“Right. So there’s three of you, one of me. We can divide the kids up into four groups and set up four stations. Bobbing for apples, going to the pumpkin patch, the corn maze, and, of course, the hayrides. I’ll show the driver where we go—it’s simple—”
“You might as well tell me now.”
“What?”
“I’m the bus driver.”
She stared. Her eyes traveled from his suit coat to his dress pants to his black leather dress shoes. Back to his face. Bland. She laughed. “I didn’t think you had a sense of humor, Fink.”
He waited for her to quit laughing. “I’m not kidding.”
She swallowed. “Can you drive a tractor?”
“I have a class A commercial driver’s license with a passenger endorsement.”
“No. You don’t need a license. I’m asking can you physically do it?”
“I was born in Iowa. We drive tractors to preschool.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Did you just…joke?”
“No joke. Just facts, ma’am.”
Was that a hint of a smile? Couldn’t be. She picked her way back through the shop mess to the open door. “Don’t call me ma’am like I’m fifteen years older than you.”
“You have an eighteen-year-old daughter. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out your approximate age.”
That’s what he thought. And she did not want to go there.
She grabbed a pair of scissors off the shelf and put them in her back pocket. “Come on, let’s get these kids off the bus.”
Fink followed her path through the mess. “The bus should be unloaded and the kids should be waiting in the fire-pit area.”
They were. Fink was nothing if not organized. It occurred to her to offer him a change of clothes, especially after one of the other chaperones told her he’d been tapped just today to fill in after some sickness had gone around the school. But he was much taller than her father-in-law, and she’d have to cut the toes out of Dad’s boots to get them to fit. Plus, she really couldn’t imagine Fink in bib overalls and practical boots, anyway. Although part of her, a part she immediately shut down, thought he might look pretty good. It was the nose. Man, she was such a sucker for a strong nose. Or maybe it was the character such a nose represented.
Thoughts about his clothes made her notice how broad his shoulders were. Paired with his height and his Roman nose, well, someone—certainly not her, but someone—might think he was quite a catch. Good for them.
She ended up supervising the trips out to the pumpkin patch, which, truth be told, was always her favorite job. The vines had been killed off by frost, but the vibrant orange pumpkins, contrasted with the brilliant blue sky and brown earth, always cheered her. Orange was such a happy color.
The pumpkins were randomly scattered throughout the patch, and she loved looking for patterns. Five grouped here, eight there. No two pumpkins the same, either. Short, fat, long, and tall. Two big ones and two little ones in a group. Three big and one small in another.
She loved watching the kids run from pumpkin to pumpkin, and guessing which kid would pick which pumpkin.
What made them finally decide, This is it? Invariably some would go to the farthest corner—the patch was three acres—and choose one too large to carry back. She loved those overachievers. Reminded her a little of the randomness of the universe and how some people ran from person to person to person, looking for the perfect mate. What made them finally settle on someone? And those overachievers? That would be like her setting her cap for Fink. Ha.
But she’d already had a husband, and she’d chosen him like the kids who set one foot in the patch and choose the pumpkin closest to them. Liam and she had been in the same class at Chestnut Hill from kindergarten to ninth grade when she’d gotten pregnant. Liam had been a good father and an okay husband, but she wondered if she might have found something better, more exciting, if she’d wandered farther into the patch. She squelched a laugh. Maybe Liam was the one who should have gone farther in.
Well, it was over and done with. She’d already picked a pumpkin and she didn’t need two. Not in this lifetime. At least she’d ended up with great in-laws. And the best daughter in the world.
As she waited for this group of kids to choose, she could see almost the entire hayride route. Not that she was watching Fink. Oh, please. But it was kind of interesting to see the buttoned-up, prosaic principal maneuvering the red tractor. She had to admit, he was proficient. He probably had been serious when he said he was from Iowa. Which made her wonder what in the world he was doing in Central Pennsylvania. Was this seriously the only place he could find a job?
A little boy tugged on her sleeve. “Hey, lady. Izzy isn’t picking a pumpkin out.”
She’d missed the little girl who hung at the edge of the patch, a bright pink clip stuck in her curly black hair.
Picking her way through, watching that the vines didn’t trip her, she walked to Izzy. “Hey, I’m Ellie.”
Izzy looked up and gave a small smile.
Ellie squatted down. “Do you want a pumpkin?”
Izzy looked out at the field, then at her feet. “I think they’re too heavy.” She bit her lip and watched as the other kids ran from pumpkin to pumpkin.
“Some of them are pretty heavy. But you don’t have to pick a big one.”
Izzy dug her toe in the dirt.
Ellie leaned in toward Izzy and whispered, “If you pick one that’s too heavy, I’ll carry it for you. But don’t tell anyone else, or I’ll end up having to carry everyone’s pumpkins.”
Izzy smiled, her white teeth glistening in her dark face.
Ellie straightened. “I’ll hold your hand. You’ve got to watch these vines. They like to trip you up.”
Izzy slipped her hand into Ellie’s and they picked their way through the patch. As she helped Izzy find the perfect pumpkin, she couldn’t help but go back to her earlier thoughts on dating and pumpkins, because she’d just realized something about herself. Izzy hadn’t wanted to get a pumpkin because she’d been afraid of not being able to handle it.
Was fear the reason—the real reason—Ellie hadn’t dated since Liam died? If so, what, exactly, was she afraid of?
Chapter Three
Mr. Finkenbinder swung the tractor into the turnaround and eased the clutch out, allowing it to chug back onto the lane. He hadn’t driven a tractor since he’d left the farm for good. He’d always enjoyed the work, but he had never cared for the stigma attached to it.
A stab of guilt flashed through his heart, like it always did when he thought of his childhood home. It was sold now and he couldn’t go back. He’d made his choice. Now the only option he had was to live with it.
He half turned in the seat to make sure the children stayed seated, but so far there’d been no problems. Well, there was one problem. His gaze kept straying to Mrs. Bright. At the school she always seemed oddly out of place, but she looked right at home in the pumpkin patch. Laughing with the kids. And his heart had given a gentle tug in his chest when she’d knelt before little Izzy. Although he was the high school principal, he did occasional work at the elementary school, which was directly beside the high school. He knew most of the students. Izzy exuded sweetness. If he had favorites, which he most certainly did not, she would be one of them.
He forced himself to remember the chaos of the shop and office. How could anyone live and work in such an unorganized, messy environment? After seeing Mrs. Bright with Izzy, he thought maybe she wasn’t the Wicked Witch of the West, but being around her for any length of time would drive him batty.
By four thirty, all four groups had spent a half an hour at each station and were gathered around the haybale pyramid. Because of its low, southern track, the sun drooped in the sky casting long shadows along the leaf-strewn yard as the children ran and played.
Mr. Finkenbinder checked his watch. It was almost time for parents to start arriving to pick up their children. He glanced over at
the picnic tables where Mrs. Bright stood holding scissors, snipping bits of lace and ribbon as the children brought them to her. She smiled and laughed with the children, adjusting a piece of ribbon or sorting through the piles of odds and ends to pick a perfect piece.
He breathed deeply. Woodsmoke mixed with rich fall air, falling leaves, and the dampness of soil as it readied to spend a season resting. A comforting, cozy scent. Peace and goodwill settled into his soul.
The children were finishing up their projects, and when he glanced over again, Mrs. Bright stood idle. He found his feet taking him to her. “You have a beautiful place and a nice setup here.”
She looked up, twisting a piece of ribbon in her hand. Her hair had frizzed out all over her head, and one strand was caught in her mouth again. He tore his eyes away before he started thinking about her lips.
“Thanks,” she said.
He looked around. “The kids are having a great time. I mean, it could have been more educational…”
“I should have known you were coming over here to complain.” A kid walked up holding out a piece of ribbon, and she snipped where he pointed.
“I’m not complaining. I complimented you.”
“And I said thank you. Then you close your mouth and we part friends.” She lifted a brow and stuck out her chin, barely looking before cutting another ribbon with a quick snip.
“You don’t have to be such a wise guy all the time.” His neck heated, and he clenched his jaw. “And maybe you ought to make sure you don’t cut anyone’s fingers with those scissors.”
“I’m a woman, not a guy. And you don’t have to be such a stick-in-the-mud.” She rested her hand on her hip. At least, he assumed it was her hip, but with the shapeless coveralls, and the baggy green shirt, he couldn’t even be sure she had hips. Four legs and scales, possibly.
Her face had turned red. “And if you think you can do my job better, have at it.”
“I’m not a stick-in-the-mud. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been driving your tractor around all afternoon. In addition, a two-year-old could do your job better than you.” He stopped, realizing the tone of his voice had been climbing. He lifted his nose. “You owe me money. You said you’d pay the bus driver to drive the tractor.”
“That’s rude. Like I wasn’t going to pay you.” A little girl in pigtails held her ribbon out and Ellie practically yanked it from her and snipped it in two like she wished it was his head.
“I never said that. You’re twisting everything that comes out of my mouth. I was just reminding you since you seem to forget everything else.” He ended on a near-shout, matching her volume.
She took a step to him, her finger in his face. “You put hidden meaning into everything that comes out of your mouth. You walk around like you have a stick up your butt and I’m dirt. I’m just saying in plain words what you meant to say.”
He met her toe to toe, gratified he could look down at her since she seemed to always have the upper hand. He put his own finger in her face and shouted right back, “I most certainly did not, but I would expect you to assume the worst.”
“Why wouldn’t I assume the worst when that’s what you always do?” she yelled, so close he could feel the vibration from her voice.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a careless parent, who can’t even manage to get her child to school on time, let alone get dressed properly in the morning, I would have something positive to think about you.” He leaned down until their noses almost touched, and to his astonishment, he had screamed that entire last sentence.
“Um, Mom?” Harper came into view, her book bag still slung over her shoulder, her brows drawn down.
He dropped his hand and stepped back.
Harper moved to her mother and pried her fingers from the scissors.
Mr. Finkenbinder glanced around. Fifty third graders stood in a circle around them, staring with open mouths.
“Finish your decorations and find your pumpkins, boys and girls. Make sure you check in with me before you go. Don’t leave until your parents have signed you out.” Mr. Finkenbinder managed to modulate his voice and put his principal mask firmly back in place, but irritation still clutched at his backbone. Irritation at that irritating woman who irritated him on purpose, and so thoroughly that he’d lost control and everyone knew he was irritated. Ugh.
“Mr. Finkenbinder?” Harper tapped him on the shoulder.
“Yes, Harper?”
“I picked up Wyatt. He texted me and said you weren’t answering your phone, you weren’t home and he didn’t know where you were, although one of his friends had said his sister might have gone on a field trip here with you. So that’s why we showed up here.”
Sure enough, his nephew stood behind Harper. Towered over her, really. The kid was all arms and legs and clumsy, awkward movements. He hadn’t grown into his body yet. But he’d give his sister credit, Wyatt was a sweet kid.
Mr. Finkenbinder cringed. He’d forgotten all about him.
“Humph.” Mrs. Bright’s smile dripped with syrupy sweetness. “I might be a horrible mother, but at least I’ve never forgotten my kid.” Her words were no longer delivered in a shout, but she crossed her arms over her chest.
Mr. Finkenbinder wanted to wipe that smug smile right off her face. Or kiss it off. Irrational. His eyes widened and he spun on his heel. He grabbed his clipboard off the picnic table.
“Mother. You both lost your tempers and said unkind things.” Harper crossed her arms and lifted a brow. “I’m going up to the shop. Two customers pulled in while you guys were screaming at each other. I’ll take care of all that while you finish up here. Do you think you can act like adults?” She tapped her foot. Her gaze went first to one, then the other. “Think of the children.”
Mr. Finkenbinder looked at the ground. He’d never lost control like that in front of his kids. And he’d been in some pretty tense situations. Something about Mrs. Bright yanked his strings the wrong way. Hard. But he had to take responsibility for his actions.
“You are absolutely correct, Harper.” He turned to Mrs. Bright and met her eyes. Eyes he’d just been inches from and couldn’t help but notice were a dazzling shade of blue, ringed with black. Fascinating. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bright. I was out of line. I was unkind and acted like a child. Please forgive me.”
“A very nice apology, Mr. F.” Harper turned to Mrs. Bright. “Mother?”
Mrs. Bright set her chin, looking very much like a mule refusing to haul a pack up a mountain.
Harper tilted her head. “There’s only one adult in the room?”
Mrs. Bright rolled her eyes. “We’re outside.”
“Mother. How will I ever learn to do right if you are not a good example for me?”
Mr. Finkenbinder hid a smile. Harper was eighteen. And she was providing her own good example.
But her statement worked. “Fine. I’m sorry, Fink. You’re a jerk and Mother Teresa would lose patience with your condescending BS, but I’m sorry I shouted in front of the children.”
“Mother.”
“I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
A little girl asking for a bag for her extra ribbon distracted Mrs. Bright, and Mr. Finkenbinder turned to Wyatt. “I’m sorry. I should have texted you about my change of plans, and I didn’t get your calls because I left my phone in the bus. I didn’t want to lose it on the hayrides. I’ll try to be more considerate in the future.”
“Hey, no problem, Uncle Fink.” He looked back at Harper’s retreating figure. “If it’s okay, I’ll go help Harper with the cleanup.”
Mr. Finkenbinder thought about the disaster area Wyatt’s room was and figured he wouldn’t be much help at cleaning anything up, but he nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll get you once the kids leave.” Wyatt started to walk away. “Oh. Um, there was a small accident with the homecoming float…”
“Yeah, I heard it exploded.” Wyatt grinned.
“Mrs. Bright is making a new one, and I told her that we�
��d help her. We’ll eat, then we’ll need to come back around eight.”
“Whoa. Do you think we’ll have it done by Friday?”
“I’m going to search for some easy ideas with detailed plans we can construct quickly.”
“Oh, okay.”
Mr. Finkenbinder rubbed his forehead as Wyatt strode away. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten all about Wyatt today. Maybe being a parent was harder than he’d thought. He’d have to try to do better. But first, he had to get through this week working with Mrs. Bright.
Chapter Four
Ellie rushed into the kitchen at seven thirty that evening. She hadn’t thought that last customer would ever leave. Her back hurt, her feet hurt, and her eyes felt gritty, like she’d been up all night.
The spicy smell of apple pies baking, the homey scene of Harper sitting at the big kitchen table, her school books set out in front of her, and her mother-in-law’s welcoming smile normally would have made her aches and pains slip away. Not tonight. She still had to deal with Fink.
She grabbed the peanut butter and a slice of bread.
“I put the leftovers in the fridge.” Esther turned from the counter where she mixed pumpkin and spices. “I’ll get it out and heat it up for you.” She started to wipe her hands on her apron.
Ellie waved her back. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll just grab a peanut butter sandwich and an apple. I have to head back out.”
“Oh, yes. Harper told me you were helping to build the school float for the parade this weekend. I wonder why they didn’t start earlier? Back in my day, we spent months coming up with a theme and a design.”
“That’s a good question.” A very good question. But she didn’t want explain about the explosion and the resignation of the entire float committee right now. She had to hurry.
Harper closed her books. “I’m coming with you.”
“I thought you said you had to study for a big Calculus test tomorrow?”
“I do.”
“You stay here. Help Gram with her pies. When you’re done studying, you can come down.” She unscrewed the lid from the peanut butter and slapped some on each piece of bread.
Harvest Moon Homecoming Page 3
