Where Love Grows

Ryan shot a sideways glance toward Becca. Was he in a hurry to cut the waitress’ conversation short?

“I promise, when I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know,” he answered the woman cryptically. “Becca? Are you ready? I’m already so far behind I’ll never get caught up.”

With that, he strode off toward his pickup.

CHAPTER SEVEN

RYAN PUT THE TRUCK in gear but held the clutch for a moment longer as he stared in the rearview mirror. Becca was in a deep conversation with Charlotte.

His stomach flipped. Just what he didn’t want—both Becca and Charlotte asking questions and comparing notes about J.T.

Real smooth, MacIntosh. You couldn’t have been more obvious if you’d circled Charlotte with a pen and scribbled Clue!

Becca handed Charlotte something, a card probably, and headed for that oversized-lawn-mower car of hers.

Ryan gnawed at his lip, considering. What could he safely tell her? He’d be dumb as a load of bricks to fall for her “I’m here to help” routine. She probably did that to all her targets.

Highly effective on a sap like you, too, isn’t it?

He groaned. Gramps, I wish you were here. This was the kind of deal Ryan always went to him about. If Gramps were still around, they’d pop open a couple of colas and a pack or two of peanuts, and Ryan would tell him the whole sorry tale. By the time the peanuts were gone, Gramps would have kicked his butt and put him on the road to right.

He ran his fingers over the dash of the truck, closed his eyes. With a sigh, he shook off the grief and the longing to dump this whole mess onto the capable shoulders of someone wiser, more experienced.

No point in it. He had to get back to the farm, answer what questions he could, avoid the ones he couldn’t and do it as quickly as possible.

His cell phone buzzed. Ryan fished it out of his pocket, keeping one hand on the wheel.

“Hey, Ryan, I wanted to explain—”

Ryan cut off Jack in midsentence. “Yeah, I’m waiting. What the hell were you doing there this morning?”

“Same as you. Murphy called me first thing. I aim to keep him happy—and you should, too. You know what he’s got over us—over Mee-Maw.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“I think I do sometimes. Look…we’ve talked about this before. Let’s just keep our heads down, get through this season as best we can, start fresh next year. For Mee-Maw’s sake.”

“He planted—”

“Because he thinks you’re not playing ball, Ryan. I don’t like it any better than you, but…we’ve got no choice. You know that. Right?”

Ryan expelled a long breath. “Right.”

“What’s the deal with you and the Reynolds woman, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. I saw the way you were looking at her. Don’t fall for it, cuz. Don’t let a pretty smile take us all down.”

“What the hell is it—” Ryan bit back the protest he’d been about to utter. “Look, I’m just cooperating with her. You heard Murphy. We’re all supposed to make nice. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror to see Becca’s Mini behind him. If only he and Becca hadn’t met like this.

Maybe Jack was right. If Ryan was going to dig his way out of this mess, he couldn’t afford to waste time stewing over regrets or missed goodbyes to Gramps. He had to think of Mee-Maw.

MAYBE IT WAS SILLY, but to channel Gramps’s wisdom, Ryan pulled out two bottles of Coke and the peanuts and laid them out for Becca. She sat across from him on the front porch, in the chair he’d always sat in for long confessionals with Gramps. As he sat in Gramps’s high-backed rocker, he didn’t feel worthy of the seat. He’d screwed up and he didn’t know quite how to fix things. Had Gramps ever felt that way?

Ryan worried that maybe, in those last days, Gramps had.

Don’t even think that, MacIntosh. Gramps was as straight as an arrow, despite what that SOB Murphy says.

He waited for whatever Becca would unload on him. Lord, she was pretty. He could almost fool himself that this was a Sunday-come-a-courtin’ conversation and that the biggest thing at stake was whether he’d get a goodbye kiss.

Be nice if it were that simple.

“So…you farmers frequently have meetings first thing in the morning?”

Ryan harrumphed. “That wasn’t first thing in the morning for any self-respecting farmer. And no, we don’t. At least I don’t. Who has time to fool with breakfast out when you’ve got a to-do list that stretches to the moon and back?”

“It felt like a board meeting.”

“Murphy’d like that analogy. He’s a little full of himself, you ask me.”

“You mean, you’re not best buds with him?”

“’Fraid not. First of all, Murphy doesn’t have time for a Podunk farmer like me. He’s not the, um, mentor I’d choose for a fount of wisdom. He got where he is by a few lucky breaks and the money that came from them.”

Becca lifted a honey-colored brow. “Funny. I’d say, looking back at all of Murphy’s crop-insurance claims with Ag-Sure, that he was one of those guys you don’t stand near in a lightning storm for fear that when he’d get struck, you’d get hit, too.”

“You ask Murphy, he’ll tell you a sad story, all right.”

“I will ask him. I’ll ask everybody. But I’m starting with you. So, do you have anything you might want to share?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. The way she made him feel was the way Gramps had over the years. Whether he found a garden snake in the house, an unexplained dent in the bumper of the truck, an angry girlfriend, Gramps had always used a soul-searching stare and unrelenting silence to get the truth out of Ryan. Becca was no different.

“I’ve pretty much said it all, I think.”

She looked disappointed. But she didn’t waste time dog-gnawing him or haranguing him. “I got the distinct impression this morning that I was about as welcome as the tax man. I assume that meeting was called to discuss how to handle me?”