Alan laughed, clapping Owen on the back. “She’ll love to hear that. But it won’t soften her on the dessert. That woman’s more annoyed by this barn and that darned shutter than any of us. Can’t understand why it won’t just give. If it were up to her, we’d level it, and replace it with something stronger, something prefab, though.”
“I’m with her there, but man does that sting the balls giving up like that,” Owen said, soaking in the last of the day.
This was what he’d moved there for—the epic colors, scents, and tastes from nature, the pride that came with tackling a problem that he could fix with his own bare hands. Or not, in the case of the shutter. Finally, the sun and its heat disappeared below the horizon and he made his way back inside.
Paige still slept in her chair. Owen couldn’t hide the smile that turned up his lips each time he laid eyes on her. There was something about her that called to him no matter how much he tried to logic his way into forgetting about her, setting her free to travel, to live.
Brad came up beside him. “That’s the sweetest she’ll ever be,” he teased.
“Isn’t that true for all of us?” They glanced at the kitchen at the sound of commotion, watched as Alan reached for the glass pan still half full of key lime pie, only to be swatted away by Marge.
“No, sir. That shutter fixed?”
“Well, we all three tried—” he began, but she shook her head, put up her hand.
“This’ll be here until you take care of it.” She smiled, her lips tight, and walked out of the room. Alan reached for the pan again, stealth and soundless.
“Don’t you dare,” she called out from the living room where she tucked the blanket tighter around her daughter.
“She’s good,” Alan muttered. “Too good.” He sulked out of the kitchen, shoulders hunched.
Owen understood, but not about the lost pie. He’d never come across a project he couldn’t get a handle on, least not a simple one that even a novice handyman should be able to rectify easily. Then there was Paige, this conundrum of a woman who lay curled in a ball in an armchair, his heart somewhere wrapped up beside her. Two unsolvable challenges clanked around in his head, the shutter the least of them.
She wanted him around, but she was leaving, so what role did she envision him playing in her life? He wasn’t leaving Banberry, even for her. He loved to travel, would love to see the world, but he needed roots for once in his life. The farm offered a home base at least. Would that be enough for her or was he just a fun distraction while she healed?
Running his hands through the sides of his hair, he wished he had some clarity about what to do going forward. He’d only gone three days thinking Paige didn’t want him in her life and that damn near killed not just him, but his fence as well. He didn’t want to get further along with her, more wrapped up in the possibilities he imagined, only to be crushed when she left in the end.
Brad came up behind him, drawing him out of his circular debate with himself.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get her fixed,” Brad said. By the way Brad’s glance shifted to the window he meant the barn, but Owen only thought of Paige, of her next appointment with the doctor so they could poison her to try to save her life, her ability to have children.
“I know we will,” he replied. “We have to.” He gathered his now-clean tray and reached out to shake Brad’s hand. “Thanks again for dinner, brother. It was nice to catch up with you guys.”
“Come around tomorrow, huh?” Brad asked. Owen narrowed his eyes, confused. “I don’t think I can handle my sister whining about seeing you anymore. Stop by so I don’t have to.”
Owen nodded.
Everyone was pushing him towards Paige—even she was pulling him in, kissing him and making him believe they were more than their brief affair on the mountain outcropping. Still, he got the sense that if he got any closer, it wouldn’t be a good thing for either of them when, not if , she decided to leave again. Not especially since he’d just inadvertently been handed the family he’d longed for his whole damn life. What happened when he lost them, too?
He told Brad he would stop by anyway, knowing that healthy decision or not, he couldn’t stay away from Paige if he tried. To hell with his heart and his future.
He walked back to his farm in the darkness, the now-present trail known to him by memory already, the crispness in the air causing him to draw his arms around his chest. He knew what he wanted, even if it killed him. In that way, he guessed he hadn’t changed much since joining the Marines.
As he got to his door he glanced up at Paige’s bedroom above the garage, darkened and shades drawn since she was moved to the main house for the next couple weeks at least.
She just might be the end of him.
But what a way to go.