A Hopeful Harvest (Golden Grove Book 1)

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Fourteen dollars an hour.

  She pretended that sounded like a good option even though there was no money to pay anyone anything at the moment. “Thank you so much.”

  “We were real sorry to hear about what happened over here,” he added as he moved toward his truck. “You folks didn’t deserve this, but life isn’t about deserving, is it? It’s about facing the day and getting on with things.”

  A Western code, something she didn’t understand as a child. She understood it now as a single mom with an ill grandparent. Worrying did no good. But mustering up, getting things done, that was what got folks through. And the strong faith she’d shrugged off as a younger woman?

  That was her mainstay now.

  True to their word, the seven bus drivers came by after their morning runs, and when Gert realized that the borrowed barn wasn’t ready for displaying apples, she organized a team to clean it out, with a promise that they could open the doors in time to welcome the late-September influx of weekend shoppers and leaf peepers.

  They scrubbed the Moyers’ old fruit cooler, and when they hooked up the electricity, the lights came on and the cooler got cold, two simple but vital things for fruit sales and storage.

  By the end of the week they’d harvested the first two apple varieties and the popular Italian plums, now sweet and succulent. The bulk of the apples would ripen in October, but for now they had something to sell. But how could she sell apples a quarter mile up the road with the work to be done here and taking care of Gramps?

  The now-familiar white pickup truck rolled into the driveway as she and CeeCee waited for the bus that morning. CeeCee dashed forward once Jax parked the truck. “Mr. Jax! Wait till you see this!” She yanked her backpack off. It tumbled to the ground. Then she grabbed a folded-up paper from the first zippered compartment. “I put it in here so I wouldn’t forget where it was,” she told him as she handed it over. “It’s Dreamer with you. Can you tell? I even put your hat on you, so you wouldn’t get the sun in your eyes while you played with him. And your name, too, see? Only Mommy had to tell me how to spell it, and it wasn’t one bit hard!”

  Jax gave a soft whistle of appreciation. “You drew this? For me?”

  CeeCee beamed. She nodded quickly, like she couldn’t wait to confirm the gesture. “I knew you liked dogs because every time I talk about Dreamer, you listen, and if you didn’t like dogs, you wouldn’t even really listen to me, right?”

  Guilt shot through Libby.

  Was she guilty of brushing off CeeCee’s dreams about a dog because she knew it wasn’t possible right now? Jax squatted to CeeCee’s level, and he looked her square in the eye. “I will treasure this, CeeCee. I’ll put it on my refrigerator—”

  CeeCee’s eyes went wide because she knew what an honor it was to have your work on someone’s refrigerator.

  “And every morning and evening I’ll see it and remember that my friend Cecelia thought enough of me to make me a beautiful picture.” The rumble of the oncoming bus drew his gaze up. “Your chariot arrives, m’lady.”

  CeeCee giggled, started to grab her backpack, but then hugged Jax instead. “Thank you, Mr. Jax. For helping us. And for being my good, good friend!”

  It wasn’t CeeCee’s spontaneity or words that got Libby choked up.

  It was Jax’s face, as if this wasn’t just a cute little kid hug. It was something much, much more. He didn’t just accept the hug.

  He leaned down, gathered CeeCee into his arms and walked her to the bus. “Special delivery,” he announced as Gert opened the door.

  She laughed.

  So did the kids on the bus, and CeeCee climbed those steps with such an air of confidence that Libby got emotional.

  He came back her way and waved the bus off with her. “That’s some kid you’ve got, ma’am.”

  “She’s pretty cute, all right. And she’s excited about helping out at the barn and selling apples, but I’m not sure how to keep an eye on Gramps with the barn so far away. We were able to sell last year’s harvest out of our own barn so I was close by. And we had health aides in and out every day for Grandma. This quarter-mile distance makes a big difference.”

  He glanced up the road, then back at the house. “When is Cleve’s best time usually?”

  “Mornings in general, but it’s more sporadic now. We don’t really have a best time anymore. Just the occasional good moments.”

  “That’s what I’ve been seeing with him, too.” He surveyed the house and orchard, and the far-off barn with a quick look. “How about if you have him with you for the mornings, then he comes back here for the afternoons? It’s not perfect, but if I’m working here, I can set up a camera app in the living room and keep an eye on him if I’m in the orchard. The crew from the bus garage is keeping us on our toes, and I found a couple of fellows looking for work in town, so I hired them beginning tomorrow. We’ve got to get the next apples picked and into storage before the weather turns.”

  “I can’t pay them.” Libby hated admitting that out loud. “There’s no money until we start selling apples. If I’d been able to work this last year, we’d be fine, but that wasn’t possible with Grandma’s illness and now Gramps. His monthly check barely covers the few bills they have and I had to use his savings for a midsummer tractor repair and to pay for the chemicals we needed. If ever I was looking for some divine intervention on what to do, it’s now. The farm can’t sustain itself with no income and I’ve got none until the first fruits sell.”

  * * *

  She should be hopeless. Or look hopeless, because she was faced with a host of problems. Except she wasn’t despairing. Resigned, yes. Desperate? No. And for just a moment he wanted some of whatever it was that made her that way. Something to fall back on. He’d had that faith platform a long time ago, but the cornerstones he’d stood on all seemed to crumble in the Iraqi desert. He swallowed hard and focused on here and now. “First off, the barn is no worry, and the board approval meeting is tomorrow night. If we have someone sit with Cleve, can I attend the meeting with you? Not because I doubt your capabilities,” he clarified when she lifted a brow. “The board is used to seeing me. I’ve worked on a number of projects in town the past few years.”

  “So you’re a contractor.”

  He wouldn’t lie to her. “More of a handyman, but when it comes to hammers and nails and board feet, I’m your go-to man.”

  “So your wages for all of this work go into the pricing for the barn, right? Then I pay you out of the insurance money?”

  He wouldn’t need to be paid.

  He knew that. She didn’t. And if he raised the point, she’d start asking questions about who he was and where the money came from. Eventually it would come to light that the CVF Heritage Foundation was footing the bill for any extras, but she didn’t need to know that right now. “It all comes out as a wash in the end. We can go over figures sometime soon.”

  “I do better with figures,” she told him. “I don’t like surprises and I don’t like handing over control.”

  “Then let’s do that now,” he told her, but her phone interrupted them. She scanned the display and frowned.

  “I’ve got to take this—it’s the health service.”

  “We can talk later, then.” He watched her as she moved away with the phone.

  She was up and working when he got there in the mornings, and she was still working with CeeCee on homework or other duties when he left at night. And in between she oversaw Cleve’s well-being, while running the farm.

  Yet she seemed ashamed that she hadn’t been able to hold down a full-time job while doing all that.

  He took his truck into the orchard, but before he set out new bins, he put in a call to his father. “Hey, Dad. It’s me.”

  Richard Ingerson laughed. “The phone number was a clue. How are you doing? Aunt Connie wanted to drive over there last week, but I talke
d her out of it when I heard you were on a new project.”

  Aunt Connie had a big heart and a take-charge attitude. She loved him and his brothers, but she wasn’t subtle. And he’d avoided her for the last year and a half, which meant he’d avoided most family functions. His father, on the other hand, let him know he was concerned on a regular basis, but with such love that Jax couldn’t be upset about it. “It’s a project that involves you, actually.”

  “Me?”

  “Central Valley Fruit.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Jax explained the history, the location and the situation. “I know you’ve put in an offer on the farm and that Cleve rejected it.”

  His father sighed. “Legal approached him first. Then we had Ken offer a contract. In return, the old man offered to show him to the door with a vintage bent-barrel shotgun.”

  Cleve had a gun?

  Firearms and dementia or PTSD or any kind of mental disorder didn’t go well together. Making sure the gun went into hiding would be first on Jax’s new to-do list.

  “He didn’t get the gun, but then the representative didn’t hang around to push his luck, either.”

  “The farm’s being run by his granddaughter,” Jax explained. “She’s in a really rough spot financially, but doesn’t want to sell the farm out from under him. He’s dying, Dad.”

  “Jackson.” His father’s voice went deep. “You’ve had enough on your plate these past few years, haven’t you? Maybe this isn’t the best project for you to take on. Maybe you should—”

  Jax cut him off before his father could finish. “Insulate myself from life? Like I’ve been doing? Except I can’t this time. This old man, and Libby—”

  “Libby?”

  “His granddaughter, the woman running things. They had a dream and we can’t wreck that. But she’s literally out of money.”

  “The foundation already approved the extra rebuilding costs, didn’t it?”

  “Yes. But what they really need is customers. Business. I want them to feel like this harvest is the most successful one ever, and right now she’ll be selling out of a roughed-up barn up the road. No signage. No advertising. Nothing to bring people this way. But there’s no time or money to change things.”

  “If a couple of old friends happen to stop by and help you get the barn in order...”

  “I love it when friends and family get together,” he replied in kind, which was funny because he’d purposely avoided friends and family for much of the last three years, mostly because they’d ask how he was doing, and the last thing he wanted to talk about was how he was doing. It was easier to just stay out of sight.

  “I’ll have people there in an hour. Call in an order to Ag Supply in Quincy and I’ll have your cousins pick it up on the way. And, Jax?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you brought this to our attention. Your great-grandfather knew this man’s father, and he respected him. If this is his final harvest, we’ll make sure it’s a great one.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” He hung up the phone, waited until the bus drivers arrived, and once he assigned them areas, he stopped by the house and tapped on the side door. He stepped inside when Libby motioned him in. “Our crew has arrived and I’ve shown them what to do, but I want to do some cosmetic work on the barn before you open up. Are you okay here?”

  “Fine, but I don’t know how much you can really do.” She’d been working at her laptop. She stood and came his way. “Additional display shelves would be wonderful. We’ve got an account at the ag store in Quincy, and we could pay it off with the first sales.”

  “I’ve got a couple of guys who said they’d stop by and help out.” He wasn’t lying. He was just simplifying the truth. “I’ll have one of them grab some shelving lumber. It’s amazing what you can do with focused light and solid shelving.”

  “Two rules of merchandising,” she agreed. “Keep it bright and full, and within easy reach.”

  He turned to go, but then paused. “Libby, there’s another thing that occurred to me today.”

  “Oh? What was that?”

  “Does Cleve own a gun?”

  She winced instantly. “Two,” she said softly. “And he doesn’t have them locked up. I took all the ammunition I could find so they’re never loaded. Still, even the thought of him doing something foolish with a gun when he’s not in his right mind scares me.”

  She was right to be scared. If Cleve went off with a gun in hand, authorities would have no way of knowing it wasn’t loaded and they’d respond accordingly. “Can you get them to me and I’ll make them disappear for the duration?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” Relief softened the worry line that had formed between her brows. “That’s a great idea. I’ll gather them while he’s sleeping and put them in the back of my truck. You can pick them up from there. And if he goes looking, I’ll just say I haven’t seen them in a while. He’ll be frustrated, but that’s better than a possible alternative. I’ll give you the ammo, too.”

  “And I’ll put them all in a safe place,” he promised. Not at his cabin. He hadn’t allowed himself to keep a weapon since coming home, for the very same reasons he was removing Cleve’s now. In the midst of a night terror, the last thing a person should have was a gun. “If you need me, just call,” he added. He moved toward the door.

  So did she.

  She smelled of apple-scented dish soap and spiced shampoo. He wanted to lean closer. Breathe in the scent of her. Inspire the smile that seemed to wind its way around his heart.

  She motioned beyond him. “I’ve got to change laundry loads. Gramps’s bedding needed a full washing and I have to get the bed remade before he decides to nap there.”

  “I could keep him busy for a few minutes. Or make the bed,” he told her. He’d done plenty of bed making in the service, although you wouldn’t know it to see his cabin right now.

  “No need,” she said. “I’ll have it done quickly. Mortie is coming around eleven, then coming back tomorrow to train a home health aide to come each day. That will give me a couple of hours to work in the apples. Unless you need me at the barn?”

  The barn was the last place he wanted her today. “No, you can hang here. We’ll throw up some shelves and make sure the bins in the cooler won’t need a forklift to bring them down.”

  “Perfect.” She smiled up at him.

  He smiled back. And he didn’t want to stop smiling. She lightened something within him. Her hope persevering through despair. Her calm in a storm. Her strength inspired his desire to be strong again. To be the best he could be. To make him care.

  Those pretty blue eyes. Lightly tanned cheeks from working the orchard all summer. Was her skin as soft as it looked? Did he dare find out?

  She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to break the connection, either, but when his gaze went to her mouth, she stepped back.

  It was the right move. If he couldn’t trust himself in the grip of a night terror, how could he expect someone else to have faith in him?

  That made walking out that door imperative, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. And right now, to his surprise, it was.

  Chapter Seven

  She was attracted to the kind, hardworking handyman she knew nothing about. A man who seemed to have an answer for everything. How was that possible?

  Yes, she was a woman of faith, and in simplistic terms she could write this off as God’s timing. Maybe it was, but Jax’s presence, his goodwill and his willingness to pitch in and help weren’t normal.

  Normal people had jobs to go to every day. Normal people couldn’t just take weeks off and help out a neighbor.

  He said you could work out pay after the insurance check comes. Why are you borrowing trouble?

  She knew why as she laid out Cleve’s clothes the next morning.

  Trouble had found her often enough. Her
parents. Her husband. She hadn’t just promised herself she’d be more discerning. She’d promised God, and great guys didn’t just happen along the two-lane and become a superhero, did they? And yet, Jax McClaren had done just that. A text came through just then. From Jax. I need the morning to finish up in the barn. Can you get the pickers situated when they arrive? I’m going to have a friend start moving all the apples over to this barn. Okay?

  That saves cooler rent in town, so yes. Wonderful. Thank your friend for me. I’ll take care of everything here.

  A thumbs-up emoji appeared.

  The emoji disappointed her. She didn’t want the conversation to end. Was it because she was smitten? Or lonely? Maybe both, which meant maybe she should reconsider adopting a dog, because lonely women were prone to doing foolish things.

  Not her. Not now. Not ever again. No matter how nice his smile was. And it wasn’t just nice. When he looked at her, it was absolutely swoon-worthy. Fortunately she’d erected a swoon-resistant wall a long time ago, but when Jax was around, the wall seemed to crumble.

  She spotted a produce truck going by midafternoon. Apple crates lined the truck’s profile. The truck turned into the barn driveway, and an arrow of expectation shot through her. She’d always loved the sales season on the farm. Working with pickers, with Grandma and Gramps. “This’ll all be yours someday, toots,” he’d tell her, grinning as he said the words. “Your place. Your farm. Your fruit. O’Laughlin Orchards. Owner/manager, Liberty Creighton.”

  Growing up, she’d dreamed of having her own apple stand, her own shop. But then she’d made other choices in college. If she’d stuck with the plan, maybe Gramps wouldn’t be in this financial crisis now. If she’d stayed and worked the farm like she’d promised—

  “Libby?” Mortie’s voice interrupted her thoughts.