The mere prospect of anyone even attempting to get a fraction of McCormick property pissed Luke off. The Ambrose brothers had all but moved up Sam’s ass once their mother died to get a few acres on the sly. While arable land wasn’t rare in Hingham Valley, all of it was private property or protected by the state forestry service. When Charlie told him that nobody had bothered her yet about Sam’s assets, he was surprised, but he said nothing. All the property had belonged to Sam -- and Charlie by extension -- and that was for a very good reason. If this was ten years ago, Luke would’ve lost the deed in a card game.

But this wasn’t ten years ago. This was now, and Sam was gone. Luke was the last McCormick left. The lack of kids kind of baffled everyone, but it was Luke’s understanding that Sam wanted to wait until the farm and house were fully operational before adding another responsibility to the mix. However, every time Sam tried to talk about his sex life, Luke made it very apparent that was a no-fly zone. His responses ranged from “I don’t care” to “shut the fuck up.”

There had been a few times when Luke was home on leave and the thought of Sam shooting him in the backyard was the only thing that kept him from pushing Charlie against the fridge until all the magnets clattered to the floor. It would have been different if it was one-sided, if he was just making up this shit in his head. 

The closest he’d come to crossing the line was a few summers back when Sam was gone for five days at a business conference in Bozeman. A huge fight between them ensued when Charlie insisted on looking for a missing goat that had gotten scared during a storm, and they both said some mean things to each other. Luke was furious that she was jeopardizing her safety for an animal, and she was mad at him for thinking he had any right to tell her how to run a farm when he was gone most of the time. When she came back, she was soaked to the bone and started to peel off her wet clothes in the mud room. He didn’t speak to her when he handed her a towel and one of his work shirts from the hooks on the wall. 

She still had the shirt on in the morning, open at the collar and with the sleeves rolled up. Their silent apology to each other consisted of small touches while they moved around the kitchen -- her fingers on his elbow when she placed his coffee on the counter; his hand at her back when he moved around her with a hot pan.

[i]I was worried about you,[/i] he said finally.

[i]You went to Fallujah. Then Baghdad. Then Syria.

Charlie -- 

Fuck you. What you felt when I looked for a goddamn goat in the rain is not even a fraction of what I feel when you go on tour.[/i]

He stared at her, and she stared at him back, flush and bright-eyed. His gaze moved up each button of his shirt she wore, over her throat, and stopped at her mouth. She swallowed, jaw hard, and put their plates on the table. Even years later, he remembered what it was like to eat breakfast with her in silence, refusing to look when she brought her coffee cup to her lips. They both knew that fucking shirt should’ve been twisted in his fist, tight around her waist while he pushed her up against the fridge…

[i]You’ve got your own life, Luke. I can’t pull you away from that.[/i]

Since stepping foot in the house, his memories clicked and slipped from one snapshot to another. The entire property was layered with the past. Each time he returned was like forcing himself to relive certain moments -- the good as well as the bad.

“You gonna make me stay in the motel?” he teased, trying to find a piece of levity in their haunted kitchen. “I dunno. It’s hard to stay, and it’s hard to go. But if you need space, I understand that too.” Jack nosed at his knee, and Luke bent down to the ground to pet him. “Wilson Ambrose has been after parts of the property for the last decade. He always listened to Sam, so I know he’d give two shits about me. He’s probably [i]more[/i] inclined to take something with me here.” Luke’s slow, easy grin spread across his face. “It may even be better for you if I’m gone.”

It was all pleasantries, as there was a zero percent chance of him leaving. He knew she didn’t want him to feel obligated to stick around. The “life” she’d mentioned was years of him trying to inject purpose into his existence with the military.

He filled Jake's water dish, wiped his hands off on his pants, and took a long sip of his coffee. “I’ve got a few months of down time at least.”

What he had to say next was the hardest part. It was hard because he knew if he waited, then it would be thousands of times worse later. At this point he was only looking at her, eyes fixed on her every movement. “I’m mostly here to see how much you want it. The farm. Because right now, I think you should sell.”