Page 76 of Hometown Girl

Beth leaned against the railing and watched as the reminder of the life she wasn’t living tiptoed through the grass, got in a sleek silver Lexus and drove away.

Chapter Twenty

Evenings at Fairwind Farm were too quiet. Drew had spent the last three weeks surrounded by people—volunteers, and now his crew of guys—but when the sun went down and the place was covered in moonlight, that’s when his mind played tricks on him.

That’s when the real nightmares started.

He’d cleaned the old farmhouse, repaired broken doors and cabinets. Two nights ago, he’d fixed the downstairs toilet, and next week, he’d paint the walls, then refinish the floors.

Now, with another day waning, he used the old hand-pump well behind the farmhouse to clean up. Beth stood off in the distance, watering the seeds she’d planted in the raised beds.

She wore cutoff shorts, a white tank top and a button-down shirt tied in a knot at the side. And that goofy-looking garden hat she’d found in the house. He couldn’t decide if she looked ridiculous or adorable.

He’d seen the magazine clippings in Beth’s notebook on the table when his mind had been especially anxious. He’d needed a project, so he’d built the beds. He hadn’t expected they would make her so happy.

After seeing the way her face lit up, he wanted to figure out a way to do it again.

How long had it been since he’d made another person happy?

Still, he found it nearly impossible to talk to her about anything other than planting seeds or repairing barns. He wanted to, though, for maybe the first time in his life.

Oh, he’d had plenty of girlfriends, but he always broke things off before they could become too serious. He’d never wanted to talk about himself the way a woman always seemed to want a man to.

But there was something different about Beth. He wanted to know her. Was it because he had the impression that maybe she was hiding something too? She was hard to know, which made her all the more intriguing.

She was all business. Very professional. But he didn’t care about any of that—he wanted to figure out who she was. He knew that wasn’t going to happen, though, so he settled instead for making her happy from a distance.

It didn’t take much. A new mailbox. A vase of freshly cut lilacs on the kitchen table where she worked. And maybe next week he’d have time to work on a chicken coop.

Anything to make her smile.

If he wasn’t careful, he’d convince himself that making her happy around Fairwind Farm was the same as making her happy in her life.

It wasn’t. And he’d be smart to remember that.

What was it about her that made him want to be known?

She glanced up and found him staring. He was caught, but he couldn’t look away—not yet. He just wanted to see that smile dance around in her eyes. To think—even for a misguided second—that he’d somehow caused something so pure and beautiful? It was enough to keep him going for another week.

Her face softened and she waved, smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

What would she say if she found out the truth about him? That he was a coward—a disappointment?

Being “known” was out of the question, and he’d accepted that a long time ago. So he’d have to be content making her happy from the sidelines. That’s what was best, for both of them.

As the sun disappeared behind the cornfields in the west, Drew made his way out to the barn he’d discovered the week before. He had to hand it to Birdie—she might be old, but she was stealthy. Even though he knew she was there, he’d seen her only when he’d gone looking for her.

And he’d gone looking for her more than once, drawn back to her, to the possibility that something she said or did would provide the answers he’d been searching for.

He walked inside the barn and called out, though he had a feeling she’d seen him coming from her window.

“I haven’t had this much company in years,” she said without looking at him.

“Am I bothering you?” He stopped halfway up the stairs.

“Are you kidding me? Half the town has decided I’m a tinfoil-hat-wearing lunatic, and the other half just doesn’t like me. I could use a friend.” She eyed him from behind her easel. “Something tells me you could too.”

“Nah, friends are overrated.” He climbed the rest of the stairs and sat down on a too-soft purple velvet sofa.

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