27 27 This was a terrible idea.
Why I thought it would be emotionally healthy to drive to Delta and observe the auction proceedings is beyond me. A macabre curiosity is the only reasonable explanation, and I had convinced myself that satisfying it was important if I wanted to be able to move on.
This way I would be able to see the buyer, and maybe if I was lucky, decide that they looked like a good sort of people. No matter the mechanics of how it was going down, letting go of my trees was heart wrenching and knowing they would be in capable, trustworthy hands was small solace, but one I’d gladly take. If I was brave, I might also approach the buyer and ask if I could pay a little bit of rent and stay until the end of the month.
After that? I was still considering my next move. A job with Justin in Fruita was a possibility. As was relocating to Boulder, where there were plenty of thriving organic farms that might need help. I would be closer to Cooper, but still on my own—which was important. Once all of this had played out, once the foreclosure was complete and I was set on my next move, then we would talk. But he didn’t need to play rescuer and I didn’t need to be saved. What I needed was to know I’d shouldered this on my own, like a grown woman. Then Cooper could decide if that woman—warts and fiascos and all—was who he truly wanted. It would be cleaner that way. Easier.
It’s a good story anyway.
My boots squeak on the industrial linoleum floor, wet from the heavy sleet coming down outside. The weather forced today’s sale indoors, into a second-floor meeting room at the Delta County Courthouse, moved from its original location outside on the courthouse steps. I clear the last flight of stairs and head down a long hallway, following the sound of voices in an otherwise quiet space. Room 210 is at the end, with the door propped open and a few people leaning against the wall just outside. I tip my head to one side and try to peek in. The room is small, and with fifteen people packed inside, it’s even harder to see and hear what’s going on.
An older gentleman wearing a gray Stetson, a threadbare dress shirt, and cowboy-cut polyester pants steps back a few feet from where he was leaning with one shoulder to the wall. He points to the space where he was and gestures for me to take his place. Given that he’s at least a foot taller than me, I can easily slip in there without being in his way. I whisper a thank-you as I step forward and he nods once, a faint smile on his face.
Maybe he’ll buy my orchard. I think I might be OK with that. Sort of.
“Up next . . .” A woman’s voice, clear and raised to project as best she can. The sound of shuffling papers fills the pause. “79562 County Road 56. Hotchkiss. Ten acres, one-bedroom, one-bath house, built in 1908.”
My heart wants to slam through my chest. More paper shuffling. The woman calls to open the bidding.
Then there’s silence. Maybe fifteen or twenty seconds, but for those moments I’m suddenly irate. As twisted as it sounds, I’m offended that there isn’t a veritable bidding war going on. Do these people not understand? My place is gorgeous, from winter through fall, in the daylight and darkness. Sure, the house is a decrepit, drafty thing, but it’s also a hundred-plus years old. A hundred years of life and love have taken place within those walls. Marriages and children, heartache of the best and worst kind. And the trees. For God’s sake, the trees are—
“Three hundred thousand.”
My internal rant screeches to a stop.
That voice. The one I know too well, not just from its pitch or tone, but from the way it feels when I hear it.
Before I can stop myself, I’ve elbowed and stomped my way into the room. Cooper has a ball cap tugged down low on his head, then a bulky hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of faded jeans that are tucked into his Danner boots. The woman running the auction sweeps her gaze to me—it would be impossible to ignore my pushy, theatrical entrance—and Cooper’s body visibly stiffens.
Then he turns his head, slowly and only enough to see me. My jaw goes slack, because he’s here, he looks exhausted, and he’s clearly pissed. Which makes sense, because he just paid way too much money for my orchard.
Cooper says my name so quietly it sounds like we’re alone, in his bed or mine, and that means I feel naked and armor-less. I can’t do this. Not here, not now. I’m out the door and down the steps so quickly the heavy slap of my boots to the floor echoes loudly through the building. When I shove open the front doors, the sleet immediately starts to dampen my face.
“Whitney!”
Cooper certainly isn’t whispering now. Far from it, but the raw vulnerability I’m dealing with means that no matter whether he’s whispering or hollering, I’m not prepared for, either.
My truck is within spitting distance, so I slow my gallop and dig into my bag for the keys, letting out a growl when they don’t immediately fall into my hand. Unfortunately, even with a screwed-up knee, Cooper’s long legs give him an advantage. I shake my bag from side to side and start to track the sound of jangling keys, just as he comes up behind me.
“You’re going to take off? Good plan, Whit. Fucking brilliant way to deal with this shit.”
Spite and anger run deep through his words. I drop my arms and let the bag swing, resigned, because whether I wanted this or not, I know he’s right. If anyone is entitled to feeling a little sideswiped, it’s Cooper. He mutters a few more curse words before I hear him take a long inhale. If I could see his face, I’d guess he was working hard to keep from saying more right now.
Cooper steps around me and some of the sleet has collected on the bill of his hat. The anger in his voice isn’t a part of his expression; all that’s there is the strangest mix of detachment and sadness, his eyes almost emotionless. Cooper holds his own car keys up and gives a chin nudge to the parking spot only a few spaces over, where his truck sits. I should really work on sharpening my observational skills. Walked right past that beast.
He tilts his head in the direction of the truck again. “Let’s talk in the truck.”
I follow him the few steps required and he opens my door. I heave myself into the seat and slump down. Cooper gets in, sets the key in the ignition with a half-turn, then reaches over to turn on my heated seat.
Small gesture. Big ol’ sucker punch to my heart.
Keeping my gaze trained out the windshield, I sigh. “You paid way too much. Like, twice what it’s worth.”
Cooper tosses a sleet-spotted manila envelope on the dash.
“That’s how you want to open this conversation? No apology? No explanation? You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” The rant hangs between us for a moment before Cooper lets out a defeated grunt and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Sorry. Christ, I can’t stand being pissed at you. I hate this.”
“Don’t apologize. I know that all of this is my fault. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
I let my gaze drift to Cooper, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to say next. He scrubs both hands over his face, the tips of his fingers lifting his ball cap up until he grasps the bill to adjust it lower on his forehead.
“I had a plan, Whitney.”
Of course. There’s the real problem. Cooper had a plan and I fucked with his precious need for control. Sarcasm creeps into my voice even when I know it shouldn’t.
“Yeah? God forbid I mess with that. Please, tell me all about your plan.”
His tone is flat. “Simple. You and me, a bunch of apple trees, and some magic goats. Happily ever after. Simple plan.”
“Magic goats?”
“Yes. Magic fucking goats.” He fixes his jaw into such a hard line that I can see his cheek flex. Probably not a good idea to ask him to explain the goats. Cooper slouches into his seat, deeply enough that his bent knees bump either side of the steering wheel.
“I need to know why, Whit. Why you kept this from me. Why I trusted you with all of my shit, but you couldn’t trust me with yours.”
All my sarcastic resentment washes away in an instant. He thinks this was a reflection on him, something he was lacking that compelled me to keep this quiet. Now I get to add guilt to the list of emotions I can’t seem to outrun today. If only I had enough bandwidth left to properly deal with any of it.
I let my head tip to one side, far enough to rest against the door glass.
“This was never about trust or you, Cooper. In the beginning, it was exactly what I said—that this was my problem. And, up until a week ago, I was still deluded enough to think it would all somehow work out.” I take a long inhale. “After a certain point, I couldn’t tell you. You’re so focused, so successful. You wouldn’t be able to see me as anything but a screw-up who had her property foreclosed on.”
Cooper’s voice goes hoarse for a moment.
“Jesus, I don’t even know where to start. I wouldn’t see you that way. I don’t. Because you aren’t a screw-up, you’re a new business owner trying to make it in an industry with long odds. I don’t know why you think I wouldn’t be able to understand that. And you didn’t even give me the fucking opportunity to step up and prove it, show you how I feel.”
I keep my mouth tightly clamped shut. Even if I tried to find some words, they wouldn’t be right. Also, my eyes are busy watering and it will require all of my focus to keep the dam from breaking. Cooper slides the manila envelope off the dash and sets it on the console between us.
“Technically, I’m your landlord now. But in that envelope are draft documents my attorney put together and I want you to take a look at them. One is a business agreement that would make us partners. I’ll retire and we’ll start a life together, buy some more apple trees and maybe make a few babies. And I’ll probably want a dog. Maybe two.”
Cooper lets his head fall back to meet the headrest and closes his eyes.
“The other is a quitclaim deed. If you want, I’ll just sign over the property to you, free and clear. I’ll let you be, to do this on your own. No strings attached.”
I try to understand what he just said, all of what he’s offering me, and the possibility that he would just walk away from the boatload of cash he just forked over. “What? Why would you do that?”
“Because of that voicemail you left me. I know exactly how it feels to lose what defines you. Everything I’ve been feeling over the last few months? Losing my career? I heard the same thing in your voice.” Cooper pauses, then lets out a sigh.
“That’s why I did all of this, Whitney. I mean, I want you, and I want us, but I didn’t call my attorney at midnight to deal with the specifics, then drive down here in a snowstorm, and pay double the value for your orchard, so I could win you over like this is some stupid movie. I just didn’t want you to lose your land.”
I place one of my palms to my forehead, curious if the swell of heat and emotion I’m feeling is actually causing my temperature to spike or if it’s just a trick of the heart. Because if I were the girl I used to be, the one who thrived on doing what felt good in the moment, I’d have crawled over the console at the mention of babies and a life together. My heart’s decided it wants Cooper, without any hesitation.
But I’m not that girl anymore. She would have already declared herself, loudly and joyfully, without any thought to what it would take to make this work. The woman I am now, the one with a few more years under her belt and a heart that wants to take root in the right place, under the right circumstances? She has to think first, then leap.
Cooper clears his throat lightly, a nervous tic, before he speaks again. “I’m headed home to Texas for a couple of weeks, so take your time deciding. For the record, I want us to be partners. I never wanted anything else.”
He tips his head wearily and locks his gaze on mine.
“But I need you to be sure. I’ve spent most of my life doing one thing, given it everything I had in me. I’m hardwired for that kind of focus. So, whatever comes next?”
Cooper blinks once, looks over my shoulder at nothing.
“It has to be forever.”
In a twist of fool’s fate, it seems I got exactly what I wanted out of this trip.
I met the new owner. He was good people, no doubt.
And his hands? More than capable.