19. Ethan

The storm passes overnightbut my restless anticipation lingers. I don't know what it means that I fell asleep holding Lia, but I know I had no business kissing her. I rise early, not sure what to do about the woman in my bed as I get ready for the day"s work.

The rich scent of dark coffee fills the dim kitchen as the coffee maker gurgles to life. I pour a steaming mug, gulping its bitterness to shock some alertness into my foggy brain.

My eyes drift closed savoring the hot liquid before a bleating cry has them flying open.

I dart onto the porch, scanning for the source of distress until I spot a wooly form munching her way toward my house, her snout nudging away the plastic tenting I installed yesterday to protect the strawberry seedlings.

"Baabara!" I shout, nearly upending my mug as I sprint toward her. She looks up, tender green stems dangling from the side of her mouth. How did the blasted ewe get loose? She acts like she didn't see me and keeps on chewing the tiny leaves meant to save all our butts.

I lunge to grab her but she dances away, trotting farther down the planting row and leaving trampled seedlings in her wake. Baabara stops periodically to sample more foliage as I chase her, hollering in my bare feet. My pulse pounds at the damage she could wreak on our first fledgling crops.

Exasperated, I toss my empty mug aside, hearing it crack against the tenting frame amidst Baabara"s indignant bleating as I finally get hold of her collar. She kicks her back hooves, displeased at the interruption of her meal. I wrestle the cursed sheep toward her home, rage simmering in my gut. This feels like divine retribution for me putting my mouth where I shouldn't. I hate that my weakness could destroy everything my family holds dear.

Several rows are clearly ruined, tender plants uprooted by Baabara"s assault. Hundreds of dollars and weeks of nurturing in the pole barn destroyed as soon as we got the plants in the damn ground. I shove Baabara into her enclosure, securing the gate.

Surveying the ravaged crop, grief and stress boil over at how one simple misstep might doom everything. I roar in frustration, gripping my hair as unfamiliar tears blur my vision.

Gentle hands cover mine, easing them down. I blink rapidly to clear my eyes and find Lia studying me in the cold. Wordlessly she pulls my trembling body against hers, saying nothing as I inhale ragged breaths, seeking composure.

In this moment, I'm feeling all my losses. My blood boils for my lost parents, my grandfather, his betrayal, and now the loss of the potential solution I worked so hard to first accept and then set into motion.

Lia just stands there holding me while I count my breaths, trying not to strangle the sheep.

Eventually I straighten, scrubbing both hands down my face before witnessing the damage over Lia"s shoulder. She follows my gaze, exhaling softly. "We can likely still get a decent harvest. And honestly, Ethan, I think the rain did as much damage as Baabara." Her voice sounds steady despite the fearful shine in her eyes.

I know Lia needs tangible success here as much as anyone. The farm"s fate and her career credibility are tied together, and she needs results to convince the bank not to foreclose on our loans. I doubt her bosses want to hear about pampered livestock on a bender. Lia convinced me to try this experiment despite my stubborn resistance and now we both feel the increased fragility of our future.

"Give me a damage estimate for the grant paperwork." Lia tries to keep her tone business-like but I hear the tension at the edge. She moves slowly toward my house, pausing as if she's dizzy. I lag behind, still feeling sour and wondering how in the hell Baabara got out of her bungalow to start with.

When I get back to the cabin and clean off my feet, Lia sits silently at the table staring fixedly at piles of paperwork. Gran always said still waters run deep, and I sense Lia"s fears churning beneath her calm.

I remember what happened last night—how I kissed her and she kissed me back. I swallow a lump and long to run across the room and just haul her into my bed, farm and finances be damned.

Before I can ruminate too long, Lia looks up. Her face is still clearly carrying her fatigue. "We will get through this, Ethan," she vows. "I believe that now."

She said "we."

I open my mouth to ask her if she meant to say "we," but my door bursts open and Gran stomps into my house. "Did you see what my beautiful Baabara did to our plants? Oh, Ethan! How did she get so naughty?"

Colleen is close on Gran's heels, scowling. "Maybe it's because you spoil her, Gran. You could try spoiling one of us instead and send the sheep to the barn like a regular farm animal…"

Gran clutches her chest. "Baabara is not regular, Colleen Murphy Bedd. You bite your tongue. I never see you complaining about your merino wool socks and sweaters that sheep provides."

Lia laughs. "I can't tell—are we angry with Baabara or grateful for her services to the fiber community?"

Gran harrumphs. "How bad is it, Ethan? The damage?"

I sink into the chair opposite Lia, still barefoot, still wishing I had coffee. "Hard to say. I never grew strawberries before, so I don't know how much I should expect to lose."

Colleen peers outside. "It looks like you covered almost everything with hoops and tents? So at least the hail didn't get it?"

I nod and sigh.

Colleen taps her foot and looks at me. "You know who knows these kinds of things?"

I hold up a hand. "Don't say it. Come on."

She shakes her head. "Our brothers are freaking farm geniuses. Alex is a 15-minute drive down the road and you can't get over yourself and go ask him for manure. Sam's got a master's degree in Soil and Crop Science from an Ivy League University but neither you nor Gramps ever take his ideas seriously." She steps closer to me with each word and starts poking me in the chest with her surprisingly pointy index finger.

I hold my hand up. "I already took in Sam's damn students, Colleen. What more do you want from me?"

She flings her hands in the air. "Call Alex. Make up. Stop being a butthead."

With a final eye roll, Colleen swirls out of my house. Gran winces and waves and follows her, calling after Baabara in a voice most people reserve for tiny babies.

Lia bites her lip and I can tell she's trying not to laugh. "Did your sister call you a butthead?"

I squint at her. "Like your brother never calls you names."