Bet The Farm - Staci Hart Page 0,107

is in your hands, I’ve failed. I know you must be surprised that I’d leave you half of all of this, but I hope you’ll hear me when I say that this place is yours just as much as it is Olivia’s.

Seven years of my life were spent without a son, raising my only kin—his only child—alone. Every day was a reminder of his absence. Every cricket Livi brought in to show me, every hug with her stringy arms, every little tear I wiped away left me wishing he was there. I thought I’d known loss when Janet died. But nothing can compare to outliving your child.

And then Livi was leaving, headed for a better life than I could give her, and I had to face the prospect of being alone again, more alone than ever. But then you knocked on my door, and I knew just how much we needed each other.

If I know Olivia, she’s going to come in here like a bulldozer, and if I know you, you’ll budge like a brick wall. But she needs you. And I know you don’t want to admit it, but you need her too.

And I need you to take care of each other.

My greatest sadness is the thought of leaving you both alone, and the only comfort I have is knowing you’ll be together. Take care of her, Jake. Take care of yourself and the farm.

If anyone can save it, it’s the two of you.

Know that every time I called you son, it wasn’t an endearment. It was a fact. I am the most fortunate man on earth to have found you, to have helped raise you, to be there for you just like you were so often for me, even when you didn’t know how much you meant to me. I hope that you know how I love you, son. Now go out into the world and do good.

Forever your Pop,

Frank

Truth of it was, this world would never be the same without Frank Brent in it. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that today would have made him almost as happy as it made me.

I’d never been so lucky as I’d been since she showed up with those stupid pink suitcases to steal my heart.

At the thought, I tossed back the end of my drink and made my way onto the dance floor as the song changed to a Patsy Cline song. Without a word, I scooped up my bride and spun her away, giving a polite ‘Scuse me to those around her.

Her chin tipped up as she laughed, and I beamed down at her as I took her on a turn.

“Hello, wife.”

“Hello, husband.”

I chuckled at the sound of the word on her lips, that fiery streak of possession and submission it somehow both contained hot in my chest.

“I’m glad you found me. I haven’t seen you in three songs.”

“I was there. You were just having too much fun. Didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Marriage rule number one: always interrupt me to dance.”

With a laugh, I turned us in a circle within a measure. “That’s rule number one?”

“Yes, along with kiss me at least once a day and always let me have the good seat on the couch.”

A pack of goat kids ran across the dance floor in tuxedos and tutus with a wave of laughter in their wake.

“I can’t believe you got Stanley to wear a bowtie,” I said.

“It took a lot of convincing. Almost as much as it took you to do my calendar.”

“That is not for commercial use, Olivia.”

“Literally the best wedding present ever. Who needs silver servingware when you have your husband immortalized feeding baby cows without a shirt on?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I think my favorite is the one of you all sweaty in front of the hay bales with your jeans all low. You could be a part-time model.”

“All I did was shuck hay.”

“That is why you could be a model. You give good face when you don’t even know you’re giving good face. Your face is just a giver like that.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” I asked on a laugh.

“It means I love you. It’s almost time to go.”

“Thank God. You know how long I’ve been waiting to get you out of this dress?”

“Well, I’ve only been in it for eight hours …”

“Since I asked you to marry me.”

Her cheeks flushed, the apples high with her smile. “You’re such a closet romantic.”

One of my brows rose. “Because I want to