by Melissa Tagg
But she’d had a few days to adjust. To wrap her mind around the thought of not seeing him around the place every day anymore. It was best this way, wasn’t it? Preparation for when he’d eventually leave for good.
A hodgepodge of leaves and dust scuttled across the gravel and grass. Only a few cars filled the parking lot but, for once, Kit didn’t let it bother her. Because not too many bags of apples filled their shelves at the moment, either. Better to save their limited inventory for weekends, anyway.
In front of her, the barn gleamed bright cherry red against a backdrop of trees in varying shades of amber and fading green. The trim running up the barn’s corners and around the gable dormers was a pure white—exactly the classic look Grandpa had envisioned. Unlike in a utilitarian barn, though, long windows were tucked into all four walls, skylights in the ceiling.
“Hey, Drew,” she called when she spotted him rounding the corner of the barn, hefting what must be one of the countertops for the kitchenette at the back of the building. Someday when she had more funding available, if the barn proved a popular event destination like she hoped, maybe they’d put in a full commercial kitchen. But they’d make do with a little kitchenette for now.
“Here for your tour?” Despite the chill of the October day, perspiration dotted his forehead. The man had worked long hours every day except Sunday for the past month. Somehow, once the craziness of the coming weeks was over, she had to find a way to thank him.
“If you’ve got time, absolutely.”
“Follow me in.”
The massive barn doors, rigged on metal sliders above, were already open, but they were mainly for show. A second set of doors, sturdy and containing weather-resistant glass, were propped open with a pair of ten-gallon buckets.
The smell of paint and sawdust mingled as she stepped into the open space. The cedar floors were still covered in tarps and the interior drywall was in desperate need of paint.
“I know it looks sparse now, but this is the part where it moves quickly.” Drew leaned the countertop he’d been carrying against the wall. “I’ve got an electrician coming to look at all the wiring tomorrow. The plumber has already finished with the kitchenette and the bathrooms.”
Light spilled through the rafters overhead. They’d talked about building a second floor in what would’ve been a typical barn’s hayloft. But with limited funds, they’d had to forgo that part of the project. And now, she decided, she liked it this way. It was open and airy and perfect. If they ever needed more space, they could expand outward instead of upward. “I love the way the skylights make it feel even bigger than it is.”
Drew led her through the rest of the main room, pointing out features, explaining what still needed to be completed. “We’ll have a half wall up by the end of today that will partially close off the kitchenette.”
“And you still think we can be done by the fifteenth?”
“I think we can be done plenty before that if everything continues to go as planned. Four or five days and this place will be looking great.”
“It already looks great.” She turned a full circle, and by the time she faced Drew again, tears filled her eyes. “My grandparents would’ve loved to see this. My grandpa, especially. You took his vision and made it a reality, Drew.”
Clearly her emotion made him uncomfortable. He looked to the ground, folding his cap in his hands. “It’s been my pleasure. Truly.” He lifted his gaze and grinned. “Besides, I kinda need to propose to Maren one of these days. We’re both getting sick of driving back and forth between here and the Twin Cities. But seeing how she’s a writer and I’m a one-man startup business, well, I appreciate the work.”
She blinked away her tears. “Is Maren going to move here or are you moving there?”
Drew returned to the countertop. “She’s moving here. She stayed here for a few weeks last Christmas and was totally charmed by the town. Calls it enchanting. I keep trying to tell her the right word is bizarre, but she only laughs me off. She’s crazy about Maple Valley.”
“And our resident carpenter.”
His smile spread as he hefted the countertop. “Can’t argue with that.”
She couldn’t deny the pang of envy that tried to slither in as she left him to his work. But no. There was too much to be happy about today. The barn was coming along. Dad was coming home. Even after the hailstorm, there was still a chance this season might be a modest success.
Certainly, there’d be no massive profit. Grandpa had always made the bulk of his revenue selling crop to fruit vendors—the store was only a small slice. Less crop equaled less income.
But at least there’d be no major debt. All the barn expenses had come from her own account, thanks to that personal loan from Willa. So maybe, just maybe . . .
She stepped into the ochre light of a harvest sun, caught sight of Flynnie bounding across the yard, the new autumn mums she’d planted just yesterday brightening the walkway to the store . . . and Lucas walking with a man she didn’t recognize toward the machine shed.
Rickety confusion lingered for only a moment before realization set in. Of course.
His buyer.
“Why don’t you email him?” Beckett tossed the question over his shoulder as he trekked through Dad’s house, Raegan trailing him while the doorbell dinged incessantly. Someone out there needed a lesson in patience.
“I’m not emailing Bear.”
He thudded down the carpeted stairs of the split foyer, about ready to cover his ears if whoever was at the door didn’t lay off. “Then call him or Skype him or something. He’s in South America, not Timbuktu.”
Raegan’s footsteps thumped behind him. “I’m not calling him, I’m not Skyping him, I’m not anything him. He’s been gone for three months, Beck. I’m over it.”
He toed a shoe out of the way and reached for the door. “You’re not over it.”
Hadn’t he just found his sister minutes ago, slumped in Dad’s recliner, staring listlessly out the window? That was a pining girl pose if he ever saw one. “I’m just saying, do something. If you miss the guy—”
“I don’t.”
He pulled the door open.
“Finally.”
“Webster?”
The teen budged in, shaking the hood of his sweatshirt off his head and looking past Beckett and Rae. “Is Colton here?”
“Uh, no. He doesn’t actually live here.”
“But your sister does, so I thought . . .” Webster rubbed his palm over his close-cropped hair. “Never mind.”
He turned to leave, but Beckett grabbed hold of his hood to stop him. “Not so fast. If something’s wrong, you might as well spill it.”
“But Colt—”
“Is spending the day with Kate. Trust me, you won’t find him in Maple Valley.” Apparently they’d decided to try and plan their whole wedding in one day. And Kate had said she wanted her fiancé all to herself while they did so. Wasn’t a chance that would happen in town. Colton Greene might have been a national celebrity even before moving to Maple Valley, but from what Beckett could see, around here he was a downright superstar. He’d helped sandbag during the flood last year, then opened up a nonprofit right here in town. The community had embraced him so fully, it wouldn’t surprise Beckett if one day they all forgot he wasn’t even a native.
The man’s entire life, his career, all his plans, had changed on a dime. But instead of clinging to his old life, Colton had found a way to start fresh in a new place with a new dream.
Which was exactly what Beckett was trying to do. Which was why he had to finish that JAG Corps application once and for all, do whatever it took to get another FSO interview. So far, his calls and emails had gotten him nowhere. He was running out of time.
Webster finally sighed and kicked off his shoes. “You got pop?”
Beckett swallowed a laugh. “Always. Everyone in this house is a caffeine addict.”
He led Webster up the stairs, realizing Raegan had disappeared at some p
oint. Probably figured this was her best chance for escape from his brotherly badgering. He just hated seeing her this way. Oh, she put up a good front most of the time. But he’d caught her distanced expressions when she thought no one was paying attention. She’d picked up a fourth part-time job, too. He had no idea how she managed to juggle her schedule, but he had a feeling the juggling was her way of staying distracted.
All he knew was, his little sister wasn’t nearly as content as she professed to be.
Then again, what right did he have to be giving any kind of romantic advice? He’d gone and fallen for his best friend. Hard. She was his last thought at night and his first thought in the morning, lingering around the edges of every thought in between. She was, quite simply, his favorite person in the world.
“I’m just saying, do something.” His words to Raegan. But what was he supposed to do? He could no more stay in Maple Valley, career-less, without a purpose, than he could ask Kit to leave the orchard.
“You just gonna keep standing there or what?”
Beckett blinked, the blast of cold air from the refrigerator door he’d apparently opened billowing around him. He moved aside. “Help yourself.”
The kid downed half a can of Dr. Pepper before walking a slow circle around the island in the sprawling kitchen. It’d always been the family’s gathering place. Beckett hated to think how many Walker breakfasts he’d missed these past six years.
How many he’d miss when he left again.
And Dad—what would he do in this massive house when Kate married and Raegan finally moved out? Seth had already moved out of the basement and Beckett, of course, was on his way out eventually.
“This is a nice house,” Webster said after another long swig.
The kitchen opened into a dining room with patio doors that overlooked the spacious backyard. Fallen leaves blanketed the lawn, the throng of trees leading into the ravine looking barer by the day—especially after that storm last week.
“What’s up, Web? School? Football? Did Amanda ever get in contact with you?”
He set his pop can on the granite countertop. “I need a ride to Des Moines.”
“Your parents—”
“They’re really busy.”
He’d met Webster’s adoptive parents a time or two—Laura and Jonas Clancy. Nice folks.
“Besides, I haven’t told them . . .” Doubt clouded Webster’s face.
Beckett opened the fridge to grab his own soda. “Look, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want. We can stay strictly tutor and student and that’s fine. But I did go to Ames and then Chicago just to harass a couple social workers for you. So I can be helpful, and at the moment, looks like I’m all you’ve got available.”
Webster dropped onto a stool at the counter, fiddled with the top of his pop can. “Thing is, I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”
“About?” he prodded.
“My reason for wanting to find Amanda.”
Beckett plunked his can down. “Webster, I vouched for you. I said you were just a friend who was concerned—”
“I was. I am. I just . . . here.” He pulled his phone from the pocket of his hoodie, tapped a couple keys, and slid it to Beckett.
“You want me to read your text messages?”
“The foster parents Amanda and I lived with for a while had a twenty-year-old son, Jake, who’d stop by all the time, stay overnight sometimes. Total creep, I couldn’t stand him. He hated me. We got into it a few times. But he liked Amanda and, who knows why, but I think she liked him and he’s bad news. Don’t know if he’s dealing drugs, but he’s doing them. My birth mom was always strung out. I know the look.”
Beckett’s heart lurched at that. “But Amanda’s in Illinois now.”
“Read the texts. They’re from Jake.”
He picked up Webster’s phone, scrolled through the messages.
Guess who I’ve been talking to? Calls me every night. Does she call you?
Amanda says hi.
Took a road trip to Chicago this weekend. Did a little sightseeing if you know what I mean.
“Yeah, this guy’s a piece of work.”
“I thought he was just being his stupid bully self at first, but then Amanda finally texted me, too. Last week. Said she doesn’t like living with her relatives, after all, and she’s leaving the minute she turns eighteen. Said she already has a place to go. I haven’t heard from her since.”
The pieces were beginning to fall into place. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“She turned eighteen on Saturday!” He knocked over his empty pop can as he jerked to his feet.
“And let me guess, this Jake lives in Des Moines.”
“In a crummy apartment with two other dudes. He invited Amanda once when we were still living with his parents, and I went along ’cause I had this feeling if I didn’t something would happen. And I have the same feeling now.”
Beckett sighed. “So you want to drive down there and what? Barge in?”
Webster’s chest puffed. “If I have to.”
Huh, maybe Webster had the right idea. Just go after the girl, consequences be hanged. “Webster, you told me Amanda was just a friend. If this is a male ego competition thing—”
“It’s not. She is just a friend.”
He’d heard that one before. From his own lips about a thousand times. “Even so, if she’s eighteen, she’s not a minor anymore. She’s old enough to make her own decisions, even if they’re bad ones.”
Webster shoved away from the counter. “Thanks for the pop.”
“Webster.”
But he was already skulking through the living room. He bounded down the steps. “I’ll find someone else to give me a ride.”
“Will you just wait a sec?” He marched after the teen, but Raegan’s voice from the stairway leading to the second floor stopped him.
“Beckett! Beck! Your phone was ringing in your room and I went to grab it so I could bring it to you but it’d been ringing a while by then, so I answered.” She about ran into him on his way to catch Webster. “It’s a JAG officer. He’s calling to schedule an interview.”
The front door slammed. He looked from the door to Raegan to the phone in her hand.
“You shouldn’t be working so late.”
At the sound of Beckett’s voice, Kit pushed a tree branch out of the way and leaned over the side of her ladder. A pale harvest moon danced in his eyes as he tipped his head up. Past him and stretching over the rolling field, rows of trees brushed in shadows of black and blue by the dark tarried in various states of survival after last week’s storm. Some with craggy branches half bare, many stripped of most of their fruit.
But there’d been this hearty patch of trees in the east field that somehow entirely escaped the storm’s path. With one hand, Kit balanced the half-filled basket atop the ladder. “You forget, though, I love the apple-picking part of the job. Especially when it’s a Honeycrisp tree.”
Beckett ascended the opposite side of the ladder until he met her at the top. “Because Honeycrisp are your favorite. Because while they taste good picked straight from the tree, they can develop even more complex flavor after being stored for a time in a dry, cool place. And they can survive temperatures of negative forty degrees.”
She stared across the ladder’s top at him.
“What? I listen when you talk, Kit Danby.” He propped his arms on the top of the ladder. “What are you thinking right now?”
She was thinking about when exactly it was she’d stopped seeing him as just the kid she used to go fishing with. How it was possible to turn breathless at the sight of someone she’d seen countless times before.
When he was going to leave and just how she’d get along without him.
“Well?”
“I’m thinking I’ve missed you the past few days.”
“You’re not alone.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and for an evanescent moment, she thought for sure he’d lean over the ladder and kiss h
er. Instead, he reached for her basket. “Willing to call it quits for the night? It’s past nine and I’ve got something to show you.”
She nodded and climbed down the ladder. He grasped her hand as soon as her feet touched the ground, her basket under his other arm.
His steps were unhurried as he led her from the field. She forced herself not to look around, scour the trees that hadn’t been as lucky as the few at the edge. What had that man, the potential buyer, seen when Lucas gave him a tour? A devastated crop? Or trees that would only stand that much stronger next year after having their load lightened too early this season?
She leaned into Beckett. “How’s your dad? Surgery’s next week, right?” He hadn’t told her much about his conversation with Case last week, only that it’d been a long time coming.
“It’s next Friday, day after the big orchard event. Sorry I haven’t been much help with that, by the way. I seem to be really good at big ideas, but not always at making sure they play out.”
They emerged from the line of trees bordering the orchard onto the public grounds. Stars glistened like a scattering of gems across the sky.
He stopped. “Even if it’s not cancer, it’s his brain, you know? One slip of the surgeon’s hands and everything from his speech to his vision to his mobility could be impacted. I mean, maybe he’s had the right idea all along, putting off the surgery. He gets headaches now and then, but a person can live with that. And if it’s not cancer . . . I’m rambling.”
“I don’t tend to get tired of your rambling, Beck.”
He set the basket of apples on the store’s porch, looked at her for a long moment. “Come on.”
“Why? Where?”
“The barn. You’ll see.” He tugged her toward the structure, heaved open sliding doors, and before they’d even entirely parted, the glow from inside beckoned her.
Twinkle lights—strings and strings of them—were wrapped around every beam and thrown over the rafters. They draped like ribbons back and forth overhead and turned the empty space into an enchanting hollow.
“You said there could never be too many twinkle lights.” He stepped up behind her, his presence only deepening the magic of this moment.
