The Bequest
Chapter 42—Abigail

I've been counting down the days to June 26 for a very long time. The closer it gets, the more I worry that it won't really happen. I never in my life felt like having internet was really a big blessing...until I didn't have it. If I were truly a rancher, or if I were a dance instructor, or if I were a nurse, it wouldn't matter that much.

But as a lawyer who's working remotely, I need to be able to get online.

Robert has been patient, but even he has his limits.

So when, in the middle of watching a horseback lesson, the Union Wireless van rolls up the driveway, three days before our install date, I panic. Are they here to tell me that we can't get internet after all? Is there something wrong with the area or with the house itself? Are they delaying their plans to work here? I don't dare to hope they're bringing good news.

I practically race to the front porch, where there's a man in a bright blue and green polo shirt knocking on the door, and nearly faceplant when I trip on the top step. Luckily I catch the rail, but I swear the internet guy is chuckling when I right myself.

"You're from Union Wireless?" I'm panting like a dog that's been playing fetch too long.

"I'm Joe," he says. "Are you Mrs. Brooks?"

Amanda opens the door. "Hello?" Her eyes swivel from Joe down to me, where I'm still leaning on the rail. "Abby? What's going on?"

I shake my head. "I came over to replace out." I try to keep the desperation out of my voice, but I'm not sure I succeed. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, our work dried up sooner than we thought over in Dutch John, so we thought we'd see if we could start early-"

"Yes!" I clear my throat. "Of course you can. That would be great."

And Jeff and Kevin come back in two days. This is shaping up to be the best week ever.

"Great," he says. "Can we get started now?"

Amanda's beaming. "Of course. What do you need?"

"Just a signature here." He holds out a clipboard, but then waffles, unsure which of us to hand it to.

I snatch it and scrawl my name across the bottom. I'd sign it in blood, if I had to. Amanda's just as excited as I am, and when she turns back to the house and tells Maren, her shriek startles the internet guy pretty badly. Which is hilarious to me for some reason. I'm a few paces away when I hear Gabe exclaim, "Wait, will we have Netflix?"

I'm beaming when I get back over to the pasture where Steve's teaching the kids a lesson. He's got Emery on the lunge line, but she seems to be doing well. If she weighed a little more, she might not flop around quite so much, but it's not like I can force donuts and cheese sticks down her throat.

"What's going on?" he asks. "You look happy."

"That's the internet company," I say. "If this all goes like it should, you're about to have your porch back."

He doesn't scowl, but he hardly looks happy.

"You should be excited for us," I say. "This is going to make life so much easier."

"Well, if your kids are ever too rowdy, or if you just want to enjoy the great outdoors-"

I know it's mean, but I can't help myself. "That's a brilliant idea. I should buy a porch swing. Once I figure out how to keep the chickens away, it'll be perfect."

He does frown this time, and he maintains his sour look through the rest of the lesson. I should feel bad, but it only puts me in a better mood. Not because he's going to miss me, but because I'll suddenly be free again-free to live the life I thought I'd be living when I agreed to come. I'll have access to the internet whenever, and I'll be able to call people through WiFi calling, and my kids will be able to call me.

If I'm being honest, I may be a little bit happy that he's sad, too. I mean, it's always nice to be wanted. But that's not the main reason I'm ecstatic. Once the lesson is done, and the kids are tacking down, Izzy and Whitney gleefully and somewhat officiously helping Emery, I walk Steve to his car.

"Thanks for taking on Emery. I know it's probably annoying to "

"I like teaching people to ride. I love seeing them improve."

"Oh, well, then I take my gratitude back. Don't want to waste it."

He rolls his eyes. "Congrats on your internet."

"Don't count my chickens yet," I say. "They may yet hit a snag or an underground blockade. The sky may actually fall. But if it doesn't." I rub my hands together like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. "Oh, the joy."

"I do hope your life here becomes easier."

"And I hope that my kids will stay quiet and leave me alone when I'm working," I say. "But it will be easier to do most things from here instead of driving down the road and sitting on a porch. I'm legitimately worried I may have permanent lines on my butt from the boards of your swing."

"I would be willing, as a licensed physician, to check out the area and give an expert opinion." His expression is one hundred percent earnest.

I slap his arm, which is a huge mistake. My fingers curl around his very well defined bicep, and I can't help remembering how he looked without a shirt. My mouth goes completely dry.

His sideways smile tells me he knows my reaction.

I snatch my hand away.

"If for some reason it doesn't work out, or if the kids badger you too much, I've been thinking. I'm willing to do something dramatic." Dramatic?

"I'd be willing to extend your privileges to indoors. You'd have access to a bathroom and a kitchen where you could store food and snacks."

"Now who's being silly?"

"I was recently told that my swing may have permanent consequences on a very handsome backside. I'm serious about my offer. It would be a huge concession on my part, as I'd have to actually clean said common areas, and maybe even buy a throw pillow for my sofa, but I'd be willing to do it. You impress me, Abigail Brooks. That's not something that happens often."

His voice is light, clearly mocking, but there's an underlying air of honesty to it that both worries and interests me.

"On that note," he says. "I'd just like to repeat my request."

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience-all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! His request?

He leans against his truck. "Let me take you around to see the real Manila." He straightens and holds his hands up, palm out. "I know, I know, the second I offered, panic set in. Your heart started racing, your blood pressure skyrocketed. I saw your pupils dilate." Freaking doctors suck.

"But if I give you a tour-remember how small the town is-and you hate it, and you have anything less than a wonderful time, I will never bug you again." "Steve"

"Say that again," he says.

"Excuse me?"

His mouth turns up in the corner. "Say my name again."

"Steve?"

He sighs dramatically. "No, don't ask my name. Say my name. Like you're thinking about me. Like I've gotten to you. Like I matter."

"Steve." This time it's stern, but I can't help it. He's not listening. "I am not ready to date. All the things you're saying are true, about the heart rate and the blood pressure, but you're assuming it's because I'm scared and need to get over some kind of roadblock." I pause to make sure he's really listening. "That's not it. I'm just not interested in dating right now. It's not personal."

"Alright, alright. I get it. No means no. But it is personal." He steps closer. "It's the most personal thing in the world, when someone tells you they like you, and they want to spend time with you, and they want to get to know you better,

because you're the absolute best part of their day every day. When someone says that on the days they don't see you, they spend all day subconsciously hoping to hear your voice or to catch a glimpse of you." His eyes search my face. "It's very, very personal to me."

And now my heart is freaking galloping. Is he trying to kill me?