Page 111 of The Havenport Collection

“Unfortunately, no. That batch of turkeys had already been pre-ordered by customers and ultimately became Thanksgiving dinner. But my dad agreed after that we would stop. And we did. He always respected my views and supported me becoming a vegetarian in grade school, even though slaughtering and eating animals had been a way of life on this farm for generations.”

He smiled at me. “He must have admired your passion.”

“I hope so.” I missed my dad so much. If he were here right now, he’d be laughing his ass off at Callum Quinn shoveling shit in his dress slacks.

“But the animals still add so much value. They are an attraction for visitors and families, and they eat all the scrap, weeds, and leftovers. And they turn that stuff into gold.” I gestured at the shit mountain we had just deposited.

“All the manure makes incredible organic fertilizer that we put back directly into the soil.”

“That’s pretty awesome.”

I smiled. “I think so too.”

“So, wanna grab coffee now?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I laughed and patted his shoulder. “Oh sweetie, we’re not done yet. We have to check on the chickens.”

Callum was an excellent farm hand. I kept telling him he didn’t have to stay, but he insisted, even after he was attacked by one of the alpacas.

To be fair, he accidentally stepped on her hoof while he was trying to collect chicken eggs.

It was pretty hilarious, actually. Callum running, his arms full of eggs, while an irate alpaca chased him.

I didn’t expect him to have such a sense of humor about himself.

Unlike the Callum Quinn who showed up to take me to coffee, this Callum didn’t take himself too seriously.

We laughed and laughed as we sorted and counted the eggs. It was a lot of fun.

At one point we headed back to my office. “Here.” I handed him a cold bottle of water from my mini fridge. “You look like you need this.”

“I need a glass of Scotch, a shower, and an exorcism actually.”

I laughed. “I like sarcastic Callum.”

He winked at me, and suddenly the room felt even smaller, and I felt my face get warm.

“So this is your office?” he asked, walking around.

“It’s not much. It was my dad’s. This old barn is only used for storage right now, so it’s pretty quiet. I have an office up here, and Bob has one downstairs.

He walked around, admiring the framed photos that leaned up against the wall, mainly ones of my grandparents and parents on the farm. Some of me and Rose running around barefoot and one of the four of us at my high school graduation.

“Sorry for the mess,” I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’ve been meaning to organize and get through all this…” I trailed off, my gaze wandering over the stacks of files and boxes of paperwork that grew out of the floor. “But there is never enough time.”

“What are those?” he asked, gesturing to a pile of Bankers boxes in the corner.

I groaned. “Those are the last decade of financial records. My accountant is giving me some trouble right now, so I need to go through and organize everything.”

His face became serious. Business Callum was back. “Why don’t you fire him?”

“Nick and I don’t get along. He makes me uncomfortable, for many reasons.

My dad trusted him and worked with him, so I wanted to give him a chance.

I kept him on and then I realized a few weeks ago that I have to trust myself and make my own choices for my business.

I’m working up the courage to fire him, I promise.

” What I didn't say was that the thought terrified me. I hated conflict, and I hated conflict with nasty, cruel people who would belittle me, as Nick surely would. Plus, I had no time to interview and hire anyone else. I’d just have to make do and do some extra homework to stay on top of things.

Callum’s eyes narrowed. “How does he make you uncomfortable?”

“He doesn’t fully explain things and constantly implies I wouldn’t understand it anyway. The farm has been so busy and productive, and he is all doom and gloom that we are failing and need to sell. I’ve told him a hundred times I wasn’t selling and that we would turn it around.”

I walked around, straightening some of the boxes, feeling uncomfortable about airing my hot mess in front of Callum. “I can’t turn it around if I don’t fully understand the finances, the debts, and the opportunities. And I feel like I never get a straight answer out of him.”

“Wait, Nick Smith?”

“Yes. He grew up on the farm. His parents are two of my most trusted employees, which is why it is very difficult to fire him.”

He grimaced, and I assumed there was a story here. “I know him and his reputation. I think firing him is the right choice.” He looked again at the boxes—there must have been a dozen of them. “Why isn’t all this digitized?”

“I don’t know. Nick said my dad preferred to work in paper, but since Nick was doing the work that didn’t make much sense to me. Anyway, I need to go through everything and get organized. But I’ve just been so exhausted.”

“I can see why. Those farm chores take a lot out of you.”

“Trust me, farm chores are nothing compared to my kids. They will physically AND mentally exhaust you.”

“Oh, come on, they seem like good kids.”

I almost snorted water out of my nose. “You okay?” he asked as he walked over and patted my back as I coughed.

He was so close to me that I could feel the blush creeping up my cheeks.

I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking.

I knew I smelled like a goat—probably multiple goats—as I had just fed them.

I was sweaty and red-faced, and my hair was a mess.

But I felt this lightness, this effervescence, being around him.

He was big and manly but also kind and thoughtful.

Clearly, the heat was getting to me, and I was imagining things.

“They are a handful. They are wonderful little miracles who also drive me absofuckinglutely insane most days.”

“You are doing a great job.”

I melted a little. There are no kinder words on this planet to say to an overworked and undersexed mom.

I stepped back, putting the desk between us. “You were a huge help today.” I tried not to stare at his broad shoulders stretching the thin white T-shirt as I spoke, but they were just so damn distracting. I can’t remember the last time I felt this kind of pull toward anyone.

“I had fun. So are we even now? Do you forgive me?”

I looked away from his intense gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. You enjoyed putting me to work. I assume it’s to make up for me barfing whiskey all over your lawn in front of your impressionable children and then the attempted manslaughter of Mr. Pickles.”

I swallowed, sat straight up, and lied through my teeth. “Yup. All is forgiven.”

“Good. Because I could also help you with all this.” He gestured around to the chaos.

“Not this specifically, but the farm finances. You’ve mentioned a couple of times that things are challenging.

It’s kind of what I do. I work with several local businesses and do financial planning and business strategy. ”

This took me by surprise. Fancy Callum wanted to work with me? The flighty single mom who barely passed Algebra 2?

“I didn’t realize you did that. I thought you managed people’s portfolios.” I waved my hands around. “You know, a wealth manager.”

“Yes. Technically I do that too. But in recent years I’ve turned my focus to supporting small businesses. It’s much more rewarding. And I could help you get the finances organized and recommend some solid local accountants.”

“I can’t afford you. I can’t afford anything right now,” I protested.

“Just think about it. We could audit everything, identify some areas of growth, find ways to minimize losses, that type of thing.”

I didn’t understand half of what he was saying.

I needed help—that was for sure—but I was too proud to take it right now.

Especially from him. I didn’t want his pity.

I wanted his respect. I didn't want to be a damsel in distress.

I wanted to be a cool and collected business badass.

Now I just had to figure out how to actually achieve that goal…