Page 38 of Hometown Girl

Beth made her way to where the crowd had started to gather around the food. They hadn’t even rung a bell or anything; just the smell of the burgers lured people in from all different parts of the farm.

Callie met her by one of the food tables, eyes wide, waiting for some explanation. She’d been the one to talk Beth into taking Drew the plate in the first place.

So this was her fault, really.

Beth felt stupid. A serial killer? Really? Just because he was grumpy and reclusive didn’t mean he was a sociopath. And even though she’d been half kidding, her sarcasm seemed lost in his reaction.

“No-go?” Callie followed her into the kitchen.

“What do you mean?” Beth reached into a bag of potato chips and took out a handful.

“He didn’t want to talk? Tell you where he’s from? Ask you to marry him?” Callie plucked a chip out of Beth’s hand and popped it in her mouth.

“I just gave him lunch,” Beth said. “Isn’t that what you said I should do?”

Callie stared at her. “Yes, but I thought maybe you’d exchange a few words with the guy before you came back here.”

“I did.”

“So, what do we know about him?”

“I know he’s working harder than anyone here.” Beth glanced up and out the window to where Drew stood with his dog. He stared out toward the backyard, up into the orchard, seemingly unaware anyone else was on the farm at all.

What was he doing out there? What was he doing here, at Fairwind? And why was he helping them—two strangers—with an insurmountable task?

Callie stole another chip. “I resent that. Do you know how long it took me to bake all those pastries?”

“You know what I mean.” Beth leaned against the counter. “It’s like he’s out there trying to prove something.”

Callie waggled her eyebrows. “Who does that sound like?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she walked out, leaving Beth with a handful of chips and an unspoken snarky comeback.

She spent the rest of the day avoiding Drew Barlow. Never mind that it made no sense he was there in the first place. Or that he didn’t have good manners.

The guy never stopped—not once. Even when he took his dog out back for water, he still seemed to work, or at least calculate his work. He moved from job to job without being told, and as much as she hated to admit it, it became painfully obvious that she and Molly needed someone like him on the farm.

He fixed things she didn’t even know were broken.

As the day waned, people began to leave, all dirty and tired but asking if they could come back the next weekend. The Whitaker sisters had free labor in droves and no idea how to put them to work.

Molly promised everyone another productive day next Saturday, but Beth knew better. Clearing the land of fallen branches and garbage was easy. But what came next? They needed someone to tell them.

Beth stood at the door of the main barn, watching cars kick up dust from the gravel driveway as they pulled away. Behind the house, Molly and Bishop had started a bonfire, having invited everyone to go home and change and come back for s’mores.

Sometimes Molly was such a kid. Sometimes that made Beth jealous.

“You need to hire that guy.” Ben’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“What guy?” She knew what guy.

“The guy you’ve been pretending not to notice all day.” He stood beside her, a foot taller and almost twice as wide. Her big brother—strong and athletic—had taken their father’s place in so many ways. He had wisdom, and Beth admired that. She couldn’t simply disregard his advice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ben’s disbelieving expression told her to stop lying. “I talked to him. He manages a ranch in Colorado. Manages people, takes care of animals, fixes whatever needs fixing. He’s your guy.”

“Well, what makes you think he’d take a job on a farm in Illinois?”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”

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