"You being here is going to make a huge difference to us," he says.
"You were struggling. I could see that."
"Scott doesn't like anyone outside of the family getting involved in our home. We've had cleaners, but Scott always found an excuse to let them go. In the end, we just did what we could to get by. But homemaking isn't any of our strengths."
"Farming is, though."
He nods. "We know how to get the most from the land. This business isn't about sticking to old methods. It's about trying to find new ones."
I think of my pa and how resistant he was to change. Maybe that's what drove him to gamble. Maybe the farm wasn't paying enough, and he thought he’d found a way out. While I have Cary alone, I'm going to ask him about the dinner on Sunday.
"What were you going to say about your guests?"
Cary lowers the dishtowel and chews on the inside of his cheek. Cash made it clear he didn't want the information shared with me, but I'm going to be here Sunday, so I'll see whatever it is for myself. "My cousins, Holden, Harris, Karter, and Kane, are in a relationship with one woman."
"What?" I drop the sponge into the dirty dishwater, giving him my full attention.
"It's called polyamory. It seems to have become a thing in our family."
"A thing?"
"Our first cousins on our mother's side seem to like it. Our other first cousins, Max, Miller, and Mason, got married last year to one woman called Natalie."
"I thought that kind of thing was reserved for men in other countries…you know…princes with royal harems."
"Me too," Cary says. "I haven't spoken to Holden or the rest of them about it. Cash is the one who deals with family ties."
In my mind, I imagine four men who resemble Cary with one woman. I haven't even been with one man. What would four be like? Maybe she moves between them, giving them a night each in the week? Or three nights each, every fortnight, with two off for herself. My cheeks begin to flush. Or could it be naughtier? Could she be with them all at once?
"So, they're bringing their girlfriend?" I ask, wondering what she'll be like. And wondering too if she'll be open about their arrangement.
"Yes. They're bringing Connie and their baby, Brett. This will be our first meeting."
"Well, I better cook something good so you can all make a good first impression."
Cary snorts. "I don't think it's the food we need to worry about. I think Scott might be the one to ruin impressions for all of us."
When everything is done, Cary hangs around, then asks me if I want to join them in the den. He's so sweet to think about including me, but I'm tired right down to my bones. All the weeks of worrying about the farm sale and the stress of sleeping in the barn last night have caught up with me.
"Thanks, but I'm going to bed."
Cary nods. "I hope you'll want to stay," he says. "This house needs someone to bring some warmth and heart into it."
"I don't know if that's what I'm bringing. More like food and cleanliness."
He shrugs. "Maybe it's the same thing."
That night, I slide into a clean, warm bed with gratitude, too tired to think about what my life might bring next.
5
Baking bread has to be one of my favorite things in the world. Not only does it turn into something so delicious it’s hard to leave it to cool before eating, but in the process of kneading, I manage to work out a whole ton of frustrations.
I don’t hear the Bradfords leave in the morning. They were up before the sun, that’s for sure. One of them left a note to let me know they’d be back for lunch at midday, so I’m frantically getting ready to prepare a ton of sandwiches. I have a cake in the oven too. Just a plain vanilla sponge, but I’m sure it will go down a treat.
The cupboards are looking bare, so a shopping trip will need to happen soon. I don’t have a vehicle, but there seem to be a couple of spares out front. Maybe they could insure me on one of those.
While the bread is proving, I decide to venture into bedrooms. The one nearest the top of the stairs is tidy but dusty. The bed is made, but the sheets need changing, so I strip it, tossing the linen down the stairs.
It’s sparsely furnished with just a dresser doubling as a nightstand, and the bed. I poke around the assorted items on top of the dresser, finding discarded coins and a bottle top, some matches from a local bar, and a hat, which must be a spare. Beneath the hat is a letter addressed to Cary Bradford. It’s from a charity that raises money for underprivileged kids. The fact that he regularly donates just confirms my impression that Cary is a decent man.