My anxiety spiked at the thought of Jeremiah waiting in there with Pop’s will. I didn’t know what it’d say, but given that I was his last living kin, the answer seemed obvious.
I didn’t want to know all the same.
That was the thought on my mind as Kit took me under her arm and walked me into the house, chattering about nothing just to fill the quiet, which I appreciated. We followed Jake’s wide back, wound with muscles and tapering down to his narrow waist, then to his substantial rear end, which was at my eye-level for a single glorious moment as we climbed the steps.
Walking through that door was another snapshot in a flip book of snapshots. I was hit with the familiar scent of baked goods and the aroma that only this house contained, an amalgamation of a hundred and twenty years. It was knotty pine and smoky embers. It was pipe tobacco and antique iron. It was smells that weren’t smells so much as they were memories, as if the house lived and breathed in this space and had its own stories to tell.
Old man Polluck hopped off his stool—which really meant he sort of slid off, pausing to balance himself—before heading for me with a bit of a bounce in his step.
“Olivia,” he said, his face sad and touched with pity, “I am just so sorry, dear. Frank’s loss is felt deep and wide. And I’m sorry to bother you when you haven’t settled in, but Frank was very clear in his instructions. As his executor, I had to come, you see.”
Again I tried to smile, and again I failed. “Thank you, Mr. Polluck.”
He waved a hand. “Oh, now—you’ve been calling me Jeremiah since you were just a little thing with legs twice as long as the rest of you. Don’t stop now. You’ll make me feel my age.” He smoothed his tie over his paunch as if to right himself.
Jake cleared his throat and headed for the stairs with my suitcases. “Want these in your old room?”
“Son,” Jeremiah started, “I’ll need you here too.”
Jake stopped mid-stride, his face bent in confusion. “What do you need me for?”
“Come on and sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
Kit’s eyes bounced between us as we headed into the kitchen. “I’ll put some coffee on,” she offered, hurrying to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t burst.
I couldn’t say I blamed her. I’d have given just about anything for a list of things to do.
I took a seat at the table, Jake at my side. Jeremiah shuffled to the other side to face us, his ancient briefcase in hand, then on the tabletop, creaking open. The shuffling of papers preceded the conversation that would change the lives of everyone in this room in some way or another.
“First, these are for you.” Jeremiah extended his hands, each holding a letter.
I took mine gingerly, my eyes misting again at my name in Pop’s hand on the envelope.
“Do we have to read these now?” Jake asked, his voice tight.
“No, those are for you to read whenever you wish.” He took a breath and straightened up as best he could for possessing a crooked back. “A few years ago, Frank updated his will. I don’t think any of you would be surprised that all of his money is tied up in the farm. And this asset is your inheritance.” His rheumy eyes shifted from me to settle on Jake.
Jake frowned. Blinked. Glanced at me, then back at Jeremiah. “You mean Olivia.”
“I mean both of you.”
A silent moment, crackling with questions, passed. And with it came my relief. My only shot for success with the farm lay in Jake’s hands, which was help I hadn’t been sure I could rely on until that very moment when his stakes became the same as mine.
Jeremiah reached into his briefcase, his hands returning to view with identical packets, which he handed to us. “Frank Brent’s will states that Brent Dairy Farm is to be equally distributed in its entirety to the two of you, fifty-fifty, with the exception of the farmhouse, which goes to Olivia. What you do with it is solely up to you, but Frank made sure you’d have to come together to decide.”
Jake nodded. “That’s easy. Olivia isn’t staying, so I’ll take over for Frank here, and she can just collect a paycheck.” He looked at me with his entire stupid, handsome, clueless face. “That’ll work, right?”
“No, that won’t work,” I said, my cheeks on fire and my brain ready for a fight. “I’m not leaving.”
His face quirked in confusion. “Just to live in the farmhouse? What else are you gonna do here?”
“I’m going to work.”
“Remotely for your job in New York?”
“I quit so I could work here.”
“Here?” A haughty burst of laughter hit me like a slap in the face. “You don’t know the first thing about running this farm.”
“Maybe not the cows and the hay—”
“What else is there?”
“Social media. Newsletters. Our website hasn’t been updated in fifteen years.”
He stiffened. “We don’t need any of that internet stuff.”
“That internet stuff is the way businesses run now whether you think we need it or not.”
The only acknowledgment was a derisive noise before he changed the subject. “What use do you have for a farm? I bet you can’t even remember how to milk a cow. Hell, you can’t even drink a glass of milk.”
I looked at him like he had several heads touting feelers. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want some part in running my family business. I can’t believe you expected me to hand it over without a fight. I can’t believe you thought I’d leave.”
“Why not? You did before.”
The heat in my cheeks flared. “Pop told me to go.”
“And you knew better than to believe him. That was his pride, but you’d have taken any excuse to leave. And you stayed gone. You left, Olivia, and you didn’t come back. You weren’t being noble—don’t pretend otherwise.” Before I could argue, he collected himself and tried again. “Listen—nobody expects you to stick around. Leave running the farm to me and go home. You know I’ll take care of it, so just go back to New York where you belong.”
“No,” I said quietly, voice trembling. “We have to decide together, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He drew an impatient breath through his nose, his eyes narrow and fiery. “I’m not going to spend my days fighting with you, and that’s exactly what it’ll be—a fight. I know what I’m doing, so just let me do my job without interference.”
“It’ll only be a fight if you make it one,” I pointed out.
His eyes narrowed when he swallowed an argument. “What’ll it take to get you to turn it over to me?”
“How can I answer that when I haven’t even had a chance to try my hand at it?”
A pause, the time marked by the tic of that muscle at his jaw.
“Well,” Jeremiah began, clearing his throat and shuffling things in his briefcase with no purpose, “no one has to decide anything right now. Olivia, your grandpa wanted to make sure you had time to make necessary plans once you decided what to do. So take some time. Get through what’s coming. It’ll be here waiting.” He closed his briefcase with a squeak and a snick of metal latches. “Call me if I can be of any help.”