tonight,” Brady said.
“Not ever.” Maggie leaned against the wall. “I’m tired, Brady. I can’t play this cat-and-mouse game as well as you can. I’m attracted to you.”
He didn’t move, sensing the “but” behind her words. “I’m attracted to you, too.”
“I can’t be what makes you go away.” Her face flushed and her bottom lip trembled.
“I don’t understand…” Why would she worry about that?
“My dad left when I was six.” Her face went blank as if she felt nothing, but he could feel the pain underscoring every word. “I thought Mom had driven him away and I hated her for a while. Then I thought it was my fault and I hated myself for it.”
“I wouldn’t do that to Amber.” He started to reach out but she flinched away. “Or you.”
“You don’t know that. I don’t know that.” She straightened. “We are much better off as friends. That way this doesn’t get confused into something it’s not. It never was.”
Her smile had a touch of sadness to it. He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t know how much of himself he could give…to Amber or to her. When things had gotten rough in the past, he’d run. How could he guarantee he wouldn’t do the same now?
Maybe this was for the best. He nodded. “It never was.”
Her smile vanished though she tried to hold on to it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Brady stepped out of the house and the weight of the world crashed down on his shoulders. He had people relying on him in New York and people relying on him in Tawnee Valley. Part of him wanted to run away, hide in his work. But as he settled into his rented car, he glanced up as the porch light turned off. Maggie stood silhouetted in the doorway.
No, this time he’d be the brave one. This time he’d build a relationship with his daughter and make sure that it didn’t fall apart when something major happened. He’d be her rock, the way Maggie’s father should have been for her. He wouldn’t run.
The week turned out to be more hectic than Brady had estimated. Contractors had change orders. Reports had to be in on time. Jules was barely staying afloat.
It was Wednesday and he’d sworn to Maggie and Amber that he’d be by today, but someone above must have a sense of humor, because everything was falling apart at work.
The sun beat on his head as he tried to shield the screen of his laptop. He had his earpiece firmly in and was listening in on a conference Peterson had called.
“We need to increase the budget by at least five hundred thousand dollars to make sure the project doesn’t have overages,” Peterson said.
“The budget is fine as is and with all the current work orders inputted, we should have a small bit of excess left over in case of another change,” Jules said. “An increase is uncalled for. What we have is sufficient.”
Brady glanced up at the sound of a truck coming down the old country road. The only place on the farm that received decent reception was at the top of the driveway near the mailbox. Cars rarely came this way, but a lot of farm equipment went past. Of course, if the driver caught a glimpse of Brady, they would stop and chat for at least ten minutes.
The mail truck came around the corner and stopped at the box.
“Brady, didn’t your mother ever teach you to wear a hat?” Betsy Griffin tipped her postal cap at him. “You’ll get those good looks burnt right off ya.”
Brady muted the conference. “If mine gets messed up at least there are two more just like me.”
Betsy chuckled and tucked a strand of gray hair up into her cap.
“You tell that brother of yours that his mutt has been up to no good. There are about five puppies on my farm that look an awful lot like that shaggy dog of his.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“You take care now.” Betsy tipped her cap and drove off.
Brady and Sam had managed to maintain a good distance from each other. Sam was always out of the house by the time Brady got going in the morning. He couldn’t afford to get into it with Sam if he wanted to stay.
He glanced at his screen and unmuted his phone.
“Brady?” Jules’s voice sounded concerned.
“I’m here.”
“Did we get cut off?”
“No. Someone stopped by. Meeting over?” Brady eyed the time. If he was going to see Amber tonight, he’d need to wrap up quickly.
“Yes.”
“What did I miss?”
Jules filled him in on the proposed changes and how she’d fought to keep the budget the same. Peterson had backed down at the end. Brady could almost hear the triumph in her voice.
“If you need anything, text me nine-one-one and I’ll call you.” Brady closed his laptop and put it in the bag. “Anything at all.”
“Spend time with your daughter. I’ll see you when you get back to New York.” Jules hung up.
Brady stretched as he stood and looked over the old farmhouse and the land surrounding it. The brothers had spent many days working the fields and helping their father make the most out of the land they had. Generations of Wards had worked these fields before them. Now it all fell to Sam.
The house needed a coat of paint, but the barn looked in good repair. Instead of being held together by whatever scraps their father could find, it looked as though Sam had gone through and made the barn a solid structure.
Unlike Sam, who seemed to thrive on the farm, Brady had never belonged here. Even when he had been at the top of his game in high school, he’d felt as if something was missing. He collected the mail and headed down the drive.
Being in England hadn’t helped. He hadn’t found anywhere that made him feel whole. Like a puzzle with a piece missing, he kept trying to fill it with work and accomplishments, but it didn’t seem to help. Each step forward made him want to reach for the next level.
The screen door screeched as he opened it. Inside the house it was cool with the windows open and the lights out. He flung the mail on the kitchen table and started to set his bag on the chair when he caught sight of an envelope with red on it.
FINAL NOTICE. Brady snatched the bill and sank into the kitchen chair.
“Sam?” he yelled.
No one answered. Sam must be down in the field or in the barn. Brady tore open the envelope and stared at the balance. He shifted through the other mail and found a few more overdue bills.
He stormed out the back door and crossed to the barn. Soundgarden’s “Fell on Black Days” blasted from the garage in the back. The garage smelled of oil and gasoline, bringing forward the memory of his father, leaning over their
