6. Charlotte

6

CHARLOTTE

C harlotte sat in Tag’s truck the next morning, watching out the window as they left the scenery of the cozy little village behind for the more open landscape of the countryside.

The sun was just coming up, its pink glow lighting up the tops of the trees and houses here and there, leaving most of the sleepy town in shadow.

Tag was characteristically silent, and Charlotte somehow managed not to fill the empty space with nervous chatter. She got the feeling that he wasn’t much of a morning person. But wasn’t that impossible if he was up before dawn every day to milk the cows? Maybe Tag wasn’t really an any time of the day person.

They drove along the winding road until they came to a covered bridge that looked like it belonged on Charlotte’s mother’s country scenes calendar.

She was wishing for a better look when Tag stopped the car for a moment and rolled his window down a little. Charlotte gazed out through the windshield, charmed at the wooden structure with its faded red paint.

“Okay,” he said, and they were moving again.

The truck’s tires rattled the planks, and it was dark inside the bridge, with just a few individual shafts of light piercing the knots in the wood.

“Thanks for stopping,” she told him when they came out on the other side. “I should have taken a picture. Maybe I will on the way back.”

“I stopped because it’s only one lane,” he explained. “Normally, we tap the horn, but it’s still early and the Johnsons don’t work anymore.”

He was indicating a small brick house on the right.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a little embarrassed. Clearly, the man didn’t consider himself a tour guide.

“We can stop on the way back though,” he told her. “You’ve never seen a covered bridge before?”

“Well, my mom had a calendar of country scenes,” she said, trying to recover her dignity. “So I’ve seen photos.”

He nodded and his eyes were on the road again, but she was pretty sure the corner of his mouth was tugging up slightly. She turned away and looked out her own window, deciding to take a moment to enjoy the rural scenery again.

The world grew wilder and more overgrown as they got further north of the town. She could hardly imagine how it would look when the leaves were on the trees. Even now, their bare branches met overhead, casting long fingers of shadow in the early morning light. The whole road would feel like some kind of tunnel when the leaves came back.

“Almost there,” Tag said suddenly, his deep voice breaking the silence.

Ahead of them, acres of snowy fields rolled out beyond a split rail fence. Tag turned on his signal and they pulled between stone pillars under an old wooden sign that said Lawrence Dairy . More huge trees lined the drive, their bare branches silvery and beautiful against the pale pink light of dawn.

“Oh, wow,” Charlotte murmured.

“It’s nicer in fall,” Tag said. “Those are red oaks.”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure of the difference between red oaks and any other kind of oaks. Or even the difference between oaks and maples, for that matter. There was definitely something about leaf shapes that gave it away. She was going to have to brush up. It seemed like trees and animals were very important around here, at least if the street names had anything to say about it.

As they made their way down the lane of red oaks, she spotted a big red barn on the left, with fields in front of it, and more land stretching all the way up the snowy hillside beyond.

To the right, more open land went all the way to the trees on the hill. A pair of beautiful Victorian houses were situated in the shelter of the hillside.

Straight ahead, a stone farmhouse greeted them like something out of a storybook. From the red-painted front door to the smoke swirling out of the chimney, the house felt like it had been conjured by her imagination to fit the cozy setting perfectly.

As they drove in a little further, another ornate Victorian beyond the farmhouse came into better view. It was painted in shades of green, and somehow looked just as at home on the farm as the first house, even though it probably should have felt a little imposing.

“That’s my parents’ house,” Tag said. She assumed he was talking about the big Victorian, but he surprised her by gesturing to the cozy farmhouse instead. “My brothers live in the houses on the right. And the green one back there is mine.”

Charlotte wasn’t sure what to say. Nothing could have shocked her more than hearing that Tag lived in the most fanciful house on the property.

“My wife wanted it green,” he said, his gaze fixed on the house.

Is Tag the widower? she wondered suddenly.

She knew that one of the brothers was, but Allie had so many that Charlotte had a hard time keeping track of which was which. It would be easier once she had met all four of them in person.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him honestly.

“She used to say nothing could be as beautiful as the hillside,” Tag said. “So the best we could do was blend in.”

Charlotte nodded. It was the most he had said all at once since they met, and there was a note of sadness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.

She felt a pang of sorrow for him, and suddenly felt terrible for writing him off as a grump. Probably anyone who lost a spouse so young would be unhappy.

“Okay,” he said crisply, pulling his truck up in a gravel lot off the circular drive, near the stone farmhouse with the red door.

She bent to grab her bag, and when she straightened, Tag was opening her door.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” she said.

He offered her his hand, and she almost refused. But the truck was up pretty high, and there was still some ice on the gravel. And honestly, it seemed fun to be handed down like a princess in a fairytale, even if she was in a truck instead of a horse drawn carriage.

She placed her hand in his palm, and a bolt of awareness went through her as his big, warm hand closed around hers.

He didn’t let go right away when she had her feet on the ground, and she glanced up at him.

His cerulean eyes flashed and he cleared his throat, tearing his gaze from hers as he let go of her hand.

He felt it too…

“Let’s go see the cows,” he said flatly, tromping off in the direction of the red barn without waiting to see if she would follow.

Charlotte shook off the odd sensation and jogged after him, grateful for her new snow boots. Back in the city she had hesitated at the expense, but Allie had said she would need them, and she was right.

As they got closer to the barn, a cheerful, masculine voice drifted to them.

“ Laura, Mary, Carrie ,” he sang out. “ Come on now. ”

“That’s my dad,” Tag informed her. “He let Olivia name those cows, and she named them after her books.”

“Olivia,” Charlotte echoed, trying not to pant as she matched his long strides and tried to follow what he was saying.

“My daughter,” Tag said. “She’s thirteen now, but she was ten when she was reading those Little House books, and she was obsessed with them.”

“Me too,” Charlotte agreed, the idea of naming the cows after the daughters in the books making her smile. “They’re really good.”

Tag nodded and they walked on with the snow crunching under their boots. The field was painted in the colors of the sunrise, and the air was sweet, though it was cold enough their breath plumed out in front of them.

“It’s amazing,” Charlotte sighed, forgetting that Tag wasn’t a big talker.

He glanced over at her appraisingly. Whatever he saw must have met with his approval, because he nodded again.

“There’s no place like it,” he said gruffly. “But don’t expect anything exciting to happen here. It’s not like your city.”

“We lived in a small town when I was a kid,” she said, picturing Trinity Falls in her mind. “I’ve missed it ever since we moved.”

The tiny Pennsylvania town had grown to fairytale status in her mind. Two years ago, she’d gone down for a quick visit and to honor someone who had helped her family years ago, and it was odd to see the little town again with adult eyes. She had expected to find that the magic had faded. But if anything, she had loved it even more now that she had seen more of the world and understood how rare the simple, joyful little village really was.

This place reminds me of that. It feels like home.

Tag nodded and gave a small grunt in reply.

She waited, but he seemed to have nothing more to say on the matter.

As soon as they reached the other side of the barn, she spotted a tall man on horseback, clucking to a herd of beautiful cows. Some were the classic black and white of a childhood drawing. Others had big, black eyes and brown coats so light it made them look soft to the touch.

“Brown jersey cows,” she said, feeling delighted that she knew what she was looking at. “And black and white Holsteins.”

“Hey, Dad,” Tag called out. “Charlotte’s here.”

The man pulled up his horse, and only then did Charlotte realize that he was old enough to be Tag’s father. His posture up on the horse made him look much younger.

“Well, hello there, young lady,” Mr. Lawrence said, jumping off the horse and heading over to her.

She expected him to tie the horse up, but it waited patiently for him. When she held out her hand to shake his, the man drew her into a quick, hard hug.

“Allie thinks the world of you,” he said, pulling back and looking her in the eyes as he clapped her shoulder. “We’re all so glad you could come up here and help with the shop.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, Mr. Lawrence,” she told him. “Thank you for offering me a place to stay.”

“It’s Daniel,” he said. “And that apartment isn’t much.”

He frowned, looking a little unhappy about it.

“I’ve never had my own place before,” she reassured him quickly. “I love it. And the view is so nice.”

“You can see the whole town from up there, can’t you?” he said, sounding more cheerful. “Well, I hear you’re curious about the cows. Want to meet them?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

But he didn’t have to take her anywhere, because there were already cows approaching. One was snuffling Mr. Lawrence’s pockets.

“Easy, Jane,” he chuckled, giving her a scratch behind the ears. “Jane Austen here was a bottle baby, so she’s extra affectionate.”

“A bottle baby?” Charlotte echoed.

“Mom will explain,” Tag said.

“Oh, she sure will,” his father laughed. “At any rate, most of them are very friendly, though one or two might be shy because you’re a stranger.”

“How many do you have?” she asked.

“Fifty-eight,” he told her.

“You can’t do a good job with more than about sixty-five on this much land, with this much help,” Tag put in. “But we like to keep it to a lower number.”

“Fifty-eight is Maggie’s lucky number,” Mr. Lawrence said with a smile. “And as much as these cows need to eat each day, it’s good to have plenty of land for them.”

Jane Austen was sniffing at Charlotte’s coat now. Charlotte lowered her hand to touch the soft-looking fur.

Jane snorted, and Charlotte jumped a little at the sound and the feel of the animal’s hot breath. But she managed to hold her ground. A moment later, she was scratching behind one of Jane’s ears as the little cow arched her neck for more.

“Well, look at that,” Mr. Lawrence said proudly. “We’ve got ourselves a natural cowgirl.”

“So what are you doing with them right now?” Charlotte asked, looking up from Jane.

“Normally, we would start our day off here with some nice grazing,” Mr. Lawrence said. “And then we’d make our way up the hillside for more grazing, and end the day in the lower fields. For these girls, eating and napping is their whole job, and it takes a lot of quality grass to get what they need.”

Charlotte’s eyes went to the snow-covered fields.

“With all the snow,” Mr. Lawrence went on, “we’re planning to go down to the lower field first. The other two are in the shade of the hillside, but I’m hoping there’s been enough melt down there in the sunshine that the girls can find a snack and stay busy for a while.”

“We’ll give them feed later on,” Tag said. “But it’s expensive, so we like them to find grass if it’s possible.”

“Here’s hoping,” Mr. Lawrence said with a smile. “If nothing else, they’ll get a little fresh air and exercise, and so will I.”

“See you back at the house for lunch?” Tag asked his father.

“Yep,” Mr. Lawrence said, swinging back up onto his horse. “Your mother’s got a stew in the crock.”

Tag made a sound of appreciation and Charlotte watched as the older man led the cows away, singing out to each of them by name.

“Do they all have names?” she asked as she watched.

“Yes,” Tag said. “Makes it easier to keep track of them. And it only seems right.”

“Wow,” she said, nodding and wishing he would go on about why he thought it was right for the cows to all have names. That felt a bit out of character for the gruff man.

“Want to see the barn next?” he asked.

“Sure,” she told him.

She followed him through the wooden door and into the dim, sweet-smelling space beyond. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she heard scraping sounds and the swish of moving hay.

“Is this Allie’s little friend?” a masculine voice asked teasingly. “She forgot to mention you were such a heartbreaker. I’m Tripp.”

She blinked up at the figure silhouetted by light from the window behind.

“You must be the flirt,” she said.

Tag barked out a dark laugh that sounded almost rusty.

“Careful, you’ll break him,” Tripp told her in a confiding tone. But she could see that he was grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, I guess I’m the flirt. And he’s the grouch.”

Tripp was definitely handsome, but his voice didn’t ping harmonics in her chest like Tag’s did. And she was starting to feel a little defensive on Tag’s behalf at hearing him called a grouch, even though she’d thought it herself more than once.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked, trying to get their conversation back on track. “Feeding the cows?”

“Oh, I wish,” Tripp laughed. “I’m cleaning up their poop and putting down fresh straw.”

“The cows like to come in at night when it’s cold out,” Tag said. “But that means cleanup.”

“Not for you today, though, huh, big guy?” Tripp teased. “You’re the tour guide.”

Tag snorted and headed deeper into the barn.

“Not a big talker,” Tripp said softly to Charlotte. “But he’s a good guy.”

She smiled and gave Tripp a little wave as she headed off after his brother. As she moved farther into the barn, she could just make out the soft notes of a woman crooning, the sound echoing slightly in the mostly empty space.

“That’s very good,” the woman said. The only reply was a wet, sloshing sound.

“Hey, Mom,” Tag called out softly. “I’m bringing Charlotte back here.”

“Oh, how nice,” the woman said. “She’ll get to meet Clover.”

Tag stopped outside a stall and gestured for Charlotte to come close. She stepped over so that she could see inside, where a woman in a sweater and jeans with a big work apron on top was standing in the corner of the stall holding a big milk bottle.

A sweet little brown Jersey calf, wearing what looked like a pink jacket nursed away noisily at the bottle, making the wet sounds Charlotte had heard.

“ Good girl ,” the lady crooned again to the little calf, then turned to her guests. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Charlotte said. “She’s so cute. How did you get the jacket on her?”

“This is Clover,” Maggie said, glancing up at Charlotte. The light in the barn was just enough for Charlotte to see that her blue eyes sparkled just like her son’s. “Her mother rejected her. That happens from time to time. So we’re feeding her. And in the cold weather, we put calf blankets on our babies. It’s made so that you can get it on without a fuss and keep them nice and warm, even when they go outside.”

“So Clover is a bottle baby?” Charlotte guessed. “Like Jane Austen?”

“Oh, she’s good,” Maggie said with a big smile, glancing over at Tag. “That’s exactly right, Charlotte. Feeding her means a little more work, but she’ll be an extra friendly cow for the rest of her life.”

“A lot more work,” Tag said. “But Mom loves it.”

“I do,” Maggie sang out in her sing-song voice again, smiling down at the calf. “There’s a reason I married a farmer.”

Charlotte couldn’t help smiling herself. She guessed that probably no one could have. There was something special about Maggie Lawrence.

“Have you shown her the creamery yet, Tag?” Maggie asked.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure your brother would like to show off all he’s done,” Maggie replied. “And since she’s selling the ice cream, she might like to see how it’s made.”

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte said.

“Creamery it is,” Tag said. “See you, Ma.”

“You’ll both come to the house for lunch, won’t you?” Maggie asked. “I’ve got a nice stew in the crock.”

“Yes, Ma,” Tag teased. “You can feed Charlotte, too.”

But Maggie only laughed.

“Is it so bad to want to feed the ones you care about?” she asked.

“Definitely not,” Charlotte told her, liking the sound of that stew, especially on a cold day.

“I told you she’s a keeper,” Maggie said, laughing again as Tag led Charlotte back through the barn.

He was shaking his head, but he wore an uncharacteristic smile.

So, it’s possible to get a real smile out of him , Charlotte thought to herself.

“You’re taking her to the creamery, aren’t you?” Tripp yelled to them as they passed him for the second time. “Tell Zane to get in here and help me when he’s done.”

“Sure,” Tag said, sounding anything but sure.

She followed him back outside, appreciating that the barn had actually been a little warmer than outside once she was back out in the open air.

“The sun will heat things up pretty quick,” Tag said, as if he had read her mind. “Creamery’s this way.”

She followed him up the hillside, toward a plain brick building with a little wooden sign hanging from the door.

“Zane made that in elementary school wood shop,” Tag said, nodding to the sign, which said Creamery in uneven letters.

“That’s so cool,” Charlotte said. “He must have been so proud when your parents put it up.”

“He was,” Tag agreed. “Listen, Zane’s the quiet type, I just want to warn you.”

Charlotte was at a bit of a loss. Tag had barely said more than a sentence at a time since she’d met him. If he was saying Zane was quiet, the poor man must be as silent as the tomb.

Tag pushed open the door before she could ask any follow-up questions. The inside was taken up mostly by huge, shining metal vats. A man who had to be Zane looked up at them, clearly surprised to have visitors.

“Hey, Zane,” Tag said. “This is Allie’s friend, Charlotte. She works at the ice cream shop now, and she wanted to see how it’s made.”

Zane had the typical Lawrence big frame and dark hair. But where Tag seemed to carry a bit of darkness with him, and Tripp’s personality was full of mischief, Zane’s quiet was deeper, with an edge of sorrow.

He smiled at Charlotte and moved to greet her, making an obvious effort to shake off whatever haunted his blue eyes.

“Hi, Charlotte,” he said. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, customers have had a lot of questions about the cows,” she said. “And Tag has been very kindly answering those for me.”

Tag made a sound beside her that was something between a laugh and a cough.

He should splutter , she thought to herself, glad she had thrown him for a loop for once, instead of the other way around. He wasn’t exactly kind about answering those questions.

But he was being pretty nice today, she had to admit.

“I would love to know how the milk gets from the cows to the shop,” she finished.

“Has she been here for a milking?” Zane asked Tag.

“Nope,” Tag said. “I brought her over here at seven.”

“Ah,” Zane said. “A late sleeper. Well, if you can, stay for the milking tonight. That’s important. I’ll show you what happens once the milk gets to me in the creamery. How much do you know about pasteurization?”

“I don’t know much,” Charlotte admitted. “But I’d love to learn.”

“You’re going to regret saying that,” Tag told her, shaking his head. But she swore she could see the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.