10. Kent
KENT
The pale morning sunlight filtered through the high openings in the cedar timber, casting long copper beams across the worn pine floorboards of the cider press barn.
Kent entered through the wide side entryway before stopping to survey the silent interior.
He'd expected the timber structure to be deserted at first light, but a soft glow from a desk lamp illuminated the far corner where Teddy sat near the white oak timber post.
"You're working early," Kent observed, as he set down his equipment bag on the bench.
He maintained a respectful distance, noticing the subtle strain in her neck as she recognized his presence, but he carried on talking as if everything was normal.
"I see the opening festival crowds didn't cause any structural shifting in the new timber framing. "
Teddy didn't look up immediately, her index finger trailing along the uniform line of copperplate script on an aged attendance log. She'd clearly been burying the emotional fallout from their conversation beneath a dense layer of historical documentation.
"Yes, the structural repairs held up without a problem. Thanks for your help with that," Teddy answered, her response concise and level as she shifted the position of the desk lamp. "I'm examining the auxiliary documents Junie found in storage chests in the attic last year."
"You're searching for additional records," Kent observed. He caught the subtle tremor in her hands as she shifted a creased photograph of the nineteen eighty-two autumn committee. "You're trying to make sense of what your mother left behind."
"Yes. I'm cross-referencing the initials cut into the oak support column," Teddy explained, her dark eyes brilliant with a sudden, intense focus as she finally met his gaze.
She indicated toward a handwritten list of names compiled on a yellow pad.
"The cuts on the timber aren't random. Every set of initials matches an entry in these church logs from four decades ago. "
Kent moved closer, his gaze scanning the columns of dark ink. The names were written in neat, deliberate hand, each accompanied by a date alongside a lone letter code that matched the list they’d discovered inside the rusted tin box.
"R.D. matches Ruth Dwyer," Teddy whispered, her tone dropping into a hushed register that echoed against the upper beams. "And S.M. corresponds to Sarah Miller. M.K. indicates Mary Kincaid."
Kent tensed slightly, identifying the names without hesitation.
Sarah Miller and Mary Kincaid were long-standing residents of Harvest Hollow, elderly residents who'd lived quiet, respectable lives on neighboring properties for forty years.
The Marchetti sisters had grown up calling them honorary aunts, welcoming their presence at holiday dinners and seasonal gatherings without ever questioning the origins of their deep connection to their household.
"These aren't transient travelers who passed through the valley on a bus itinerary," Teddy continued, her skin whitening over her joints as she gripped the magnifying glass.
"These are women who settled here. They built homes, raised families, and remained in the town. It wasn’t just your mother who stayed. "
"No wonder Rosalind was so determined to preserve those secrets because public exposure would've shattered their peace." Kent said. "As long as they stayed in the valley, she had to maintain the secret."
"And now we're left handling the legal complications of that silence," Teddy replied stiffly as she pointed out the stack of deeds and tax receipts.
"Micah has done what he can to protect the parcel of land from developers, and we temporarily have the rights to use it, but that legal mess is still being dragged on a year later.
And these women could be drawn directly into the middle of a land dispute.
I need to understand who held legal title to the six-acre parcel. "
“If the deeds office is struggling to get to the bottom of it, what chance do you have of finding out the truth?” Kent asked.
“Part of the delay is because they’ve got better things to do.
The arrangement we currently have is legally sound, so they’re not in any rush to solve the mystery.
It’s just another thing on their to-do list, and they’ve put it right at the bottom of their priorities.
Maybe it’s a futile effort, but it’s worth the try,” Teddy answered.
Kent drew a measured breath, his heart rate accelerating as he observed the unyielding drive beneath her research.
He understood her need for certainty, her lifelong habit of analyzing every structural vulnerability to prevent unexpected collapses, but her determination still threatened to disrupt secrets that had stayed buried for four decades.
"Investigating ancient timber marks is one thing," Kent warned gently, his gaze staying focused on her features as he moved to sit down beside her. "But approaching living residents concerning four-decade-old secrets is something else entirely. These women have lived in peace for forty years because no one required them to justify their history. I know you’re trying to help your family, but they don’t owe anybody their stories.
If you start questioning them now, you won't simply be uncovering some of your family’s history, you'll be reopening old wounds for these women. "
Teddy turned to look at him, bringing her face much closer than either of them had anticipated.
She drew in a quick, startled breath. The room grew thick with a tense, unresolved stillness, the memory of their kiss and their exchange outside the dance pavilion lingering unspoken beneath their reserve.
"I'm not aiming to disrupt anyone's peace," Teddy spoke in a hushed tone as she pivoted back to the yellowed log. "I'm trying to safeguard what remains of this farm before someone else dismantles it."
"I know," Kent expressed, his voice bearing a genuine warmth that softened the edge of his warning. "But some barriers were constructed to keep people safe. Before you dismantle them, you need to be certain you're prepared for what comes out."
Teddy nodded but didn’t say anything more as she bent her head and got back to studying the papers.
“I just stopped by to say hello before I headed to the outdoor wellness clinic,” Kent said as he stood and gathered his medical bag. Teddy only waved her hand distractedly.
He paused near the doorway, watching the dusty air current catch the morning light above her workspace.
The dry scent of aged paper and weathered pine filled the interior, mixing with the subtle fragrance of cinnamon that lingered on her denim sleeves.
He understood how her mind worked, how she sought comfort in measurable figures and historical facts when her personal world seemed uncertain.
Since her father had died, Teddy had responded to emotional distress by working harder on the farm, throwing herself into structural timber repairs, or administrative ledgers rather than allowing anyone to see her vulnerability.
But these old names weren't inanimate building materials, and the secrets buried on this farm carried a human cost that couldn't be solved with a carpenter's square.
Kent sighed and made his way to the temporary wellness clinic set up on the farm, and before he knew it he was too busy to think about Teddy, or the secrets Rosalind kept buried.
Rich autumn sunlight poured through the crimson canopy of the sugar maples, casting golden patches across the lawn beside the farm stand.
Kent adjusted the stethoscope around his neck as he leaned over the portable examination table, his hands steady as he palpated the stifle joint of a broad-chested golden retriever.
The outdoor seasonal pet-wellness clinic had drawn a continuous stream of valley residents since noon, filling the grassy expanse with the vibrant chatter of neighbors, the rustle of dry leaves, and the rhythmic thrum of bluegrass music drifting from the pavilion speakers.
"He's been favoring that hind leg after our morning jogs along the reservoir trail," Cecilia Brooks remarked, her voice holding an easy, melodic brightness as she rested one hand against the folding table rim.
She wore a tailored cream sweater that looked entirely pristine despite the dusty outdoor setting.
"I'd hoped you might have an opening on your schedule later this week for a full rehabilitation assessment.
Perhaps we could discuss a long-term wellness plan over lunch at the diner. "
He had to give it to her. Cecilia certainly was persistent, even when he’d been clear he wasn’t interested in any relationship with her. If telling her straight didn’t work, perhaps just ignoring her would. He didn’t like to be rude, but he was running out of options.
Kent maintained his gentle, methodical pressure along the retriever's thigh muscle, his expression remaining professional and calm.
"The joint shows no sign of heat or effusion," Kent remarked, his words bearing a low, measured cadence as he retrieved from his leather medical kit for a bottle of joint supplements.
"He exhibits mild soft-tissue tightness from the increased distance on hard pavement.
I'll write down a modified exercise regimen and a daily dosage for glucosamine, which will resolve the stiffness within a week. "
He unscrewed the cap and demonstrated the proper measurement, keeping his focus centered strictly on the clinical care of the animal.
He'd learned long ago to maintain unwavering professional boundaries, and while he offered every client his complete attention, he'd no intention of allowing casual conversation to drift toward personal invitations.