think he’s pissed I disturbed all the bees. Wait, what am I saying? Roosters don’t have emotional intelligence, right? Heck, maybe they do? I’ll have to Google that later, and if that’s the case, I’m going total vegetarian.
The late afternoon sun shines down on me, and despite my earlier predicament, the sounds of the birds chirping in the trees overhead warms my soul. You certainly don’t hear any singsong birds like this back in New York, and when I leave here, I’m really going to miss the sound.
When I leave here?
Hmm, maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can make a real go of this farm, for more than the thirty days I promised my family I’d stay here. Every day, I learn something new, and I have a million calls to make and deals to oversee, selling my apples to the local grocery stores and juice plants. I’m sort of having fun—well, save for the skunk, and harvesting will be a nightmare; I’m sure of it. My nails will never be what they were before, but there is something so damn satisfying in a hard day’s work, followed by a good night’s sleep—or an even better night with Jay in my bed.
Am I really thinking about staying on longer?
That would secure my trust fund, but if I did stay, think about how I could invest in my orchard, this community, sustainable farming with the money coming to me. Cluck comes running at me, and I hurry my steps to Jay’s place. I step inside, breathless, and Cluck stops at the door. He must not be allowed inside.
“Clucky’s a douche.”
I spin at that and laugh as Capone struts around his massive cage. “You need to clean up your language,” I say and point to him.
“Alyson’s hot stuff.”
“Well, that’s better.”
“Capone,” Jay warns as he comes down the stairs. I grin at him.
“It’s okay, and that bird needs a friend.” I stare at his chest and admire his hardness as he tugs on a T-shirt. “This is a really nice place, Jay.”
“My brothers and I fixed it up when Juanita…”
His voice trails off.
“Mom’s a peach,” Capone says, and Jay frowns.
“He’s too smart for his own good.”
Sensing Juanita is someone he doesn’t want to talk about, and perhaps the person who once owned that ring I saw in his nightstand, I say, “Do you have extra Benadryl, just in case?”
“You didn’t get any yet?”
“No, been too busy.” I’m just glad I don’t have a bee allergy and didn’t go into anaphylactic shock last time. A trip to the hospital is not on my to-do list. Dad would be here in a heartbeat if he received the insurance bill, reminding me I don’t have my life together.
Jay opens his fridge and pulls out a bottle. “We can run to the drugstore later for more if you want.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, and my phone pings. I pull it from my pocket and snort. “It’s like he knows I’m thinking about him.”
“He?”
“My father,” I say. “He’s just checking in on me, or rather checking up on me. Again.”
“Everything okay?”
I glance out the door, take in the gorgeous green trees and gardens. But now, not even the chirping birds are bringing me joy. “He’s one of those people I was telling you about. The biggest one, as a matter of fact.”
He frowns. “That’s tough, Alyson.” He, too, stares off into the distance for a moment, and his dark eyes cloud over. “For what it’s worth, I know all about disappointing a parent.”
“Really?” I shake my head. “I find that hard to believe. You do so much for your family.”
His hand goes to the scar on his face. “It wasn’t always like that.” He turns back to me. “You’re not going to answer him?” he asks, sliding the subject back to me.
“Nope. I’ll message him back later. Right now, I’m going to learn all about bee farming. You ready?”
“Yup.” He puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me back outside. “Let’s go to the barn and get suited up.” We head up a hill, and I take in the half-finished barn.
“What are you building?”
“Shelter for beef cattle.”
“You have cows?”
“Not yet, but I have permits in, and I’m expecting to start by fall. I want to raise beef without the use of hormones or steroids. I’ll start small, sell local, and go from there.”
“You really do care about people, don’t you?”
He nudges me playfully and I falter a bit in my boots. “Don’t you?”
“I do,”