Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,107
asked, deciding dead-end small talk was better than the silence.
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes on the road and face tightening almost imperceptibly. “As good as you’d figure.”
I waited for him to elaborate. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t.
“How many trays of biscuits has she stress baked?”
That earned me a smile, small though it was. “About fifty. You’d think she was feeding an army. But they’ve just piled up. None of us feel much like eating.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I wouldn’t think so.”
His eyes flicked to me, then back to the road. “I think she’s planning to take a basket down to the VA later, if you want to go with her.”
“I think I might.” I paused, considering what the next few days would bring. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Any of it. All of it.”
“None of us are. You won’t be alone in that.”
That thought was an ember of hope in my chest.
But before I could respond, he doused it. “You sure did bring a lot of suitcases for a weekend.”
“That’s because I’m staying for a few weeks.”
At that, he cut me a look. An accusatory, possessive look. “What for?”
“Because this is my home,” I answered with a frown. “Because I want to spend some time with my memories.” Because I’m about to inherit the farm, and I’m not quite sure what that will mean, I thought, keeping it to myself so as not to upset him. Suddenly, I got the feeling that he wasn’t going to be too happy to work with me, and that was alarming. There was no way I could run the farm without Jake.
He simmered, but didn’t press. Of course, he didn’t acknowledge what I’d said, either. “Kit’s got everything ready for you, and Pop’s lawyer is meeting us at the house. He’s anxious to talk to you about the will.”
I swallowed hard. “Now? So soon? Can’t it wait until…after?”
Jake’s jaw flexed until the muscle at the joint bulged like a marble. “Probably, but he insisted on seeing you the second you got here.”
With a long exhale, I sat back, not realizing I’d straightened up. My gaze landed on the scratched up lock on the glovebox as I processed that I was about to deal with business I wasn’t ready for. The farm hadn’t been doing well, and I had a lot of ideas on how to turn things around, ideas I hoped Jake would help me implement.
But I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want the farm right now, not yet. Not until I had a chance to say goodbye.
A surge of tears threatened me once again, and this time, I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t ease the twist in my chest or the vise of my throat. I couldn’t temper the sting of my nose or the unfurling pain as it filled up my ribs.
Because my grandfather was gone. He was gone, and I was alone again.
The loss of my parents had always haunted me, but I only remembered them in wisps and snapshots. In memories I couldn’t be sure were real or pieced together from stories and photos. But Pop I remembered. I remembered every night he tucked me in, every book he read me. Every scrap of homework he struggled through on my account and every night counting fireflies on the porch. I remembered it all in a fierce rush, as if my pain dug up all that would hurt me just to use it as fuel for my tears.
I couldn’t see for the shimmering curtain, so I closed my eyes. Held my breath, stifling the hitch of my lungs as best I could. Which wasn’t very well.
“It’s going to be okay, Liv,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “If Frank taught me one thing, it was that there is always hope. In the darkest night, at the lowest low, there is always hope.”
A sob broke loose, my hand moving to my lips to stop the rest. And without thought, I slid across the bench and into his side, hanging on to his arm like an anchor.
He stiffened in surprise, leaving his hands on the wheel while he sorted out what to do with me. When I didn’t let go, when my tears soaked his sleeve, he softened, shifting to pull me to his chest, holding me to him with his massive arm and that square hand on my shoulder. And I cried. I shuddered, face buried in his chest, his shirt fisted in my hand. For that one moment,