Family Trees (17 page)

“Okay . . .”

“Remember, I've spent years in this place, so I've had a lot of time to think about this,” she said, smiling for the first time since their heated exchange about dreams and obligations. “I'm reminded of how families pass traits along to the next generation. Each generation is a new harvest.”

“I never pegged you as the poetic type,” he said while using his free hand to pull his collar up to keep out the chill. “What else?”

“Are you really interested, or just humoring me?” she asked as they resumed their walk.

He reached over and gave a playful tug on the brim of her hat. “Interested.”

“Okay, so take this tree.” Shelby stopped at the next tree and slipped her hand out of Ryan's grasp so she could reach up to pick a few of its last remaining apples, cold and overripe. “One tree, and yet none of the apples are exactly the same.” She gave an apple to Ryan and he gently tossed it back and forth in his hands. “Some apples aren't as strong as others. When a storm blows in, they can't withstand the pressure and drop to the ground. Others fight to hang on so they can reach their full potential—like these two,” she said, holding up the pair in her hands. “Others are full of color, texture, and beauty.”

“I remember Olen saying something similar—I think he said his apples might not look great on the outside, but they're perfect on the inside.” Ryan sank his teeth into the apple with a wet crunch.

“He stole that line from me.”

Ryan laughed and wiped the sweet drops of juice from his chin. “What else can you tell me about this crop of yours?”

“Now you
are
making fun of me,” Shelby said, joining him in laughter while threatening to hurl an imperfect apple in his direction.

“Hey! Hold up!” Ryan dodged and held his hands up to protect his face.

She lowered her arm and, instead of throwing it, took a hearty bite. “What can I say, I love my family trees,” she said with a mouthful.

“What about the guy who comes from a deeply rooted family, is strong enough to handle both the hardships and the good days, but who wants desperately to drop off of his tree?”

“None of us can choose where we came from, but all of us can choose where we go,” she said simply, sounding like she had it all figured out, when in truth she was trying to convince herself as much as Ryan.

“Life's not that easy.”

“Why do you say that?” Shelby took another bite and licked the juice from her lips.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Forget it.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

He tossed his half-eaten apple beneath the tree, where it rolled against the others that lay rotting in a bed of leaves.

“You're looking at it in the wrong way,” she said.

“Really.”

“You were born into a family that offered you financial security, a stable home, and an excellent education and opportunities.”

“Don't leave out the best part,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Prestige.”

“Give me a break. You say that like you're a victim. Instead of running away from the reputation and exposure, why not make it work for you? Why not use your visibility to do something good—something you can be proud of?”

“I never said I was a victim.”

“You implied it,” she said, tossing her apple alongside Ryan's. “Most people will work their entire lives and never come close to achieving what you have. I don't understand how someone as strong as you—as good as you—doesn't seize it as an opportunity.”

“I hear what you're saying, but consider this—as I tried to say before, you're not much different. We're both tied to our family's business. But I'm not interested in continuing
their
life's dream. I want to live each day pursuing something that is important to me. Making a difference my way, rather than simply stepping into their shoes. Are
you?
”

“What—you're turning this on me again?”

“You're asking me to take a look at myself. I'm just asking if you're doing the same. Do you see yourself living here indefinitely? Or do you think you'll branch out on your own?”

There was a time when she wanted to explore a life outside of her hometown. But those dreams, along with her mementos of Jeff, had been carefully boxed up after his death. This was her home. Meyers Orchard would be her past, present, and future. That's what she had been telling herself for the past few years.

But now, looking up at Ryan, she felt a pang of doubt. Was the orchard truly where she belonged? Or had it become her safe haven?

“What do you want out of your life?” he asked again, stepping toward her with an extended hand. Talking about Ryan's future was easy. But this? She took several steps out of his reach and found herself beneath an awning of branches. He continued to move toward her—asking the questions she wouldn't ask herself.
What am I doing with my life? Why am I still in my childhood home? Why am I always making safe choices?

Shelby kept taking small steps backward until she couldn't go any farther. Her back pressed against the tree trunk, the roughness of the bark and pruned branch stubs pressing into the insulation of her jacket.

Ryan ducked his head under low-hanging branches and entered the sheltered space beneath the tree. They stood close together. He removed a glove and reached up with his bare hand to tuck a fallen curl of hair behind her ear, and then rested his palm against her cheek. The chill on her skin warmed beneath his touch.

“If your dream is to continue the life your family started for you here, then embrace it,” he said gently. “But if you want to do something more, then don't be afraid to pull up your roots and follow your own dreams. That's all I'm trying to do, Shelby. That's why I'm here.”

She stared up at the branches, realizing something about herself that she was ashamed to admit. After a moment of thought, she looked into Ryan's eyes. “I'm twenty-four years old,” she said, her voice cracking and barely above a whisper. He leaned closer to hear her. “I stopped dreaming years ago and now, the only future I can imagine is tied to this land.”

Ryan reached around her waist and pulled her closer. Ducking under the frayed brim of her hat, Ryan's nose brushed past hers as lightly as a butterfly's wing. He was warmth, strength, and tenderness. He was everything she needed.

Shelby welcomed the affection from this man who had appeared in August and found her in the orchard. She closed her eyes, and felt him slowly lift the cap off of her head. As her hair fell down heavy around her shoulders, sadness welled up in her throat. Shelby looked up and gulped to hold back a cry, her eyes brimming with emotion. Ryan held her gaze while holding Jeff's hat in one hand. It probably meant nothing to Ryan, but to her, it meant everything.

His lips, warm and full, fell on her cheek rather than her expectant lips. She held her breath in anticipation, and he reached behind her, set his hand on the small of her back, and held her close. Shelby cradled his face in her hands and kissed him in a flood of emotion.

 

Later that evening, after Ryan returned to his cottage, Ginny was in the kitchen leafing through recipe books to find holiday dishes while Shelby and Olen sat down together in the living room. If the weather had been warmer, they would have retreated to the barn. Without Olen saying a word, Shelby knew he wanted to “have a chat.”

When he eased into his favorite armchair, Olen and the seat cushion both let out a sigh. And as he leaned back into the chair, its springs groaned with age. Shelby curled up on the couch, which, over time, had faded from vibrant red into an uneven shade of pink. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, exhausted from the day. Before she had met Ryan, everything was simple. She enjoyed her predictable routine. She could count on it as much as her grandparents could count on her.

“So . . . you wanna tell me about it?” Olen asked as he raised his feet onto the fringed ottoman in front of his chair, exposing his blaze orange thermal socks that were thinning at the heel.

She kept her eyes shut. “About what?” She and Ryan had already told her grandparents about their close call on the lake, with Ryan assuming full responsibility and the brunt of Olen's worry-fueled safety lecture.

“The effect that young man is having on you,” he said simply. Her grandfather seemed to have the uncanny ability to read her mind.

“I like him,” she said simply.

“I'd say the feeling's mutual,” Olen said. “It's fairly obvious that you two make each other happy. And for what it's worth, your grandmother and I like him, too.”

“That's good.” She heard rain beginning to tap against the roof and turned to look out the living room window. It was dark outside, aside from occasional strobes of lightning in the distance.
It will probably turn over to snow tonight,
she thought. Her mind went back to the
Spindrift,
when she was sheltered from the rain in the warmth of Ryan's embrace.

“But that's not what's on your mind now, is it?”

“Not really,” she said, returning her attention to him while grabbing an embroidered pillow off the couch to hold in her lap.

“So what is it?” Olen readjusted his feet on the ottoman, crossing them at the ankles and wiggling the kinks out of his toes.

“The problem is . . . it's getting complicated. At some point, he'll have to go back to Chicago. He has an incredible life there.”

“And?”

“And my life is here,” she said, running her fingers along the pillow's white fringe. “So I can't help but wonder—what's the point? One day soon we're going to go our separate ways.”

“I see.” He paused before speaking again and she could feel the intensity of his stare. “Let's put that thought on hold for a moment and get back to a conversation you and I have had many times over the past few years.”

Great. Here it comes,
she thought. “I don't want to talk about that right now.”

He disregarded her objection and asked anyway. “Have you given any more thought to going back to college? One more year and you'll have your degree.”

“I thought we were done talking about college, Grandpa.”

“I know, but your grandmother and I were thinking—”

“Stop. We've been over this. You're stuck with me.”

He shifted in his chair and his voice took on a fatherly tone. “You never know. Someday, you may decide that you want to explore something different. See new places. Share a life with someone?” He raised his eyebrows, inviting her to open up.

“Subtle.”

“You know we love you. But here's the kicker . . . we don't
need
you.”

“But I—”

“Listen to me, honey. This farm has been our life. It's part of who we are. The land, the town, and even the lake—we chose this for ourselves,” he said warmly. “If this is your life choice, too, then we'll be overjoyed. It has given us a great deal of happiness and I know it would be no different for you. But if your heart isn't in it, then I need you to promise me that you'll take another path. And if you ever decide to leave this farm, do so with your head held high, knowing that you have our absolute love and support.”

Before Shelby could utter an answer, Ginny walked into the room with a cooking magazine in her hand. “I need your opinions,” she said, placing the magazine on the coffee table and opening it to a spot that was bookmarked with a white envelope. “Thanksgiving dinner this year—should we try this Southern corn bread stuffing with chestnuts? Or this Italian bread stuffing with sausage and shallots?” Ginny was a traditional Midwestern cook eleven months out of the year. During the holidays, however, her inner chef came out and she enjoyed trying something a bit more adventurous.

Olen said “corn bread” at the same time Shelby voted for “Italian.”

“You two are no help at all,” Ginny said, shaking her head. She grabbed the letter from within the magazine and handed it to Shelby. “Sorry, Shel, this arrived for you yesterday and I completely forgot to give it to you.”

Shelby's heart sank when she saw the crooked stamp and her name and address scrawled across the front of the envelope in purple ink.

C
HAPTER
18

From:     wchambers

To:         wrc_charlie

Re:         Personal

 

William—

 

It has come to my attention that you are involved with a new young woman. What you do during this sabbatical of yours is your own business. However, when it comes to our family's reputation and the future of CM, it becomes my business.

 

You would be wise not to become entangled with someone who does not fit into our long-term goals and, of course, your return to CM. Though it pains me to say this, your actions are becoming increasingly disappointing to your mother and me. It is time you pack up your camera bag and return to Chicago and your responsibilities here.

As you are aware, the annual meeting is set for January 15. I'll expect you to be here so we can properly announce your new position and you can address the shareholders. Do not disappoint me and I'll forgive our differences.

 

William R. Chambers
Chief Executive Officer
Chambers Media

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Any news from home?” Shelby asked while kneeling on a plush rug that lay before a crackling fire in Ryan's cottage. She was rosy-cheeked and unaware of how beautiful she was in nubby wool socks, faded jeans, and a white sweater that looked irresistibly soft. A baby blue scarf was draped loosely around her neck. As always, Ryan felt at peace in her company.

“Nothing interesting,” Ryan replied, speaking easily to her from the compact kitchen space that opened into the intimate living room. He sat at the pinewood table he had been using as a makeshift desk—filing proofs, editing photographic images, and staying connected to life beyond the walls of his rented home. Ryan had been working all day on final edits to a series of photographs he had taken in October. An hour earlier, Shelby had burst into the cottage bringing a flurry of snow, groceries, and excitement with her. In exchange for Shelby cooking dinner, he was finally going to show her some of his work.

Ryan looked away from the computer screen to glance out the kitchen window, which was delicately framed with a brushstroke of frost. Snow floated lazily past the pane. The intimacy of the snowfall, which was blanketing everything around them, made it difficult for him to focus on his work rather than the woman by the fire.

“Can I see them now?” she asked, bubbling with eager anticipation.

“Sorry, but I'm not that easy. You'll have to wine and dine me before we take that next step,” Ryan teased.

“You have the wrong idea, Mr. Chambers,” she teased back. “Just finish up whatever you're doing over there. The wait is killing me!” Shelby stood up to attend to the fire, which had petered down to a weak flame over ashen logs and glowing embers. Shelby grabbed hold of the metal poker and gave the wood a few nudges, then added another log to reenergize the fire. Ryan looked up again from his computer upon hearing the
clank
of the tool and a
pop
of sparks jumping out of the flames. He breathed in the scent of wood fire that filled the cottage. He was ready.

“Okay, Shel, come take a look,” he said casually, although his stomach was twisted in nerves. Were the photographs good enough? Would she think he had talent? He was anxious for her approval.

She smiled broadly, set down the fire poker, and closed the mesh fireplace screen. “This is so exciting . . . the big reveal . . .” Shelby said as she bounded eagerly to join him at the computer. She stood behind Ryan, reached her arms around his shoulders, and leaned in to see the first photograph on the screen. It was taken from within a sea cave on Devil's Island, the morning before they were caught in the storm. Ryan had captured a ray of sun that reached into the shadow of the cave and pierced through the water, casting light on an arch of rust-colored stone that curved just beneath the surface.

She sighed. “Beautiful.”

Melting into the warmth of her cheek upon his, he clicked to the next image. It was the storm cloud rising above Devil's Island. A flash of light highlighted its northern rim in a way that was both ominous and striking. It was taken just before they took off ahead of the impending weather. Shelby gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

Another tap of the mouse changed the screen once more. This time it was a black-and-white photo—a close-up image of Ginny's hands gripping an aged rolling pin, its handles smooth from use and its core darkened from the oil of countless pastries. Ryan had captured the contrast between her aging hands and the supple disc of flour-dusted dough. It was simple. It told a story.

“Ryan. These are . . .
good
. . . really, really good.” Shelby kissed him behind his ear, sending a current of heat through his body.

The combination of her praise and allure made it nearly impossible to focus on his work. He took a deep breath and advanced to the next photograph, which was cropped to show another pair of hands. This time, the woman's hands held a round mug in front of her full, pregnant belly. Natural light from a window illuminated the steam as it gracefully swirled up from the mug and around her protruding middle, like an angelic spirit protecting the unborn child. Shelby said she immediately recognized her as Rachelle Yaeger, the owner of Spill the Beans coffee shop in town.

“Lovely,” she whispered into his ear before brushing her lips down the nape of his neck with tantalizing kisses.

He continued advancing through the photographs, barely looking at the screen himself. He closed his eyes, distracted by the desire she was stirring in him. Each word of praise felt like a caress. Each compliment, a kiss.

Ryan stood from his chair to face her, reached his hands around her waist, and pulled her to him in one fluid movement. He leaned his face close enough to hers that their lips nearly touched. “Thank you,” he said, the words catching in his throat. Overcome with emotion, he blinked back welling tears of gratitude.

“You have a gift, Ryan,” she said, taking his face in her hands and looking intently into his eyes. “You have a gift.”

The word “thanks” didn't come close to expressing what a profound impact she was having on his life, his well-being, and his self-esteem. But “love” was nothing he was prepared to declare, although he felt it deeply. Love would complicate everything. Love would pull her away from all she held dear. Love would cast her into the Chambers family spotlight and strip Shelby of her privacy. Yes, he loved her. More than she could imagine. However, Ryan's underlying instinct to protect her from that life kept him from saying it out loud.

Instead, he showed her. Ryan ran his fingertips up her back and down her arms. Then, taking her hands in his, Ryan led Shelby back to the living room. In the firelight, he unwrapped the blue scarf from her neck and let it fall to the floor. His hands found their way beneath her sweater and traveled up her smooth body. He lifted the white sweater carefully over her head and let it, too, fall to the ground. She raised her arms gracefully and allowed him to remove a lace bra from her gently curved breasts.

Ryan pulled his sweater and undershirt over his head and cast them aside. He became lost in the sight of her silken, pale skin as it reflected the fire's glow. Shelby then unbuttoned her jeans and easily stepped out of her remaining clothes. She was exposed, radiant, and lovelier than he had imagined. His entire body longed for her. Then it was Shelby who ran her hands down his chest until her fingers took hold of his belt and she eased him toward her. When he moved his hands across the warmth of her back and kissed her fully on the lips, she sighed beneath his touch.

As the snow continued to fall upon the quiet cottage in the woods, Ryan realized that with Shelby, he was home.