Chapter 3
THREE
“ The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.”
~Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
L ush green hills, leafy trees, pastures with potential “Happy Cow” models, and rivers painted the landscape as Elle drove the hour toward Perry. Western New York’s boundless beauty was decadent compared to the drought-soaked landscape of Southern California.
Loose gravel pinged on the car as she steered the rental down the long driveway. Below a Little Red Barn sign, a white arrow pointed her to the right. A blue farmhouse with a turquoise front door claimed the other half of the maple and pine tree lined property. In between, there was a kidney-shaped pond and a small dock.
“This is like something out of a Hallmark movie.” Elle inhaled the air’s perfume of freshly mowed grass.
Pete parked behind her and jumped out of his SUV.
She dug through her purse. “I have instructions on how to get the key to this place.”
“No need.” He dangled a paw-shaped keychain from his thick fingers. “I have them. Doc Owens gave them to Janet. He gets flowers for guests from the Village Rose. When he put the order in on Monday, he gave Janet the keys.”
“Small towns.” The eye roll was involuntary.
For the next month, she’d have more moments like this. It wasn’t just a small town thing; it was a being the niece of Pete and Janet Coates thing. They were the Beyonce and Jay Z of Perry. Pete had a construction business, which oversaw most of the village’s renovations, and coached the high school football team. Janet worked at the Village Rose, Perry’s sole florist.
“By the way, Janet told Doc you don’t eat carbs, so no basket of baked goods. I told her not to mention it, in hopes of getting the spoils, but she has me on a diet for Tobey’s wedding.” Dread overcame his calm face. “Don’t tell her about your biscuit!”
“What biscuit?” Elle winked.
With a relieved breath, he placed the keys in her hand. Wipe your Paws written in fancy black script on a tan mat welcomed them as they reached the white-trimmed red barn door.
Airbnb listings often deceived. There were always little things missing, or certain angles used to make things appear more impressive. But pictures hadn’t captured the fresh citrus aroma that enveloped Elle upon entering and the way the sunlight kissed every crevice.
“This place is gorgeous.” She slipped her white heels off, leaving them by the door.
“Let’s not be fooled by a pretty face, let me check this place out,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
This place is perfect. Elle skated her fingers along the smooth surface of the antique desk tucked against the front window. Its sheer curtains offered a perfect view. Vibrant maple trees swayed in the gentle breeze outside. It was heaven until…
A shrill alarm burst her moment of Zen. “What the fu?—”
“Smoke detector works!” he shouted and turned off the alarm. “Sorry.” Pete’s mumbled approvals filled the barn with each completed item from his safety checklist.
As he worked, Elle wandered the space. A small island with a sink served as a barrier between the living room and kitchen. A white envelope with Eleanor written in neat handwriting sat propped against a glass vase of sunflowers on the kitchen table. Opening it, she read.
Eleanor,
Thank you for making the Little Red Barn your home for the next 30 days. There are staples from the farmers market in the fridge. Fresh flowers will be delivered each Friday. I live in the farmhouse, if you need anything, please knock or text/call. You’ll find my number on the front of this.
I hope I passed your uncle’s inspection.
Best, Clayton.
“That Doc is a class act,” Pete whistled, walking over to the TV for the last item on his checklist; to ensure ESPN and Hallmark, his two favorite channels, were available.
“I didn’t know his name was Clayton.”
“That seems odd that you didn’t know.” His eyes brightened. “Score! The Golden Girls are on Hallmark. Your aunt says I’m a Rose.”
“I’m a Dorothy.”
“As long as you’re not Blanche.” His arm looped around her shoulder. “Thanks for coming back.”
An emotional lump formed in her throat as she melted into his broad chest.
Elle pulled away. “Enough mush. We have reputations to uphold.”
“I’m a modern man… I embrace the mush.”
“Barf.” She pushed him. “Alright, you take that mush home to Janet.”
“Yep. Don’t bring anything to the BBQ.”
“Show up empty handed to the house of the woman who pounded it into me to always bring a gift when you are invited to someone’s home? I think not.”
“Text if you need anything.” Pete kissed her forehead, then moved to the door. He paused. “Lock this after I leave.”
“You know I live alone, right?”
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, stepping out of the door.
Elle locked the door, knowing that Pete would check the doorknob from the other side in 3…2…1…
“Good girl!” His muffled voice wafted through the door.
With that, she was alone. Elle walked up the steps to the large sleeping loft. A queen-size bed with a cream-colored duvet dominated the room. Two dark oak tables that matched the headboard flanked the bed.
A leather-bound copy of Persuasion lay on one of the bedside tables. It was one of the faux antique looking classics from a chain bookstore. Kneeling on the bed, she grabbed the book and flipped to a random page. A smile stretched across her face as she read the moment Anne Elliot first reunites with Captain Wentworth, her first and only love.
“Austen? This place is perfect. Nice job, Willa.”
Elle placed the book back with a long sigh. The anxiety-tightened muscles of her body screamed for relief. She changed into workout clothes from her suitcase. Tugging on a simple black tank, her favorite purple yoga pants, and sneakers, she headed out.
At the property line, she started a slow jog toward town. As her pace clicked faster, salty sweat stung her eyes and her muscles twitched alive.
With a steady stride, she hugged the narrow shoulder between the blacktop and fenced-in pastures lining the quiet country road. The morning’s coolness morphed into that sneaky New York summer humidity. It wasn’t Birmingham or Atlanta, but the moist air was oppressive, nonetheless.
After running a mile and a half, she stopped and stretched against a weathered fence post near downtown Perry. Lifting her head, she looked past the full parking lot and realized she was at the Owens Family Clinic. The medical practice had always been open on Saturdays, when Elle was a kid.
The once brightly colored clinic had faded to a dull yellow. It looked the same, but different. Patients hurried in and out of the clinic, including a familiar petite woman with short blonde curls.
Mom. A sharp ache burned in Elle’s chest.
She seemed not to see nor sense her daughter who stood mere feet away. If she had turned, would she have recognized Elle? At thirty-six, Elle was so different from the eighteen-year-old girl her mom had last seen. In that moment, she was more teenaged Eleanor than adult Elle.
Her pulse raced. Why is my mother here? Is it just a check-up? Is there something wrong?
“Enough! It’s not your job to worry about her anymore,” she snapped at herself.
With that she turned and jogged away.
The further away she ran from the village, the more her tension uncoiled. Before she reached the Little Red Barn, she slowed to a power walk. Placing her hands on her lower back, she breathed in the grass, weeds, and blacktop’s blended aroma.
A sound drew her attention to the right. A small gray goat had poked their head through a gap in the fence bordering the pasture.
“Well, hello to you,” she cooed, approaching the animal.
With careful movements, she bent to rub her hands along the coarse fur of its neck. The goat-like purr in response was so sweet.
“You are adorable. Where’re your goat people? Are you alone?”
He answered with a lick. The startling effect of his rough tongue caused her to stumble backwards. She tripped and landed on her butt.
Laughter burst out. Brows furrowed, she rose and dusted dirt off her behind. Several goats in the distance captured her gaze. A man in a gray T-shirt that stretched over a muscular back was in the center of the goat cluster. He leaned over, examining a small, brown speckled goat’s hooves. Elle stepped closer, her breath hitching as she drank in the man’s defined physique.
The baby goat nuzzled her waist through the fence gap, but she was focused on the man. Straightening to his full height, he lifted his baseball cap and then pulled the hem of his T-shirt above his waist, wiping sweat from his face and revealing a taut stomach.
Hot farmer! Elle licked her lips then bit down on them. Those brief seconds of exposed tan skin elicited a flutter in her stomach, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The tall figure lowered his shirt and plopped back on his navy ball cap. His features were shadowed beneath the hat’s brim, but a boyish grin peeked out as he waved at her.
Dear god, I’ve been caught ogling. The breath whooshed out of her.
The man took two steps forward. Elle turned to leave but halted with a jerk. The traitorous goat had the hem of her top gripped in their teeth, grunting and yanking.
“Seriously?”she gritted, tugging her shirt.
With a final grunt, the goat let go. Elle crashed to her butt…again. The goat let out an annoyed bleat.
“Worst meet-cute ever,” she grumbled under her breath.
“Are you okay?” the man hollered. His long strides ate up the ground between them.
“Totally. No need to worry. Just go about your goating.” She tied the tank top’s tattered fabric into a knot at her navel.
“ Goating ?” He stopped with a huff of laughter.
“Yep.” She doubled down, popping the p.
Her vision pulled to a wisp of dark ink dotting his right forearm. What was it about masculine forearms that made her stomach clench? One of the sexiest thing a man could do to attract Elle was roll up his shirt sleeves.
“I do enjoy a good day of goating.” His mouth quirked.
“Yeah?” The question came out breathy.
Without thinking, she twirled a damp auburn strand around her finger. Cringing, she let go of her hair. Dirty and sweaty, she stood in front of the hot farmer come to life from one of Willa’s romance novels.
“Well, you’d best get on with your goating and I’d best get on with my?—”
“Running?” he laughed, finishing her sentence.
“It’s the new walking.”She grinned, walking backwards, praying she didn’t fall for a third time.
Waving to her mystery hot farmer, she pivoted. With a glance over her shoulder, she found him leaning against the fence, a smirk playing on his lips. Eyes forward, she ran away. His shouted, “see you soon” and something that may have been, “welcome back” or “watch the crack” followed her.
Hours later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the sleeping loft mentally preparing for Janet and Pete’s BBQ. Her sky-blue sundress’s flirty A-line skirt enveloped her in a sense of delicate confidence. Time spent washing, drying, and straightening her auburn waves further buoyed her.
Grabbing the bottle of Aunt Janet’s favorite wine she’d bought at the store after her run, she headed out. At the store, she’d also purchased a gift for her Airbnb host, a mug with Making your own path scrawled beneath tiny rainbow paw prints dancing across its ceramic surface. A red pickup parked in front of the blue farmhouse hadn’t been there earlier when she’d delivered the gift, leaving it in a gift bag on the porch.
On her way to the BBQ, Willa called to inquire how her Airbnb recommendation turned out. She also used her psychologist Jedi mind tricks to get Elle to let it slip about the encounter with the hot farmer.
“Make sure you ride that tractor,” Willa purred.
"You have a one-track mind.” Elle laughed.
“And what a track… A track you could run once in a while.”
Despite the eye roll, a smile remained on Elle’s face. “Goodbye, Wills.”
Hanging up, she pulled into Pete and Janet’s tree hugged property. It had been fourteen years since she visited the sunshine yellow country cottage rimmed with pink rose bushes. Her sandals slapped against the stone walkway that led to the front porch, overflowing with potted plants.
“Isn’t that dress a little tight around your bosoms?” Aunt Janet tutted with a cheeky grin. The barely five-foot dynamo with brunette hair cut pixie-short, had the presence of someone twice her size.
“Hello to you too.”
“Don’t sass me.” Face puckered, Janet descended the stairs. Meeting in the middle of the walkway, she wrapped her arms around Elle’s waist. “I’m so glad you’re here, Eleanor.” Her soft rose fragrance twined around them.
“I almost forgot what a good hugger you are.”
“Come home more than every decade and a half and you wouldn’t forget.”
Elle moved to pull away with a snappy retort, but Janet clenched tighter.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m your aunt and I get to nag you about tight dresses, not coming home enough, and hug the hell out of you. It’s in the job description and I’m good at my job.”
“At least you’re not nagging about me being single.”
“Oh honey, that comes with dessert.” Janet’s deep belly laugh vibrated her entire body.
“Hey! I want in on this action,” Jerome hollered, bounding out of the front door.
“Me first!” Tobey’s shout erupted from inside the house before the door smacked shut, cutting off his rich baritone.
Tobey’s fiancé, Jerome, dashed down the stairs. Where Janet was fun-sized, as her son teased, Jerome was king-sized. Both Tobey and Pete were six-foot, but Jerome still towered over them with his bulky physique and height.
“Look at the blushing groom.” Elle gushed as Jerome folded his muscular arms around her.
Jerome hugged with his whole self, never giving throwaway hugs, sometimes making it hard to breathe.
“Bear, stop mauling them.” Tobey approached the trio, his blond brows knitted together.
“Aw, my future husband, do you feel left out?” Jerome pulled Tobey in without releasing Elle and Janet.
“No.” Tobey scowled and squirmed.
“You know you’re the only one I want to maul.” An oversized grin took up residence on Jerome’s face.
“I know,” Tobey murmured, pink kissing his cheeks.
“No mauling ‘til you’re married!” Janet slipped free from the group hug.
“You know they live together. There’s probably been some light mauling.”
“Eleanor Davidson, no mauling before marriage for them or you. Now, let me go open this wine.” Janet snagged the wine bottle. “Pete has the grill going. My future son-in-law will help me bring things out.”
“You got it, little mama.” Jerome looped his arm around his future mother-in-law and escorted her into the house.
Admiration shined in Tobey’s eyes locked on his mom and fiancé as they slipped inside the house.
“You’re so gone.” Elle nudged Tobey’s side.
He just grinned.
“This time next week. Are you excited? Is she really making you wear white?” She looped her arm through Tobey’s as he led her to the backyard.
“That she is.” He smirked.
The backyard hummed with the traits of a standard Coates’ barbecue. Beneath shady canopies, picnic tables had been draped in blue checkered tablecloths, mason jars filled with yellow daisies at their center. Children giggled and shouted on the wooden swing set, while several adults played yard games.
Atop a small patch of brick, Pete stood flipping burgers, their mouthwatering scent perfumed the air. Beside him, in hopes of rescuing any grill droppings, was Lt. Scout. Elle stopped in her tracks and gave Tobey the same look that a teenager would have upon seeing a member of BTS.
“Oh my god!” Elle fell to her knees, arms flung wide. With a low whistle from Tobey, the black lab ran into her arms. “You are adorable. I love you so much!”
Lt. Scout licked Elle’s face with fevered kisses.
“Did you squeal? Is that allowed at your age?”
“Who wants belly rubs?” Elle ignored Tobey, stroking along Lt. Scout’s velvety chest.
He barked and flopped on to his back giving her full access to his belly.
“Sir, you’re an officer of the law. Show a little decorum.” Tobey wagged a finger.
When Tobey’s police dog partner wasn’t in uniform, he was a lovable goofball. Despite the protest from Tobey, the many selfies of the two of them sharing vanilla ice cream cones showed that her sometimes buttoned-up cousin could be just as playful as his canine colleague.
“You’re going to get dog hair all over you,” Aunt Janet called from the deck, holding two glasses of wine.
“Worth it! I’m in love.”
“Scout!” A tiny voice shouted from the swing set.
His floppy ears perked forward, and he dashed off to investigate.
Elle laughed, walking up the four steps to the deck where Aunt Janet handed her a glass of Riesling. Sipping her wine, she took in the playing children and chatting adults. A gentle breeze stirred the trees, the sky was a slightly darker shade of blue than Elle’s dress. Fat, cotton ball clouds speckled the sky. The almost too-perfect picture was reminiscent of something out of an allergy commercial.
“Eleanor, you get the first cheeseburger. We have brioche buns, Hawaiian rolls, or lettuce. Your aunt said lettuce may fit your lifestyle better. Please don’t make me wrap this perfectly medium-well angus beef in lettuce.” Pete dramatically pressed his hand against his heart.
She lifted one brow. “My lifestyle?”
“Carb-free.” he said with a horrified expression.
“I prefer the term carb-challenged.” She winked. “I’ll have a brioche bun. Today’s my cheat day. I get one a week and I saved it for one of your famous cheeseburgers and whatever dessert Aunt Janet has whipped up.”
“And wine.” Tobey clinked his glass against Elle’s.
“Oh, that’s not a cheat. It’s a necessity.”
“I didn’t make a dessert,” Janet chirped.
“What?” Elle gasped. “I flew in from California!” She almost pouted.
“Don’t worry. Doc Owens is bringing dessert,” Pete said.
“Dr. Owens is coming?” Forehead creased, she tilted her head.
“He’s Jerome’s best man.”
“ What ?”
“Yeah. Didn’t we mention that?” Tobey ran his hand over his cropped blond hair.
“You said his partner at the veterinarian clinic was his best man.”
“Yeah, Doc Owens. Speak of the devil.” Pete swung the spatula in the air in greeting. “Doc! We were just talking about you.”
Elle’s gaze darted to where Pete pointed with his spatula. Her breath hitched as a familiar figure approached. “That’s not Dr. Owens.”
Dr. Owens was in his sixties. More salt than pepper colored his hair. He wore bow ties, even to picnics. He was not the man strolling across the yard toward her. A man who was now as far away from her as he’d been in that field of baby goats.