Page 13 of After We Fall (After We Fall 2)
A plaintive cry from the monitor on the counter made everyone look in that direction. Georgia sighed and stood up again. “I knew it was too good to be true when he barely fussed. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll do it.” Jack flipped a switch on the monitor and took off toward the now-distant sound of the crying child. As he passed me, our eyes met. He immediately looked away, but not before I saw up close how handsome he was—or would be if he took the scowl off his face. It left me a little breathless, and I needed a moment to regain my composure.
“Works for me.” Georgia sat down and picked up her fork. “Jack’s so good with Cooper, especially when it comes to getting him to sleep.”
“We have no idea what he does up there.” Pete laughed. “I think he drugs him.”
“Oh, hush,” Georgia said. “He’s just gentle and patient. He sings to him.”
He sings to him? I couldn’t picture it. “Does Jack have kids?” I glanced in the direction of the stairs, curious about the handsome, broody farmer who appeared to have a soft side.
“No.” Something in Georgia’s voice made me pause. It was a one-word answer, but I felt like there was a story there somehow.
“Come on, let’s eat,” Brad said impatiently.
We dug in, and a few minutes later, Jack returned, heading through the kitchen toward the back door without stopping. I didn’t miss the glance he sent in my direction, though. It made my heart beat a tiny bit faster.
Georgia spoke up. “Why don’t you sit with us for just a minute?”
“Because I’m busy,” he snapped, his hand on the door handle. “I’m the only one working out there today.”
“We’re working in here, too, Jack,” Brad said.
Jack made a noise, something between a snort and a grunt. “I told you last night I don’t want anything to do with this.” And by this, it was clear he meant me, since he looked at me right as he said it. I felt it like a slap in the face, and my cheeks burned.
“Then go on back out.” Brad’s tone was sharp.
“Gladly.” Jack was through the door without another word, and as soon as it slammed behind him, Pete sighed.
“Sorry about that. Jack has…some issues.”
I was still reeling, but I tried to find my balance. “I think I can guess what one of them is. He doesn’t want to hire me?”
“It’s not you,” Georgia said quickly. “Jack’s just really protective of the farm. He gets prickly when he thinks people are going to tell him what to do.”
“Especially if those people are not from around here, I bet.” I understood his reluctance to take advice from an outsider, but it didn’t excuse his rudeness. What a waste of a handsome face.
“Jack doesn’t understand that we’re not just running a farm, we’re running a business,” said Brad with more than a trace of annoyance. “And a business needs marketing.”
“We don’t have a lot of extra money.” Pete met my eyes with genuine concern. “But if you think you can help us, we’ll find a way to pay for it. Jack would be content to work in the dirt, tend to the animals, and never talk to anyone, but Georgia and I have dreams of our own.”
“The farm-to-table restaurant.” I smiled at him, vowing to put Jack out of my head. This was my favorite part about what I did—helping people grow their businesses and achieve their goals. And I could help this family, I was sure of it. Or at least those members who want my help. “I want to hear about it. And I’m positive we can work something out that fits your budget. Although before we get to that, I’d like to learn more about you, your family, the history here, what your hopes are for the future. That will help me a lot.”
I savored every bite of lunch as the three of them told me about how they’d come to own the farm. It was clear that Brad was the least enthusiastic about it but willing to give his brothers a chance to succeed. He mentioned that he hoped they’d be able to buy him out eventually.
“The plan was five years, but after Steph died, no one wanted to houn
d Jack about it.”
For the first time, there was an awkward silence at the table.
“Who was Steph?” I asked.
“Jack’s wife.” Georgia’s voice was so hushed I could hear the tick of a clock on the wall behind me. “She died three years ago.”
My breath caught. “How?”
“She was hit by a car. Drunk driver.”
