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“I guess it wouldn’t be that much different than goats,” Rachel said.
Dermot couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”
“You know what I mean. Goats can be very mischievous. And they never listen to what you say. And when they get sick they can’t tell you what’s wrong with them, you’re just left guessing. And you spend a lot of time cleaning up after them.”
“Goats are exactly like children,” Dermot teased. “And husbands are exactly like donkeys and wives are exactly like chickens.”
“You have that right,” Rachel said with a nod. She set off across the field.
Dermot caught up to her and grabbed her hand. “So that’s your opinion of marriage?”
“I have no opinion of marriage,” Rachel said. “I think it can be harmful to develop an opinion of marriage before you’ve actually had a proposal. If that ever happens, then I figure I’ll decide what I think.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Do you have an opinion you’d like to share?”
Dermot frowned. Considering her opinion, or nonopinion, maybe it was best that he kept his to himself. “No,” he said. “I haven’t thought much about it.”
“It’s a big risk,” she said. “A leap of faith. I mean, my parents were married for forty-five years. How did they know that they weren’t going to get bored with each other after ten or fifteen years. I buy a sofa that I love one day, and two months later, I think it’s the ugliest sofa on the planet.”
“Now men are no longer donkeys, they’re sofas?”
“I’m just throwing out some analogies,” she said.
“You’re lucky you’re such a good artist, because you suck at analogies,” Dermot said.
Rachel giggled. “All right. Maybe I do. But the thought of mating for life is kind of scary. It’s a long, long time.”
“Penguins mate for life,” he said. “I saw that on Nat. Geo.”
“Eagles do, too. And geese. And swans.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Dermot considering her comments. He’d never met someone he could imagine marrying, until now. In truth, he’d spent more time with Rachel than he had with any other woman in his life. Every day for almost six weeks. Almost every night, too. They were as close to married as he’d ever been and he hadn’t thought once about running.
He raked his hand through his hair, stunned by the realization. In the past, he rarely continued a relationship after a few months. He grew bored and she grew clingy or they both were too busy to pursue anything further. But with Rachel, he’d stepped into her life one day and hadn’t thought about leaving.
Five weeks together and he still looked forward to waking up with her beside him in the morning and falling asleep wrapped in her arms at night.
They reached the creek and Rachel sat down on a grassy spot near the bank. It was the kind of perfect scene that he would remember for a lifetime, the sun gleaming off the wet rocks, milkweed seeds floating on the air, and a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. And then there was Rachel, her pale hair caught up in a haphazard knot and her face flushed from the heat.
Dermot wandered to the edge of the water and picked up a wildflower from a clump on the creek bank. He’d grown so comfortable here on the farm and he tried to imagine Rachel in his environment. Could she ever feel the same way about Seattle?
As much as he tried, he couldn’t seem to make the image jell in his mind. This was exactly where she belonged, in this place, on this farm. Dermot turned and looked at her, her gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon.
He’d never expected these choices to be easy. But then, he’d never expected them to be excruciatingly painful either. Once he fell in love, he’d just assumed it would all work out exactly as he wanted. He had a week left on the farm before he’d head home. She’d stay here forever, as she was always meant to.
There was only one thing he knew for certain. He’d have to learn to deal with the loss or spend the rest of his life wondering what might have been.
THE TOWN OF LAKE GENEVA was the closest thing to a tourist trap that could be found in the county. Known for its quaint shops, pretty streets and gleaming lake, Rachel usually made the short drive every few months to treat herself to a haircut or manicure.
Today she had Dermot, Trevor and Taylor for company. They’d stopped first at a discount store and picked up the list of school supplies she’d downloaded from the high school website, reassuring the boys that they would be ready when Monday rolled around.
After that, they’d enjoyed a leisurely lunch at a local hamburger joint, the boys inhaling their meal between one-word answers to Dermot’s and Rachel’s questions. Though they were feeling more comfortable at the farm, taking them out of that environment made her nephews a bit uneasy. And any discussion of school sent them both into a silent funk.
“Hey, there’s a movie theater a few blocks from here,” Rachel said. “Why don’t we check what’s on and if you guys want to see a movie, Dermot and I will do some more shopping.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said with a wide smile.
“What if I want to see the movie instead of going shopping with you?” Dermot asked.
That caused a laugh from Taylor. “Uh-oh,” he murmured.
“I—I guess that would be all right,” Rachel said. “I just thought you’d want to—” She forced a smile. “Never mind. I can shop on my own. I do it all the time.”
Dermot grinned as he reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m just teasing. Of course I’d love to go shopping with you, Aunt Rachel. It’s my favorite thing to do in the whole world.” Dermot rolled his eyes dramatically and Rachel threw a crumpled napkin at his face.
This caused the boys to dissolve into laughter, Dermot egging them on with silly faces. At heart, they were all just little boys, so easily amused. “Maybe I don’t want you to come now,” Rachel said.
“Aww,” they all groaned in unison.
“I’m not sure I like this. Three against one.” She stood up and grabbed the check. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We don’t want to be late for the movies.”
In the end, the two boys decided to see the latest sci-fi action hit while Dermot was happy to accompany Rachel. They headed for her favorite antiques store, a small shop just off Main Street with wide plate-glass windows and an old-fashioned center entrance.
Dermot held open the door and ushered her inside. Rachel walked right to the counter. Sylvia, the elderly woman who owned the store, was working behind the register. “Rachel. I didn’t expect you to come in so soon. I just called on Friday.”
“I was in town. And I wanted to see what you had.”
“Come in back and I’ll put it out over a table. It’s really quite beautiful. One of the nicest I’ve seen.”
Rachel had been buying antique quilts from Sylvia for almost a year, her only indulgence in a very strict budget. But her passion for collecting quilts had come from her mother. As a child, Rachel had accompanied her mother to auctions at least once a month in search of the hand-stitched creations.
Her first quilts had come from her grandmother, beautiful hand-pieced bedspreads made of faded calico fabrics. Then she’d inherited her mother’s eclectic collection. And now she was adding quilts of her own.
Sylvia pulled the quilt from a bag and threw it over an antique dining table. She patted Rachel’s shoulder. “I’ll give you some time to enjoy it.”
Rachel sighed. “Thank you, Sylvia.”
Dermot stood by her side. “It’s a quilt.”
“It’s a piece of American folk art,” she said, smoothing her hands over the fabric. “It tells a story. All of these fabrics came from old clothing the family had worn. I use pencils and ink and they used old aprons and shirts and dresses. And the pattern represents the maker. And each region of the country has favorite patterns. The women worked together on the quilting. See these tiny little hand stitches? And the designs they make? It’s beautiful.” She stepped back and pointed to the price tag. “Tell me how much it is. I’m afraid to look.”
Dermot glanced at the tag. “Four hundred,” he said.
“I never pay more than three hundred.” She shook her head. “I can’t afford this one.”
“But you want it.”
“I can’t have everything I want,” Rachel said. “I have the farm and now the boys. There are just better ways to spend my money.” Rachel shrugged. “Another one will come along.”
“But you love this one,” he said. “You should have this one.”
His determination startled her. It was just a quilt. She’d passed on many of them before because of price or condition or budget considerations. She’d learned not to grow attached. “Another will come along. And it will be better than this.”
With a soft curse, Dermot gathered the quilt up and tucked it under his arm. He carried it to the register and set it down, Rachel following hard on his heels. “What are you doing?”
“I’d like to buy this,” he said. Dermot pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and laid down four hundred-dollar bills.
Rachel recognized the money immediately. It was nearly all the money he’d made working on the farm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m buying you the quilt. You said you wanted it.”
“I didn’t want you to buy it for me,” she said. “If I wanted it, I’d buy it myself.” She put her hand over the quilt. “Sylvia, we’re just going to talk about this for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“Sylvia, I’ve made up my mind,” Dermot countered. “I want the quilt. Please put it in a nice bag.
It’s a gift.”
“I don’t need a gift,” Rachel said, her frustration growing. “Just stop.”
He paid for the quilt and then tucked the bag under his arm and strode out of the shop. Rachel looked at Sylvia, baffled at what had transpired.
“Enjoy your quilt,” the shopkeeper said.
She found Dermot standing on the sidewalk, his shoulders tense, his expression cloudy. His mood had turned so suddenly and Rachel couldn’t figure out why. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. I’m just used to buying quilts on my own.”
“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad. I was just— I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Rachel stood beside him, staring out at the traffic on the street. “Why did you get mad?”
“You said that another quilt would come along. You wanted this one, but you were willing to let it go, knowing that another one would come along. Do you think you’d ever regret letting this one go?”
“Maybe. But it’s just a quilt. And usually a better one comes—” Suddenly, Rachel realized what he was angry about. She groaned inwardly. “So at first men were donkeys and then they were sofas. And now they’re quilts?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds really stupid,” Dermot said. “I guess I’m just a little… sensitive.” He laughed. “Shit, I can’t believe I just said that. I’m not sensitive.”
“You are not a quilt,” she said. “I’m not going to throw you aside for another man… or quilt.”
“I won’t be here. Another quilt will come along. Like that Danny guy at the fair. Has he called yet?”
Rachel winced. He had called. And emailed twice. She’d put him off, but had decided to accept a lunch invitation after Dermot left. “He’s not you.”
“But he’ll become me, once I’m gone. He’s called, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. But I don’t have any plans to go out with him. Maybe we’ll meet for lunch, but we’re not going on a date. We’re just friends.”
“That’s how we started,” Dermot muttered.
“No, we started as lovers. And then we became friends.”
He walked off down the street and Rachel followed after him. She’d never seen him like this, so on edge, so frustrated. Dermot had always taken things lightly. And now he’d gotten upset buying a quilt? Maybe saying goodbye was going to be a lot more difficult that she’d anticipated.
Rachel slipped her hand around his arm as he walked, falling into stride next to him. “Can you just slow down for a second? So we can talk?”
“I’d rather not discuss this. I feel kind of foolish right now.” He stopped and held out the bag. “Here. I bought this for you. I want you to have it. Enjoy it. And please forget the conversation that came with it.”
Rachel pasted a bright smile on her face. “A gift?” she cooed. “You bought me a gift.” She examined the bag. “What could it possibly be?”
“All right, let’s not ignore the fact that I temporarily flipped out. I’ve just been thinking about next week and how hard it’s going to be to leave. And we haven’t really talked about it. And I didn’t think I was a jealous guy, but the thought of you just moving on to someone else irritates the hell out of me.”
“I understand,” Rachel said.
“You’re beautiful and funny and exciting and I just think that someone is going to notice that and you’re going to find some guy and fall madly in love and—”
“Who says I couldn’t fall madly in love with you?” she asked.
“Could you?”
Rachel nodded. She’d already fallen, and pretty hard at that. But she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to admit it. Yet. “What about you? Could you fall in love with me?”
Dermot nodded. “I think I could.” He handed her the quilt. “I want you to have this. I want you to remember who bought it for you. And no matter what happens between us, when you look at it, you’ll think of me. And maybe if you sleep under it, you’ll dream of me.” He laughed. “Strike that last part. That was horribly cheesy.”
“I thought it was kind of romantic,” Rachel said.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
They started off down the street, the mood lighter, their argument forgotten. But Rachel couldn’t help but speculate over his strange behavior. Dermot was usually so smooth, so charming. Everything that came out of his mouth was carefully crafted to make her feel beautiful and important. And now, suddenly, he was stumbling all over himself to express his feelings.
Maybe he was falling in love, Rachel mused. Or maybe he was in love already. She drew a long, slow breath. If that was true, then everything had just become a lot more complicated.
8
BY THE TIME DERMOT finished his shower, he was ready to relax. He and Rachel had spent the entire afternoon doing a health check on the herd, a tedious process that required looking over every goat, trimming hooves and checking ears and general health in preparation for breeding.
Since Trevor had decided to join the football team, he stayed after school every afternoon, joining the milking tasks an hour late. After the milking was done, the boys and Dermot cleaned the parlor and the shed and brought in fresh straw, while Rachel went back to the house to start dinner.
Dermot slipped his bare feet into his shoes and wandered out onto the porch, his unbuttoned shirt flapping in the warm breeze. He expected to find her sitting on the steps, a spot that had become “their place” to watch the sunset.
The boys were at the table doing their homework. “Do you know where Rachel is?” he asked.
“She said she had to go out to the barn,” Taylor said.
Dermot jogged down the steps, happy to find that they’d have a few more moments alone. They’d fallen into a schedule of sorts over the past four days. Like any ordinary family there was a lot of juggling that went on, but it all seemed to work.
He looked for her in the office in the milking parlor and then walked through the goat barn. He found her sitting in a pile of straw next to Lady, the matriarch of the herd. A cluster of goats stood nearby, watching her.
“Hey,” he called. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d be finished by now.”
She turned to look at him and Dermot frowned. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. He hurried over to her and bent down. “Is she sick?” he said. “I’ll call the vet.”
“No, no.” Rachel shook her head. “She’s fine.”
