by Toni Blake
Just then, the guy who’d been with Mike at the bar picked up his beer bottle to head their way, and Rachel was sure they were about to be hit on until he looked down at Amy and said, “Hey, Freckles, what’s up?”
And then she knew it was Logan—since she also knew that was his lifelong nickname for Amy. And wow, they were right—he’d grown into a very good looking guy. Greetings were passed all around, as well as re-introductions between him and Rachel, and he pulled up a chair, turned it around backward, and took a seat.
Rachel was on her seventh or eighth big sip of margarita, just starting to make small talk with Logan—when the bar door suddenly jerked open and everyone looked up to see Mike Romo come storming back in.
Storming…toward her!
As he brusquely approached, she instinctively drew back, peering up at him. What the hell?
“Farris, you’ve blocked my damn truck in! I’ve never met a Farris who drives less responsibly than you!”
Was he seriously that upset about this? “Turn it down a notch, Officer Romeo,” she said.
And Logan said, “Romeo?”
“She doesn’t read very well, either,” Romo griped.
And as usual—though he might be sizzling hot in his faded jeans and casual blue button-down shirt, even hotter than when in uniform—he was really pissing her off. “Not with the sun glaring in my eyes, no.” She glanced from him to Logan. “I couldn’t read his stupid badge when he gave me an outrageous ticket the other day.”
“Keep it up, Farris,” Romo growled, “and I’ll show you outrageous.”
“I’d like to see you try.” And she wasn’t even sure what she meant by that, or what he’d meant either, but she was just arguing now, because it was better than lusting and being jealous.
“Are you gonna move your car, or do I need to have it towed?”
“Damn, bud,” Logan said, “give the girl a chance to find her keys.”
“Thank you, Logan,” she said emphatically, reaching for her purse and digging inside. “It’s hard to believe you’re friends with Officer Snotty here.”
“He’s had a bad day,” Logan said.
“Don’t make excuses for me, dude.”
“Whatever,” Logan replied, throwing up his hands, then pushing to his feet. “I’m gonna shoot some pool. You girls wanna join me?”
Amy hopped up and Tessa went, too, which left Rachel with Mike Romo and the keys that seemed to have sunk to some secret, hidden corner of her purse. Next to her, he stood looking irritated, fists clenched at his sides, and she wondered what the hell he was so upset about. Sheesh.
“Got ’em,” she finally said, and hoped she hadn’t sounded too relieved. As if she was worried about keeping him waiting. She kind of was, because he seemed so angry, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know that.
Marching outside, she sensed the heat of his body just inches away behind her—and appreciated the fresh evening air, because she’d smelled that musky, masculine scent again when they were inside. Maybe it wasn’t just sweat. Whatever it was, it had just increased everything she was suffering—she’d just become very aware of her own breasts; in fact, they ached with desire. Oh brother. This sucked.
Approaching her car, she realized Mike’s truck was the big pickup in front of it—the tan girl leaning against the bumper in a ridiculously short skirt tipped her off.
“Just so you know,” she said to Romo, “I didn’t realize the parking lot actually ended in front of your truck—I thought I was making a second row of cars and that you’d be able to pull out in front and circle around.”
“Whatever, Farris,” he snarled.
And as was usually the case, she kind of wanted to slug him, but instead she just went to her car, her insides burning up as she watched Mike load the tan girl into the passenger side of his truck. This is so stupid. How can I be jealous? The guy’s an incredible asshole, no matter what Edna and Amy say.
Still, as she started the car and backed it up in the gravel lot, she endured the physical pang of wanting to be the one in that truck, the one he was about to start kissing, touching. How did Mike Romo kiss? Probably not softly—probably really intensely and passionately. And she thought she could get into that, darn it.
Pulling the BMW into another spot she hoped wouldn’t block anyone, she got out, clicked the lock button on her keychain—and was surprised to see Mike still in the parking lot, standing by his driver’s side door. It was too late to choose another path between other cars without looking like she was afraid to face him, so she resolved to simply trudge past—until he grabbed onto her arm.
Oh God. More tingling. Not only where he was touching her, but shooting up her arm and out into her breasts, too.
She peered up at his face and nearly melted because of how close they stood, their bodies almost touching. Every part of her pulsed.
“Listen, Farris—what Logan said, he was right. I’ve had a shitty day.”
She blinked, not sure how to respond. “Is that your way of apologizing?”
He appeared irritated again, uncertain. She’d never met a man who could look so damn sexy being irritated. “Just explaining,” he replied, clearly too proud to simply say he was sorry.
In no mood to cut him any slack, she responded coldly. “Well, you should get going. Your girlfriend is starting to look impatient.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Oh, that makes it better. Like I’m so relieved to hear she’s just a one-nighter. “Whatever,” she said, then yanked her arm away and started marching back toward the Dew Drop Inn.
“Rachel! Is that you?” The voice came from her right and she looked up to find an older-but-still-just-as-pretty Jenny Tolliver headed her way, smiling brightly, arms open for a hug. Rachel was thrilled to see her girlhood friend and smiled back, glad for the hug, and glad for Mike Romo to see she had better things to do than mope over him and his soon-to-be lover.
But even as she hugged Jenny and said all the appropriate things, even as she was introduced to Mick Brody—who was indeed as hot as promised—she felt as if she wasn’t really there, as if she was just watching it happen to someone else.
Because all she could really think about was how tightly her stomach still clenched—all because Mike Romo was taking some other girl home tonight.
It made no sense.
And it hurt like hell.
Edna and Rachel both stood on easel ladders beneath a Gala apple tree. Edna had suggested Rachel wear some of her work clothes, so both were clad in oversize cotton smocks and straw hats, and Rachel prayed no one would see her this way. She’d brought some old tops to wear, but Edna had insisted they were too nice for apple picking.
“Now, do you remember how to pick ’em from when you were little?” Edna asked, demonstrating on a ripe apple. “Grip, roll your hand upward, and twist.” The apple popped free and Edna lowered it into the basket hanging from her ladder.
Rachel looked at all the apples covering the tree, then thought about all the trees filling the meadow along Sugar Creek. “Are you telling me that in this day and age there’s no better, more modern way of picking apples? No handy dandy machine or a tool that picks twenty at a time or something?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ ya. At least not at the Farris Family Apple Orchard. We do things the old-fashioned way here.”
“Because we like the old-fashioned way? Or because we just don’t know about any other ways?” Rachel asked, curious.
But Edna just shook her head. “You and machines. I like to keep things simple—you know that.” Indeed she did. Rachel had once gotten Edna a computer for Christmas, mainly for e-mail and Internet access, but Edna had wanted nothing to do with it. And every time Rachel checked her Blackberry, trying to keep up with events at Conrad/Phelps, Edna scolded her and had even hidden it for a while yesterday.
“Not that I’m, uh, anxious to get back to the city or anything,” Rachel said as she found a ripe apple and proceeded with the grab,
twist, and pull method, “but can you refresh my memory on exactly how long the harvest will take?”
“Well, I usually hire a few hands, but this year money’s a little tight, so I only have one high school boy, Betty Cahill’s son, comin’ to help in the afternoons and on weekends, startin’ tomorrow. That—plus the fact that I’m not movin’ as quick as usual these days,” she added, “is sorta why I called on you.”
Ugh. Rachel didn’t like hearing Edna was low on money—although it didn’t surprise her, given that the orchard was a seasonal business. And again, she remained unsure whether or not Edna was faking the whole knee thing. She’d been certain of it when she’d gotten Edna’s call, and just as certain when she’d arrived. But maybe Edna was moving slower than usual. And climbing up and down ladders all day was pretty hard work.
“Anyway,” Edna went on, “the harvest has to be done by the apple festival, the first weekend of October.”
Rachel had gone on plucking apples, but at this, she stopped and looked up. “Apple festival? What apple festival?”
And Edna blinked, as if it were a silly question. “Why, the annual Destiny Apple Festival. It’s a big deal around here—I can’t believe you don’t know about it. Takes place right on the town square—we got apple pie eatin’ contests, bakin’ contests, bobbin’ for apples, caramel apples, apple butter, apple cider, apple sauce, you name it. People come from miles around.”
Rachel was still dumbfounded—because there’d been no apple festival when she lived here. “How on earth did this apple festival start? And when?”
“Well, it was my idea, of course.” Edna’s tone implied Rachel should have known that. “Suggested to the town council about ten years back that Destiny needed a fall event and that an apple festival was as good as any. Frankly, between me and you, the festival is what keeps me in business. Sure, I get folks who come to pick a bushel or two on weekends, but this orchard provides every apple used in every pie or fritter or dumplin’ at the festival—without it, the Farris Family Apple Orchard would be history.”
Rachel barely knew which fact to contemplate first. That she had to hand it to Edna for creating her own festival to keep the business solvent? Or that—dear God—Edna expected her to stay until October!
A few words Chase had imparted before she left suddenly rang in her ears. Take the time you need with your grandma, but don’t stay too long, if you know what I mean. It was actually his higher-ups who held Rachel’s fate in their hands, and Chase had given the advice kindly, from concern—but it hit her so hard now that she got a little dizzy. She had to grab onto the ladder with both hands to steady herself.
“Good Lord, darlin’—you all right?”
Still holding on tight, Rachel began to feel less woozy. “Yeah, fine,” she lied. “Just lost my balance a little.”
Of course, she could just tell Edna—the whole thing, about her job, and that she’d expected to be leaving in a couple of weeks, as opposed to six, and surely Edna would understand. And even if spending didn’t sound like the wisest move right now given that she had a fifty-fifty chance of soon being unemployed, she could just pay for the usual hired hands. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d bailed out a loved one with a check.
“Well, you be careful,” Edna said. “Wouldn’t wanna lose my apple pickin’ partner.” Then she sighed, her face taking on a sadder, more confiding expression. “Ya know, darlin’, I don’t like admittin’ this sorta thing, but…reckon I’ve missed havin’ the family around me here in the orchard over the years. Once upon a time, the whole place was so full—you kids runnin’ ever’ which way—and now it’s empty. It gets a little lonely sometimes,” she concluded.
And Rachel’s stomach dropped.
The fact was, if Rachel laid it on the line about her job right now, Edna would likely say, “Why the hell didn’t ya say so in the first place?” and demand she go start packing her bags this instant. But…the very idea of Edna being lonely—really and truly lonely—ripped at Rachel’s soul.
She wasn’t sure why—because her family had always assumed Edna’s calls for help had to do with her being lonely. But somehow this—hearing Edna say it—made it real, and a little heartbreaking, in a way Rachel hadn’t felt before. And the fact that Edna had actually acknowledged it…well, from confident, no-nonsense Edna, it was a confession of epic proportions.
So to leave Edna now, for any reason, would feel like…abandoning her. Emotionally. Not that Edna usually seemed fragile in any way—far from it.
Except for what she’d just said.
And…except for that moment Rachel had told Tessa and Amy about, when Edna had smiled and said how nice it was to have her here. Something in that simple smile had looked…almost girlish, childlike. Something in it had touched her far more deeply than she’d thought matter-of-fact Edna could.
And suddenly Rachel understood why. Stubborn, ornery Edna wasn’t always so tough.
Rachel let out a breath. She knew she couldn’t leave—not now, and not even in a couple of weeks. Her job was extremely important—but at this strikingly candid moment, Edna was more important. And if Edna needed her until the apple festival, well…she’d have to stay until the apple festival. Her heart demanded it.
Her heart. Sheesh. She’d not expected her heart to get involved when she’d come here just a few days ago. But already, something here—whether it was Edna, or her friends, or the town itself—was softening her. Just a little.
Which was a pretty big revelation—no one who knew Rachel would ever call her soft, or sweet. But she just tried to steady herself, push all those thoughts from her mind, and come back to the matters at hand: picking apples and spending time with her grandmother. And wrapping her head around the idea that this was her life until October.
The weather remained warm, but the apple trees provided enough shade that, along with a breeze sifting through the trees, the day was comfortable. And the work was punctuated with the occasional buzz of a passing bumble bee and the fluttering bits of color provided by butterflies in the wildflowers that lined the creek. And when Rachel stopped to soak all that in…well, to her surprise, it was almost enough to make her forget all about her job. For a little while, anyway.
“Times change in Destiny,” Rachel mused to Edna without warning, “but they don’t really change here, do they? I mean right here, in the orchard. I guess nothing much has changed about these trees, or picking the apples, from when I was little. Or maybe even since you came here.”
She looked over in time to catch a another uncharacteristically wistful expression crossing Edna’s wrinkled face. “Maybe that’s why I like this time of year so much. It’s a lotta work, and a rush to make sure the apples all get harvested, but you’re right—standin’ on this ladder…well, if I didn’t know better, I could close my eyes and believe it was the first time I ever picked apples here next to Sugar Creek.”
Rachel watched as Edna did that then—closed her eyes, one hand on the ladder, the other pulling on the apple she already had in her grasp. Another happy, girlish look overtook her and Rachel wondered what she was remembering.
When Edna opened her eyes, Rachel asked, “When was it, your first year here?”
“Nineteen fifty-eight. I was eighteen years old. And so in love.”
Wow. In Rachel’s whole life, she’d never heard Edna talk about being in love. It shook her a bit. Perhaps because…well, she’d never been in love. And Edna had known what it felt like at eighteen? Although Rachel had never aspired to all that traditional love-and-marriage stuff, for some reason, it almost made her a little envious.
“With Grandpa Farris,” Rachel chimed in, feeling wistful herself now.
So when Edna said, “No, with Giovanni Romo,” Rachel nearly fell off her ladder.
She turned her head. Stared. “Wait. Who?”
Edna tossed her a sly glance. “You heard me.”
Rachel barely knew what to say. Edna had never mentioned any man but her late hus
band, Edward Farris, who’d died when Rachel was fifteen. But as she caught her breath, she had a feeling this was a good time to ask, “Um, how exactly did our feud with the Romo family start?”
Edna resumed picking apples and said, “You never heard this story, huh?”
“No. By the time I was old enough to wonder, I’d moved away. And I once asked Mom, but she didn’t really know, either.”
“Well, let me start by sayin’—it wasn’t entirely my fault. But the Romos never quite saw it that way.”
“Let’s try here.”
Edna’s older brother, Dell, pointed at the silver mailbox sitting on a wooden post at the end of a pretty little lane. Staring back through the trees, she could see the path led across a creek to a little white house. They’d walked at least a mile since their truck had broken down and this was the first home they’d come to, so it seemed the obvious place to look for some help.
Her other brother, Wally, spit on the ground, then stuck his thumbs in his suspenders to hitch up his overalls, before he said, “Destiny my ass.”
“Don’t cuss, Wally,” Edna scolded him, but his scowl told her it was the wrong time for scolding. And she couldn’t blame him. They were all in bad moods for lots of good reasons.
The three of them had driven the old family truck up from Kentucky looking for work. It was that or send the boys to the coal mines now that they were of age, and Daddy wouldn’t hear of that. But there were five more children at home and not enough money to keep everybody fed come winter—let alone get shoes for school. So they’d decided Dell, twenty-one, and Wally, nineteen, ought to strike out for Ohio and see if anybody needed farm hands. Edna had decided to come, too, claiming she could hoe a row or dig up taters or shuck corn as good as any boy—and besides, she’d never been more than twenty miles from the farm. So it had seemed like an adventure. And when they’d passed by a sign telling them they were in a place called Destiny, well, it had felt a little magical. “Here,” she’d said. “Here’s where we’ll find what we’re lookin’ for.”
