The Locket

by Maren Smith

  Dropping another quick kiss on her lips, Robert then walked up behind Braden as the huge man dipped back into the rack for another piece of sweet pomace. “Hey, buddy. This is going to take a while. Let’s go to the hospital.”

  Not one for hospitals anyway, Kylie didn’t mind staying behind. She walked with them as far as the barn door, waving goodbye before returning to the watch as the rack quickly filled. It took about two minutes with Kylie spreading the apple chunks into the far corners by hand. When she decided the rack was full enough, she threw the lever to pause the grinder just long enough to even out the layer of pomace one last time and then wrap the cheesecloth over it. Resting on a spring-based cart, the weight of the apples pushed the rack down far enough to slide the next one in on top of it. She was just spreading a fresh cut of cheesecloth across the wood when she heard Robert calling her from the house.

  Wiping her hands on the back of her jeans, Kylie let the grinder go again and left the rack to fill on its own while she walked back to the door. Shielding her eyes from the high-noon sun, it took her a moment before she realized the figure standing next to Robert couldn’t possibly have been Braden. He was too short, too skinny, although that dark three-piece suit should have given it away from the beginning. Still with the sun in her eyes, for a brief moment she could almost have sworn her eyes were playing tricks on her.

  They had a visitor. Shielding her eyes again, Kylie tried not to let her impatience show as she wondered why she should need to be involved in a purchase made at the fruit stand. Robert waved for her to come up and join them, but Kylie could already hear the grinder calling her back to it. In about thirty seconds, it was going to need another rack. And she had definitely not spent the last month laboring over this machine to put it all on hold now.

  She shook her head once, then motioned them to come to the barn. Robert crooked his finger at her, a little more insistently before pointing to the ground directly in front of him. That was a cheap shot; a ‘come here, young lady, I’m going to bust your butt’ sort of gesture, and Kylie didn’t bother hiding her frown from either of them now. She snapped her fingers once, pointed stiffly to the ground directly in front of her, and then walked away from the open door so she couldn’t see his reply. As she headed back to the grinder, she thought she heard someone bark a sharp laugh. It didn’t sound like Robert.

  Oh well, she’d known when she did it how Robert was likely going to react, but the end result was still what she wanted: she paused the grinder, slid the third rack into place and was spreading out the next cheesecloth when Robert brought the stranger down to the barn.

  The look on Robert’s face could have become The Look with very little effort. It promised they were going to discuss that snap at the first opportunity that he could arrange, and not to be surprised if she took part in that conversation panty-less and while studying his bootlaces.

  “Hi, honey.” She smiled at him sweetly, and switched the grinder back on. “What can I do for you?”

  Her bottom was already tingling.

  “Mrs. Appleby?” The man in the suit left Robert’s side with his hand outstretched to shake hers.

  “Morgan,” she corrected, but shook it anyway. “Kylie Morgan.”

  “Morgan,” the man repeated, then smiled and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “My name is Adam Kayhill. I’m a small cog in the War Department, particularly in the area of agriculture.”

  Instinctively, Kylie wiped the hand she’d touched him with on the back of her jeans, taking a large enough step back that she accidentally bumped into the racks. “Are we in trouble?”

  “No, no,” Kayhill soothed. “I was passing through Buckeye and I stopped at Billy’s Diner.” He looked at Robert. “Good food. Nice town. Very friendly.”

  “Did you have the pie?” Robert asked, making an effort at sociability while he folded his arms across his chest and waited for the government agent to get to the point.

  “They were sold out,” Kayhill replied. “But I’ve a lot of driving ahead of me today and so I thought I’d grab a little something for the road. The waitress recommended some of those fruit cookies she said you make.” He turned back to Kylie. “Those were good, too. I bought the last three and ate them all before I was even fifteen miles out of town.”

  “Oh, well…” Heat rose to Kylie’s cheeks as she digested the compliment, still not entirely sure they weren’t going to get slapped with some sort of fine. Why else would a government official be standing here? Any minute now she expected him to ask for their food handlers’ permit or business license or something. Oh Lord, what if he asked for her ID? She tried to hide her sudden nervousness by occupying her hands with spreading out the pomace. Even so, she still stammered when she said, “Thank you for stopping by. I’m, um…glad you liked them. I wasn’t sure they were going to turn out.”

  Completely oblivious to her unease, Kayhill smiled and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “They turned out well enough for me to turn around and come all the way back here. In fact, they were so good, I was wondering if you could mass produce them.”

  “What?” Having paused the grinder to add another rack to the pile, Kylie almost dropped it. She quickly regained her grasp, but the edges of both racks clattered loudly when they hit. She’d also forgotten, she was so nervous, to fold the cheesecloth over on the last rack. “Uh…” she put the rack down and turned all the way around. “I’m sorry, you want us to what?”

  “Mass produce them. They’re small, they’re portable, they’re delicious: all three very good reasons to send them to our troops overseas. What I need to know is whether you can make enough of those cookies, individually packaged of course, with a minimum three month shelf-life so they can reach their destinations without spoiling. If you can guarantee me that, I’ll put you on contract right here, right now.”

  Robert and Kylie looked at one another stunned. He started laughing first, and then turned away, scratching his head. She followed the direction of his stare and guessed that he must be staring at the house. Robert laughed again, but all Kylie could think about was how incredibly small that kitchen was with both her, Maybelle and Robert trying to cook in it.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kayhill,” she finally had to admit. “There’s no way I can mass produce anything on that stove. We’re just not set up for that, and we don’t have the money to buy anything different.”

  “What about the fruit factory?” Robert softly suggested, and then he turned to look at her.

  He couldn’t be serious, and yet, in her surprise Kylie found herself actually considering it. There might be equipment left behind that they could use. Certainly, there would be plenty of room.

  “I can grant you access to all the rationed ingredients you need to make those cookies, at least until the war is over,” Kayhill said. “I can also put you in contact with other government-contracted companies that can help with packaging. We would handle all the shipping, unless of course you also decide to market here in the U.S. I can also provide a modest, but adequate advance to help get this venture started, although you might want to inquire about a loan, just in case.”

  Even while still considering it, Kylie began to shake her head. “There isn’t a bank in the world that will loan to me.”

  “They’ll loan to me,” Robert replied, holding her gaze steadily.

  She gave up trying to be subtle. “Excuse me,” she told Kayhill as she edged past him. Taking Robert’s arm, she pulled him a short distance away. “I can’t sign that contract, I don’t have ID. I don’t exist here.”

  Apparently, she didn’t pull him far enough away or hiss her concerns anywhere near softly enough.

  “Why not?” Kayhill asked.

  “Head injury,” Robert replied without batting an eye. “I found her unconscious in my orchard. She’s pretty sure her name is Kylie Morgan, but everything else is a complete mystery.”

  Kylie stared up at him, not sure whether she ought to be relieved that he was so willing to lie to the gov
ernment for her or dismayed that he looked so darned believable while doing it.

  Kayhill looked shocked. “Seriously? She has amnesia?”

  “Complete memory loss,” Robert said stoically.

  “You—” Kayhill approached her slowly, peering into her eyes as if he could see those ‘missing’ memories for her. “You don’t remember where you’re from? Where you grew up, your parents…nothing?”

  The lie settled squared on her shoulders. She’d never been good at fabricating the truth. Already, she could feel her eyes developing that deer-in-the-headlights look. “I…don’t remember a thing.”

  “She didn’t even have a ration book when I found her,” Robert added.

  At least that part was the truth.

  “She was probably mugged,” Kayhill said, gazing at her with no small amount of sympathy. “Some low-life. There’s been significant demand for extra rations on the black market.”

  “That’s pretty much the conclusion we came to, as well.”

  “Ruffians these days,” Kayhill tsked. Then he straightened, his chest puffing out as he took a deep breath. “I’ll get my briefcase from the car. I think I can help with that, too.”

  Kylie and Robert stood side-by-side in the open barn doorway, watching Kayhill retreat back to his car.

  “I’m going to go to jail for identity fraud,” she said, lightly clapping her hand to her cheek. She briefly contemplated what a life behind bars would do to her in this time. She’d seen Shawshank Redemption. She didn’t know if she had it in her to crawl through three football-lengths of sewage pipe, much less spend twenty years hiding the hole she was digging in her cell wall behind a poster of Raquel Welch.

  “Successful fruit cookie manufacturers might make enough money to hire really good lawyers,” Robert replied, wrapping his arm around her waist.

  She couldn’t help it. She lightly slapped his stomach with the back of her hand as she laughed.

  He caught her wrist, bringing her hand to his mouth so he could press a tender kiss upon the backs of her fingers. Apparently, looking at those reminded him of her earlier sassiness. “Oh yeah, you snapped at me.”

  “It was just a little snap.” Kylie tried to sidestep, but he spun around, bending down as his arm swooped over her head and locked vise-like around her back. He picked her up by her waist, lifting her clean off her feet while pinning her against his hip.

  Tucked up under his arm like a football, Kylie barely muffled her startled/delighted shrieks as she was lugged out of the doorway and into the shadows of the barn where neither Braden nor the government man could see them.

  “What makes you think I answer to the snaps of your little fingers?” he asked, grinning down at her upturned rump.

  “You’re a man?” she replied, catching the back of his leg with both hands and struggling to gain enough leverage to heave herself upright again. “You’ll do whatever I tell you, or sleep on the couch for the rest of your life!” She erupted into shrieks of yelps and laughter, making absolutely no effort at all to muffle those as he leveled a fury of brisk swats all over her jean-clad bottom. “Ow! Ow!”

  “I’m a what now?”

  “You’re a ma—ye-owch!” She kicked her feet, flailing her hands and trying to climb his legs to his back pockets, unable to get high enough to grab onto his arm and stop his wildly spanking hand from descending even one more time. There was a definite flush of heat building in the seat of her jeans, a lovely stinging discomfort that only intensified when his hand finally paused again, flowing from the curves of her bottom into the shadowy recess between her thighs.

  “You want to try that again?” Robert asked, smiling. “I’ll spank you all day long, if I have to.”

  Panting and giggling, Kylie twisted her head back to look up at him. “You’re not a man?”

  He laughed, and then he paddled her backside until the heat was a bonfire and a very real thread of discomfort had begun to wind its way into the pleasure that had her laughing until she could barely breathe. “You’re going to feel very silly when that government guy comes back to find you getting your britches dusted like a kid.”

  “You’re the boss!” she finally wailed, unable to take any more. “You’re the boss!”

  He plopped her back on her feet, pulling her swiftly upright to pin her against the side of the barn wall. She squirmed, trying to get her hands back to catch hold of her flaming backside, but he quickly caught her wrists, leaning into her and holding her there, unable to get away although she had absolutely no intention of doing that.

  “This is one man immune to the demanding snaps of your dainty little fingers,” he breathed, but his eyes belied that for the lie it was. They turned smoky, and she felt the answering lick of flames tickling between her legs when he said, “Hands behind your head.”

  She obeyed the instant he released her wrists, freeing his hands to wander down the length of her, caressing their way behind her to cup and squeeze the cheeks he had so playfully assaulted. She felt the brush of his fingers along the seam of her jeans, following the line down between her buttocks until they were pressed against the aching folds of her sex.

  “Shall I prove I’m the boss?” he asked, one finger stroking along the slit of her until she could feel every ridge of that Levi seam digging into her sex.

  “Shall I?” she countered huskily, her breath hitching in the back of her throat when he squeezed again, parting her buttocks to dig his fingers in between. He smiled, but she was the first to utter her command. “Kiss me.” And she snapped her fingers for emphasis, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  His mouth turned that crooked smile of his positively wolfish. He jerked her hips far enough off the barn wall to land a sharply playful slap to the side of her ass, but then his lips found hers and softly, sweetly, he kissed the bones right out of her legs.

  EPILOGUE

  Winter 2008

  A ninety-two-year-old Robert Appleby sat on the park bench, his Humphrey Bogart hat pulled down low over his gray hair, his heavy tweed coat fastened tight against the cold of the early winter weather. He cooed at the flock of pigeons still searching the ground around his feet for any forgotten crumbs. Lifting his head a little, he listened to the steady tromp of footsteps coming down the manicured path toward him. He turned when her long shadow fell across him and raised his head to meet those beautiful brown eyes. Her hair was every bit as gray as his own, and bundled as she was in her own heavy coat, she looked thicker around the middle than she really was.

  “Did you get it?” he asked, smiling.

  “Snickers?” she offered, digging the candy bar out of her coat pocket by way of an answer. “Funny to think I bought the silly thing this morning, and then had to wait sixty years to eat it.” She ripped the top of the wrapper open and broke the candy bar in half before taking her first bite. “Mm.” She chewed slowly, even closing her eyes in a blink of a pure enjoyment. “Pilfered chocolate.”

  “Stolen from your own locker,” he pointed out.

  “I almost got caught, too.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t call the police.”

  “Naw. I feigned Alzheimer’s.” They both laughed, and then Kylie popped the last piece of candy into her mouth before turning toward him on the bench and asking, “So…Have you seen me yet, or should I take another walk around the park?”

  “You have been launched, so to speak.” Smiling, he reached for her hand, obligingly kissing the backs of her fingers. It was impossible to fathom the strength that existed in those long and slender and slightly arthritic digits, callused and scared as they were from years of working both in that factory and on that run-down cider press. “You’re mine forever now.”

  “Good.” She patted his knee, her breath steaming the air as she sighed contentedly. “I’ve only just got you trained the way I like. I’m too old to start over again with somebody new.”

  “Oh ho, it’s like that, is it?” He chuckled, loving the sassy sparkle in her eyes when sh
e turned from him, pretending to ignore him even as she giggled under her breath. A touch of color still flushed her cheeks, however, when he leaned over and whispered, “Just wait until I get you home, young lady. We’ll see who’s trained who. Here, hold still.”

  He pulled her collar out far enough to slip the locket back around her neck.

  “Young lady, ha,” she said but fondly, and gently opened the heart-shaped locket to look at her picture. “Those days are long gone, aren’t they?”

  Robert caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her face to steal another kiss. She would always be beautiful to him. Always the young and spirited woman who one morning just appeared, as if by magic, in his orchard and completely changed his life. His thumb caressed her weathered cheek and his smile softened with an adoration undiminished by time. “Let’s go home.”

  Hand in hand, they walked from the park together, the oldest of lovers and the best of friends.

  The End

  Table of Contents

  Other books by Maren Smith

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE