A few minutes later Addison sat down on the sofa and sipped the rich wine. Her mood was an odd combination of excitement and sadness mixed with a little bit of fear. It was an emotional cocktail that made her feel a bit off-kilter. She sipped and pondered about her life.
Her cell phone was sitting on the glass coffee table . . . silent. Addison stared at it for a moment and couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed that Garret hadn’t called and tried to smooth things over. Not that it would change her mind at this point, but it stung a bit that she was so easily dismissed without a real fight. Was Garret at a bar right this minute, hitting on women, or home alone, missing her? But when Addison envisioned his sad face she leaned forward, set her glass down, and almost picked up the phone with the intention of calling him just to see if he was okay.
“Stop!” Addison said so loudly that her voice seemed to bounce off the walls and echo in the silence. “Garret’s well-being is no longer my concern!” Glaring at the phone as if it were somehow to blame, she sat back against the sofa so fast that she bounced against the cushion. Addison wished she had a girlfriend to confide in, but she’d lost contact with her high school friends after the move to LA and her college friends were now scattered all over the country, many of them married with a child or two.
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, she had the suspicion that laughter would dissolve into tears and so she simply sat there, looked around her condo, and frowned. While she paid rent, the building actually belonged to her mother and father. The furnishings were gorgeous but courtesy of an interior designer friend of her mother’s and not a reflection of Addison’s taste. But the decorating had been a birthday surprise, and her mother, who loved bold colors, gushed over the results while she tugged Addison in and out of every room. Addison didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that she would have preferred something lighter, softer, with a few antiques scattered here and there.
After another sip of wine, Addison picked up a jewel-toned pillow, hugged the silky material to her chest, and thought about, well . . . just about everything. She knew that in spite of the breakup she had a nice life. Loving parents, no financial worries, excellent health, and a solid education, and she really did enjoy working at Beauty and the Beat. On a daily basis life went smoothly. In fact, the broken engagements were the only traumas she really suffered and, like her father said, in truth were for the best. She had an even, easygoing temperament and avoided confrontation. She rarely cursed, drank socially but moderately, and her political views were pretty much middle-of-the-road. She just simply went with the flow. . . .
“Oh my God!” Addison suddenly tossed the pillow aside and put a hand to her chest. “I’m not nice. . . . I’m boring!” Oh, she listened, she laughed, and was entertained by others, but who did she entertain? No wonder Garret liked being with her: He wanted an audience and she was perfect. No one felt passionate about her because she wasn’t . . . exciting. And then another thought hit her: “Oh my God. I bet I suck in bed!” When Garret wanted to role-play one night Addison had simply laughed, but now she wished she had put on the maid’s outfit or whatever it was he had suggested. She didn’t even remember because she hadn’t considered his request and he’d never brought it up again.
I’d likely fit right in in a sleepy little river town like Cricket Creek, Kentucky,
she thought with a snort before polishing off the rest of the wine in her glass. Seriously, what kind of excitement happened in a town named after water and an insect? Uncle Mitch said it was lovely, but she suddenly had her doubts. She pictured people sitting on front porches, rocking in big rockers, drinking sweet tea, and watching grass grow. She envisioned potbellied men wearing overalls and boots while spitting tobacco and sipping on moonshine.
“I’m sure not going to find Prince Charming in Cricket Creek, Kentucky,” she insisted, and decided she needed one more glass of merlot. Raising her glass she said, “Perfect. I’m done with men, anyway. Un-adventure, here I come.”
Amarillo Sky
A
FTER WIPING SWEAT FROM HIS BROW, REID REACHED FOR
another bale of hay and tossed it onto the flatbed trailer. Back in Lexington he’d gone to the gym on a regular basis, but this farmwork was kicking his butt. He flicked a glance at his sister, Sara, who stood there with her hands on her hips, staring at him. Then again, maybe it was frustration that was making him overheat.
“Stop ignoring me.” Sara flipped her long brown braid over her shoulder and took a step closer to him.
Reid threw the next bale onto the trailer with more force than necessary. It landed with a thud, sending straw flying. Sopping up more sweat with his sleeve, he turned to face her. “Weddings, Sara? Are you kidding me? First you turn the family farm into Old MacDonald’s for schoolkids, and now you want to host barn weddings? What’s next? A circus?”
“You have a lot of nerve.” Sara stepped closer and poked Reid in the chest. She was one of two people on earth who could get away with it. His mother was the other one. Reid braced himself for what was coming. “After back-to-back years of drought on top of the recession, we nearly lost everything. But
you
were off in Lexington, sitting in your fancy office.”
“I have a degree in finance. I thought it was important to use it, just like you used your degree in teaching.”
“Yeah, it was, until I was needed here!” Sara swung her arm in an arc. “Jeff put his music career on hold when times got tough. Braden came home from college, and I came back when the stress of it all gave Dad a heart attack and turned Mom into a worrywart. But oh no,
you
? You stayed in your . . . your ivory tower.”
“I was working hard, earning a living,” Reid responded tightly. “Sara, you gave up tenure, health benefits, and your retirement when you quit teaching third grade. Maybe not the smartest decision you could have made. This Old MacDonald’s thing is making money, but not enough. And for how long? Jeff making it as a country singer is a long shot at best. And Braden? In my opinion he should have finished college! Look, profitable farms are run by huge corporations. The days of family farms are numbered. It’s just the sad truth.”
“Oh, really?” Sara flipped her braid so hard that this time it came all the way around to smack her in the opposite cheek. “Tell that to the people of Cricket Creek. This entire town was going under until we banded together and turned things around. Some things, no matter how high the mountain, are worth the climb. Maybe you just don’t get it. Not everything has to add up nice and neat like your God almighty numbers.” She kicked her toe in the dirt sending dust flying. “Don’t you care, Reid?”
Guilt smacked Reid in the gut so hard that he took a physical step backward. “Numbers speak the truth, Sara. I saw Mom and Dad struggle year after year, working their fingers to the bone, only to barely keep their heads above water. The price of equipment soared. Interest rates were sky-high. Scientific methods in farming rapidly changed. And then the government swooped in with regulations that strangled family farms. Why would I want to live a life like that? Twelve-hour days but with very little profit? Uncertain future? No vacation?” Reid shook his head. “Look what it did to Dad! What’s the damned point?”
Sara tapped her own chest. “Because farming is in our blood. It has been for generations and so has this land.”
Reid sighed. “I understand. That’s why most farmers work other jobs just to support and hold on to the farm. And most of them are Dad’s age. It’s no wonder his health suffered. Sara, I’ve done my research. Did you know that only about two percent of Americans still actually live on farms and that only about six percent of them are under the age of thirty-five?”
“Who cares?”
“You should! The writing is on the wall.” He raised his arms skyward.
“You and your damned numbers!” Sara stomped her foot just like she used to do when they were kids. Under normal circumstances Reid would have laughed.
“Well, try this number on for size: Every week about three hundred and thirty family farmers leave their land for good. Every week, Sara.”
“Don’t you see? It’s not just about producing the crops. It’s about saving the beauty of the land.” Sara swung her arm in an arc once more. “Do you want our farm to become a subdivision? A shopping mall? If we can’t survive on farming alone, then let’s at least save the beauty of the land and use it for the greater good.” She lifted her chin a notch. “And my Old MacDonald business that you scoffed at? My teaching degree that you claim I’m not using?” When her voice cracked Reid’s anger dissipated like summer rain on a hot sidewalk. “It’s helping. I’m helping.”
“Sara, I wasn’t scoffing. Listen—”
“No, you listen! When I taught third grade, the field trip that my students liked the most was the visit to our farm. And Dad loved showing them around. I happen to believe that it’s an important learning experience to know where food in the grocery store comes from and to appreciate the land. When other classes expressed interest, I printed up pamphlets and soon got requests from schools in neighboring counties. We have programs for kindergarten through fourth grade, and last year, the year I quit to do this full-time, we were sold out with a waiting list. Mom jumped on board and created the October pumpkin-patch fall festival. She’s been providing homemade jams and jellies to Wine and Diner up in town with great feedback. With my help, she’s going to teach some gardening and canning classes through the county-outreach program.”
“All good ideas, but I looked at the books and it’s still not enough, Sara.”
“I know that!” She raised her hands skyward. “That’s why I want to do the barn weddings, starting with my own as a prototype. We can take pictures and print up brochures. I’m going to talk to Jessica at Wine and Diner about doing some catering for more formal receptions, and Dad wants to do pig roasts.”
“Formal receptions?” Reid pointed at the metal building. “Who would want to get married in there?”
“Dear Lord.” Sara rolled her eyes. “Not in
there
. I want to redo the old wooden barn down by the lake. Since we don’t raise cattle anymore, that whole area is up for grabs.”
“And who would do the renovation?”
“I’ve talked to Jason Craig about it.”
“Jason Craig?”
Sara nodded. “He went to school with Jeff. He did the addition and gazebo over at Wine and Diner. They do outdoor weddings in their courtyard but it’s seasonal and only fits more intimate receptions. And having Wedding Row certainly helps.”
“What in the world is Wedding Row?”
“That new strip of really pretty shops down by the stadium. Grammar’s Bakery just put in a bakery specializing in cakes. I think Mabel’s niece is going to run it. There’s a jewelry store, a tuxedo shop, a florist, and soon there will be a photographer. All we need is a bridal boutique, and Cricket Creek will be poised not only for local weddings but for couples looking for a destination wedding as well.”
“Right . . . In a
barn
?”
“A beautiful renovated barn. I’ll show you pictures. Some of them are just exquisite.” Sara sighed. “There’s just something wonderful about an earthy, rustic barn that’s transformed into elegance. Then a lovely, romantic honeymoon in a bed-and-breakfast in town. Baseball games! We have shopping, theater . . . boating!”
“How could you manage to plan weddings along with everything else you’re already doing? Sara, I know your heart is in the right place, but you’re biting off more than you can chew.” Reid wasn’t one bit sold on the idea. “And the money for the renovation? Where will it come from? Will Jeff loan it to you after he becomes a rich superstar?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“It’s called being a realist. Doing the math. Where was the money coming from again?” He cupped his hand to his ear.
“Do you always have to be such a downer?”
“Meaning you don’t know.”
Sara shrugged slightly. “I have some savings.”
She didn’t mean . . . ? Reid braced his foot on a bale of hay and blew out a sigh. “Aw, Sara . . . damn.”
“Hey, I’ve done some research. This could be a moneymaker, an investment for my future. I’m not as dumb as I look. Even though I look like you.”
Reid finally smiled. “But a helluva lot prettier.”
“Wow . . .” Sara put her hands her hips and tilted her head. “Did you just pay me a compliment?” Her braid slipped over her shoulder and she looked not much older than a teenager. In that moment Reid realized how much he’d missed his sister.
“Yeah, that
was
a compliment, since you’re way older than me.” Reid hefted another bale of hay onto the flatbed trailer. He grinned when she narrowed her eyes.
“Right, older by fifteen stinking minutes. I was just eager to get away from you kicking and poking me.”
Reid laughed. “Yeah, I imagine you shoved me out of the way, saying,
‘Me first!’
”
In fact, Sara had done that all throughout their childhood, and he would give in more often than not—though he used to tease her mercilessly. But this barn-wedding thing was different. He didn’t want to see Sara lose her hard-earned retirement savings. After seeing his clients lose retirement money in the stock market crash during the tough economic years, Reid was hesitant to encourage anything remotely risky, especially when it involved his sister or his family. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, Reid was glad to take a break from investment financing for a few months. Losing money instead of making money for clients had taken its toll. Granted, a bad economy wasn’t his fault, but damn . . . it sucked. Lately his ivory tower felt more like a prison.
“There you go, getting all quiet on me again,” Sara complained and looked at him expectantly. “I hope you’re considering my idea. Maybe willing to go over some numbers with me?”
“The dreaded numbers?” Reid continued to work but glanced her way.
“Please?”
“I’ll look over whatever you have to give to me,” he offered, feeling a flash of guilt when she gave him a bright smile. Reid wasn’t likely to warm up to the idea. Barns and weddings and Cricket Creek just didn’t come together in his brain.
“Thanks, Reid! Dad will be over with the tractor in a little while. We have a group of first-graders due here in about an hour. You’re welcome to tag along and see how the program works.” She grinned. “Just remember that you’ll be addressed as Farmer Reid.”
“Maybe tomorrow. I promised Braden I’d help him out in the cornfields, and then I still have some unpacking to do over at the cabin.”
Sara nodded. “Okay, well, I have to get going.” She stepped closer and gave Reid a hug. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you,
baby
brother.”
Reid hugged her back and felt a tug of emotion. “I’ve missed you too.” He watched her walk away and then paused to gather his thoughts. You’d never know by looking around that the farm was in financial trouble. The grounds appeared fresh and vibrant. The neatly trimmed green grass of the front lawn was in gorgeous contrast to the three-story, classic white farmhouse. Bright, colorful flowers surrounded the base of the wraparound porch where Reid had spent many a long summer evening, playing board games with his siblings and then later cuddling with a girl on the porch swing or drinking some beer with friends. Jeff would often bring out his guitar and jam until his parents begged them to call it a night. Sunday evenings were often family gatherings after a huge chicken dinner. He thought of his mom’s apple pie and homemade ice cream and sighed.
Reid gazed over at the house, shook his head, and smiled fondly at the memories. Oversized baskets of ferns hung from the ceiling and spun in the gentle morning breeze. One of his mother’s seasonal flags, this one with spring flowers and yellow ducks, jutted out from a post and cheerfully flapped back and forth. Booker, the old hound who wasn’t supposed to be a house dog but always managed to sneak inside, lazily lounged next to the front steps, watching for a barn cat so he could bark at it or, if he got up enough gumption, a squirrel to chase. Little John, their big but gentle giant of a dog, tried to get Booker riled up when he wasn’t chasing chickens or running through the woods.
A tall sturdy oak tree gracefully stood to the left of the house, still sporting a tree house and a tire swing where Reid used to push baby brother Braden so high that he would laugh with delight and then plead for more as soon as Reid would stop. Reid grinned. Now that Sara was getting married, maybe his mom would finally get the grandchild she’d been wanting for the past few years. Maybe then she would stop telling Reid that he needed a girl in his life.
Reid scrubbed a hand down his face and felt a tug of emotion at the memories. There was no doubt that despite the hard work and sacrifice, farming was a good way of life. But those days were over. And while the Old MacDonald grade school program had merit, Reid just couldn’t see the whole barn-wedding thing taking flight. He would just have to find a way to put an end to that nonsense before Sara sank her retirement into a pie-in-the-sky scheme.