Shelter Me Home(15)

Yeah, she was proud of her mother. But the bigger emotion swimming inside of her was anger.

A tiny fluttering filled her stomach and she relaxed. "Don't worry,  little one," she whispered with a pat. "I wouldn't ever treat you like  that. If I'm meant to be your mommy, I'll tell you I love you every day  and give you everything you need. I'm not her. If I'm meant to be yours,  you'll grow up knowing how special you are." A warm tear slid down her  cheek, and she wiped it away as fast as she could. If she was quick  enough, the tiny drop of pain didn't exist.

The truck door creaked as she shut it, and her boots made slushy sounds against the snow-melted mud.

"So?" Aanon asked from his seat on her front porch. Elbows on his knees,  his hands were clasped in front of his face, and his leg shook in  nervous rhythm.

"It was fine," she muttered. Not about to cry in front of him, she stalked to the door.

"Hey," he said, standing.

She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her.

"Stop," he drawled before he pulled her into his arms.

If she had any chance of not losing it in front of him before, it  evaporated when his strong, immovable, safe arms wrapped around her  shoulders. With her cheek against his chest, a sob escaped her, and she  closed her eyes against the world.

"Shhh," he said. "You did it. It's over, and now you can get some closure."

He was right of course, but it wasn't so easy. It wasn't as if one sober discussion with Mom erased all of the hurt.

His hand stroking the back of her hair was a really decent start, though.

"So, here's the plan." His deep voice vibrated against her cheek. "I  have stew slow cooking right now, and if you help me get some of the  bear meat to the neighbors, it should be done when we get back. We'll  eat in the big house tonight. Are you game?"

"Is this your way of pumping me full of iron before you leave for your job in the morning?"

"No. But it's an added bonus." Pulling back, he ran the pads of his  thumbs over her cheeks until they were dry. "Friends do this, right?"

Laughing thickly, she stepped back. "Sure."

"Good. So how was your date with Ben?"

With a heavenward roll of her eyes, she trudged toward the cardboard  boxes of bear cuts to help load the truck. "I'll tell you on the way."

****

Watching Aanon with his neighbors battered her defensive walls until  they were nothing but ash and ruin beneath her heart. Courteous, he  introduced her right away. There were four stops and four families,  including Billy's, and every single one was so obviously grateful, it  welled up a confidence in her that there were good people in the world,  and Aanon Falk was one of them.

"If you help out your neighbors when you can, they'll help you out, too,  when they're able," he said as they made their way back to the  homestead. "Every one of them got my dad out of jams over the years.  They're good people."

"Is that why you never left?"

"What do you mean never left? All I do is leave this place."

"You know what I mean. Why didn't you move away like you wanted to in high school?"

He shot her a questioning look and dragged his gaze back to the slushy road. "How did you know I wanted to leave?"

"It was obvious. You were always looking at pamphlets for out-of-town  colleges, some even out of state. And when Mrs. Brig asked you where you  wanted to go after you graduated, you said ‘anywhere but here.' And why  are you looking at me like that?"                       
       
           



       

"It's just-none of my friends ever figured it out. Or if they did, they  didn't take it seriously. I lived in California for one year. One year  was all I needed to realize it wasn't for me. And then my dad got  pneumonia. I came back to take care of the place while he was  recovering, and I just never went back. Dad got better, and I stayed  here. Got an apartment in town and started working odd construction  jobs. Moved my way up to manage a crew, and now I travel for it. I left,  but it just didn't stick."

Trees and brush and woods passed by the window. She could see why he had  come back. She hadn't grown up in a secret garden like him, and even  she was drawn back by the magic of this wild place.

"Are you going to see Erin this trip?" she asked.

The sound of the scratch of his jaw filled the cab as he rubbed a hand  over the short whiskers on his face. "I mean to. She's been putting me  off lately, saying she's too busy and all that. But I made us  reservations last time I was in town, and she said she'd be there."

"Why doesn't she make the time? You guys don't have a chance to see each other that often."

"It's complicated between us, Farrah. We've got a history that goes way  back, and we're working on some stuff right now. I don't really want to  talk about it."

"That's what friends do," she sang. "They talk about significant others."

"Well, it's weird talking about her to you."

"Why?"

The Chevy's headlights landed on the big house as he pulled the wheel. "Because it's just weird. I don't know why."

"I told you about my hot date with Ben."

He snorted. "Yeah, your hot, snore-inducing date with Ben. It was quite  an intriguing tale. Sorry, Fennel. I have way more dirt to dish than you  and am at a severe disadvantage."

"It's going to be a long, boring winter if you shut down every  interesting conversation," she said over the hood of the truck. After  untying the dogs from their miniature doggie log mansion, she scratched  Luna behind her floppy ear, then followed Aanon into the big house.

The house was one story with a small loft up above. Reachable only by a  hand carved ladder. It seemed to be where Aanon slept, though there was a  bedroom downstairs where his father had likely lived in. The kitchen  and living room were connected and open, and an old chandelier hung over  a small dining table. Two couches sat invitingly in the living space,  and a shelf of old records sat under a waiting record player. The place  smelled divine. Whoever had given Aanon the recipe for the beef and  vegetable stew that was simmering over coals in the fireplace deserved a  trophy.

In the half hour it took him to make Yorkshire pudding, she'd boiled a fresh pitcher of tea and set the table.

"Why did you decide to settle out here after your dad passed," Farrah asked, blowing on a spoonful of broth.

Aanon took a swig of tea and forked a potato. "Because its home. This  homestead has been in the Falk family for over a hundred years. Every  generation has had a son to carry out the tradition, and I'm an only  child, so it went to me. I used to hate it, and I told my dad I'd never  run it. I'd go off and travel or take a job somewhere warmer, but I  think he knew I'd always end up here. It's part of me. Part of my  heritage, and I'm proud of this place."

"A son every generation, huh? So you're a legacy. What happens when you shack up with a wife who gives you all daughters?"

He jerked his head up, and gave her the strangest look.

"Surely the homestead could go to a daughter, too."

"I suppose you're right."

She eventually stood for a second helping and then rinsed their dishes  before turning in for the night. Aanon stood outside on the porch until  she closed the cattleman's cabin door behind her. She'd peek out the  window, but the poster board prevented her from seeing anything.

A bone deep ache echoed through her as she leaned her head against the  door, thinking of another three days without him. Sure, he wasn't hers  in any way other than a sometimes friend, but without him around, this  place was lonely.

She tossed a few logs onto the burning embers of the wood stove and  grimaced at the flames. Tomorrow, he'd be on a fancy date with Erin, and  Farrah would be here, ticking away the hours as she worked around the  homestead.

The futon creaked as she slumped onto the mattress. As she stared at the  ceiling, she fanned her fingers over her fluttering stomach. "I know,  little bean. I'm going to miss him, too."


                       
       
           



       


Chapter Eight


Farrah fingered the dog-eared corner of a teenybopper magazine and  flipped to a quiz on whether or not someone has met their soul mate.  Yack.

"Bailey?" The nurse who aided Dr. Jansen called into the waiting room.

The only other woman in the room stood and smiled timidly at her as she passed, and Farrah went back to flipping pages.

She'd had her blood drawn this morning and picked up new prenatal  vitamins from the tiny pharmacy in town while she awaited results.  Drumming her heel against the plush carpet, she stretched her neck in an  attempt to see Dr. Jansen through the checkin window.