Page 16 of The Inn

I’m flooded with passion and determination to take control where I can. A therapist once told me that anxiety is just extra energy, and I never forgot it. So tonight, I’m committed to blocking out all my emotions big and small with good old-fashioned hard work. I’m thankful I have that skill set now.

When I’m writing, there isn’t any room to worry about other things like relationships or ranchers who don’t want you to stay in their lives. I know without a doubt that this article, the last one about this small town, will be the most powerful piece of writing I have ever produced.

As tears run down my face, I vow to pay homage in words to the generations of people who persevered and flourished here. It will be my gift to Maisie. My tribute to this beloved farm and the stories I heard while I was here. I’ll make sure Robinson Ranch is green with envy as my final goodbye.

When I push open the door, I turn on the electric heater straight away. It isn’t as nice as the fires Jameson has been making for me, but I’m scrappy and it will do. I settle into bed with my laptop and turn all my attention to the article.

I hurl myself into the task, determined to compose a masterpiece. My fingers dance over the keyboard in a frenzied staccato as my creativity takes over. The hours fly by with me barely noticing and I am engrossed in my work.

It’s almost three in the morning by the time I finish typing. My vision is blurred by tears for a reason I can't yet place. I upload the document and attach the last PDF to the article email. It’s a stunning collection of family photographs that Maisie lent me for the piece. There is not one photograph or a single mention of Jake, per the Findlay’s request. But as I do a final read-through and smile at the many mentions of grandparents and great-grandparents.

My eyes are burning from exhaustion by the time I click send. Then, with nothing else left in me, I close my laptop and slide under the handmade quilt. This feels right. Me and my work, alone, sliding into bed. But in the back of my mind, a thought lingers. If I were more awake, I’d kick myself for not spending my last night on Findlay Farms tucked into Jameson’s arms.

CHAPTER12

JAMESON

The clock ticksas the hands slowly turn. I lay in bed, my mind a churning mix of regret and confusion. I'm wide awake with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. There’s no hope of sleep tonight.

For starters, in only a few short days, I’ve gotten used to CC sleeping beside me. I crave her cold body wriggling and curling into mine. She needed me to press her to the mattress with a deep compression that put her to sleep instantly. I wonder how she’s doing without me tonight.

Then I flashback to the hurt on her face as she stood in Mom’s living room. The way my mouth opened in automatic response with idiotic words is embarrassing. But I won’t be the person who takes a lifelong dream away from her. I know it was hurtful, but in the moment I felt like I was doing the right thing. Now in a haze somewhere between asleep and awake, I wonder if I made the right decision.

But what choice did I have?

When a woman tells you she’s moving to another country permanently, you have to let her go. My heart thunders in my chest and old insecurities creep up.I have no right to keep her near me. Besides, the chances are, if she sticks around at Findlay Farms, she’s going to get hurt either by the elements or even worse, by me.

Leaving is what’s best for Summer. She’ll get over to Scotland and be struck by the beauty of their moors and highlands. The men there will go crazy for her. I can hear them now whispering her name in an accent that sounds a whole lot sexier than mine and wearing kilts with nothing underneath. Probably playing her Taylor Swift songs on the bagpipes. Ugh, my stomach sours, I hate the thought. Then it occurs to me that there’s a chance that even Scotland will feel more like home to her than my longhorns ever will.

I’ve got to stop torturing myself. Encouraging her to leave is the right thing to do, even if it makes this ugly aching build-up in the back of my throat. Even if it means I live with the ghost of her. Even if it means that I never sleep again.

Dammit, I hope that the sun rises soon.

I drift off somewhere between two and three, but my eyes pop open with the sunrise nonetheless. I look out of my window toward the inn and breathe a sigh of relief when I find CC’s Jeep still in its parking spot. Not that I thought she’d wake before the sun, but she’s mad, so you never know.

The snow is gone and I don’t have long before she will be too. The thought is like a vice grip on my heart. I don’t start my chores today. I know our farm hands will be hard at work and for once, I let them do their jobs without my oversight. Instead, I take the opportunity to wait for CC to emerge from the cloud of makeup and sunshine perfume I’m sure she’s applying. It’s almost eleven in the morning before I decide to take a walk around the property to see if I can coax her out.

As it turns out, CC isn’t anywhere to be found. But Mom is perched on her front porch, tablet in hand and a smile that stretches from ear to ear. When she catches sight of me, Mom waves me over. “Did you read it? Come see!”

I turn and make my way up the steps. “What is it?”

“That article on the farm is up and it’s beautifully written. Summer’s painted all of our best points for the world to see. This article will be our legacy, documented for future generations.” Mom shoves the tablet into my hands. “You have to read it. Go on, I’ll give you time.” She disappears through her front door.

My stomach clenches and my heart rate ticks up as my eyes scan over the article. For starters, it isn’t Archie on the cover. It isn’t me either. It’s the damn longhorns with a gorgeous sunset behind them. The picture makes me chuckle.

But when I start reading, I’m in shock. CC’s done a heart-stopping job of describing our family and the love shared at Findlay Farms. Every stroke of her pen carries a deep appreciation for the sacrifices of farm life without a single mention of things like cottage-core vibe.

As it turns out, CC gets it and so do I. I can see why this article matters to Mom. She writes about the legacy of my family as if it were her own. She writes about farm life as if there’s nothing in the world that she’s ever wanted more than it. I keep reading.

Family and love are drenched in every inch of the fields, found in the repaired boards of every animal pen on the property, and, perhaps most noticeable of all, comes out in the home-cooked meals. There’s no denying the fact that Findlay Farms has deep roots in this community.

Hardworking, never complaining, and always ready to lend a helping hand. The Findlays are the best of us. Family and love filled every inch of this land like roots filling the cracks of an old sidewalk… When the going gets tough, the ranchers at Findlay pull together in a place where legacy and love win the day, every day…

The rest of the article reads in the same way.

She’s fallen in love with this land, with the animals and the property, with the idea of having a legacy. But has she fallen in love with me? Because I know without a doubt that I’ve fallen in love with her. Her confidence, her joy, the way she fits seamlessly into my family. Hell, I even like the way she challenges me, even though I may never admit that out loud.

A flicker of determination ignites within me and I get to my feet. I need to put things right between us before it’s too late. I’ve made some stupid choices in my life, but losing her won’t be one of them. I need to find a way to make CC stay.

---