The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Read online

  Their conversation slowed to a stop-and-go, thoughtful pace. Long pauses felt natural, their questions floating in the air a minute or two before one of them would answer. Subjects changed effortlessly from one thing to another. This connectedness, Angela loved too.

  “It’s late,” Mark said. “Do you have an early morning?”

  “Not as early as you. And you still have a drive,” Angela replied. “Did I scoop too much?” she asked, motioning to the bowl of ice cream.

  “Not at all. This hits the spot.”

  There was a comfortable silence while they both ate. Angela thought about the driving Mark had done over the summer, the miles through town, back and forth. For her. And unlike Cathy, he’d never complained. Not once. For all her panicking at Cathy’s house, she now had a twinge of sympathy in her chest. Mark has been so patient.

  “You know, we could do something about that,” Angela said before she thought too much about it.

  “About what?” Mark was clearly too lost in his ice cream to follow her train of thought.

  “About the driving. We could shorten the distance,” she said, surprising herself. But their conversation at her mother’s house was having an effect on her.

  Mark eyed her carefully. She waited for what she was suggesting to sink in.

  “Did I miss a season?” Mark said. “Aren’t we waiting four seasons so you can be sure about me?” he asked with a good-natured laugh. “So what do you think of Gary?” he asked, changing the subject.

  I’m probably confusing him, Angela thought. I’m confusing myself!

  “I don’t know what to think. Before tonight I would have told you he was rather unassuming. When she met him in the summer, I thought for sure it would be over once the school year began. Then I find out my mom has a house for his dog.”

  “So you think there’s more going on there?” Mark asked, moving his arm around Angela after putting down the bowl.

  She felt his hand rest easily on her shoulder. Such a small touch and yet it distracted her every time.

  “He isn’t going with her to Europe. So there is that,” Angela said.

  “We’ll see what happens after her trip. I wonder if she’ll feel the same about him after Barcelona and Milan.”

  “What? No Paris or Madrid?”

  “I’m sure she’ll stop there, too. And probably London and who knows where else. Cathy has eclectic interests. Every year she planned to go, she had her reasons. Now they’ve all morphed into one giant adventure. She took an architecture class. Barcelona’s got the gothic thing going on. Of course, exotic food has been a constant. And shopping. I’m not sure how she’s going to bring all the Versace and Prada home.”

  Angela smiled at the thought of her mother trying to fit it all in, buying more designer luggage in the process. She rested her head against Mark’s chest and closed her eyes.

  “Will you be okay if Gary turns out to be more than a non-boyfriend for your mom?” Mark asked it in such a serious, knowing way, like he knew something she didn’t.

  “Of course. I don’t mind Gary. If I think about it, he’s good for my mom. She needs the company.”

  “That’s just it. Ever since you and your mom reconciled last Christmas, you’ve been able to spend more time together. More this year than the last five put together, you said not that long ago. Are you sure you wouldn’t feel, I don’t know, like it was too soon to let her go again?”

  He was right. So right. That was how she’d been feeling without being able to put words to it. And yet it didn’t make any sense. Gary wasn’t possessive, and Cathy had been, on the whole, much happier.

  “Yeah, that is what it feels like,” Angela reluctantly admitted. “But how did you know that?”

  “Why do you think I haven’t proposed yet?”

  The question blindsided her. What did Gary and Cathy have to do with Mark’s proposal? Angela sat up to look at him, squinting in the half-light.

  “Because like some superstitious fool I told you we needed to know each other four seasons. Or maybe you don’t like the way I prune the trees.”

  Angela knew it wasn’t her tree-pruning debacle, but she did wonder if he’d had second thoughts and if the four seasons had worked against them somehow.

  Mark laughed a head-shaking laugh.

  “Right, you’ve mentioned the four seasons rule a time or two,” he said.

  Angela waited. There was more, and her mind couldn’t quite grasp it. “Are you going to tell me, or do I need to keep guessing?”

  “You and your mom, you’ve been getting along and spending time together, and Caroline has loved it. I didn’t want to ask too soon, move too quickly, and take you from this time with her.”

  Patient, insightful. And selfless. And what have I been? Obsessed with four seasons and not making another mistake.

  Chapter 6

  As Mark drove to Angela’s house across town, he reviewed their conversation from the night before. No, there was one sentence in particular he replayed over and over.

  “We could shorten the distance,” she’d said. Her expression had been playful, her eyes flirtatious, even. That one comment had sparked so much hope in him he wanted to ask her to marry him right on the spot. But given how she’d been acting at her mother’s house, he’d chosen to focus on his ice cream instead. He planned to ask soon, though. And then they could shorten the distance.

  When he arrived at Angela’s house, she was finishing the dishes. She dried her hands and came and gave him a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder. Her thick, curly hair had been partially pulled back. He closed his eyes for a minute. This was an ordinary moment, but Angela lingered a little longer than usual, and it felt like this was their house and that they belonged together. And he liked the way that felt. He liked the way she felt.

  “I brought a little something for Caroline.” Mark set his bag down and took it out.

  Angela tipped her head. “A picture of a pine tree?”

  “Not any tree—the one she picked out for Christmas. She’s been asking if she could go visit it, so I went and took a picture for her. Where is she?”

  She brushed the back of his arm with her hand. “Not here. She’s actually with my mom,” she said. “That was sweet of you.”

  “In Providence?” Mark asked.

  “The very place. She begged to play with Bones before Cathy leaves.”

  Mark thought for a minute. “It’s not Cathy’s dog, right?”

  “My mom said Gary would be visiting. Believe me, I’m all for Caroline playing with Bones at her house.”

  “Are we picking her up tonight? How much time do we have?” Mark asked. He pulled the sheet music from his bag. Angela eyed it and smiled.

  “As much as we need. You know, you hinted on the phone that tonight might be special?” Angela moved into the kitchen and pulled out drinks.

  “I did?” Mark’s mind raced over their phone call earlier that day. They’d talked about the tracks they wanted to record, about the producer in Nashville Angela knew. They covered Cathy leaving for Europe in two weeks. What else had they talked about? He’d mentioned he had a new song he wanted to play for her. Was that it?

  Didn’t matter how it happened, but Angela had gone to the trouble of taking Caroline to her grandmother’s house, and she’d made a point of being friendlier when Mark arrived. And now she was asking if Mark had more than music in mind.

  All of these thoughts were beginning to coalesce when Angela, a step or two ahead, it seemed, suggested they head to the studio and get started.

  Mark sang one of Angela’s songs, one she’d written years earlier about a man and his guitar and his dying mother.

  “Now I see why you needed a male vocalist,” Mark said as he finished a fourth recording. “This gets you right here, doesn’t it?” Mark tapped his chest with his fist.

  “I hope so,” Angela said. “Story songs are a country staple—a good way to get a producer’s attention.”

  “Maybe my voice
had too much emotion in it.”

  “Not too much. Your voice was a perfect fit.”

  Mark rose from the stool on the recording side of the room and joined Angela by the control board. He stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders, said something about being a good team, and leaned down to kiss the side of her cheek. She reached up and put her hand on top of his. A moment later they embraced. Mark kissed her and she kissed back, then stopped.

  “We can work on your song too.” She took a deep breath.

  Mark instinctively pulled her close again. “What song?” he teased.

  Angela laughed. “The song you said you’ve been working on and finally figured out the chorus. You wanted me to hear it.” She paused. “Unless ... did you have something different in mind?” She nervously glanced around the too-small studio. “The way you were acting on the phone today, I thought ... I don’t know ... you might ask me something.”

  Ask her something? Does she think I’m going to propose?

  “Tonight? Here?” Mark’s voice rose too high on the last word. He shifted his weight and quickly grabbed his sheet music.

  A quizzical expression crossed Angela’s face before she looked away. “Never mind. I don’t know why I said that.”

  Mark didn’t know either. Usually when she brought up engagement, it was to hint about needing to know him for another season. Maybe their conversation at her mother’s house had had more of an impact than he realized. But what could he say now? He’d brought some half-written songs. Not the ring.

  “I do want to ask what you think of this verse and chorus. Here, let me play a little of it.”

  “I’m in love. Can’t get enough. Turning me upside down,” he sang.

  “You wrote those words?”

  “Yes, I wrote them,” Mark said, a bit wounded.

  “When did you write them?” Angela asked.

  Mark hesitated. This was a new song, written for her. But here she was wondering if it was a song he’d written for someone else.

  “I started this song in February. For you,” Mark said.

  A quiet moment ensued. Angela fidgeted with one of the controls, and then she gathered her hair and let it fall across her back.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean ... I don’t know what I meant. I like it a lot—the song, the words. They’re so sweet.”

  Mark maneuvered over to where she was again, pulling her in for another hug and kiss. He savored the moment as she snuggled into him. How could he show her that Natalie didn’t mean anything to him? Sure, they had dated and he proposed to Natalie, but that was before he’d discovered she was John Jackson’s girlfriend. Before he knew she’d been lying to him the entire time. How could he show Angela he loved her and no one else?

  “What would be so wrong with proposing here in the studio?” Angela suddenly asked. “You acted like I’d suggested something outrageous earlier.”

  Mark froze and tried to relax just as quickly. “I wouldn’t say this is the most romantic place.”

  “I don’t know why I’m bringing it up. You’re reaction surprised me, like there was something wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. At least not anymore. This is a different place than when I brought Natalie to see it. Now that you live here, it’s all you,” Mark continued rambling, too much and too fast.

  Angela stepped back, and her quizzical expression twisted into alarm.

  “Wait, what? Natalie was here? How could she? When?” she choked out the words.

  Mark’s mind raced. What had he said?

  “All I meant to say was that I showed Natalie the house when I thought I was going to buy it.” He paused.

  “You showed her the house and the studio, too? You and she, in here together, with your Realtor?”

  “Not exactly. Dave waited upstairs for us. I’d asked him to wait while I ...”

  What was he doing?

  “While you what?”

  In his effort to not say anything at all, he’d said too much. He looked into Angela’s eyes, eyes that teemed with questions and mistrust and pain. He didn’t have to answer this. He didn’t have to tell her.

  But it was too late. And he wasn’t going to lie.

  “While I proposed,” he answered quietly. He began gathering his sheet music, not waiting for a response. The moment was over. Probably the night too. Maybe if he could exit smoothly, they could forget it ever came up.

  “Proposed. Here? You didn’t even own it. How ... why would you?”

  “Look, I know what it sounds like, and believe me, I don’t like reliving one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. It was before I knew what she was. Who she was.”

  “So every time we’ve worked on our music here, you have that memory of her?”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Of her saying yes, and then what?”

  “And then what? And then nothing. The house was freezing, and Dave was calling for us. Believe me, as proposals go, it was pathetic.”

  He checked her face for clues. No emotion. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “What are you thinking? Are you mad at me?” Mark finally asked.

  “Don’t ask me that right now. I don’t know what to think,” she said.

  “Natalie doesn’t mean anything to me. I was wrong and couldn’t see who she really was.”

  “But who you thought she was ... you proposed to that girl. And who you thought she was ... that’s pretty different from who I am.”

  “Exactly,” Mark said. “Angela, there is no comparison here. I didn’t love her ... I mean, I thought I did.”

  “Right. I get it. But that’s not it.” She paused. “I wish you’d told me. I don’t know. Maybe that would have helped. This is becoming more than it needs to be. It feels like you were keeping something from me, and that brings up old feelings that don’t have anything to do with us.”

  “When would have been a good time to bring it up?” Mark asked.

  “It’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

  “It doesn’t feel fine,” Mark said.

  “Maybe if we stop talking about it, it will be.” Angela’s words cut through Mark.

  They both looked around the studio. The melodies and kisses that were in the air a few minutes ago were gone. Mark stood bewildered, staring at the space where five minutes earlier he’d been trying to figure out a way to show Angela he loved her and no one else.

  Without warning, Angela walked out of the studio and up the stairs.

  Mark gathered his things and followed. A heavy-hearted feeling came over him as he left the studio. He was sure they would never use it together again. But he’d built a new studio at the farmhouse for this very reason. Even if Angela had never found out about the proposal to Natalie, he’d planned for them to have a place for making music. He wanted to tell her, to bring her to the farmhouse right now and explain.

  She was putting on her coat by the door.

  “Thanks for doing the vocal for my song,” she said without making eye contact. “I better get going to pick up Caroline. If I’m too late, I’ll get questions from my mom.”

  “Aren’t I coming with you?” Mark asked.

  Angela didn’t respond as she picked up her purse and pulled out her keys. Finally, she met his eyes. “I think I’d rather go alone.”

  Her words couldn’t have hurt more. Mark knew she didn’t like to make the drive alone. Any other time—every other time—they had gone together. His drive home now felt longer as he wondered what he could have said or done differently.

  Once home, he closed the side door behind him and walked through to the new studio.

  Will it be enough?

  Did he think adding a room would change the way Angela was feeling right now? He’d planned this as a surprise, but he should have told her long ago—to immunize them against the very thing that had happened tonight. There was one thing he hated more than feeling unsure of himself, and that was causing Angela pain.

  Papa came around t
he corner. “Who the devil is there? Mark is that you?”

  It took Mark a few seconds to realize he’d walked into the farmhouse, forgetting he’d moved into the cabin.

  “Sorry, Papa. Picking up some of my sheet music.”

  “Land sakes. Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine. All good. Sorry to wake you.”

  “Well, as long as we’re both up, maybe it’s time for you to learn the second secret.”

  “Second secret?” Mark asked.

  “Have you already forgotten the first? It begins and ends with love?”

  “No, but maybe you’re tired.”

  “I’m awake now.” He walked past Mark toward the kitchen. “I’m going to have some warm milk. C’mon and join me.”

  Mark followed but with regret that he’d come to the house. He was preoccupied with Angela and wasn’t sure if this was the best time to learn more from Papa.

  After the second swallow of his milk, Papa stared at Mark for a moment. “Bed early, walk early,” he said, using a napkin to wipe his mouth.

  “You mean wake up early?” Mark asked.

  “You have to do that too. But like I said, walk early.” Papa insisted.

  “That’s it?”

  “Don’t underestimate the power of sleep.”

  At this moment, Mark began to question if Papa was making up this keeper training on the fly. “Look, I’m sorry for waking you. I might not get to bed as early as you, but I am a little younger,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “It’s not about me anymore. It’s about you and the trees. Don’t let ’em down, son. Bed early, walk early.” Papa eyed Mark before finishing his milk.

  Mark drank his milk, but it didn’t warm him as much as he hoped. “I don’t know. It seems pretty basic—like anyone should follow that advice weather they grow trees or not.”

  “It’s not advice; it’s secret number two,” Papa said assuredly. “If you follow that pattern well enough, you’ll come to understand the timing of things.”