Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

JAKE

I knew I wasn’t going to hear the end of it from my parents the second Layla left.

“Wow, she sure got even prettier,” my mom says as we eat dinner together.

“Single too, I hear,” Dad chimes in.

I shovel food into my mouth to have to keep from talking about Layla Davis.

“Leave him alone,” my sister Courtney says. “She dumped him, remember? Left town like it was nothin’.”

“She didn’t dump me,” I say after a long drink of water. “We mutually agreed to break up.”

Courtney snorts. “Yeah, ’cause she was leavin’ town and you had no choice.”

“She’s only back because her dad died and her mom needs help.”

Mom asks, “She told you that?”

I hesitate and then say, “Not in so many words, but she didn’t act like this was a temporary visit. And there’s no way her mom’s keeping up that farm by herself.”

“Mark helps her on the weekends,” Courtney says, referring to her husband’s younger brother.

“I know, but it’s not enough. I looked outside when I dropped her off. Weeds overgrown. Fence needs repairing. Chicken coop is falling apart.”

“You need to go over there and help,” my dad says. “Bible says we need to help widows and orphans.”

He’s right. “I’d offer, but Melanie’s proud. So is Layla. They’ll probably turn down help.”

“Just show up with tools. Tell them the Lord sent ya,” Mom says.

I chuckle. “Okay, Ma.”

“It’s the right thing to do. Take Brandon with you.” Courtney points at her husband, who’s feeding my brand-new niece born last month.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” he offers, typing on his phone while he props the bottle between his chin and the baby’s mouth.

Sure he will. Anything to get out of baby duty. I don’t say that though.

The next day, I admit to putting a little extra effort into my appearance before heading to the Davises to help them. No, I hadn’t called and asked because like I told my parents, I knew those stubborn Davis women would refuse my help. Brandon was busy so I’m on my own.

I ring the doorbell and Melanie answers, looking stunned. “Jake. This is a surprise.”

I lift my tool bag as she opens the screen door to let me in. “I hope you don’t mind, but I noticed your coop needed some fixes and your fence as well.”

“Oh, Jake. No. It’s okay, I’ll get to it eventually.”

Layla comes through the sliding glass door wearing jeans and a hoodie. “Jake?”

“Yeah, just gonna do some repairs.”

She looks confused and then almost upset. “No, it’s fine. We’ll get to it.”

I chuckle. “You two are a couple of stubborn hens. I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll be out back.”

They say nothing as I head out the sliding doors and walk past the garden to the chicken coop. The wiring is coming away from the wood, so I pull out pliers to replace it. I notice the wood is rotted in some areas, so I head around to the front, skipping going through the house, and grab a couple of two-by-fours from my truck bed.

I haul them back and begin ripping away the rotted wood.

“You know, you didn’t have to do this. I was actually gonna hire someone to come do it.”

I look up to see Layla, her head and shoulders blocking the sun from blinding me.

Going back to what I was doing, I scoff. “Who? Melvin? Or old man Johnson?” The town’s two “handymen.”

“Yeah, one of them.”

“Well, I’m here now,” I say, lining up the board and pulling a wood screw from my belt.

“At least let me help,” she says, and I look up to see her pulling her hoodie off and tying it around her waist. She only has a thin white T-shirt underneath. It’s late October, but the sun can still be brutal, especially when you’re working under it all day.

“You can hand me tools,” I tell her. I want to tell her to go back into the house or feed the cows or something, but in all honesty, I only want her out here with me.

After the coop is repaired, I pick up the tool bag and head to the fence line.

“Where you going? she asks.

I don’t reply, and she follows me.

The wire is bent so bad, I know this is dangerous. “A cow can get its head stuck in here.” I point to it.

“A cow did get its head stuck in there. Dumb Mabel.” She points to an older cow chewing on grass.

I chuckle.

“Mom said she had to pry it with all her might just to get her dang head out.”

“Sounds about right. Hand me the pliers.”

She roots around in my bag and hands them to me, her soft, warm fingers grazing mine as she does.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

I don’t want to think about Layla’s soft skin. I don’t want to think about what it would be like to have her touch me everywhere with those pretty hands of hers. I won’t let my mind wander to how good she felt in my arms, and with the way she’s filled out with more curves, how delicious her body probably looks under those clothes.

But, I am a guy.

We spend another hour repairing small things, and once we’re back inside, Melanie greets us with a smile.

“Hungry?” she asks. “I made grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

“That sounds great,” I say, knowing better than to turn down a mama’s offer for food. “Let me wash up.”

After washing my hands, I sit at the farmhouse wooden table with the ladies and eat lunch.

“What prompted you to come over here out of the blue, Jake?” Melanie asks, dipping her spoon in the soup.

“Honestly, I should have come over sooner and checked on you after Andy died. If I would have known you needed some fixes, I would have. I only noticed them yesterday when I dropped Layla off.”

“Well, I appreciate it, but you certainly don’t need to feel obligated.”

“I wouldn’t call it obligation. Just the need to do the right thing,” I reply, thinking about my father’s words.

“Well, you’re a good boy, Jake. I can only thank you with food.”

I laugh and pick up my sandwich. “This is much better than money. Not that I would have taken your money.”

Layla is watching the conversation quietly, but then she chimes in, “You have to be so busy on your ranch. I’m sure this is time you didn’t have.”

I shrug. “Brandon’s been more than anxious to help since the baby was born. He likes being outside, so he helps Dad a lot.”

“I didn’t know he and Courtney had a baby. Congrats,” Layla says.

“Oh yeah, cute little girl named Lilyann. I saw it on Facebook,” her mother says.

“Yeah, she’s not so cute when she’s screamin’ her head off at three a.m.,” I comment, wishing my sister and her husband would move to their own place, but something tells me they won’t for a while. My mom dotes on that baby night and day.

They both laugh.

After we eat lunch, I leave, feeling better that I fixed those things and that their animals are safe. Now I would have to come up with another excuse to over there. I noticed a few things around the inside and outside of the house itself that could use some work. I wonder if I’d be overstepping if I came back and did those things.

I shake my head. Why am I wanting to make excuses to go back to the Davis farm? I can’t have Layla, she’s made that clear. Sure, she was nice to me today, but I was doing her family a solid. Still, she stayed around to help and we had a nice afternoon together.

In all honesty, there’s a reason I haven’t really been with anyone else since she left. Aside from the fact that everyone knows everyone in this small town, there’s been nobody else who has made me feel the way she did—she does. We were kids when we fell in love, but then it fell apart. Love was never our problem. Geography was our problem. She left town to find herself—or whatever she did—and she left me here to pick up the pieces. Told me I’d move on and find someone else, though I never thought she actually meant it.

I told my sister that we’d had a mutual breakup, but it wasn’t that way. I wanted her to stay and make a life with me. To live on the ranch with me and have my babies. Live a slow, simple life here in small-town North Carolina, but she chose the big city over me.

And that’s something I can’t forget.

My heart doesn’t have the capacity to let her in again. Something tells me that as soon as her mom is sorted and has the farm the way she wants, that Layla will bolt again, back to her big-city life with electric cars and fifteen-dollar cocktails and corporate high rises, and I’ll be left to feel like I’m dying all over again.

Nope. Layla Davis is not worming her way into my heart again.