Patrick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his face splitting into a knowing grin. "Sa as usual. Causing a scene and giving everyone an earful. Honestly, I still don't know why you keep him around. Only you can handle that one."
Joanne shrugged, though her smile turned a touch softer. "Soone has to, and I'm too stubborn to let him win."
Patrick chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got the patience of a saint—or the stubbornness of a mule. Not sure which."
"Saint? I was just called a greedy b*tch," Joanne quipped, her fork clinking against her plate.
"Harper?" Patrick raised his eyebrows.
"He'll pay today. And don't take his order next ti. McConnel Textiles asked for our wool. We can increase the price by 10% for them," she said.
Patrick nodded. "You're certainly better at business than old Sean."
Joanne shrugged. Her grandfather was not good at collecting the money he was owed, which was one of the reasons he ended up in debt. How could she make the sa mistake? Loyalty ant nothing in this world, especially in business. Only money mattered.
"By the way, did you tell Jane you're looking for paying guests this sumr?" Patrick asked casually, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Joanne nodded, her gaze drifting toward the window. "Yeah... It's good pay. I have an extra room in the house, and Papaw's room is empty too." Her voice softened, almost hesitant. "It gets boring cooking just for one, and..." She trailed off, her words faltering as though she'd revealed too much. "It pays well, or so I heard," she finished, her tone more businesslike now.
Patrick studied her carefully, catching the subtle lancholy that lingered in her words. She had returned to the farm four years ago, built it back up from the ground and succeeded. But despite all her hard work and success, there was a sense of emptiness she couldn't quite hide.
Old Sean's room, her grandfather's, remained untouched, save for the tis she went in to clean it. It was like she was keeping a piece of him frozen in ti—unable to let go but unsure how to move forward.
The realization tugged at Patrick's heart. Poor girl must feel lonely in this big house, he thought, his usual easy grin giving way to a softer expression.
"Maybe... it's ti you look for love, you know," he said gently, his tone more earnest than teasing. She didn't even go on a single date after she returned and it worried him. "Just saying. Your farm's doing great, and so is your—"
"I would love to date," Joanne interrupted, her voice sharp but not unkind. Her green eyes flicked toward him, holding a flicker of frustration mixed with resignation. "But who?"
Patrick let out a deep breath, feeling exasperated. Who could she date in this small town? It was a pity.
He gave her a playful salute. "Well, I'd better get back before the boss finds slacking."
"Thanks for stopping by," Joanne chuckled as he headed out, her smile lingering even after he was gone.
Outside, the ruckus continued, but Joanne tuned it out, focusing on her breakfast and the steady hum of determination brewing within her. After finishing her al, she walked outside.
"Jeffrey!" Joanne called, standing on the farmhouse porch. Her voice carried across the yard, and she couldn't help but chuckle when she heard the collective sigh of relief from the farmhands nearby.
"Jeffrey, you psychopath!" she added in a firm, commanding tone. "Drop that squirrel this instant!"
A few feet away, Jeffrey—the mischievous four-year-old horse—paused, his ears twitching at her voice. He turned to face her with wide, innocent eyes, as if baffled by her accusation.
"Now!" Joanne barked, pointing at the ground for emphasis.
With a reluctant snort, Jeffrey opened his mouth, allowing a half-dead, thoroughly traumatized squirrel to fall to the ground. Joanne glared at the horse, crossing her arms in frustration, but Jeffrey trotted toward her with a delighted neigh, his spotted coat gleaming as if he hadn't just been caught red-hoofed.
"Oh, no you don't," she muttered, but her stern expression faltered as Jeffrey circled her, nudging her shoulder playfully. He pranced around with such unabashed glee that she couldn't help but smile.
"Stop it, you lunatic!" Joanne said, half-laughing, as she lightly pushed him away. Despite his antics, she knew she couldn't stay mad at him. For all his psychopathic tendencies, Jeffrey adored her, and that kind of love was hard to resist.
She reached up to pet his mane, shaking her head with a mix of affection and exasperation. As her hand smoothed over Jeffrey's neck, her eyes drifted to the far end of the pasture, where a majestic Shire horse stood calmly grazing.
"Why can't you be more like Mr. Darcy over there?" she sighed wistfully, nodding toward the towering, regal creature.
Jeffrey let out a high-pitched whine, as if deeply offended by the comparison. He nudged her harder, demanding her full attention.
"You understand every word I say, don't you?" Joanne asked, her tone softening. "And yet, you still insist on being a psychopath..."
Jeffrey nickered in response, his big brown eyes sparkling with mischief. Joanne shook her head again, laughing as she gave his neck another affectionate pat.
For a while, she stayed there, playing with Jeffrey, letting the simple joy of his antics lighten her mood. Life on the farm might be full of challenges, but monts like this—filled with laughter, love, and a little chaos—made it all worthwhile.
But the mont didn't linger for long. "Jo! Get over here!" Patrick's voice echoed through the air, breaking the stillness as he called from the barn.
Concerned, Joanne hurried toward him, her footsteps quickening on the gravel, which crunched beneath her boots.
"What is it?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she reached the entrance.
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