Chapter 15
chapter
fifteen
Darren stood in the cemetery, feeling like he was doing something wrong. He glanced around again, satisfied that no one else was there. He stared down at the headstone Farrah had been looking at a few months ago.
Gary Karl Lewis.
No Irvine in sight. So not her—not the father of her baby. Not her baby either. No, this man was sixty-four-years-old, and Darren’s need to know who he was a sixty-four out of ten.
He turned away from the headstone and strode over to Paintbrush. The horse snacked on the grass under a tree, and Darren led him out of the shade. One more furtive glance around, and he swung up onto the horse’s back.
“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.
It had been days since Farrah had told him about part of her time in LA. She had such a big heart, and had always been so honest with him, that finding out about a completely different side of her had been shocking.
He’d spoken with her a few times, and texted lots more. But she’d been silent since yesterday afternoon, and when he’d called Logan on a Friday night, his brother’s first question had been, “Why aren’t you out with Farrah?”
That had sent Darren into a tailspin. He’d gone by her house, the way he used to do when he was crushing on a girl in high school.
Maybe not exactly like that. He and Logan hadn’t seemed to ever have a problem getting dates.
Logan was a real charmer, and girls found Darren’s quiet, mysterious demeanor intriguing. Usually. Teenage girls had.
But Farrah’s house had been dark. Her car gone.
She’d been out on a Friday night, and he’d been too much of a chicken to text her and find out where she was.
He took his time riding back to the farm, gave Paintbrush the royal treatment in horse care, and made sure all the weekend chores were done before he went into the farmhouse. The country stillness extended into the house, and Darren breathed in the peacefulness of it.
Showered and ready for a date, he called Farrah, praying she’d answer. When she did, her voice sounded guarded. Maybe. Maybe just rushed. He wasn’t sure.
“I was hopin’ you didn’t have plans tonight,” he said. “And that maybe we could…do something.”
“Oh.” She exhaled, and he could just see her thinking, that adorable line that appeared between her eyes when she did. “I’ve been in the yard all day, and I’m a mess.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Anything but a crowd.”
She giggled. “You would’ve died at bunko night.”
Confusion pulled through him. He stepped over to the fridge and opened it. “I’m sorry. What’s bunko night?”
“Meagan invited me, and I went last night. You would not believe the noise. Crashing dice, and screeching ladies, and trash talk.”
“Trash talk?” Darren paused in lifting a water bottle to his lips. “What did you say?”
“Nothing, I swear.” She laughed fully now, and he wished he was with her so he could bask in her happiness. “But I had a great time. Meagan says if someone drops out next year, I can have the spot.”
“You’ll have to tell me what that means when I come over.” He started drinking, his eyes landing on the keys hanging on the hook nearby. He swallowed. “When can I come over?”
“I’ll go jump in the shower right now.”
“Great, see you in a few.” Darren hung up, thinking he could just drive slow. Maybe entertain her cat while she did whatever she did with her makeup to enhance her natural beauty.
He arrived at her house, the evidence of her green thumb in the trimmed lawn, the newly barked flowerbeds, the pruned bushes and trees. Bolt, her gray tabby, sat on top of the front steps like a guard.
Darren eyed him as he parked and got out of the truck. “Hey, kitty cat.”
The cat just stared, not even a twitch of the tail.
It was no wonder Darren liked dogs better.
He went past the animal and knocked on the door.
Farrah opened it a few moments later, her hair still damp.
The fruity-soft scent of her conditioner drifted into his nose, and he leaned against the doorjamb.
“The yard looks amazing.”
“Getting ready for winter,” she said. “It can come fast here.”
“Yeah.” Darren couldn’t seem to look away from her.
She hadn’t put her makeup on yet, but she didn’t need it.
He wanted to apologize for his days of silence.
For his Friday night blunder. He reached for her, slipping his hand around the back of her neck, right into that silky hair, and bringing her mouth to his.
His kiss was filled with apology and hers with acceptance. He ended the union sooner than he would’ve liked and leaned his forehead against hers. “So I was thinking we could grab something to go and go out to the Bybee’s. Or the lake.”
“Lake,” she whispered. “I spend all day at that farm.”
Of course she did. Darren hadn’t been out there since she’d told him about her non-husband—whose name she still used—and he missed the tranquility of it. But the lake would do.
Darren loved Lake Champlain late in the year, and he’d spent some time on it the first winter all the brothers lived in Vermont. Sam was a fan of ice fishing, and Darren was the only one who would go with him. He hadn’t been since his brother had gone back to Wyoming, at least not in the winter.
He’d been back a few times in the warmer months, but he didn’t enjoy boating or lying in the sun, and he had too much work to do besides. But a picnic dinner on the beach sounded pretty great.
“Let me change,” she said. “It’s not exactly warm once the sun goes down.”
“We can sit in the truck,” he offered as she backed away from him.
“I’ll just put on jeans and grab a jacket.”
Darren mourned the loss of her denim shorts, but he liked the dark jeans she showed up wearing as well. She opened her front closet and plucked a sweatshirt from a hanger before saying, “Ready.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“Let’s get sandwiches from the Bread Company.”
Darren never said no to a sandwich, and a half an hour later, they had food, drinks, and the sand between their toes.
“Your feet are so white.” She laughed as she handed him his sandwich.
“Always wearing boots.” He chuckled with her. “So tell me about this bunko night.”
She started talking, and he liked listening to her. She told him about a dice game, and baby bunkos, and a prize pool, and several women from her childhood that she’d played with.
“Sounds like you had fun.”
“I really did,” she said, smiling before she bit into her sandwich. “I hate to say it, but I hope someone drops out so I can join permanently.”
“You can’t just join?”
“The group only handles twelve.” She gazed at the gently lapping water.
“Each person takes a month to host. The host provides dinner, and the previous month’s host provides the prizes.
” She sighed, a happy little sound Darren liked.
“I won for the most baby bunkos, and I got a certificate to the salon for a pedicure.”
“That’s great,” he said. “I guess I hope someone drops out so you can join.”
“I don’t think someone will.” This time her sigh carried a bit more weight. “They all get along great, and they’ve been a bunko group for three years.”
“No one’s left in three years?” Darren was still getting used to the idea of not moving every few years.
“Well, Layla left, but she’s coming back. The person they got to take her place knows it’s only until she returns.”
Darren nestled his toes deeper into the sand. A breeze wafted across the water, and he watched a few sailboats bump against the waves as they worked against their anchors. The deep green trees stretched into the blue sky, and the hills across the lake were quickly turning black against the horizon.
In the winter, the ice on those trees would break limbs, and in a week or two, the leaves would be various shades of red, gold, and orange.
“I love Vermont,” Farrah said, breaking the silence that had come between them.
“Better than LA?” he asked.
“The beaches were nice,” she said. “And it doesn’t snow there. But there’s just something about this place.” She snuggled into his side, sticking her arms through her sweatshirt without pulling it over her head.
He knew exactly what she meant, and he was glad she liked it here. “Want to go riding tomorrow after church?”
She stiffened next to him, and all the things Darren had been careful not to say came rushing to the front of his mind.
“Farrah, when are you going to stop fighting against who you are?”
She sat up and looked at him, her gaze sharp. “What does that mean?”
“You were born to ride a horse,” he said. “And it doesn’t matter who you were born from.”
She blinked. Her jaw tightened. He thought sure she’d jump to her feet and stomp back to the truck.
“It’s just me,” he said. “Me and you, out riding through the fields and forests. I know you like it. I know you do.”
Her chin trembled. “I do like it.”
He tucked her against his side again. “Why is that so hard to admit?”
“I’m still…learning a lot about myself.”
“So you’ll come riding?”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re relentless.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.” She giggled.
He growled and dipped his head toward hers. “I thought it was.” Skating his lips along her neck, he asked, “Who’s Gary Lewis?”
She did jump to her feet this time. Just enough sun remained for him to see her absolute fury. “I told you not to worry about him,” she said.
“No.” He stood too. “You told me not to look him up. I didn’t.” He reached for her, and she let him take one of her hands in his. But he was breaths away from losing her, and he knew it. “I just want to know who he is.”
“So do I.”
He watched her, trying to figure out what she meant. “You don’t know who he is?”
“I know who he is, but not who he was as a person.” Tears turned her eyes bright and glassy.
“Farrah,” Darren said in his gentlest voice. “I just want to help you. Know everything about you. That’s what people do, you know.”
He watched something inside her break, and he hated it. Hated the way those tears spilled out of her lovely eyes. “He was my father,” she said. “And he didn’t want me.” She collapsed into his arms, and Darren held her close to his heart while she cried.