Straddling the Fence (15 page)

Too stuffed to eat another bite, Bellamy pushed her plate
aside and sipped her tea, grinning as Eli stabbed a leftover mushroom with his
fork and popped it into his mouth. While everyone else finished eating, she
studied the framed black-and-white photos of Serenity’s early days lining the
walls of the Cottonwood.

An older man with short graying hair, a ruddy face and a
round stomach beneath a well-worn pair of denim overalls blocked Bellamy’s
view. She blinked and started to peer around him when she realized he was staring
directly at her, so she gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile.

He moved closer to the table. “You’re Madeline McCoy’s
granddaughter, right?” he asked. “The lady vet.”

She quelled a sigh. Why did people feel the constant need to
add the sexist qualifier to her profession?

“Yes, sir.”

“Thought so. You look just like her, back when she was a
young woman.”

“Well, that’s a very nice compliment. Thank you, sir.”

“She was a fine lady. Made the best peach pies I’ve ever put
in my mouth.” He extended his hand for Bellamy to shake. “I’m Wallace
Treadway.”

“Bellamy Haile. Nice to meet you, Mr. Treadway.” Where had
she heard that name before?

He proceeded to shake hands with everyone else at the table,
calling the men by their first names, while Bellamy flipped through the rolodex
in her brain, trying to place him.

Then Mr. Treadway’s attention returned to her. “I see you’re
living at the old homestead. I’m your neighbor.”

Her mother’s words came flooding back.
“Mr. Treadway, the
neighbor who owns the adjoining land to the west, has wanted to buy it for
several years now.”

Oh no. Please no. Not here.
Beneath the table, Eli’s
hand moved to her knee. Hers tightened around her mug.

“Are you plannin’ on stayin’ in the house?” Mr. Treadway
asked.

“I, um…I’m not sure yet.” Self-conscious heat made a slow
crawl up her neck and into her cheeks. She became painfully aware of the
silence at the table, despite everyone’s best efforts at acting inattentive and
focused on their food.

“Shame to let all that raw land go to waste.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Bellamy said, terrified of where the
conversation was headed. She wanted to beg him to stop talking, fake a coughing
fit, or slide right under the table and hide. But she couldn’t do any of those
things because she was an adult. A professional businesswoman with a vet
practice that needed to survive so she could eat and pay her bills. Behaving
like a child in public wouldn’t help her cause.

“My offer to buy it is still on the table,” Mr. Treadway
said.

“Would you be interested in leasing the land from her,
Wallace?” Eli asked him.

Wallace rubbed his protruding belly, around and around, and
frowned as if the thought of leasing gave him a stomachache. Bellamy was
starting to develop one herself.

“Prob’ly not,” Wallace finally said. “If I drill a new well,
invest in removing old fence and installing center-pivot irrigation and she
decides to terminate the lease, I’m out a lotta money. I want complete control
so I can do what I please with the property. You boys should understand that,
since your family owns all the land you farm. And I’d just rather buy this
piece outright ’cause it’s contiguous to my homestead.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Bellamy said. “But I’ll have to
give it some thought.”

He whipped a pen from the pocket on the bib of his overalls
and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser sitting in the center of the table.
After scribbling his name and number down, he handed the note over to Bellamy.
She folded it and shoved it inside the back pocket of her jeans, thinking that
was the second time she’d done so recently with a distasteful piece of
information.

“I’ll pay you fair market value for the land, in cash. You
can ask these boys here, or that banker lady sitting next to you. I’m good for
the money. If you think you might be interested, I’d like to do something
before the end of the year if possible.”

For some stupid, stupid reason, Bellamy asked, “What would
happen to my grandparents’ house?”

He went back to rubbing his stomach, which didn’t bode well
it seemed, and studied his shoes. When he looked up, his face was grim. “More’n
likely I’d raze it. It’s just not feasible for me to keep it standin’. Not when
I can clear the trees and use the acreage it sits on.”

“I see,” she said, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

Eli offered his hand to him again. “Thanks, Wallace.” Then
the man left.

Bellamy couldn’t seem to draw a breath. Some outside force
was crushing her rib cage, squeezing the air right out of her lungs. And she
couldn’t look up from her cup of tea because if she did, she’d see pity in
everyone’s eyes, if they even looked at her at all.

“I have to go,” she said, nudging Eli a little too hard,
desperate to get out of that restaurant. He slid from the booth while Bellamy
tossed money on the table to cover her breakfast, only to have Eli scoop it up
and shove it back into her pocket when she stood.

He followed her out of the Cottonwood. She waited until
they’d cleared the front window of the diner before turning around to stop him.
“I can walk to my truck.”

“Bell, it’s four blocks. I’ll give you a lift.”

The sun was bright and warm on the sidewalk, and she hoped
the light diluted the flush of sadness on her face. “No. I need to walk and
clear my head before I get to the Freemans’ place.”

He stepped closer. “Don’t shut me out like this. I know what
Wallace said about the house hurt, but we can—”

“Eli, stop. When it comes to this, there is no ‘we’. I’m not
a gate or a mailbox post or a,” she swallowed the rising lump in her throat, “a
swing that needs fixing. It’s not that simple, it’s messy and confusing and…and
it’s my problem to figure out.”

He squinted in the sun but not before she saw anger flash in
his eyes. “I’m not trying to fix
you
, Bellamy. If that’s what you think,
you haven’t been paying attention.”

And with that, he turned his back on her and walked into the
Cottonwood, leaving her alone on the sidewalk with the bitter taste of regret
on her tongue.

* * * * *

I’m sorry. Again.

He wanted to be mad at her. He really did, and he probably
should at least make her wait it out a few days while she wondered if he
forgave her for pushing him away.

Instead, Eli found himself turning down Bellamy’s dusty
driveway Saturday afternoon because he couldn’t stay away for long. And because
the text she’d sent earlier seemed to be saying something more to him besides
the obvious apology. She was confused, possibly overwhelmed about what to do
with the house and land, with no one to lean on but herself, or so she thought.
She wanted to be strong and self-reliant, and he understood that, but every now
and then even the toughest souls caved under pressure. Whether she would admit
it or not, she needed him just as much as he was coming to need her.

The autumn sun cast long shadows across the yard and
burnished the trees in rich oranges and reds as he stepped onto the rickety
back porch. A batch of freshly fallen leaves was scattered across the wood,
making the place seem even more barren, Bellamy its sole life force. He found
the door unlocked, but left his frustration outside with the firewood and her
dirty work boots.

When he stepped inside, the house was eerily quiet and cool.
Still as a pond in winter. A half-eaten sandwich sat on a paper plate beside
the sink, a treat she’d leave for the fox later.

“Bell?” he called out.

“Up here,” she answered from somewhere above his head.

The treads groaned and creaked under his feet, making him
briefly question the integrity of the staircase as he ascended. Along the
tarnished walls, he could make out the brighter spots in the paint where framed
photographs had once hung, the empty holes where the nails had been. Something
pinged inside his chest, perhaps an echo of the deep disappointment Bellamy
must’ve felt at finding the house gutted when she arrived.

He stopped on the second-floor landing, noting the scarred
heart pine floors extended to this level too. It was probably his favorite
feature of the old house, a distant second to its owner. Narrow hallways
branched off in both directions from the stairwell, with doorways on either
side of it. There were no lights on anywhere that he could see and no sounds
coming from any of the rooms.

“Marco?”

“Polo,” came her reply from down the hall to his right.

He followed the sound of her voice to the last room, finding
Bellamy lying on her back on the floor in the middle of the empty room, her
blue fleece blanket wrapped around her body. Her hair was damp, as if she’d
recently showered. Her top was hidden by the blanket, but she wore jeans and a
pair of purple socks with pink flying pigs on them, which made him smile. There
wasn’t much about Bellamy that didn’t make him smile.

Sunshine streamed in through the sole curtain-less window in
the room, right across the floor to where she lay, turning the skin of her face
and throat golden.

Surprised and curious, he strolled closer, peering down at
her. “What are you doing on the floor, darlin’?”

She opened the blanket and he accepted the invitation. When
he stretched out next to her, crossing his legs at the ankles, she lifted her
head for him to tuck his arm beneath her neck and scooted close to his side.
Her fingers slid between the snaps on his shirt, grazing his skin.

“I heard a noise up here.”

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He rolled his head
to look at her, knowing his eyes had widened a bit. “You mean like…”

“A ghost?” At his slow nod, she smiled. “No, more like a
small critter. Although I kind of wish my nana would pay me a visit. Maybe she
could tell me what to do.”

Oh Bellamy
.

The ping in his chest turned to an ache.

This was something he hadn’t stopped to consider—the guilt
she might feel at selling the place her grandmother had clearly wanted her to
have. More uncertainty to add to the pile of worry inside her head.

“What do you think she would tell you?”

“To follow my heart,” she said without a moment’s
hesitation.

“And knowing that doesn’t help?”

“Not when my heart can’t make up its mind in the first
place.”

Eli wondered what her heart was telling her about the two of
them—stay or go. Push him away or let him all the way in and fall just as hard
as he had. He almost asked, but then thought better of it. As bad as he wanted
to know how she felt, he realized part of that desire was fueled by his own
inexperience with matters of the heart.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

The fact that she asked erased his worries and told him that
perhaps her mind had gone to the two of them as well. If it was bothering her
enough to question, she cared enough to not want what they had to end, at least
for now. He might not know a lot about serious relationships, but he recognized
this as a good thing.

“We’re just fine, Bell.” He nudged her foot with his booted
one. “How’s Petunia?”

“Officially retired from baby-making.”

“Good for her. I’m sure the Freemans have plenty of other
available options, what with owning a pig farm.”

“Not all sows make good mothers. Petunia was just their
tried and true. It looks as if I might’ve won them over as a customer, though,
even in delivering bad news.”

He pressed his face to her hair, breathing in the soft scent
of her shampoo. “It’s been tough, hasn’t it?”

“A little, but I was prepared for it. My uncle warned me I
might lose customers once they found out I was female.”

“Narrow-minded assholes,” Eli muttered.

She snuggled against his side, working her hand deeper into
the gap of his shirt. “They’ll come around eventually.”

He hoped so, for her sake.

The house’s age was more apparent up here than on the bottom
floor. Above their heads, cracks lined the plaster on the ceiling like spider
webs. In one corner, it was stained from an old roof leak. The paint on the
walls of this particular room was starting to flake away, collecting with dust
around the perimeter in tiny drifts. One of the panes in the casement window
was broken, and as he studied it further, he saw that a wedge of the glass was
actually missing.

“What kind of noise did you hear?” he asked her.

“Something scratching. Or scurrying.” She shivered. “I hope
it’s not a giant rat.”

“Could’ve been a bird. There’s a piece missing from that
broken window pane.”

Bellamy tilted her head back to look. “Huh. I hadn’t noticed
that. Well, there goes more of my heat. But there’d be droppings or feathers on
the floor most likely if the bird spent any time trapped in here.”

“True.”

“This was the room I slept in when I came for visits. Unless
it was cold. Then I slept with Nana. She used to pile so many quilts and
blankets on the bed it was almost impossible to move, let alone turn over. I’d
wake up in the middle of the night thinking I was being suffocated. And she had
this horrible, lumpy mattress.”

“Worse than the one downstairs?”

She poked him in the ribs. “Much worse.”

“My grandparents had beds like that too.”

“Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts.”

Eli rubbed her shoulder. “I think it’s supposed to when
they’re special like that.”

After a quiet minute, she tilted her head to peer up at him,
her gaze roaming over his face before she asked, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

His heart swelled at the surprising request. In the time
he’d known her, she’d never outright asked him for anything significant. Had
she really asked him for anything at all? Wanting to spend the night at his
place was a simple wish, nothing over the top or out of left field, but it
still felt as though it had weight and promise.