by Cindi Myers
“I’ve been working on a little project,” Josh said.
“Oh.” Josh waited for Mitch to ask for details, but of course he wouldn’t. Since Josh had returned home from college, Mitch had meticulously respected his privacy. It was his one outward acknowledgment that Josh had reached adulthood.
“I’m recruiting people to help with the apple harvest at Anderson Orchards,” Josh said.
“I remember Bobbie said she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get enough pickers.”
“Right. I thought this would be a way to help out.”
Mitch didn’t say anything for a moment. Did his dad think he was butting in where he shouldn’t? “You can put me down for a shift,” Mitch said at last. “I guess I’m not too old to pick apples—though I’d like it better if I could do it from the back of a horse.”
The image of his father astride his favorite gelding, a black named Spartan, plucking apples from the trees, made Josh smile. “Maybe I’ll suggest it to Bobbie.” He sobered. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing, Dad?”
“Helping a neighbor is always the right thing. And it’s not like Bobbie and that girl can do all the picking themselves. What does she think about it?”
“I haven’t told her yet. I don’t want her to think I’m doing this to persuade her to sell the farm to me. This has nothing to do with that.”
“I’m proud of you, son.” Mitch gripped the steering wheel more tightly, the scars around his knuckles from years of stringing fence, hauling hay and dealing with recalcitrant animals standing out against his sun-bronzed skin. “I know we’ve had our differences, and I’m still not sold on the idea of your being a farmer instead of a rancher, but you’re going about this the right way.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Josh had to squeeze the words out past the lump in his throat. Mitch was a miser when it came to praise, which made his words all the more precious.
“Now about those Highland Cattle,” Mitch said.
Josh shifted in his seat. They were back to ranching—back on safer ground. “Do you think all that hair down in their eyes makes them more susceptible to predators?” Mitch asked. “I’d think a wolf or a mountain lion would be able to sneak right up on them.”
“I don’t know.” Josh worked hard not to laugh. “We didn’t cover that in class.”
“You didn’t? I don’t know why not. That kind of thing is important, don’t you think?”
“I guess you were right—they didn’t always teach the practical stuff in school.” They hadn’t taught him how to share what he’d learned with his dad without offending him, for instance. But time and trials had helped them find their way to a place where they could respect each other for the knowledge they had—and the things they could learn together.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SINCE COMING TO Hartland, Amy had learned farming had seasons of its own, a cycle of planting and pruning and harvesting that continued no matter what else was going on. Each season brought new tasks that had to be done. She took comfort in the routine of these tasks. The first week of August meant it was time to transplant the broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage seedlings. She and Grandma would sow them in cold frames where, if the weather cooperated, they’d produce fresh vegetables until January. Though the farm stand closed by the first of November, the local market would still carry their vegetables.
“I’ll bet if we tried, we could get some of the local restaurants to take out produce—maybe even some places in Junction,” Amy said, as she and Grandma worked with the transplants one early August morning.
“I don’t have time to be chasing after the restaurant business,” Bobbie said. “And we’d have to hire someone to make deliveries every day. Maybe if I were younger and had more energy...”
The weariness in her voice alarmed Amy. “Are you all right, Grandma?”
“I’m fine.” She stripped off her gardening gloves and leaned against the potting table. “Just tired. It’s been a long summer.”
Amy turned back to her work. Grandma didn’t like it when people fussed over her, but it wasn’t like her to be so listless. She carefully shook a broccoli seedling from a small plastic pot and transferred it to the large, deep tray they’d later move to the cold frame. The soil was warm and damp against her fingers—unlike Grandma, Amy preferred to work without gloves. She could tease the delicate roots from the pots with her fingers with less risk of damage.
The strains of Vivaldi warbled from the phone in her hip pocket. “They’ll have to leave a message or call back later,” she said. The ringing finally stopped, but a few seconds later her message alert sounded.
“Answer that thing,” Grandma said, taking a seedling from Amy’s hand.
Amy wiped her muddy hand across her apron and groped for the phone as it began to ring once more. “Hello?”
“Is this Amy Marshall?”
“Yes”
“This is Cooper Perry, editor of Colorado Byways magazine. You recently wrote an article for us about Hartland, Colorado.”
“Yes, Mr. Perry. How nice to hear from you.” She switched on the faucet and tried to rinse the mud off her hands without interrupting the conversation. “What can I do for you?” She looked around for a towel, but had to settle for wiping her hands on a mostly clean burlap sack.
“The letter you sent said you were a reporter for the Hartland Herald, the weekly newspaper there in Hartland. Am I remembering that correctly?”
“Yes. Is there some problem?”
“Oh, no. It’s just that we’ve had a sudden staff opening here at Byways and we thought you might be perfect for the position. I was hoping I could convince you to come to Denver to talk about the job.”
“A job?” The words didn’t seem to be penetrating her numb brain.
“Yes. As a staff writer for the magazine. Of course, it would mean relocating to Denver. Is that something you’d be open to?”
“Yes. Of course.” It was a dream come true.
“Wonderful. Do you think you could come talk to us next Wednesday? Say, about ten o’clock?”
She’d have to leave the house by six to get there on time, but what was a little lost sleep compared to her dream job with a magazine in Denver? “I’ll be there,” she said.
She pocketed the phone and walked back to her grandmother. “Must have been good news, the way you’re smiling,” Bobbie said.
“That magazine that bought my article about Hartland—Colorado Byways? They just offered me a job as a staff writer. Well, I guess they haven’t actually offered the job, but they want me to drive over next Wednesday and talk to them about it.”
“That’s great. I know it’s what you’ve wanted.” Bobbie’s smile didn’t reach all the way to her eyes.
“It’s perfect.” Amy’s head was spinning with all the things she’d need to do. She had to polish and reprint her résumé. She should research the magazine so she could ask intelligent questions. Better check the housing market in Denver so she’d have an idea what she’d have to pay in rent—that would help her judge if the salary they offered was enough to live on. Should she buy a new dress for the interview? She’d have to ask Ed for the time off—and not tell him why she was going to Denver for the day. No sense upsetting him before the new job was certain. He’d probably be furious if she left, but he’d find someone to write for him—someone eager to get a behind-the-scenes look at the goings-on in town and write about them.
“You can keep Chloe that day, can’t you, Grandma? Next Wednesday.”
“Of course. You go to your interview. I’ll look after Chloe.”
Bobbie’s subdued reply penetrated Amy’s haze of excitement. “What’s wrong, Grandma?” she asked.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Bobbie held up her hand as if to physically push Amy away. “Don’t hover. You know I don’t like it.”
/> “All right, I won’t hover. But if something’s wrong you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe.” She set her mouth in a stubborn pout. “But nothing’s wrong.”
Amy wanted to put her arm around the older woman, but she doubted Grandma would let her. She settled for leaning against the potting bench beside her. “I’m worried about leaving you here alone in Hartland if I move away,” she said.
“I’ll be fine.” Bobbie straightened and walked to the table where the newly transplanted vegetables awaited transport to the cold frames. “Now is as good a time as any to tell you I’ve decided to sell the farm. Josh has agreed to buy it from me.”
“You’re selling the farm to Josh?” Could she have possibly heard correctly?
“Yes. He approached me with the idea a while back, and since you don’t want to stay here, I’ve decided to sell. He’s offering a fair price, and I can buy a smaller place and not have to worry about all this.” She gestured around the greenhouse.
All Amy’s excitement over the possible job in Denver evaporated. Josh again—interfering where he had no right. He’d slipped in behind Amy’s back and talked her grandmother into abandoning the business that had been in their family for generations. He’d just assumed he could get away with this—that Amy was too focused on leaving to care.
Well, she wasn’t gone yet. And she wasn’t going to let him take advantage of Bobbie this way.
“I think I’d better talk to Josh,” she said.
“Amy, don’t.” Bobbie put a hand on her arm. “This is none of your concern. It’s between me and Josh. This land adjoins his and I know he’ll take good care of it. It’s the best decision for all of us.”
It’s not the best decision for me, she thought, but she didn’t say so. “I’ll finish up with these seedlings, then go talk to him.”
“Don’t fight with him, Amy. Josh is a good man.”
“I’m just going to talk.” She plunged her fingers back into a seedling pot. “I’m sure he’ll be able to set my mind at ease.” No need to tell Grandma she was going to tell Josh to leave her and her family alone. Amy could take care of her grandmother without any help from him.
It took longer to get away from the farm than Amy had hoped. Her grandmother kept coming up with new chores that needed doing right away. Amy saw through this attempt to stall her long enough that she might forget about confronting Josh, but there was no chance of that. “I really have to go now,” she said, when the last tray was settled in the cold frames and the potting area was swept clean. Chloe was playing in the yard with General, and dinner was in a slow cooker in the kitchen, ready to dish up when any of them were hungry. “I won’t be long.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Grandma said.
She kissed the old woman on her cheek. Bobbie’s skin was cool and papery against her lips, smelling faintly of the pressed powder she kept in a compact in her pants pocket. “I’ll be back soon.”
Josh’s truck was parked in the shed beside the house. At the sight of it, Amy’s heart began to pound. She wasn’t afraid of Josh, but she was afraid of what she might say in the heat of her anger. But she had to do this. Grandma had no one else to look after her interests.
Before she could make it up the steps the front door opened. “Bobbie called and said you were on your way over,” he said. His expression was grim, forbidding even, but he stepped back and held the door open for her.
She moved past him, the brief contact as she brushed against his arm sending a tremor through her. She’d planned to storm in here and turn the full force of her anger on him, but now she found it difficult to even look at him. She didn’t hate Josh—far from it. But her growing affection for him confused her. She didn’t know where she fit in his life, or he in hers.
She didn’t like the way she felt so uncertain and out of control around him. “She told me you talked her into selling the farm to you. What did you say to her?”
The lines around his mouth tightened. “She’s the one who mentioned wanting to sell. I told her if she was serious, I’d pay her a fair price. I didn’t take advantage of her or get any special deals.”
“You know she has a soft spot for you. The wounded veteran. The local hero. You couldn’t even wait until I left town to swoop in and take over.” The words poured out from someplace inside. All the resentment she’d felt when she first met him—that he was here, living the good life, when Brent hadn’t had that chance—rose to the surface. She paced in front of him, too agitated to remain still. “And what if I decide not to go? What if Chloe and I decide to stay here and live? We could take care of Grandma without your interference.”
“If you’re going to stay in town, you should tell your grandmother. She’s under the impression you’re leaving before school starts in the fall.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. But you could wait until I decide before you buy the place out from under our feet.”
He took hold of her arm, stilling her. “Amy, I know you need someone to be the villain here, but it’s not me. Your grandmother told me she wanted to sell, and I’m trying to help her out. If you don’t want that to happen, you need to talk to her about it, not me.”
“If you hadn’t offered to buy the place, she wouldn’t be selling.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she knew she was veering toward hysterics.
“Maybe she offered the place to me because I’m willing to commit to taking care of it,” he said. “You don’t seem to be able to commit to anything. Or anyone.”
She opened her mouth to deny this charge, but the words died in her throat. Was Josh still talking about her grandmother—or was he accusing her of not being able to commit to him? For a while now she’d known there could be more between the two of them, if she’d only allow it to happen. Guilt and fear and who knows what else held her back. “Josh, I—”
“Go home.” He took a step back, his expression guarded. “We don’t need to be having this conversation.”
He walked away, leaving her alone in the front room of his house. Angry tears blurring her vision, she stumbled out the door to her car, where she sat, hands gripping the steering wheel, too distraught to drive. His accusation echoed over and over in her head, the truth of it wounding. Other than taking care of Chloe, what had she ever stuck to in her life for more than a few months or years? No place or person or cause had ever commanded her dedication for long. Almost from the moment of her arrival in Hartland she’d been talking about leaving, but now that the time and opportunity had risen for her to go, she could not make a definite decision to leave. The community had embraced her, but she couldn’t fully return the gesture. She was like a timid swimmer, willing to dip her toe in the water or wade out up to her knees, but unable to find the courage to dive in.
She’d denied her loyalty not only to places, but to people. Though the knowledge burned like acid, she could see that Bobbie had turned to Josh for help because she knew she couldn’t depend on Amy. Even in her marriage she’d held back. If she’d more fully committed to Brent would he have stayed at home rather than going off to war? Would he still be alive today?
* * *
AN OPPORTUNIST. A cripple taking advantage of his friendship with an old woman. Is that how Amy saw him? Her words had stunned Josh. After all the roles she’d seen him in—coach, teacher, cowboy—was his handicap the thing that still stood out most for her? Her accusations echoed in his head. After all this time, she still thought the worst of him.
He’d thought—hoped—they’d moved beyond her first impressions of him as a soldier who’d survived battle when her husband had not. He’d thought it a good sign when she hadn’t freaked out when they’d danced and he’d touched her with his hook. But dancing was different from getting romantically involved with a guy.
He’d been foolish to think any woman—especially a woman
like Amy—could see him without seeing his handicap. She’d lost a whole man with a sense of adventure. Josh was a man with a missing hand who wouldn’t leave his hometown. Did she think he stayed here because he was afraid to face the rest of the world?
Was she right?
* * *
THE OFFICES OF Colorado Byways magazine occupied the upper floors of a restored Victorian on the edge of Denver’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. Amy had purchased a new tailored pantsuit for her interview, but as she toured the offices she realized she was overdressed. The other staff members wore jeans, or even shorts and flip-flops.
“This would be your work space, if you decide to take the job.” Cooper Perry, a trim, balding man who wore dark-rimmed glasses, led her into a cubicle sectioned off from what might have been a bedroom in the original house. A single smudged window overlooked the street below.
“This is Bev, one of our other writers.” Cooper indicated a plump, purple-haired woman at a desk across the room. “Bev focuses on the eastern half of the state. You’d cover the western half. And I assign special features from time to time.”
“Certainly different from covering town council and school board meetings every month.” Though even that work wasn’t so bad—she was the first to know much of what was going on in the community.
“We also have two photographers, a graphic artist and of course, we use some freelancers,” he continued. “It’s a small staff, so you’d be busy all the time, but I like to think the work is rewarding.”
Not all that rewarding financially, she thought, but if she was careful, and with Chloe’s Social Security, she’d be able to manage on the small salary. “The work sounds really interesting,” she said. “Exactly what I’m looking for.”
“So you’ll take the job?”
“I’d like a couple of days to think about it.” She’d intended to say yes—instead, these stalling words had popped out. She cursed her indecision. Josh was right—she couldn’t commit to anything.
