sake. I also suspect that Jake will not take kindly to your interference any more than you can stop yourself from interfering. But promise me you’ll listen to him. Never have I known a man so devoted to the farm or to me. I know that between the two of you, you’ll make something of our farm that none of us could have imagined. Truth be told, that thought makes writing this letter that much easier.
I love you, Livi. I’d wish for you to be strong, but you already are—you don’t know any other way. You persist with joy in your heart, and you’ll keep going despite my absence. But I’ll wish for you to take care of yourself and the farm. Take care of Jake in the way I hope he takes care of you. And try not to miss me all that much. Because I’ll always be here, with you.
All my love,
Pop
It took me much longer to read the letter than it should have, for both the unceasing curtain of tears and the hungry wish to hear his voice.
I can’t leave you alone.
I remembered that day, the day I’d come to the farm in Pop’s truck, teddy bear in my arms and my little pink polka-dot suitcase stuffed with my belongings. I remembered the way he’d smelled, the song on the radio—“Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain” by Willie Nelson. The squeak of the seat as we bumbled up the drive. I remembered Kit, who was unchanged in my eyes. I remembered the loneliness I’d felt up until the moment Pop picked me up from the airport and swept me into his arms.
I can’t leave you alone.
So he’d left me with Jake.
It was a comfort and a curse to have him as my partner—he knew what he was doing and how to run the farm, that much was true. But I had a pretty good feeling that companionship was out of the question.
He’d left me with Jake. But Jake didn’t want to be left with me.
I swiped at my tears, reading the letter again, then once more. The farm had been left in our charge, and his final wish was that we take care of it.
So I’d make sure we did. I owed him that.
I owed him more than that.
This was my chance to prove myself, to right my wrong in leaving. Jake had accused me of avoiding coming home, and in so many ways, I had. I thought I had time when I didn’t. I hadn’t been ready to come back, but that shouldn’t have mattered.
All I had now was my purpose.
Determination filled me up like sunlight in a bottle—light and bright and warm. It was purpose I’d found.
And that seemed to make all the difference in the world.
I popped off the bed like a jack-in-the-box, ready to unpack and settle in. But then I remembered Jake hadn’t brought my bags up, and I’d flown right past them in my fury. So with my chin up and my back straight, I trotted down the stairs, hoping Kit could help me up. But she was nowhere to be found, and I wasn’t willing to leave the safety of the house—I didn’t know where Jake was, and the last thing I wanted him to know was that I needed help. So I stood there in front of those suitcases and gave myself a pep talk before grabbing one, hoisting it with all my strength, and propping it on my leg to ease a little weight as I struggled toward my room.
Up the stairs I went, huffing and puffing and trying not to scuff the walls. By the time I reached the top, my fingers burned and slackened. Another three stairs, and I might have gone tumbling down to the landing, which would have been an unmitigated disaster. I couldn’t exactly save the farm with two broken legs.
There was no way I’d be able to get the second one upstairs, so I prayed when I opened it that it was the one with the things I needed. And when I unzipped that glorious suitcase, my prayers were answered.
I unpacked my clothes and toiletries and my blessed rain boots. They’d been a silly purchase, honestly. The likelihood of me using them in New York were slim to none—I might have been laughed out of Manhattan if someone had spotted me on the subway in pink rainboots. The only place I’d ever wear them was here. But I saw them in a