Page 23 of Love Me Fearless

I close my eyes and stifle a groan.

Who thought this would be a good idea? Baby chicks are fragileand require extra care. The horses and goats can get by for a day alone in a pinch—not counting our escape artist, Caspar—but chicks need steady monitoring. And once they start dust bathing at five weeks, they’ll need a new place to live or the fine particles of sawdust and poop will settle all over everything. Just thinking about it makes me tired.

Beth slips in behind me. “Aren’t they cute?”

“No.”

“Jeez, grumpy much?”

I’m encouraged that she’s changed into jeans and a fleece pullover and redone her hair in a braid. This is the sister I remember.

While Beth tends to the baby chicks, I take a quick tour of the crops growing in the stripes of dark dirt along the opposite side and down the middle. Zucchini, carrots, and tomatoes. The neighboring greenhouse contains early starts of what I’m guessing are lettuce and mom’s famous flowers, and Beth’s workstation for her wreath-making and flower crown side gig.

I knew the moment I got the news about mom’s heart that I had to come home. May is a critical month for Moonbeam Farm, and though it’s not exactly a lucrative business, it’s mom’s pride and joy. I couldn’t let the responsibilities fall solely on Beth’s shoulders. Thea offered to come, but I told her to focus on finishing her degree. She’s so close. I can hold down the fort for a few weeks.

And staying busy on the farm means I’ll be less likely to run into Ava again.

Beth joins me out in the field, where bare rows of dark dirt wait for the seedlings we’ll need to transplant soon meet the rows tulips, lupine, and iris that are in bloom. The sun has slipped between ribbons of orange-hued clouds hugging the horizon, casting a muted glow over the foothills.

“You miss it, don’t you,” she says.

I sling my arm around her shoulder. “This will always be home.”

“Does Mom know that?” she asks, slinking away.

“Of course,” I reply, frustration edging my tone.

“You got a funny way of showin’ it,” she calls over her shoulder.

I resist taking this bait. It’s just Beth’s way of saying she missed me too.

After a quick dinner of leftovers Beth brought from the diner, we talk to Mom to reassure her that everything’s under control. She gives me the names of her most responsible 4H kids who can lend a hand plus a list of projects so long I have to take notes. Then she shares the latest from Dr. Shelby. She says they can’t do the surgery until Mom is stronger. They’ll be sending her home soon, but she’ll be under strict orders. Absolutely no farm work, and no stress.

Beth’s gaze flicks to the window over the sink, her mouth a hard line.

I slip my hand beneath hers, but she draws it away.

“I’ll drop by in a little bit,” I tell Mom before we end the call.

Beth is already in motion, slipping down the dark hallway.

I call my 4H helpers and finish cleaning the kitchen, then walk toward Beth’s room to let her know I’m headed to the hospital, but she breezes by me.

If I was put off by the outfit she wore to work, I’m alarmed by what she’s wearing now. Tight dark jeans tucked into calfskin boots, a red cropped T-shirt, her hair in two loose braids and the flash of something silver in her nose.

“Where are you going?” I call out, but it’s like snatching at air because she’s already turned the corner.

“Out!” she calls a split second before the door slams.

I hurry to catch up, jumping into my mud-caked boots on my way. “Out where?” I call as she slips behind the wheel of her Honda.

Her heavily made-up eyes flash with hostility. “Don’t wait up.”

I force a steadying breath. “Not trying to cramp your style, okay? Just give me some details. Who, where, when you’ll be home.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’re just hanging out.”

Yeah, I remember that line. “Where?”

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