Chapter 2
TRENT SHRUGGED AND stayed out of the discussion the next morning. Colton was arguing with Mrs. Olsen.
“But so what? Nobody’s going to notice how I’m dressed. Won’t all eyes be on the bride and groom?” Colton looked at the others for confirmation.
“I’ve never been to a wedding,” Wyatt said. “So I don’t know.”
Taylor smiled and avoided looking at Mason who asked, “Can’t he just wear that new shirt you got him?”
Sophie huffed. “I suppose. Come upstairs with me, Colton. We’re going to look in Holger’s closet and see if he’s got a sports coat you can borrow.”
Colton rolled his eyes, but he followed.
“Who gets married the day after Christmas, anyway?” Mason’s question was addressed to Holger who was nibbling on his fourth piece of bacon.
“Ah,” Holger said once he swallowed, “it’s our former employee, Jackson Carter. He’s marrying Chloe Reynolds. Have you heard of the Reynolds wing at the hospital? That’s her family.”
Wyatt was nodding. “So how did they meet? Did he go to the hospital or something?”
Trent was mildly interested only because there seemed to be a lot of anticipation and excitement surrounding this wedding.
Colton had earlier said that the guy and girl, Luke and Bailey, who picked up the milk each day and processed it at the Mitchell Creamery were going.
Colton’s girlfriend, Samantha, was invited, too.
Trent couldn’t keep it all straight, but the most interesting thing was that Taylor was going to the wedding, too, as the last-minute photographer—hired by the Olsens as their gift to the newlyweds.
“Well, no,” Holger said, answering Wyatt’s question, “Jackson came to us a few years ago on the same community service deal as Colton, Luke, Mason, and you, Wyatt. And Chloe stayed here when Sophie had her hip operation. Chloe cooked and handled all of Sophie’s physical therapy and rehabilitation.”
“What got this Jackson fellow sent here?”
“Manslaughter,” Holger said, lowering his voice. “Poor fella. He was driving. Killed his wife.”
Trent stopped chewing. Levi rose suddenly and left the table.
“Anyway,” Holger went on, “Jackson worked through his grief and found a soulmate in Chloe. We’re very happy that they’re getting married. I expect Luke and Bailey will be next and then Colton and Samantha.” He chuckled. “That’s the way of life.” He looked at Taylor. “Isn’t it, Taylor?”
“Don’t ask me. My track record is horrible.” She started to rise. Trent watched Mason shovel the last of his breakfast in his mouth and then help Taylor take the dirty plates into the kitchen.
Trent leaned back in his chair, observing the way Mason hovered near Taylor as they moved toward the kitchen.
It wasn’t overt, but there was a protective air about Mason, as though he was staking a claim without saying a word.
Taylor, for her part, seemed to pretend not to notice, though her faint smile gave her away.
Holger turned his attention back to Trent, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re welcome to come along, you know. The invitation was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Olsen and farmhands. Jackson knows we have guys here.”
Trent hesitated. A wedding wasn’t his scene—too many people, too much small talk.
But there was something about the idea of seeing everyone here in a different light that piqued his curiosity.
And if Colton and Taylor were going, maybe Levi and Wyatt would too.
Trent had a hunch that whatever had prompted Levi to bolt from the table just now wasn’t entirely unrelated to Holger’s mention of manslaughter.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll sit this one out,” Trent said finally. “Somebody’s gotta stay back and look after the ranch, right?”
Holger gave a knowing smile. “Fair enough. But if you change your mind, we’re leaving at noon.”
As the others dispersed, Trent found himself drawn to the barn. Levi had stormed off so quickly that it left Trent with an uneasy feeling. He didn’t make it his business to pry, but something told him Levi could use a sounding board—or at least someone to sit silently nearby.
When he entered the barn, the familiar scents of hay and livestock greeted him, but there was no sign of Levi at first. Trent moved down the aisle, stopping when he saw his loftmate sitting on an overturned bucket near Sally’s stall.
Levi’s elbows rested on his knees, his head bowed as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.
“Hey,” Trent said, leaning against the stall door.
Levi didn’t look up. “What do you want?”
“Just checking on you.” Trent crossed his arms. “You left breakfast in a hurry.”
Levi scoffed. “Didn’t realize we were keeping attendance.”
Trent shrugged, unbothered by the jab. “Holger’s story hit a nerve?”
Silence hung between them. For a moment, Trent thought Levi wouldn’t answer. But then Levi let out a shaky breath.
“Everyone’s got a story,” Levi said finally, his voice low. “Some of us just don’t want to hear it echoed back.”
Trent nodded, choosing his words carefully. “Ooo-kayyyy. But keeping it bottled up doesn’t make it go away.”
Levi finally looked up, his expression guarded but searching. “What makes you think I want to talk about it? What? Are we buddies just because we were homeless at the same time?”
Trent’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “I didn’t say we were buddies. Just saying I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
Levi seemed to bristle at the offer, but he gave a small nod, then looked away again. It wasn’t much, but Trent took it as a step forward.
Pushing off the stall door, he said, “I’ll be around if you need me. Don’t let Sally talk your ear off, though. She’s been known to spill a secret or two.”
That earned him a faint, fleeting smile from Levi—a first. As Trent left the barn, he wondered what ghosts Levi was carrying. Then he remembered something he’d heard about Levi sleeping in the cemetery.
***
Trent and Levi opted out of the wedding.
Levi stayed in the barn loft, but Trent made himself comfortable in Holger’s chair in the living room.
He picked up the reading material on the table: Small Farm Journal and the Farmer’s Almanac.
He thumbed through them, figuring this was what a farmer did—work hard for three seasons and then read about how to work harder while sitting in a comfy chair during the worst season.
Trent was not enamored of the Montana winter; he much preferred his home state’s milder, drier season.
He set the magazines down and took the book Sophie had given Holger for Christmas. Non-fiction, of course, about the complexities of the modern food system. He read the first chapter and quickly got drowsy. He napped in the chair and awoke with a start when the phone in the kitchen started ringing.
Trent blinked, disoriented for a moment, the book slipping from his lap as the persistent ring of the kitchen phone echoed through the house.
He glanced at the clock—still plenty of time before the others would return from the wedding.
Rising from Holger’s chair, he shuffled to the kitchen feeling obliged to answer—the Olsens didn’t own a cell phone—but hoping the ringing would stop before he reached it.
“Faithful Hearts Ranch, Trent speaking.”
There was a brief pause on the other end before a soft, confident voice replied, “Hi, this is Naomi Foster. I’m returning Holger Olsen’s call.”
Trent straightened, suddenly more alert, an image of a faceless woman forming in his mind. “Oh, right. Holger mentioned you. He’s not here right now—they’ve gone to a wedding—but I can pass along a message if you’d like.”
“Well,” Naomi said, her tone thoughtful, “maybe you could help. He reached out about consulting on sustainable farming practices. I just wanted to get a better sense of what he’s looking for before I decide.”
Trent ran a hand through his curls, staring through the wall as if he could see the page in the magazine, the article about this very subject.
“Sustainable farming, huh? Yeah, I’ve read about that.
I think Holger’s keen on making the ranch more eco-friendly.
Wants to cut costs without cutting corners, you know? ”
“I do,” Naomi said, a smile evident in her voice. “It’s a smart move, especially with smaller operations. Are you a ranch hand there?”
“Sort of,” Trent said, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I’m staying here for a while, helping out where I can.”
“Oh, I see. Do you have any experience with sustainable practices?”
“Not much,” Trent admitted. “But I know how hard they work to keep this place running. Any help you can offer would no doubt be very valuable to them.”
Naomi was silent for a moment, and Trent wondered what she looked like. Brown hair and green eyes, maybe. Then she spoke, her voice warm and assured. “That’s exactly the kind of operation I want to support. I think I’d like to come and see how I can help.”
“That’d be great,” Trent said, feeling an unexpected sense of relief. “Holger’ll be thrilled. When do you think you could make it?”
“I’m wrapping up a project here, but I could drive up after the New Year. Could you have him call me?”
“Sure, I’ll let him know,” Trent said. “We’ll make sure the coffee’s hot and the barn’s warm.”
Naomi chuckled softly. “Sounds like a plan. Thanks for taking the call, Trent. I’ll see you … next year.”
“Looking forward to it,” he replied, and as he hung up the phone, he realized he meant it. The timbre of her voice, the cadence of her words, and something else that for some supernatural reason could come through a landline made him anxious to meet her.
Sitting back down in Holger’s chair, Trent kept thinking about Naomi. It wasn’t often he felt curious about someone he’d never met, but Naomi Foster sparked his interest with just a few words.
“Well,” he muttered, picking up the almanac again, “being stuck here just got a lot more interesting.” He started scanning the magazines and the book for anything he could find about sustainable farming.