by Cindi Myers
“It will all be new to tourists,” Amy said, making notes about the displays.
“Is this what you really want to be doing?” Katherine asked.
“I think the museum is kind of interesting,” Amy said. “I mean, I don’t really know much about the history of this place. But I’m almost done here. We can head to the coffee shop in a minute.”
“I wasn’t talking about the museum. I mean, are you happy shilling for the Chamber of Commerce? I thought you wanted to write for magazines.”
“I do, Mom, but everybody has to start somewhere. Writing for the Herald has given me good experience, and some clips I can show to other places I want to write for.”
“Terrific. So start showing off those clips. Move on to the next step. I’d hate to see you stuck here in Hartland forever. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a wonderful town. But you wouldn’t be happy here, not when you’ve seen so much of the world and done so many things.”
“You’re probably right. I mean, I’ve been planning all along to leave, eventually. I’ve just been worried about Grandma.”
“I worry, too,” Katherine said. “But your grandmother has lived here all her life—you couldn’t pry her out with a crowbar. The good side to that is she has lots of friends—people who will take care of her better than I ever could.”
“She says the orchards are getting to be too much for her.”
“Then she’d be wise to sell the place and buy a nice house in town. She’d have enough money left over to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life.”
Amy studied her mother’s face—so calm and certain of everything. “It doesn’t bother you to think about her selling the family farm?” she asked.
“It’s just land to me. I haven’t thought about it as home for years. If Mom wants to sell, she should. You don’t need to lose any sleep over it.” Katherine slipped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and hugged her close. “Promise me you’ll do something with your writing. I’ve been reading the articles you sent me and you’ve got real talent. Don’t waste it.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Katherine didn’t hand out praise very often, so her words meant a lot to Amy. “I have a couple of names of people I met in Denver who work for magazines there. I could start with them.”
“Good girl. Now let’s go have that coffee.”
Charla, dressed today in a pink Indian sari, complete with a ruby bindi on her forehead, greeted them warmly. “The special today is chai,” she said. “I’m trying out some themed sales to see if I can spice things up a bit.”
“I have a sari just like that,” Katherine said. “So cool and practical and flattering.”
“Charla, this is my mom, Katherine Carruthers. Mom, this is my friend Charla Reynolds.”
“Wonderful to meet you.” Katherine shook Charla’s hand. “So nice to see someone here with a real sense of style.”
“I’m not sure Hartland is really ready for saris,” Charla said. “This morning Dirk Sheffield asked me if I’d decided to wear my pajamas to work, and Ashley Frawley reminded me that Halloween is four months away.”
“Ouch!” Amy said. “Do you want me to take your picture for the paper?”
“I already tried that. Ed told me he wouldn’t run my picture, since it would be free advertising. But no matter. What can I get you ladies?”
Katherine ordered the chai, while Amy opted for her usual mocha. “We toured the history museum this morning,” Amy said when Charla delivered their drinks. “I don’t think it’s going to pull a lot of people off the highway.”
“Lots of people like small-town museums,” Charla said.
“Single men do not like small-town museums,” Amy said. “And I thought that was the whole point of this exercise.”
“The curse of the small town,” Katherine said. “Not enough eligible men. Why do you think I was so eager to go off to college?”
“There are plenty of single guys here,” Charla said. “I’ve just struck out with all of them. I’m trying to find a way to draw in new blood.”
“Then you don’t need dull old museums,” Katherine said. “How about a motorcycle rally? Or an adventure race?”
Charla’s eyes widened. She turned to Amy. “Your mother is a genius.”
“Remind me before we leave, and I’ll give you some names of people who can help you,” Katherine said.
“I can’t wait to pick your brain for ideas,” Charla said. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“Oh, another day or so.” Katherine sipped her chai. “We’re headed to Costa Rica for six months, and we have a lot of shopping to do.”
“But, Mom, you just got here yesterday.”
“I know, dear, but as I told you before, short visits are the best. Maybe next time you and Chloe can fly out to Costa Rica to see us. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Five or more hours on a plane with an active five-year-old was not Amy’s idea of fun, but there was no point arguing this with her mother, who had filled Amy’s passport with stamps before Amy was Chloe’s age. “I wish you could stay longer this time,” she said. Her mom was good for her ego, praising her writing and reassuring her that leaving Grandma and Hartland was the right thing to do.
Amy fed on Katherine’s boundless energy and confidence, but she feared when her mom was gone, her self-doubt and second-guessing would return.
* * *
“DAD, I’VE BEEN thinking about getting my own place.” Josh and his father were riding fence lines on a bright weekday morning, checking for breaks in the wire or leaning posts that needed shoring up. Josh had rehearsed this announcement in his mind a hundred times, planning on leading up to it gradually. Instead, he’d blurted it out boldly.
Mitch, who was riding a little ahead of his son, reined his horse to a halt. “That section of wire up there is sagging,” he said, and swung down out of the saddle.
Josh dismounted and followed his dad. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked.
“I heard. Help me stretch this wire out here.”
Josh grabbed hold of the section of wire and jerked it taut. He held it while his father clipped it tight to the fence post. He felt like a kid, waiting for his dad to give him permission to use the truck on Saturday night. The sour taste of anger filled the back of his throat. “Well?” he demanded. “What do you think?”
“Something wrong with the cabin? I thought you liked living there.”
“I’m not talking about another place to live—I want my own place to manage.”
“You already have a place here.” Mitch moved down the fence line, testing the tautness of the wire here, pulling a stray branch out of the netting there.
“This is your ranch, Dad, not mine.”
“It will be yours one day. When I’m gone all this will come to you.” He shoved the fencing pliers into his back pocket and walked back to the horses.
“You’re going to be around a long time yet,” Josh said.
“Hope so.” He swung up in the saddle.
“Then there’s no reason I shouldn’t try my hand at a place of my own.”
“Where would you go?”
“I wouldn’t go anywhere.” Josh mounted again and brought his horse alongside his father. “I plan to stay here in Hartland. I’m still going to teach school next year and coach the baseball team.”
Mitch shook his head. “Son, you’re not making sense. There aren’t any ranches here for sale.”
“Not a ranch, Dad. A farm. I’m thinking of buying Bobbie Anderson’s place.”
“Anderson Orchards?” This was enough to make Mitch turn to look at his son. “You’re a rancher, not a farmer.”
“I studied agriculture in college. I know about greenhouses and irrigation and grafting and all of those things.”
“S
tudying things in books and doing them in real life are two different animals,” Mitch said.
“I know that, Dad, but I want the chance to try.”
“Didn’t know Bobbie was thinking of selling out.”
“She hasn’t talked a lot about it, but I let her know I was interested.”
“What about that granddaughter of hers—Amy Marshall? Why doesn’t she take over the place?”
“She’s not interested in farming. She wants to move to the city and write for a magazine.”
“Too much like her mother, then. Katherine Anderson always had her nose stuck in the air. She was the prettiest girl in school, but us ranch kids weren’t good enough to shine her shoes.”
Was that regret Josh heard in his father’s voice? Had his dad had a crush on Amy’s mother, and had she returned his affection by ignoring him? He felt a stab of sympathy for Mitch. “Amy’s not like that. She’s just never lived in one place very long. She never had a real home, so the land doesn’t mean that much to her.”
“I’ve never understood people like that.” He rubbed his chin. “The Anderson place backs up to our property. One day you’d own both places—a good bit of land. If you had two kids you’d have something to leave both of them.”
Josh almost laughed at the idea that his father was planning for his eventual progeny and demise before Josh even had the hope of children. “Nothing’s confirmed yet,” he said. “Don’t say anything to anybody.”
“You think I’m one of those people who goes blabbing my private business to everyone I know?”
“No, Dad. I’m pretty sure Bobbie will sell to me, but I’m trying not to push her. This is a big decision for her and I’m in no hurry.”
“That’s the right way to act. Bobbie Anderson’s father started those orchards.”
“She was hoping she could persuade Amy to stay and take over the place, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.” He’d miss seeing Amy in town, but life would be more settled without her around to constantly stir things up.
“If the granddaughter won’t take it, Bobbie would be better off selling it to you than to some stranger.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Some of the stiffness went out of Josh’s shoulders. He’d lost sleep, worrying about his dad’s reaction to his words, but Mitch was taking it pretty well. “I wouldn’t really be leaving the ranch, just spending more of my time next door.”
“The ranch will always be your home, no matter what.” His voice was gruffer than usual, the closest Mitch came to showing strong emotion.
“That’s good, Dad,” Josh said. He didn’t want to turn his back on his home and family, but it would be good to stake a claim of his own, to try out his ideas for better or worse, and prove himself someplace where he wasn’t hampered by the weight of his heritage.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I HAVE TO go to the feed and supply to pick up more tomato cages,” Amy announced on the morning of the third day of her mother’s visit. “Want to come along, Mom?”
Katherine set aside the magazine she’d been reading. “Yes. Anything to pass the time. I’d forgotten how boring life on the farm could be.”
“There’s always plenty of work to do.” Between writing for the paper, taking care of Chloe and helping in the orchards and greenhouses, Amy never had time to be bored.
“But as I’ve reminded you before, I’m not a farmer.” Katherine stood and smoothed her crisp khaki walking shorts and tailored white blouse. She looked ready to lead a Jeep tour across the African veldt. “Any idea where your father and Chloe are?”
“Dad said something about taking Chloe fishing. Grandma’s in one of the greenhouses.”
“Then looks like you’re my best bet for company.” Katherine’s smile took some of the sting out of her words. “While we’re in town, let’s sneak off for coffee at your friend Charla’s place.”
Amy grabbed the truck keys from a hook by the door. “I can’t believe Mom is still driving this old thing,” Katherine said as she fastened her seat belt. “I’ve seen newer models in the depths of Congo.”
“Grandma likes this old truck.” Amy patted the dashboard almost fondly. “She says on warm days she can still smell Grandpa’s pipe tobacco. It’s almost as if he’s riding along with her.”
“She hated that pipe when he was alive—she fussed at him all the time for smoking it.”
“It’s funny what means the most to us after a person dies,” Amy said. “Brent had this ratty old sweatshirt I hated, but he loved it. After he died I slept with that thing for a month.”
Her mother reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “You know how much your father and I loved Brent. He was the perfect man for you. It was a tragedy he had to die so young.”
If Brent had been the perfect man for her, did that mean no one else was going to come close for the rest of her life? Had she had her one chance for happiness and lost it? “I don’t think Brent was very happy, living in Denver,” she said. “I think he felt tied down to one place. He wanted to travel more, explore the world, but that was hard to do with an infant and then a toddler.”
“I did it with you. It wasn’t a picnic, but we managed.”
“I guess I’m not that strong. Besides, I thought it would be good for Chloe to have the stability of a home in her younger years.”
“Children don’t need the stability of a place. You were happy as long as you were with us—and you were, twenty-four hours a day.” Katherine’s smile grew wistful. “Those were some of the happiest days of my life, when you were little. It always felt like the three of us, conquering the world. Every place we traveled was new to us, every adventure a fresh experience. There’s nothing like it.”
“Now that you’ve been everywhere and seen everything, do you ever think of settling down?” Amy asked. “Was there one place you liked enough to go back to stay?”
“There are places in Australia and Africa I think I could live. If we ever decide to retire, we might go back there.” Katherine waved her hand dismissively. “But that’s years away. And wherever we end up, we’ll still travel.”
Amy pulled the car into an angled space in front of the feed and supply store, a low-slung, tin-sided building that sold everything from hay to hats. “Grandma said to look for some pyrethrum powder and some more rawhide chews for General, too,” she said as she led the way into the store.
A white-shirted clerk turned toward them. “Can I help— Oh, Amy, hello.”
“Rick!” Amy glanced at his printed name tag although she knew his name well enough. “Do you work here now?”
“Summer job,” he said. “Can I help you find something?” He glanced at Katherine.
“This is my mother, Katherine Carruthers. Mom, this is Rick Southerland. He’s a teacher at the high school.”
“Nice to meet you,” Katherine said.
Rick nodded but said nothing.
“I’m looking for pyrethrum powder, tomato cages and rawhide chews,” Amy said.
“The chews are on aisle five, the cages are out back and we’re out of the powder,” Rick said.
“The garden center on the other side of town carries the pyrethrum.” The deep, familiar voice made Amy turn to stare.
“Josh Scofield, is that you?” Before Josh could answer, Katherine threw her arms around him.
“Josh, I hope you remember my mother, Katherine Carruthers,” Amy said.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Carruthers.”
“Oh, you must call me Katherine.” She beamed at him. “You grew up to be a good-looking man.” Her smile dimmed a few watts when her gaze landed on the hook at the end of his right arm. “I was sorry to hear about your injury.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Rick scowled at them. Amy realized they were blocking the a
isle. She started to move aside.
“Rick, I didn’t know you were working here,” Josh said.
Rick said nothing, but pushed past them.
“What’s his problem today?” Amy asked.
“I heard his wife took their kid and moved to Junction.” Mitch joined them in the aisle.
Josh raised an eyebrow in question. Mitch shrugged. “You don’t think all we talk about at the cattlemen’s society meetings is the price of cows, do you?” He turned to Amy’s mom. “You’re looking well, Katherine.”
“So are you, Mitch. It’s certainly been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“And yet you never look a day older.”
“Oh, you always were such a flirt.” But her smile told Amy the praise pleased her.
“How are Bobbie and Chloe?” Josh asked.
“My dad took Chloe fishing this morning, so she’s in heaven. And Bobbie’s fine.”
“As stubborn as ever,” Katherine said. “I caught her standing on a step stool, trying to hang wasp traps in the greenhouse yesterday. I pointed out that was how she broke her hip in the first place, but she didn’t want to hear it.”
“Bobbie’s always been as tough as they come,” Mitch said.
“Yes, but there’s such a thing as having sense,” Katherine protested.
“From what I remember, you were quite the daredevil in your day.” Mitch’s eyes twinkled.
Katherine’s blush only made her look prettier. “I still am. I’d dare you to keep up with me in the bush.”
“I wouldn’t even try.”
Amy leaned close to Josh. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Your dad likes to flirt.”
“Almost as much as your mom.” He leaned forward. “Dad, do you want me to load the truck while you visit with Amy and her mom?”
“I’d better go with you,” Mitch said. “If you don’t watch ’em, the yard hands will load all the crooked, warped fence posts.” He touched two fingers to his hat brim. “Nice to see you ladies.”
