Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
rowan
“Hi,” Claire says when she opens the door, and I swallow hard when I take in the sight of her. The tank top she’s wearing under her overalls showcases her tattoos and outlines her curves.
“Hi,” I return in a breathy voice, adding an awkward wave and a hoarse throat clearing, because why not make my nerves and my unrequited feelings more obvious.
Frankie and Oscar scurry over for some attention, and Claire gestures for me to follow her inside after a minute. “I’m not quite ready, but the coffee is,” she says, gathering her long hair over one shoulder.
I watch as she parts her locks into three sections and weaves them into a braid.
It’s not the neat French braid that she wears on weekdays, the one that begins at the crown of her head and integrates every strand of hair into a tight plait, but a more relaxed version that starts at the back of her neck and highlights the natural texture of her hair.
Another wavy tendril falls free as she moves to secure the end with a hair tie, and I have to shove my fists into my pockets to keep myself from reaching out to capture it.
“Thanks,” I reply, grounding myself with the rosary ring in my pocket. I amble into the kitchen and sift through the cabinet for the 4-H mug, the one with the lamb on it, since it feels more appropriate today.
“Oh, um … Should I cover my arms?” she asks after a while, and the very idea that she wants to impress my parents stirs up the butterflies in my stomach.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. My mom would be upset if she couldn’t admire your tattoos.”
And so would I.
“I can bring a jacket, just in case.”
She smirks before she disappears down the hallway, leaving me to sip my coffee and start my morning rosary. I’m just finishing up the last decade when she returns, a light layer of makeup coloring her face now.
“You don’t need to do that, you know,” I say as I place my mug in the sink.
“Do what?”
“The makeup.”
She sighs. “I know we’re going to be outside, but—”
“No. I mean, like, ever. I don’t know why you bother,” I tell her.
She shrugs and slides her feet into her boots. “It’s kind of like the frilly pajamas, I guess.”
“The overalls and the chest waders look just as feminine on you.”
She shoots me a side-eyed glare before she grabs a jacket from a hook. “You would say that,” she mumbles and gestures for us to go, and I get another dirty look when I open the passenger door of my truck for her.
The first few minutes of the drive are quiet until she teases me for adhering to the speed limit. After that, she asks about my family and the farm, and I’m still rambling on about our life on the homestead as I pull into the driveway.
My parents are waiting to greet us in the kitchen, my mom pulling Claire into a hug with an insistence that we have some of the breakfast she’s set out for us and my dad punctuating his embrace by complimenting Claire’s tattoo sleeve.
My brother and his family walk in a few minutes later, and I introduce Claire to Heath and his wife Naomi as we pile eggs, bacon, and biscuits onto our plates.
“I don’t suppose you mind riding on one of these?” my dad asks Claire and gestures to the UTV parked out back, once we’ve eaten enough to satisfy my mom, of course.
She smirks at him and takes off walking, and I’m grateful when Heath helps his oldest two kids into the back seat, leaving Claire to fall in between my dad and me.
Her lips are still turned up in a faint smile when my dad automatically reaches up to drape an arm over the seat behind her, though I’m admittedly a little jealous.
He takes the scenic route so he can play the tour guide, stopping every so often to elaborate on a feature of the small-scale farm and answering Claire’s follow-up questions before giving her an affectionate pat on the shoulder and taking off again.
We finally pull up in front of the massive barn that serves as a shelter for both the animals and their feed, as well as some of the smaller farm implements, and Claire turns another wide grin to me when I offer to help her out of the side-by-side.
Her cheeks are rosy from the drive, and a few more wisps of her hair have worked their way loose.
And she’s so beautiful out here in her element that I forget how to breathe for a moment.
Dad leads us past the horse stalls as both Claire and Gertie reach out to stroke one of the older mares on the forehead before we make it to the sheep enclosure.
“Why don’t you guys get some feed?” my dad suggests, and Heath shows Giles and Gertie where to find the barrel of grain. The ewes begin bleating and rushing in as soon as they hear someone approaching their feeders, their lambs skipping along behind them.
Claire gestures toward a nearby bale, and we add a few scoops of hay to the grains, watching as the mama ewes ruminate contentedly and the smaller lambs nurse.
“To find a show-quality sheep, you’ll want to start by looking at the more active lambs, and then narrow it down by checking the more specific characteristics, like the coloration on their hooves and faces, their shape and muscle tone,” Claire explains and brings Gertie around to have her point out some of the more promising lambs, providing feedback for each of Gertie’s guesses.
Once the sheep have seemingly had their fill, Claire stoops down to pick up one of Gertie’s favorites, quickly securing the squirming lamb by tucking its legs beneath her arm like a pro and bringing it to Gertie and Giles for a combination of petting and inspection.
They decide after a minute that this one, while adorable, wouldn’t make the best choice for a show lamb because of its coarser pelt, and Claire aims a proud smile my way before she frees the lamb and picks up another.
I can’t help but flash her a grin of my own when I realize she’d purposefully grabbed that lamb specifically to create a teachable moment.
I think I see a hint of blush on her cheeks before she turns away to snatch another lamb and repeat the process.
“All right, let’s tag this little one’s ear,” my dad says to Giles once they find a suitable candidate.
“What about this one?” Gertie asks, tugging on Claire’s overalls to bring her attention to another promising lamb, and after some inspection, Gertie gets the honors of tagging it.
Claire compliments the kids on their tagging skills and explains the next steps, how the show lambs will need to mingle with the others but will eventually need to be separated for special grooming and shearing as they grow.
“Thank you, Claire,” Heath says, and I definitely see Claire’s cheeks darkening when Gertie wraps her arms around her waist in gratitude.
“I think Grand-mère has our lunch ready,” my dad announces, and I automatically look to Claire.
“Oh, thank you, but I’m still full from breakfast,” she remarks with a hand over her middle, looking concerned.
“Do you wanna hang out here for a while longer?” I offer, and she nods in relief.
My dad winks as he takes the others back to the UTV, leaving Claire and me alone in the barn. She shoots me a coy smile before she picks up a shovel and begins cleaning out the stalls. I join her, and we work in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.
“What?” she asks when she notices the way I’m staring at her.
“Nothing,” I reply quietly.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she continues, narrowing her eyes.
“Well, you’re pretty impressive. I know you think my crush is … immature. But you’re not helping your case when you’re out here ...”
She snorts. “What, shoveling sheep shit with you?”
“Yeah,” I say with a short laugh. “Exactly. I used to think my standards were high, but that was before I knew women like you existed. And I’m not sure you understand how much you’ve raised my expectations.”
Her eyelashes flutter. “You don’t have to shower me with gifts and compliments every time I do something nice for you. A simple thank you would suffice.”
“I’m not …” I sigh and stick my shovel into the ground before I cross my arms over the handle. “I guess I’m just wishing things could be different.”
Her dark brows draw in closer, but she doesn’t say anything. I take her shovel and return them both to their place while she leans back against the wall and watches me.
“And I thought you were supposed to be holding out for Little Miss Prim and Proper,” she says after a while, digging the already dingy toe of her boot into the dirt floor to make her point.
“Prim and proper are overrated. The more time I spend with you, the more obvious that becomes,” I tell her, moving closer.
She tilts her head back and laughs, and I smile at the sound of it. “Now you want someone who’s willing to have your babies and fix your busted pipes?”
“Is it too much to ask if she’s also hot enough to rock overalls and a tattoo sleeve?”
“As long as she cleans up nice for church on Sunday mornings.” Her sardonic smile causes mine to fade slightly.
“Maybe I am asking too much,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure the girl of your dreams is out there somewhere,” she says, her tone softening.
“What about you?” I ask after a while.
She shrugs. “I’m not sure what the hell I want anymore.”
I click my tongue in mock disappointment. “You’re supposed to say you want a man in slutty little glasses who’s willing to build you a barn with a sexy hay loft.”
“I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,” she says with a quiet laugh.
“I’ve been listening to every word. And I hear you when you say you’re not looking to settle down, but I can’t help thinking you’d be really good at marriage … with the right person,” I force myself to say.
She looks away and blinks, and I know I’m pushing her boundaries, but something tells me I’m supposed to press on.
“Still think you’ll never be ready to try again?” I ask carefully. “With anyone?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not sure I can see past the here and now.”
“Have you ever tried envisioning your future? You know, just closing your eyes and picturing the first things that come to mind?”
“Not really.”
“Wanna try it together?” I venture, leaning back and copying her pose.
She snorts. “You’re such a dork.”
“At least I’m not a chicken.”
“Oh, so I’m chicken now?” she asks incredulously. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“I’d like to think of myself as more careful than cowardly,” I say with a laugh.
“And I’ve been called many things before, but a chicken isn’t one of them,” she retorts.
I hum, doing my best to play it cool although my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. “I think you’re afraid of what you might see, that your subconscious wants something you’re not willing to admit.”
She scoffs. “Whatever.”
“Prove me wrong, then,” I say, smugly.
“Fine, I will.” She scowls at me before closing her eyes and relaxing her face, and I smile before I do the same. “What am I supposed to be looking at, again?”
I gasp. “It’s not that kind of fantasy, Claire Bear.”
She elbows me, and I chuckle. “Think about a perfectly happy version of your life. Try to imagine it like a movie,” I say, my tone more serious.
She inhales and exhales loudly. “All right.”
My grin widens at the scene my mind immediately conjures. “Want me to go first?”
“Wait, you didn’t say we’d be playing show and tell.”
“How else do you plan to win this argument?
She grunts, and I crack an eye open and catch her staring back at me before I add, “Unless you’re scared, that is.”
She scowls and squeezes her eyes closed. “After you, dork.”
“All right,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I see … a house in the country with a huge barn in the back, where I’m cleaning out the stalls with my beautiful wife.” She huffs again, but I continue. “And a whole slew of animals, because she’s always taking in new ones.”
“What about kids?” she asks, her voice sounding thick.
“Two, maybe three of them. They’re playing outside with the dogs while we alternate working and flirting in the barn. They catch us making out, and they all cringe and say it’s gross, but we tell them they’re lucky to have parents who like each other as much as we do.”
I pause and swallow hard before I go on. “We bring the kids inside to make dinner. And we say grace together as a family and thank God for all of it before we eat.”
She lets out another shaky exhale. “I figured you’d have wanted at least a handful of kids.”
“So did I,” I reply thoughtfully. “But it’s a little late to start on a brood as big as the one I grew up in.”
“Your wife isn’t younger than you?”
“No. She’s not. She does have a nice butt and a really hot tattoo sleeve, though.”
“But if you married someone younger, you could have more babies,” she argues, brushing over my flirting.
“That’s not how this game goes,” I tell her with a short laugh. “The heart wants what it wants.”
“Oh.”
“What about your heart?” I ask after the silence stretches and peek at her again to check her expression. She’s frowning, and her chin trembles lightly. “Claire?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and sniffles. “I don’t think … I just can’t.”
I turn and pull her into my arms, and she seems reluctant, but she doesn’t back away from my embrace. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. It was stupid.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice cracks, contradicting her. “It’s not your fault I’m a mess.”
“It might be this time,” I say, and she laughs softly, to my relief. “You’re not a mess, though. You still have some healing to do, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
“That’s not what my heart says,” she mumbles, and I lean back to look her in the eyes.
“Claire, you’re not broken. You’re one of the strongest people I know. And you have your whole life ahead of you, right?”
She sniffs as I bring up the hem of my shirt to dry her cheeks. “Even my imagination must know that stuff isn’t possible for me anymore, since I can’t see anything past the way things are now.”
I furrow my brow, already feeling guilty for pushing her too far. “Of course it’s possible. And maybe you don’t see anyone else because your heart is telling you that you need to focus on loving yourself for now.”
“I didn’t say I was alone,” she admits, and my pulse quickens.
“Oh. So there is someone with you?” I ask, barely able to get the words out.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t see myself getting married ever again, which pretty much nullifies the rest,” she mutters as she takes a step back, but I involuntarily reach for her arm.
“Claire, wait—”
“Can we please drop it?” she interrupts me before I can ask for more, and I let out a loud exhale.
“Yeah, sorry.”
She sniffles again. “We should go inside before your mom starts to worry.”
“Sure,” I reply and lead her out.