By most standards,it was still early—barely eight-thirty. But already, I’d fed the goats and cleaned out their enclosure, checked for storm damage, chopped up a few downed branches, and hauled buckets of pea gravel to patch up new potholes where the rain had carved ruts along the paths we used to get into the fields.
My crew was busy sorting through our shrubs, preparing them for shipment to our usual customers, mostly landscape designers, along with a few commercial box stores. Typically, I’d stick around to help, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at me. I wanted—no,needed—to know that Anna was okay.
And to get some answers, I reminded myself grimly.
Something about her return felt off, although I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Why the hell was she back in Sterling Mill and driving in last night’s hazardous conditions on the notoriously dark road? More troubling, from where I’d found her car earlier, she hadn’t been headed toward her family’s farm; she’d been driving away from it. What could have made her leave during such bad weather?
Leaving them to keep working, I headed back to the farmhouse. Everything was still quiet, so I assumed Anna was still asleep. She used to be an early riser, accustomed to early morning chores. So, if the dark circles under her eyes hadn’t already hinted at her exhaustion, the fact that she was still asleep confirmed my suspicion. Butwhywas she so tired? Was she unable to sleep without her husband by her side?
I hated the thought, especially considering what an asshole I thought he was.
I sat at my desk and opened my laptop to review the applications for the housekeeper position again. Sadly, none of them looked any more promising this morning than they had earlier in the week. Most were too young. I didn’t want anyone who might distract my crew—or me—with flirting. Too many women thought being married to an Allen was their ticket to afford their champagne tastes.
Sure, I did well and was financially secure. More than secure, in fact. But that prosperity hadn’t come easily. It was the product of hard work and dedication that spanned several generations, as far back as the early nineteenth century when this farm was started. Each family had worked tirelessly to maintain and grow Silver Creek Farm, passing it down with pride. I didn’t plan to be an exception to this tradition, and anyone who was part of my life would have to accept that reality and be willing to contribute to it. Unfortunately, few women around here were prepared to get their hands that dirty—literally.
My great-uncle James never married, and with no other heir, he left Silver Creek Farm to me. I was deeply grateful; nowhere else had I felt more at peace. Growing up surrounded by the constant noise of the car racing circuit—engines roaring, the announcers’ loud broadcasts, the shoutsand cheers of spectators—there was little quiet time. Asphalt and cement were the consistent scenery, with the scent of motor oil and burned rubber a constant irritation in my nose.
When my mom moved out and left us, my dad decided this wasn’t the best environment to raise his kids without someone to balance out a softer side, not that my mother was especially maternal. He brought us back to live with his parents in Sterling Mill. Although he dedicated all of his free time to us, his frequent absences inevitably led me to my grandmother’s brother’s farm.
As a child, I loved spending time among the gently blowing tree branches and the orderly rows of green plants. I loved the contrast. Tractors instead of fast cars. Birdsong for the roar of the crowds. Dirt for the track. My grandmother often joked that Uncle James spent more time raising me than she had, which was likely true. On many occasions when he was in town, my dad also came out to the farm. But while my dad loved to get his hands dirty with the farm equipment, something Bristol loved to do with him, I loved to get my hands in real dirt. Being able to take something so small and nourish it until it became a tree or a bush was its own kind of magic to me.
Anna used to love spending time here, too. And for a long while, I thought we’d work together on the farm. But life, like nature, was unpredictable. Sometimes even the most carefully tended plants become uprooted in a storm. And when the perfect storm struck, sure enough, it had blown Anna away.
I blamed myself. Like plants, relationships had to be nurtured. And I’d foolishly taken for granted that Anna would always be here.
Until she wasn’t.
Now she was back. But why?
Her husband’s death, a state representative with bigger ambitions, had shaken everyone. A car accident on a dark night. Rumors swirling that it hadn’t been an accident at all. Reports of a mystery woman.
My phone rang, cutting through my thoughts. As usual, my little sister Bristol skipped the pleasantries.
“I checked out the car you had my guys come tow. The wheel was bent, but I was able to find a new one nearby and sent one of my guys to get it. It’s got a little dent in the front fender, which I buffed out. Nothing that prohibits its drivability. Pretty nice ride to be driving along mountain roads, especially in areas that aren’t exactly on the tourist map. Do you know who the owner is?”
I heard the suspicion in her voice and braced for the interrogation that was coming. I sighed heavily.
“And don’t bother lying, big brother. I had Reid run the license plate.”
“Then why are you bothering to ask?” I shot back. “Seems you already know the answers.”
“What the hell are you thinking?”
Her shout made me wince. Half the mountain probably heard her.
“Is she still there?”
“I don’t see what business of yours it is.”
“So, she is.” Her voice had quieted, but was no less judgmental. “Chase, what are you doing? She hurt you once before. Hell, she hurt all of us. I just don’t want that to happen again.”
The concern in her voice softened my response. “I’m a big boy, Bri. I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But everything that happened was a long time ago. She’s not cruel. She’s not here to stir up drama.”
“Guess that depends on your definition of cruel,” Bristol muttered. “And I don’t care if he’s dead. Her husband was an ass. The fact that she married him after being with you? Clearly, she should have her head examined. And now she’s back. One rich husband down, and on the prowl for another.”
“Bristol.” My voice sharpened. “You don’t have any idea why she’s here.”
“And you do?”
