Chapter 8
WALKER
The door almost closes behind me, and I pause for a second, staring at the wood for no reason at all. She’s settling in. Resting. That should be the end of it. Why am I lingering?
Annoyed with myself, I turn toward the stairs. By the time I hit the bottom step, I have myself in check. Well, as much as I can. Pots rattling and cabinet doors closing draw me to the kitchen and to my dad.
He’s standing at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, a glass casserole dish in front of him that I remember was Mom’s favorite.
She said it baked the best. He’s layering in chicken with a liquid mixture and cheese.
We’ve made that same recipe for years. Mom perfected it and we use her recipe, but ours never tastes as good as hers.
He looks up when I walk in. “If you’re hoping it’s something new and exciting, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Chicken casserole.”
“Yep. Figured we’d need some southern comfort tonight.”
“Good call.”
This casserole is one of the two things my dad makes that you would want to eat. Between the two of us, I’m the one with the most success in feeding us. And that is by no means bragging.
He slides the dish into the oven, shuts the door with his hip, and straightens. “You tuck her in?”
“She’s resting.”
“Good. She looked like she needed a good rest.”
He wipes his hands on a towel and leans back against the counter, giving me that look. The one that says he’s already decided something and is just waiting for me to catch up.
I grab a glass and pour from the filtered crock on the counter. I drain the glass and go back for seconds.
“You’re hovering,” he says.
“I’m not. I’m thirsty. Hydration is important.”
Dad chuckles. “You’ve been gone for twenty-four hours. I figured the first thing you’d do was to check on the hives.”
I take another gulp of water and set the glass down in the sink. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
“She isn’t. She’s in a house with two grown men and more square footage than sense.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. I just wonder if you do.”
Silence follows his statement, broken only by the low click of the oven heating.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
With a too smug grin, he says, “You like her.”
There it is. No lead-in. Just dropped right in the middle of the room.
I look away. “No.”
He snorts. “You always go with that first.”
“Because it’s true.”
He pushes off the counter and moves to the sink, rinsing my glass and then his hands like we’re talking about the weather instead of my life.
“Son,” he begins, “you brought a woman into this house, put her in your sister’s room, and you’re standing in the kitchen after being away instead of out with your bees.”
I prop one hip against the counter across from him. “She got hit by my truck. What did you expect me to do?”
“You could have made sure the medics had her and then been on your merry way.”
I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “She needed help. I felt responsible.”
“That’s not all she needed.”
“I’m the one that got us in the fake engagement situation.”
“And you could have easily gotten out of it. But you didn’t. And you didn’t have to be the one to stay with her.”
He holds my gaze for a second, then shakes his head, not arguing, just filing it away for later.
I know what he’s getting at, but he’s wrong if he thinks Naudi would want to be with someone like me.
He turns back to the counter, picking up a dishcloth and wiping down a spot that doesn’t need it. “She reminds me of someone.”
I don’t ask who. I don’t need to. I already know.
“Your mama would’ve liked her,” he adds.
He’s right.
“She would’ve had her out back in that garden within five minutes,” he continues. “Talking her ear off about soil and sunlight and why you never plant the same thing in the same place twice.”
A corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. “Naudi would argue with her.”
“Oh, absolutely. And your mama would’ve loved every second of it.”
That feels…right. I pick up the hand towel and dry my water glass to have something to do. “She noticed the flowers.”
“Course she did. A woman like that notices everything.”
I think about that. About the way her eyes moved over everything in the house as I showed her around.
She didn’t miss anything. She paid attention to details.
That’s probably why she’s such a good designer.
I can’t even imagine how smart she must be to create designs and then produce them. “She asked about the bees.”
“Did she now?”
“She wants to see them.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “That will be an experience for her.”
I prop myself back against the counter. “I’ll not take her close.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
We fall silent again, both of us lost in our own thoughts. He’s probably wondering what Mom would have thought about all the bees. She missed out on seeing our hives grow into what they are today. I have to think she would have been proud of the direction we’ve taken the farm.
“So how are we going to play this fake engagement when her parents get here?”
“I’m really not sure. We haven’t talked about it yet.”
He looks like he wants to say something else, a few seconds pass and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, black box. He clicks it open, revealing a ring I haven’t seen since my grandmother passed.
The ring has a deep ocean-blue sapphire set at the center, oval-cut and slightly imperfect by today’s standards. It’s surrounded by a halo of old mine-cut diamonds, smaller than modern stones but warmer, softer, each one set into aged gold that had mellowed over centuries into a rich honey tone.
The band itself boasts delicate, hand-etched scrollwork worn smooth in places from generations of Colley women wearing it. I know without looking that inside is engraved Forever Yours.
“I thought you might use this. Your Grandma wanted you to have it someday. I don’t think this is what she had in mind, but you’re under a tight schedule here. She would get a kick out of the whole fake situation.”
I take the ring, memories of seeing it on her hand as she washed dishes, or drank a cup of tea, or gave me and my sisters hugs came rushing back. “I thought she would have left this to one of the girls.”
“Well, there are three of them and one ring. I think you got it by default.”
I nod, my eyes still on the ring. I can see it on Naudi’s finger.
The setting style isn’t new and flashy, and I just have a feeling she will love it because of its timeless design and the meaning behind it.
“Thanks, Dad. She will love it. I mean, her parents will expect a ring. She’ll love how this sells the engagement. ”
“You should take her out back when she’s up to it. Maybe take the Gator and drive her around the farm. Let her see what all you’ve got going on.”
“I will.”
“Start with the garden, then ease her into it before you introduce her to thousands of bees.”
“That’s the plan.”
He smiles. “Good. Means I taught you something.”
“Debatable. By the way, are you having any more poker nights with your buddies?” I’ve been thinking about why he never kept up getting together with his friends. Am I the reason?
“We have one scheduled a week from Friday.”
“That’s good. I’m glad. Just don’t get the cops called out, okay?”
He laughs, the sound filling the kitchen in a way that makes the house feel even more lived in than it already does. Then he sobers and looks at me again. “Walker.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t overthink it. You’re not getting any younger, and I still need a grandchild or two from you.”
“Well, Dad, you just might have to settle for kids from your daughters.”
He crosses his arms and harrumphs. I grab my hat off the hook and head out the back door. Because if I stay in that kitchen much longer, I’m afraid of what he might make me admit.
Most days I’m up before the sun. Have my coffee and boots on and out the door before six.
There is always something to do on the farm.
It’s not like a nine to five where you finish your work for the day and go home.
Never has there been a day where I accomplished all I’d set out to do. That’s just the way of farm life.
Today, I hang around the house. Have a second cup of coffee. And wait. When my dad walks in the front door carrying a coffee mug and plate, I’m confused. I thought he’d already left for the fields.
“Where have you been?”
“With Naudi. We had breakfast on the front porch. She wanted to sit a while, and I need to get to the upper field. I’ll leave your fiancée in your capable hands.”
I open my mouth with too many questions and comments and close it again. He leaves with a chuckle to my glare.
I step out onto the porch and find Naudi in a rocking chair, wrapped in a quilt I’m sure my dad gave her.
Her hair is loose over her shoulders, and her delicate hands cradle a mug of coffee.
She looks…like she belongs here. I’m not the photo-taking kind of guy, but I wish I had my phone on me to capture this moment.
She glances over when she hears the door. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
I lean against the railing, surveying the fields stretching out beyond the live oak trees. “You’re up early. Could you not sleep?”
“No, I slept fine. Very well, actually. I’ve just always been an early riser.”
I ease into the rocker beside her. “We have that in common.”
We rock for a few moments, enjoying the sunrise. She takes a sip of coffee and sighs. “I think this may be my favorite place in the entire house.”
“My mom used to start every day out here. She said it grounded her for the day to come.”
“I can understand that. I probably would too.”
Silence settles between us again, but it isn’t awkward. She shifts slightly in her chair, then looks out over the yard. “If I weren’t here, what would you be doing right now?”
“It’s different every day. Today we’re turning under one of the fields and then eventually we’ll replant. That’s where Dad is now. You’ll hear the tractor start up shortly.”