The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (175 page)

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” he replied.

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I will. For now, we’ll just have to wait until April to see how it all shakes out.”

Clay went back into the living room and, over the course of several trips, brought the rest of the boxes into the kitchen, making it clear he was done with the conversation. Of course he’d asked himself what would happen after Lucy’s wedding planning duties were finished, but he hadn’t come up with any answer he’d liked, so he’d dropped it, just as he was doing now.

“If you don’t need me for anything else,” he told Brooke from the doorway, “I think I’ll run back to the house and order a few pizzas.”

“I’m good here,” she told him. “But maybe you could take Logan and get him started on his homework. I need about another half hour here. That’s all the time I can spare tonight because I have some cupcakes to frost for tomorrow.”

“You got it,” he replied. “Pizza and homework, not necessarily in that order.”

He bounded up the stairs to get Logan, who insisted on bringing his book back to the house. They walked across the snowy expanse, Logan chattering
about the dog they were going to get as soon as they moved into the house and got settled. Together they tackled a list of spelling words and second-grade math, and when they were through, set out for Robotti’s to pick up their pizza. Brooke arrived at the house about the same time they did, and the three of them ate together in the kitchen. When they finished, Brooke herded Logan upstairs to get ready for bed, and Clay put the plates and glasses into the dishwasher before going into his office.

There were plans for the new brewery to be signed off on, and orders for equipment to be doubled-checked. His sketch for the hop barn had been sent to the same architect who was retrofitting the larger of the barns for the brewery, and they were awaiting the final plans. He thought it would look pretty cool, and he was eager to get started.

Clay smiled to himself. He’d been right about Cam O’Connor and the old barn boards. When Cam saw what they had, what he could have, he was more than happy to do the demo for nothing. Every piece of siding that Cam removed had been afforded the type of respect that should be shown to something that had survived for well over a hundred and fifty years. Cam had been so happy that he agreed to make a table for Brooke’s new house as a special thank-you.

He put the brewery aside and looked over the plans he’d made for planting. As soon as he could work the soil, he’d put in the barley he and Wade wanted to test for their first batches of beer. Of course, he couldn’t control the weather, but he was hoping for a dry enough spring that the barley, which needed very dry soil, would be happy. The hops rhizomes would
take a couple of years to mature, so while they planted what they hoped would be a bumper crop in three years, this year they’d be buying from a wholesaler. Wade had an entire list of flavored beers he’d brewed in Texas that he wanted to re-create in their new venture, so they’d be growing the herbs, flowers, and fruits he’d had success with in the past. In addition, Clay had large plots of vegetables and herbs to plant for his regular customers, so he would be doing double duty this year.

Pushing aside Brooke and her doubts—and his own—even those he had about Lucy—Clay flipped through the catalog of heirloom vegetables he’d received in that day’s mail, and turned his attention to the crops he’d plant that spring. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have had a whole lot of free time for Lucy these next few months anyway. By April, his crops should be in the ground, and he’d have a little more spare time, but it would take a lot of work to get them there, and the farm had to be his priority right now. It wasn’t in his nature to brood or to focus too hard on things he couldn’t control. He, too, had a business to run.

Lucy loved the view from the pinnacle of the Bay Bridge—officially the William Preston Lane Jr. Memorial Bridge, but few ever referred to it as such. Staring straight ahead, the Eastern Shore in her sights, she always knew she was as good as home once she hit this spot. A bit of chill still clung to the April air, but she could smell spring and the promise of warmer days, and the very thought of it made her smile. St. Dennis warmth wasn’t the same as L.A. warmth. It had a smell and a feel and a sound track all its own, and she’d missed it. She rolled down the windows in the rental car as she came off the bridge and inhaled.

Delicious.

She turned on the radio and found a station to match her mood, sang along with Heart’s “Alone” at the top of her lungs, and felt the stress and anxiety of the past few months melt away with every mile. She had survived three months of working nonstop, three months of weddings, anniversaries, sweet sixteen parties, fancy luncheons—even a tea for the duchess of something or other who hailed from some
small European principality Lucy’d never heard of, one that had been gobbled up by some larger country years ago. The duchess had kept her titles, her jewels, and her contacts abroad and was known for her elaborate soirees. Last year, she’d entertained in Shanghai and D.C. This year it was L.A.’s turn, and it had been a coup for Shaefer & Sinclair to have landed the event.

But it was all behind her now. She’d left careful instructions for Ava and Corrine for those events they’d be handling in her absence—events for which they’d shadowed her since the beginning of February. She had her electronic files and carefully constructed lists and had left them both with timetables for reporting to her. She felt as comfortable as she was ever going to be in leaving work behind for others to do. Her focus was now—had to be—on the Magellan wedding and everything that needed to be done to pull off something spectacular in a short amount of time.

Of course, she had her endless lists of things to do here in St. Dennis, but she was taking one thing at a time. She’d be meeting with Susanna at the end of the week, and they’d walk the grounds at the inn along with Daniel, whom Lucy had already warned about Susanna’s wish to move the gazebo. She’d called Brooke’s former brother-in-law, Jason Bowers, to discuss some thoughts she had for the landscaping, and he agreed to meet with her and Daniel on Saturday to go over her ideas. She’d get together with Olivia about the flowers on Monday, and sit down with the inn’s chef on Tuesday. She still had to contact the owner of the golf course, find a tennis pro, and someone
to give sailing lessons to the kids. There was no doubt in Lucy’s mind that she could accomplish everything in ten days.

Well, maybe twelve … but by the time she left St. Dennis, she’d have it all under control.

She changed the radio station, found a country station that her mother listened to all the time, and tried to remember the words to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats.” Before she knew it, she was making the right onto the road that would take her into St. Dennis. She could smell the river that ran behind the trees, and a soft scent of new earth. She glanced at the Madison farm as she flew by and thought she saw Clay’s Jeep parked next to the house. Without thinking, she made a U-turn at the first opportunity and turned into the lane leading to the farm.

She’d promised herself that she’d make a point to carve out more time to spend with Clay this visit. She’d found herself looking forward to their daily emails and nightly chats, and realized she didn’t want to wait until later to see him.

She parked behind the Jeep, got out of the car and looked around, and took a deep breath. She started toward the back porch, planning to knock on the door, when she saw Clay on a tractor out in the field. She sat on the back steps and watched, and waited.

This farm, these steps, held so many memories for her. When they were kids, on hot summer days, they’d swim in the pond, then dry off on the grass. They’d wrap their wet towels around them and sit on the steps and Clay’s mother would bring Popsicles out for them. The memory was so strong that Lucy could almost taste the cold icy sweetness, feel the sugary
liquid trickle down the wooden stick to her fingers, leaving a sticky path in its wake.

She heard the tractor’s engine cut, saw Clay park the tractor next to the barn. He jumped down and took a long pull on a plastic water bottle, then looked around. She knew the second he spotted her. He waved a hand and started toward the farmhouse. She watched him for a moment, watched his familiar amble pick up the pace as he drew nearer. She got off the steps when he was ten feet away and was in his arms before she realized what she was doing.

“Hey,” he said softly, after he’d given her a quick kiss on the mouth. “I’m a little sweaty …”

“You look fine sweaty.” She slowed him down for another kiss. “Farmers are supposed to be sweaty.”

“I thought you weren’t coming till tomorrow.”

“I finished what I had to do out there, so I thought I’d take an earlier flight.”

“How long have you been here?”

Lucy looked at her watch. “About a half hour or so.”

“What were you doing all that time?”

“Reminiscing.” She sat back down on the step on which she’d been sitting.

“About anything in particular?” He sat down next to her.

“Popsicles, for one thing.”

“Those double ice jobs my mom used to give us?”

“You always took the grape and I always wanted the lime.”

“ ’Cause I didn’t care if my mouth turned purple, but you did. You always thought the green wasn’t as noticeable. I never had the heart to tell you that lime-green lips weren’t an especially good look.”

“Thanks for sparing me.”

“So what else besides Popsicles?” he asked.

“Chickens.”

“Chickens,” he repeated flatly.

“Remember there used to be that chicken house next to the barn?” She pointed out toward the field. “And you had that big rooster that used to chase me every time he got loose?”

“Big Red.” Clay nodded. “He used to chase everyone, even my dad and the dogs.”

“What happened to the chicken house?” she asked. “Where are the chickens?”

“A hurricane took down part of the house about ten years ago. We haven’t had chickens since.”

“You should build another chicken house.” She poked him in the ribs. “What kind of farm has no animals, not even a couple of Rhode Island Reds or a dog?”

“The dog is on the list. Brooke promised Logan a dog once they moved and got settled, which they have, so it’s any day now for the dog. I figured I’d get one, too. And I’ll make a mental note to put chickens on the list of things to do. After I build a henhouse.”

She noticed lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. “I guess you’ve been pretty busy.”

“Farming’s pretty much a full-time thing, especially this time of the year.”

“I’ve been getting that impression from your emails. Planting … how many kinds of barley? Three?”

“Well, it’s four now. Wade found seed for some heirloom variety he’s been stalking for the past couple of years.” He nodded in the direction of the field.

“That’s what I’m doing this week—getting it into the ground.”