Lisa Jordan - Season Of Hope

Now to convince Jake she wasn’t a Disney villain and simply wanted a safe place to call home.

Where was that exactly?

Not in Pittsburgh anymore. If ever.

Even though she’d grown up with a roof over her head and food in her belly, she’d felt more like an uninvited guest than a wanted daughter. Her father may have met all of her material needs, but she would’ve taken his love over his money any day. She dreamed of having a family and a place where she belonged. Falling in love with Jake had given her security and the sense of belonging she craved, but that had been short-lived.

She pulled her Lexus into the dusty barnyard and idled while deciding where to look for him. A whitewashed cinder-block building with a metal roof and a large front window etched with Holland Family Farm sat in front of her. To her right, a newly built rustic barn with an evergreen-colored metal roof sat next to a silver silo and a white barn with metal siding. Hay fluttered down from the small second-story window of the rustic barn.

She’d start there.

Opening her door, she stepped out of her car. The humid air pasted her dress to her skin as the early afternoon sun beat down on her head. Wishing she’d thought to grab her sunglasses, Tori waved away the pesky black gnats swarming her face. She wrinkled her nose against the ripe smells of manure, freshly cut grass and warm milk, and sidestepped a suspicious-looking mud pile. Maybe she should’ve taken the time to change into something more appropriate before barreling after Jake.

Black-and-white cows in the shaded pasture across the road eyed her as they chewed their food and swatted at flies with their tails. A trail of chickens flapped and waddled along the white fencing separating the barnyard from a large two-story house shaded by a row of pines and a sturdy oak.

She stood in the expansive doorway, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden decrease in lighting.

Country music blared from an old boom box resting on one of the rungs of a ladder that led to a loft. A heavy, thick rope, darkened with age, hung from one of the sturdy barn beams and swayed in the light breeze that blew through the building. The scent of new wood heated by the summer sun filled her nose.

“The barn’s not much of a place for high heels and sundresses.”

Tori swiveled to seek the source of Jake’s voice. He appeared with a pitchfork in his hand. He’d stripped off his gray T-shirt and stood next to neatly stacked bales of hay in his faded jeans, grimy ball cap on backward, and worn leather gloves. His muscled chest was damp with sweat. He crossed to the old radio, flicked it off and leaned his pitchfork against the barn wall before retrieving his shirt hanging from a nail in the wall and pulling it over his head.

Was she relieved...or disappointed?

Forcing her eyes away, Tori glanced down at her sundress, toed off her heels and kicked them off to the side out of the way. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the roof and floor for any needed repairs, pitching old hay out the back window into the compost unit, and restacking some fresh stuff. You should’ve called.” Jake reached for a bale and lifted it over his head to add to the growing stack.

“You’re right. Sounds like you could use another hand.”

“Sure, when there’s one around.” Jake jerked his hat off his head, pulled a navy bandanna from his back pocket and mopped his forehead. Pocketing the cloth, he righted his cap. “What are you doing here, Victoria?”

She hated the way he used her given name, laced with disdain and veiled anger...like her father used to.

“I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry my presence caught you off guard.”

“Why today?” Jake yanked off his gloves and slapped them against his reddened palm. His eyes lifted and searched hers. “Why not yesterday? Or even tomorrow?”

The ragged edges of pain around the whisper in his voice sliced through her. “You remembered.”

“Even though you filed for divorce less than three weeks after we were married, I will always remember our anniversary.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor as her cheeks burned. With her big toe, she traced a circle in the dust. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “Jake...”

“Forget it, Tori. I’m not here to rehash the past. You’ve apologized. I accept. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

She ran a thumb and a forefinger under her eyes, probably smearing her eyeliner, and exhaled. “Aunt Claudia told me about the tornado and how much you’ve lost. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“She also mentioned your project. I can help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You’re a real one-man show, aren’t you?”

“You know nothing about me anymore, so stop pretending you care.”

“But I do care. I never stopped.” Tori sat on a stray bale. The hay poked the backs of her legs. The pain was minor compared with the verbal barbs piercing her heart. “Tell me about your Fatigues to Farming project.”

“The program will enable disabled vets to learn about farming so they can start their own small businesses.”

“So how does my property tie in?”

He leaned the pitchfork against the ladder and reached for a water bottle on the floor. After taking a long drink, he wiped his mouth and looked at her. “Our property is necessary for growing crops and cow pastures. After Claudia and Dennis moved into town, we planned to buy back her property—it used to belong to my grandparents. We want to build accessible cabins for vets and their families to live in while they go through the program. Plus, there’d be space for a community garden.”

“Would you consider a trade?”

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of trade?”

“My sister, Kendra, is deployed overseas, so I have temporary custody of her four-year-old daughter, Annabeth. We need a...safe place to live. Staying with Aunt Claudia isn’t an option since her lease doesn’t allow long-term guests. Help me get the house ready to move into, and you can use the rest of the acreage for your project.”

“Sell it to me. Then you can have the money for something that won’t need work.”

“I don’t want to sell.”

“Why not?”

She raised her chin. “I have my reasons. That’s my offer. How are you raising awareness for your program?”

“Haven’t had time for that yet. Still working on grant paperwork. We need funds to get the program started.”

“I’ve planned awareness campaigns for charities and different organizations. I could do a fund-raiser for you. And I’m good at what I do.”

“At what cost?”

“No charge. A trade of services. It’s a worthy cause, and I want to help.”

Jake retrieved his gloves and slid them on. He reached for the pitchfork and headed to the back of the barn.

Tori tamped down the familiar feeling of rejection and walked over to where she’d kicked off her shoes. After sliding her feet back into them, she followed Jake. “You have twenty-four hours to think about it, then the offer’s off the table.”

He jammed the fork into a bale and glared at her. He threw his hands in the air as his voice rose. “Man, Tori. Give me a break, will you? I haven’t heard from you in six years. You ignored my phone calls and letters when all I wanted was the answer to one simple question—why? Instead of hearing from you, I get divorce papers handed to me through my commanding officer with orders not to contact you or else face charges. So excuse me for being a little gun-shy.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not how I wanted things to happen.”

“You didn’t stop it.”

Tori crossed to the open window that overlooked the barnyard. Tears blurred her vision as her voice dropped to a whisper. “I couldn’t.”