A Southern Reunion

She shot him a wry smile. “Does that include the load of manure you’re about to give me?”

“You said you’d listen.”

She started rocking again, her modern outfit a sharp contrast to the old-fashioned high-backed chair.

“After a couple of years, I made a profit so I bought the neighboring farm and added it to mine. And one thing led to another. I wound up owning a lot of land about fifty miles north of here. Well, actually the bank owns it but I’m making the payments.”

“Why didn’t you stay on your own place?”

He put a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

She rocked back and forth. “All right.”

His gaze hit hers and she looked away. “I was at a land-management seminar in Tifton last fall when I ran into your daddy.” He paused and let out a breath. “He looked like he didn’t feel good and I noticed he’d lost a lot of weight.”

She lowered her eyes then nodded. “Go on.”

“At first, we were kind of standoffish with each other but he finally approached me and told me he’d heard good things about my farm-management experience and how I’d acquired a lot of acreage. He was impressed. He told me the foreman he’d hired after Walt died wasn’t doing a good job and he’d been looking for someone he could trust to take over. Then he offered me the job of foreman for Camellia, right there on the spot. But I had my own land and I didn’t want to work for anyone else, especially him. A few weeks later, he called me and made another offer and told me he was sick. Since I wanted to pay off my land, I took him up on it. I rent out my land now and I work here. I get back up there once or twice a month, just to check on my workers.”

She stopped rocking. “So you’re telling me you turned your own land over to someone else so you could come back here and work for my father?”

“Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s the truth. The rent money helps to pay down my mortgage and the money I’m making here helps me to fix up the place.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He stood up and leaned over her, holding his hands on both arms of the rocking chair. “I don’t really care whether you believe me or not. It’s the truth.”

She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes full of accusation and doubt. “That doesn’t make a bit of sense, Cal. My father is dying.”

“Yes, and he had just recovered from a heart attack when he offered me the job. He needed my help, Cassie.”

She went still again. “He had a heart attack?”

“Yes, but he made me swear not to call you. And since I didn’t think you’d talk to me anyway, I stayed out of it.”

“But you dropped everything and gave up your dreams to help my father?”

He got so close, he could see the light blue of her irises. “Yes, I did.”

“Why? What’s the real reason? I know you always had this dream of owning your own place and now you say you do. But why come back here, after the way my father treated you?” She stopped, took in a breath. “After what happened between us? Why would you even want to come back here?”

He hadn’t planned to tell her that but maybe she needed to know. “You, of course. I did it for you, Cassie.”

She inhaled a deep breath but she didn’t speak.

Then he stood up, his eyes centered on her. “That’s the truth. I did it because your daddy needed someone he could trust and because…you couldn’t be here. I did it to help a bitter old man, but mostly I came back for you.”

CHAPTER THREE

CASSIE STARTED LAUGHING.

Then she gulped in a deep breath, mortified that she’d let him get to her so quickly. She was laughing because this was so unbelievable. But she wanted to have a good long cry. Or maybe a good, long hissy fit. But a Brennan didn’t behave that way. She would show some backbone. Her pride wouldn’t allow anything less.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing this for me, Cal. How can you even think I’d fall for that? I didn’t know my father was ill or that you’d come back to work for him. And you’re not even married to Marsha. You don’t have a child with her. But you were with her again today, of all days. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about that over the years?” She stopped, shaking her head. “I imagined what your son or daughter would look like. Wondered why you didn’t marry Marsha.” And why he didn’t bother to come and find her. She leaned back in the chair. “Forgive me if I sound doubtful. I’ll need time to let this soak in.”

Cal touched a hand to the rocking chair. “Contrary to what you saw today, Marsha and I are history.”

“History?” Cassie felt sick to her stomach, the few bites of ice cream she’d managed to swallow churning through her insides like sour milk. “That scene out on the front porch looked pretty current to me.”

He jabbed a hand through his hair, his expression etched in anger and frustration. “She and Teresa keep in touch so she still comes around sometimes…thinking—”

“Thinking she’s the one, the way she told me a long time ago that she would always be the one you loved? That she would always be the one you turned to? Thinking maybe since you’re back here, and you and I are history that she’ll be able to take up with you again? Whether you were married or not, there’s a lot of history still brewing between you and Marsha, I think.”

And the one jarring realization of that was that he hadn’t even cared enough to find Cassie and tell her the truth. He hadn’t even tried to fight for what they’d had together. Or what she’d thought they’d had. But then, neither had she.

“You never bothered to find out what happened,” he said, slinging the words at her as if he’d read every thought in her head. “You just left, Cassie. You never looked back and you never tried to find me. So don’t go accusing me.”

Hurt and feeling as if she were seventeen again, Cassie moved off the porch. She wouldn’t acknowledge the hurt she’d seen in his eyes. It couldn’t be real. “I don’t have to accuse you, Cal. I caught the two of you together, remember?”

He looked down at her then shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” She started walking away, her heart so heavy it was hard to breathe. Then she turned back. “I came home because my father asked me. But while I’m here, maybe you and I need to keep our distance. And maybe Marsha should stop personally delivering produce. Especially since we have a garden of our own.”

With that, she whirled and stomped back toward the main house, all the while remembering the nights long ago when she’d run barefoot at midnight out here amid the camellias and roses to find Cal waiting underneath an old live oak draped in Spanish moss. Remembering how he’d take her into his arms and kiss her over and over until she thought she’d die from loving him and wanting him.

I didn’t die, she told herself as she hurried toward the mansion. I survived and I left.

But her heart had certainly died. She’d gone on to college, burying her hurt in her studies, working at any job she could get, hoping to find a way to get past her mother’s death and her father’s cold, uncaring attitude.

And Cal. She’d been trying for years to get past the hurt of Cal’s betrayal.

Now that she was back and had seen him in action again, maybe she’d be able to finally accomplish that. Somehow.

CAL WATCHED HER GO, wishing he could call her back and take her into his arms. Wishing he could make her see that he’d never stopped loving her and that he’d never wanted to hurt her. But how could he convince Cassie that he had not and did not love Marsha? It was way too late to make excuses for that now. Now, he had to keep this place intact and solid so she’d inherit more than a bankruptcy notice. He’d made a promise to her dying father and he aimed to keep that promise. For Cassie’s sake.

Even if he’d never be able to explain that to her.

Cassie had made a name for herself and was rumored to be one of the most successful women under thirty in Georgia now that her design business had taken off. But the mounting debts on Camellia Plantation could wipe her clean if he didn’t finish what he’d started. He wouldn’t tell her the truth. Marcus had to be the one to do that. Marcus had made both Cal and Teresa promise not to discuss his situation with anyone unless he gave them permission. Teresa had agreed because after her husband’s death, her job here was the only thing she had left.

And Cal had agreed because he couldn’t walk away from a dying man’s last request. And he couldn’t walk away from Cassie a second time, even if she’d walked away from him. He wanted Marcus and his daughter to reconcile before it was too late. He wanted Cassie to be able to return to the home she’d always loved, knowing that her father had finally forgiven both of them—and himself.

Cal would work day and night to make sure this plantation didn’t get auctioned off to the highest bidder. Marcus wanted this place to stay in Cassie’s hands. That much was evident.

And Cal was here to make sure that happened. Somehow.

Cassie’s manners had shielded him from the worst of her pent-up anger. He didn’t care as long as she was here and safe. Before Cal had agreed to take this job, he’d forced Marcus to promise that he’d reconcile with Cassie. That was all Cal really wanted and the main reason he’d agreed to come back here in the first place. It had taken several months of weeding through the financial mess and the depths of Marcus’s sickness to convince Marcus he needed to honor that promise before it was too late.

And then, Marcus had come back at Cal with an ultimatum. One that had left Cal reeling. One that would only work if Cassie agreed to it. Which she most certainly wouldn’t.