His Hometown Girl

“I beat your mother at a stone-carrying challenge there. Hope she’s still not holding that against me since I shared the prize with her—one of Mrs. Willette’s raspberry cobblers.” Daniel’s vivid eyes sparkled when they met hers, the green-and-yellow kaleidoscope of color drawing her in until she shook her head and looked away.

“I hardly remember those times, so there’s no grudge.” Jodi shifted uncomfortably as she recalled too much.

Tyler jerked when Daniel ruffled his hair. “Guess that means your mother’s become the forgiving type.”

“I’ve moved on and so should you,” she muttered as she pulled out her smartphone and read an email from her boss to call him. “And would you please go a bit faster. I have to—”

“The speed limit here is thirty-five. Besides—” Daniel shrugged his broad shoulders “—I’m showing Tyler where he comes from. If you have your way, he’ll never have this chance again.”

Jodi tamped down her sudden spike of anger. “He’s from Chicago, not Cedar Bay.” She passed Tyler a Fruit Roll-Up snack, then sighed when her son flung it away. He really was hungry.

“There’ve been Chapmans here for over three hundred years.”

“His last name is Mitchem. I changed my name back after the divorce.”

Daniel shot her a speculative glance then continued. “Your last name might be different, Tyler, but you’re still part of a large family that goes back generations.” Daniel drummed along with the Eagles tune “Take It Easy,” which was ironic. She noted his empty ring finger as it beat against the wheel, then chided herself for looking. What difference did his marital status make?

When the song ended, he pulled a bag of raspberries out of a dashboard pocket and passed it to Tyler. No! She lunged, too late, as Tyler squealed when he crushed them, the crimson color bleeding through his tiny fingers. Jodi’s shoulders slumped and she reached for a Handi Wipe. What a sticky mess.

“May I have one?” Daniel held out a large hand in front of Tyler. Her heart squeezed when her son struggled, then plucked a berry from the bag. He would have won a gold star for that in physical therapy.

“Thank you, Ty.” Daniel’s white teeth flashed against the tanned skin of his face and her breath caught when his crescent moon dimples appeared. She forced her attention away and dabbed at the sticky berry juice dribbling down her son’s face. “Careful, you’ll choke,” she warned as Tyler shoved in another handful.

Her son stopped chewing, but didn’t look up. For Tyler, that was the most attention anyone could expect when he got fixed on something he really liked.

“Glad you’re enjoying the treat, Tyler,” Daniel said before continuing the kind of chatter that charmed everyone. “I had to ask my neighbor Mrs. Tate for some since the birds had eaten all of mine. You remember going berry picking on Blueberry Hill, Jodi Lynn, right?”

Their eyes caught and held over her son’s head, a memory of their first kiss, berry flavored and full of sunshine, bursting in her brain. She stared at his mouth and turned away when it curved into a knowing grin. Her teeth ground together. He was trying to get under her skin and she’d be darned if she let him.

“Did Grace tell you that she got elected state regent of the Daughters of the American Revolution?”

“Yes. She told me. In fact, she keeps me up-to-date on all of the local news.” Jodi crossed her fingers at the white lie. But she didn’t want Daniel to think she had a special reason to avoid hearing about her hometown. Like a broken heart that had never fully healed....

“Is keeping tabs on your acquisitions part of your job description?” His dark lashes cast shadows over his eyes, but she detected sarcasm in his voice.

“Half of all New England farmers hold full-time jobs off the farm, then return home to farm,” Jodi quoted from a survey she’d read recently. “The rest are full-time farmers. Their work extends year-round. Two-thirds of the farmers are fifty years of age or older. One-third are sixty years of age or older. Only a few farmers receive help from their adult children, and most farmers have difficulty finding farm labor, so many farms are kept to a size that the family can manage alone.” She rolled down her window and let the warm, early-summer air flow over her. “Looks like the berries aren’t the only thing ripe for the picking.”

Daniel whistled long and low, making Tyler cup his hands over his ears. “So you think Cedar Bay’s in a crisis.”

Jodi tugged Tyler’s hands away and danced Ollie across his lap. “Fortunately, I’m here to help so that no one becomes a charity case.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him wince.

“I never called you that,” he said quietly.

“But you believed it.”

Jodi remembered overhearing him agree with teenage friends who’d called her a charity case. He’d been unable to deny those feelings when she’d confronted him. Although it’d happened the summer she’d worked on Daniel’s farm to pay for her father’s medical bills, the memory still burned bright. She’d been falling for Daniel and hadn’t seen the truth, had trusted him when he’d suggested keeping their relationship quiet until things settled down with her family. Her father’s emotional distress and slow recovery meant her mother’s every waking moment was spent caring for him. They didn’t need any extra distractions or worries. But when Daniel had admitted that he pitied her, she’d realized the horrible truth.

He’d only dated her because he felt sorry for her—a fact he hadn’t denied when she’d accused him.

So when her parents had moved to Arizona, she’d left a week early for college without warning him. What could she have said that wouldn’t have caused more hurt? Their original plan had been to maintain their relationship and see each other during college breaks. Instead, she’d vowed to never return home again. Until now... She’d reacted impulsively, she realized, looking back. But there was no sense in wishing for a chance to make things right. Especially not with both of them on opposite sides of this battle.

Besides, those were the feelings of an adolescent girl crushed by her failed first love. Not the woman she was today. Not even close.

“You said this wasn’t personal.” The timbre of his voice deepened.

She shrugged tense shoulders. “It’s not.” Not in the way he meant anyway. This was for Tyler, not revenge on an ex-boyfriend.

“Then it’s for the bonus.”

“That’s none of your business.” Heat flared along her upper chest and crept up her neck. She needed that payment for Tyler.

“Fine. You win.” He sent her a sideways glance. “This time.”

She unclenched her hands when Daniel clicked off his windshield wipers. The rain ceased its steady drum and sunshine splashed down where clouds broke apart and moved off, revealing patches of blue. She squinted out the window and breathed deeply. She had nothing to feel guilty about.

Until they rounded a corner.

“And this is where your mother used to live growing up.”

Tyler kept eating and Jodi averted her eyes. She didn’t want to see the scene of her father’s accident.

“The next side road’s a shortcut to Aunt Grace’s house,” she said through shaking lips. “Could we take that, please?”

“But you’ll miss seeing Deep Meadows Farm. Remember the daisy chains we used to make?”

“Take us home, Daniel,” she ordered, voice thick. She clasped her trembling hands in her lap, recalling the dash to the hospital ten years ago, and her remorse for not being there to help with the skid loader borrowed from Daniel’s father.

“But, Jodi Lynn, you are home.” Daniel’s insistent tone softened.

“Home is Chicago.” Jodi said it to remind herself as much as Daniel. “I meant to my aunt Grace’s house. The tour’s over.”

Her voice was harsher than she intended and Tyler flapped his hands. He rocked forward in his seat and made a keening sound that pierced her heart.

“Tyler, I’m sorry,” she crooned, regret filling her. “We’ll be home soon and you can take a nap.” She wedged his stuffed animal beneath his seat belt. “Ollie’s tired, too.” She tried pressing on his shoulders the way the therapist had showed her to calm him, but couldn’t get the right angle.

Daniel turned off the radio and flicked his blinker on at the side road.

“No,” she protested when Tyler’s protests escalated to full-out screams. “Some noise is good. Do you have anything classical?” A familiar weeping willow flashed by along with a clearing that contained two grazing dapple-grays. Good. Getting closer now.

“Just 102.9.”

But when he tuned into the local channel, they were running through sports news, the announcer’s high-pitched voice making Tyler’s legs beat against the seat, his small hands covering his ears.

Familiar panic set in. The juice box she offered Tyler wound up on the floor beside the Fruit Roll-Up. The back of her neck grew damp and her eyelid twitched.

She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed of her difficulty in controlling Tyler’s outbursts, but she did. It felt as if a marquee sign appeared over her head flashing Bad Mother...Bad Mother.... And the disapproving looks she got in restaurants or checkout lines confirmed the fact that, yes, she was being judged and found wanting.