Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(17)

My mother was silent for a minute, and I figured maybe she didn’t know. But after I handed her the pan for drying, she spoke up, a little quieter than before. “They tried for years,” she said. “That was part of the problem. Renee had endometriosis, so they were hoping IVF would work, but it didn’t.”

“Oh no.” Immediately, I understood their situation better. I, too, had struggled to get pregnant. After a couple years of being unsuccessful spontaneously, we’d turned to IVF and gotten lucky twice.

I knew how grueling the experience could be. And I knew the toll it could take on a woman’s psyche, on her body, and on a marriage. I suddenly felt sorry for Henry’s ex—I could empathize with her. I felt awful for Henry too.

“That’s so hard,” I said. “Is that why the marriage fell apart?”

“I never asked, but I think it had a lot to do with it.” She took a platter from my hands and began drying it. “I only know what I know because Renee confided in me a little. I’ve never said a word to Henry about it.”

“I won’t either,” I promised.

My mother changed the subject to tomorrow night’s party, fretting about the endless to-do list she had. As we finished the washing and drying, I assured her I’d be around to help. “In the morning, just give me a list of things I can do. And don’t worry, it’s going to be a fantastic party. It always is.”

As we were putting the dishes we’d washed into the cupboards, Chloe and Oliver came through the kitchen to say goodnight. After they’d gone, my mother wiped her brow and fanned her face. “Darn these hot flashes. I may need to go up to my room and put the fan on.”

I smiled and grabbed the sponge to wipe down the counters. “Go ahead. I’ll finish up.”

“Thank you, dear.” She poked her head into the family room and said goodnight before going upstairs, and a moment later, Henry and my dad came into the kitchen with empty cups.

“Well, I guess I’ll head up to bed too.” My father set his coffee mug in the sink and kissed my head. “The fire is almost out in there. Are you going to be up for a bit or should I take care of it?”

“I’ll take care of it. Night, Daddy.”

“See you, John,” Henry said. “Thanks for everything.”

My father gave us a wave and headed for the stairs, and then it was just Henry and me left in the kitchen. “Glad you came?” I asked him.

“Definitely.” He came around the island and set his glass mug on the counter. “Everything was delicious. Thank you so much for coming to get me. I’d have gone home and eaten Fritos for dinner.”

I grinned and shook my head. “How can you be so picky about wine and eat such terrible food?”

“Good question. Probably because I’m good at making wine but bad at making food.”

I smiled, turning off the faucet. “Want a little more coffee? There’s probably half a pot left.”

He hesitated. “Are you going to have some?”

“Sure. Grab the whiskey from the bar, would you?”

While he retrieved the whiskey bottle, I poured us each a mug of coffee. He added a shot to each glass, and I spooned some of the leftover whipped cream on top. “There. Perfect.”

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked, glancing down at my shoes. “You’ve been working in here for a while.”

“Definitely. Let’s go into the family room.”

The fire was low but still crackled in the fireplace, giving the room a cozy glow. I took a seat at one end of the couch, and Henry settled at the other end.

Tugging off my boots, I tucked my legs beneath me. “Looks like it’s still coming down out there,” I said, glancing out the sliding glass doors toward the patio. “But I like having a white Christmas.”

“Me too,” he said, sipping his coffee. “You must have missed that in California.”

“Well, we usually spent the holidays in Aspen if we didn’t come here.” I felt embarrassed saying it. It sounded so pretentious to me now.

“That must have been nice.”

“It was nice,” I said, “but being home for the holidays is better.”

He nodded, and I realized I had no idea where home was for him.

“Where did you grow up?” I asked, bringing my cup to my lips.

“On a farm in Iowa.”

“Really?” For some reason, it made me smile, picturing him as an Iowa farm boy.

He looked amused. “Does that surprise you?”

“Kind of. And I don’t know why it should—you’re still kind of a farmer.”

“Oh, I’m definitely still a farmer.”

“Is your family still in Iowa?”

He sipped his coffee before answering. “No. My brothers are spread around the country—one in Indianapolis, one in Fargo, one in Seattle—and my parents are both gone. I’ve got some cousins there, but I don’t see them too often.”

“Does the farm where you grew up still exist?”

“It does, but my dad sold it, and it was incorporated into a large-scale operation.”

“Why’d he sell it? I mean, why not give it to you?”

“I was still in college at the time, and I wasn’t really interested in farming corn and soybeans anyway. Actually, I wasn’t interested in farming at all. I thought I’d major in biology and go on to medical school.”