Minutes passed, and Owen was still missing, but my dad and Andrew began collecting plates while I waited to pull Beverly aside. It would be difficult to broach the topic with her, but I was tired of being in the middle. And with the harvest starting up, my focus needed to remain on that. The next month was going to be chaotic.
I wasn’t even sure how I’d have the spare time to keep up the charade with Owen.
When she ended her conversation with Autumn, I asked her if we could speak privately for a moment. Thankfully, no one paid us any mind as I pulled her toward the back hallway.
“Beverly, I really need you to speak to Owen about the land purchase.”
“I know. Owen may hate his father, but… it’s the only thing the two of them did together. You know that’s the only time Jim showed pride—whenever Owen would win a county fair competition and beat out everyone else. Those were things he grew up doing with his dad. I know Jim wasn’t perfect, but there are still good memories there.”
I snorted. “Nothing Jim Ramsey did was on the up-and-up. You and I both know that. Remember those years something mysteriously went wrong with our small garden?”
“I’m not saying Jim was an angel. He was the devil in human form. But I….” She looked down at her twisting fingers, then back up at me. I’d never noticed the two of us were almost the same height, and it made me remember how small and frail she had been when we saw her right after Jim died. He’d put her through hell ’til the very end. “I’m making excuses. You’re right. I need to tell him, especially with you two together. He’s going to be upset that you didn’t say anything.”
“Probably, but I can handle him. I have been since we were six.”
She smiled genuinely. “I like you two together. Whenever you two were competing at the fairs or just making each other miserable in school, your mother and I always talked about how cute you two would be as a couple.”
My heart twisted. None of it was real, even if my stomach clenched whenever I watched Owen walk into a room. I blamed my social anxiety for the feeling. It had nothing to do with an attraction toward the man. At least not a mutual one. Because what in the world would the Owen Ramsey see in me?
Chapter Twelve – Owen
The Sunday dinner with Aspen’s family had been a tradition as long as I could remember. It was something I’d been envious of as a young boy. When I was in elementary school, I used to pretend I was invited to the soiree. Sometimes, I’d sneak over to their house and watch from a hiding spot behind their back deck. Other times, I would set up the table at my house for the three of us like they did theirs. We didn’t have the fancy plates or utensils like the Easterlys did, but I still tried to wrap the plastic forks in paper towels like we were at a restaurant. Mom would join me sometimes, but mostly it was just me and whatever meal I could come up with.
It was different being on the inside and took all my willpower to not feel any resentment toward the large family. None of my family issues were their fault.
Leaning against their porch railing, I looked out over the expanse of their farm. Unlike the one I grew up on, the Easterlys didn’t utilize all their land. A lot of it was sectioned off for other purposes. The main front fields were covered in wheat that swayed in the breeze with each gust. It was picturesque.
“Here you are.”
My mind immediately calmed when Aspen stepped up beside me. I’d noticed over and over she had that effect on me. Knowing she had been avoiding me the last few days bothered me more than I told her.
“Everything okay?”
I had to think for a moment and remember I ducked out of dinner to answer a call from my trainer. He was sending someone local to help me work out my shoulder and verify I didn’t have a rotator cuff injury. The therapy would be good during my downtime. They also sent me a list of exercises to focus on.
“Yeah. Everything is good.”
I winced as I shrugged my shoulder in a circle, and Aspen’s large brown eyes narrowed.
“I promise,” I added. “My trainer is sending someone out next week to help me exercise it.”
“You have a call with your coach next week too, right?”
“Sure do. He’ll probably call me back soon. My agent said there are some new sponsorships on the table.”
“That’s good news,” she chirped without a hint of malice. It was strange to hear someone’s whole-hearted excitement for something related to my job without a single question related to pay or social media following.
“It is. I can’t play the game forever, so it will be nice to add extra funds to the bank.”
Aspen’s sisters and the ranch hands began trickling out the front door toward their vehicles. I knew a few of the Sunny Brook Farms employees lived on site during this time of year with the harvest happening. Their families went on their own way while the workers strode toward their bunk houses.
My mom wasn’t far behind. I picked her up from the bed-and-breakfast and intended on taking her home.
As I said goodbye to the Easterlys and thanked them for dinner, I pressed my lips to Aspen’s cheek on the way out, telling her I’d message her later and making her promise she’d reply.
The ride back to the B&B where my mom lived—something I still hadn’t come to terms with—was awkward. I didn’t know what to say, and Mom seemed just as conflicted. She practically jumped from my car when I pulled up to the front of the historic farmhouse.
I contemplated driving back to Sunny Brook Farms and spending the night with Aspen but opted to head to my rental.
Instead of going inside, I ventured to the fenced-in backyard and grabbed my bats from the small deck. I pulled a weight from my bag and slid it into position. Over and over again, I practiced my swing, grimacing with each pull of my shoulder.
I looked over toward the neighbor's house when one particular swing left me seeing spots and met the eyes of a little boy who couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He had stars in his eyes as they shimmered brightly in the dimming daylight.
“Wow. I want to be a ballplayer like you when I grow up,” he said, awe filling every word.
“Yeah? Do you play?”
“Yep! I’m a shortstop, just like you. Well, when my coach lets me. He always wants me in the outfield, because I’m the only one who can throw far. But that’s okay. Mom said he has to let everyone play all the spots.”
“I remember playing like that. It helps you appreciate the role everyone plays in the game.”
“My mom said something like that too.”
The little boy looked eager as he leaned over the fence. I wondered if he stood on a chair or ladder to get a better view. I hoped it wasn’t something dangerous.
Off in the distance, a stern voice hollered, “Roman Elias Spiegel, you better get your feet back on the ground!”
“Oops,” the boy chuckled without moving an inch from his perch.
