Bet The Farm - Staci Hart Page 0,106

The only unmarried man of her age was Buffalo Joe, and I had a feeling he had way too much body hair for her.

I stood under an archway of flowers with my heart beating in my throat, waiting for the moment my life would change.

And then I saw her at the end of that aisle on Mack’s arm.

I have never in my life been so overcome as I was in that moment. As she made her way to stand by my side where she’d forever stay, I was stripped of everything but my love for her, leaving me with bone-deep appreciation that this woman would have chosen me when she could have had the world.

I held her hand, repeated the words. Listened to her vows with my throat in a vise, spoke mine with a rough voice and my heart too full to master myself. I promised her forever. She promised the same.

And a kiss sealed the vow.

It was the perfect way to mark the end of one life and the beginning of another.

I smiled at her as she bounced on the parquet with Presley and Priscilla, oblivious to me, though I was always aware of her. We could be miles apart, and I’d feel her as if she were next to me. Though the instance was rare—it was almost unheard of for us to be in separate places.

For two months, she waited on a proposal, and I led her on like a bastard, enjoying her squirm too much to give her the ring. Once, I got down on one knee right in front of her to tie my shoe. Once I took her to our picnic spot and watched her dig around in her dessert looking for hardware. The worst was when I gathered everybody up, stood them up on the porch expectantly, gave her a big speech … and handed her her birthday present—a fancy schmancy camera she’d been hinting at forever. I wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive me for that one.

When it finally happened, I’d taken her out on the pink tractor, which had become an icon for the farm. It was sunset on one of the last days of summer, and she sat in my lap, leaning back into me lazily as we puttered up one of the higher pasture hills. From up there, you could see the ocean in the distance stretching to the horizon, the mountains on either side of us cradling our valley. I’d gotten down first, and when she’d stepped to the edge to jump down, I was on my knee with an open velvet box in my hand.

As predicted, she hadn’t seen it coming.

The farm thrived under our watch and with the help of the Patton money. Our debts had been paid, our finances free and clear for the first time in a decade. Home deliveries had become our biggest earner, followed closely by tours and the shop, of course. James Patton had kept his promise to stay in Washington, and Chase had become an unexpected ally.

He stood on the other side of the dance floor mirroring me. When he raised his glass in my direction, I did the same, and we took a drink of camaraderie.

I never thought I’d see the day when I shook hands with a Patton. And this was definitely the first Brent wedding a Patton had attended in a hundred and twenty-five years.

We’d even made the ice cream flavor together like he and Olivia had talked about—Peace Treaty. It was a creamy strawberry (Olivia) fudge (Chase) swirl mixed with salted caramel chunks (me), and we couldn’t keep it in stock. With Chase in charge of the Patton farm, things around town had changed. For the first time in more than a century, we were equals, working in harmony, the feud finally put to bed by the generation with sense.

The only thing missing was Frank.

His absence had been felt more in the last few weeks than ever, especially today. Not long after we were engaged, I officially moved into the big house, and in the process, Olivia found Pop’s letter on my dresser in the same spot it’d been in since I’d received it. To no one’s surprise, she convinced me it was time, handing it to me before leaving me in my room alone.

I read it so many times, I knew it by heart.

Jake,

I’m sorry.

The last thing I ever wanted was to leave you with the farm in the state it’s in, but if this letter