Sugar Creek

by Toni Blake

  That had been about two minutes before the truck sputtered and died. And about an hour after the last time they’d been turned down for work. They’d stopped at farms and in towns, at produce stands and even churches, all the way from the Ohio River north, with no luck. “Told ya we shoulda gone to Cincinnati,” Wally said as they crossed the bridge on foot. “We coulda got work there for sure.”

  “Mama didn’t want us in the city,” Edna reminded him.

  “Well, Mama ain’t the one tryin’ to put food on the table right now, is she?” he snapped, and Edna ignored him, peering down at the pretty stream below, at the water rolling gently over the stones, washing them clean. It was a peaceful sight, and frankly, she could use a little peace after Lord knew how many hours in a truck with Wally.

  The bridge led to what Edna thought was the prettiest little farm she’d ever seen. The white house had fancy carved trim all around the front porch and gable, and the drive led farther back to a bright red barn. A small grove of apple trees set across the lane, and behind the house was a huge garden—she even saw some grapevines along a fencerow. The moo of a cow told her there must be a pasture full of cattle, maybe behind the barn where she couldn’t see. And looked like somebody had been busy loading fresh hay into the barn, getting ready for winter—just like she and her brothers were trying to do. “Well, ain’t this nice,” she said.

  When neither of her brothers replied, she could figure out why easily enough: envy. Any of them would be plum lucky to ever end up with a place this nice, and things weren’t looking too promising for any of her family these days.

  Dellmarched up onto the porch and knocked while she and Wally stood back, waiting. But no one came to the door.

  “Son of a bitch,” Wally muttered, then threw his hat down on the narrow front walk. Edna didn’t bother scolding him this time. When she’d seen this place, she’d been filled with hope, but now she realized that was silly. Nothing had gone right on this trip so far—why had she expected their luck to suddenly change?

  Silently, the three trudged toward the lane, headed back to the road—when they all looked up to see what had to be the fanciest car on God’s green earth crossing the bridge toward them. It was long and sleek and turquoise. “Damn,” Dell murmured, eyes wide.

  “What kinda car is that?” Edna asked. Dell knew about cars—Mr. Dills at the drugstore in town sometimes let him have the car magazines from the rack in back if they sat there a long time without selling.

  “That, sis, is a Cadillac,” he said, still in awe as it neared them. “An Eldorado Biarritz. First one I ever seen outside of pictures. Look at them fins.”

  But by now Edna was too busy studying the fella inside the convertible to worry about the car’s fins. The man appeared dark and handsome in a beige suit and matching hat, and to Edna’s way of thinking, he was just as nice to look at as the Cadillac.

  He didn’t seem alarmed to see three strangers standing in his yard—instead he just smiled and waved as if he knew them, the picture of confidence as he drove past to park behind the house.

  Edna’s knees nearly knocked beneath her skirt a she approached.

  “Buongiorno,” he said. “How can I help you?”

  And then she nearly swooned. He had some kind of foreign accent she’d never heard before, except maybe in the movies.

  Dell explained, hat in hand, their run of bad luck—the broken-down truck and that they were looking for work. “Anything you got, we’d be willin’ to take. Me and Wally here are good field hands, and Edna, too—and she can cook and clean a blue streak. Makes the best apple pie you ever had—even better than our mama’s, and that’s sayin’ a lot.”

  Edna had no idea why she was suddenly so nervous—except that she’d never been in the presence of such a handsome, well-dressed man before. And in this moment, it felt like he held their fate in his hands.

  “As luck would have it,” he said, “I am alone here, keeping the place up myself. I had two hired men, but they quit a week ago for factory jobs in Columbus. I could use some help.”

  Dell looked like he might drop to his knees in gratitude, and it was all Edna could do to hold back tears. Wally, always the tough one, stepped up to negotiate wages, but they all knew they’d accept whatever the handsome man offered. Turned out, though, he was willing to pay a fair price, and even said they could sleep in a spare room in his home, all with a genuine smile on his face. As Edna listened to the exchange, she found herself caught up in the way he talked.

  “Mister,” Edna stepped up to ask once the arrangements had been made, “mind if I ask where you’re from?”

  He smiled at her curiosity and her heart flip-flopped in her chest. “I come from a small fishing village called Vernazza, on the Italian coast.”

  The Italian coast? Heavens above. One day Edna hadn’t traveled out of the county where she’d been born, and a few short days later she was working for a man who’d come from the other side of the world. She tried to hide her excitement, but suspected it showed in her eyes. The man just laughed, though, and it somehow put her at ease, made her feel less backward than she probably should in her mama’s old hand-me-down dress and shoes.

  “So, this pie. Is it as wonderful as your brother promises? Or was that just to tempt me into hiring you?” He winked, his eyes sparkling, and—goodness gracious—Edna felt that wink in the very crux of her thighs. It was all she could do not to collapse.

  “Well, if I do say so myself, it’s about the most delicious thing you could eat in the whole world.” Although, after she spoke, she felt a little less certain. Her world, after all, had just grown—by leaps and bounds. So she added, “At least in Rowan County, Kentucky—which is where we come from. I can’t really speak for Italy, of course.”

  The man who’d just saved them continued to smile at her. “Well, we shall soon see. There are apple trees right over there.” He pointed. “When the apples ripen, you can bake me one of these delicious pies.”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Dell said, still perfectly confident. Then he added, “You said you was alone here? So then…you don’t got a wife or nothin’?”

  The man shook his head. “Oh, no—no wife for me. Not yet.”

  Dell nodded and Wally grinned, and Edna wondered why—until she figured it out. They thought the handsome man liked her. That way.

  Could it be? Surely not. She was so…country. And he was so sophisticated. Even if he was a farmer just like them, well…they truly came from different worlds.

  So she was sure her brothers were being way too optimistic as she asked, “What’s your name, mister?”

  “Giovanni Romo,” he said, drawing the syllables out with his exotic accent.

  Edna repeated it in her mind, to make sure she remembered. Giovanni Romo. It was the most wonderful name she’d ever heard.

  “Time for lunch,” Edna announced, beginning to back down her ladder.

  “Wait,” Rachel said. “You’ve just barely gotten started and I’m not even hungry yet.” She was still stunned by the notion of her grandmother once being in love with a Romo, and she was dying to hear the rest of the story.

  “Well, I am hungry. And it’s a good story. One I only tell once in a blue moon, by the way. So if ya don’t mind, I think I’ll just stretch it out, take my time. Do it in…what did they used to call it in magazines? Installments,” she said. “Yep, we’ll do it in installments.”

  “What if I do mind?” Rachel said, peering down at her. Edna was on the ground now, so Rachel backed carefully down, as well.

  “Too bad,” Edna said pointedly.

  So Rachel just rolled her eyes, then followed Edna into the house. “No perks for the free help, I see,” she muttered under her breath, letting the old screen door slam behind her. Rachel still couldn’t believe it—Edna and a Romo?

  As Edna set about washing her hands, then grabbing a fresh loaf of bread baked in the bread machine Rachel had gotten her one Christmas, she said, “Speakin’ of the Romos
, though, there’s somethin’ I reckon you oughta know.”

  She said this like it was nothing, but Rachel instantly knew it was something. Something big. Especially with the way Edna’s story had begun. “What’s that?” she asked, lathering up her own hands.

  Edna moved around behind her, gathering lunchmeat and cheese from the fridge. “Mike Romo wants to buy the orchard from me.”

  Everything in Rachel froze solid as she turned off the faucet. “What?” It felt like…like Mike Romo had just tried to rob her house or something, like he’d invaded her personal space in an unforgivable way. It was one thing to be mean and nasty to her, but another to try to take her grandma’s beloved home and business.

  “Now, nothin’ new about a Romo offerin’ on the place—one or t’other of ’em’s been tryin’ to get the orchard nigh on fifty years now. But what’s different about this time is…I’m thinkin’ about sellin’ it to him.”

  In response to Rachel’s dropped jaw and outraged expression, Edna said, “Now simmer down, girl. I’m thinkin’ about sellin’ it to him—eventually. In a few years, when I just plain can’t run the place anymore.”

  Rachel blinked, her mouth still hanging open. She couldn’t believe Edna, of all Romo haters, would consider such a thing. Even with the new revelation that she’d once had a thing for Mike’s grandfather. And besides…“What on earth does he want with an orchard? Isn’t he busy enough terrorizing the citizens of Destiny at every turn?”

  Edna worked on the sandwiches, not looking at Rachel as she replied. “Says he wants it in case he decides to retire from the department at some point. And that he’d enjoy runnin’ the place. He came to me a few months back with the proposition—said he’d already started savin’ towards it and that I could even stay here in the house ’til I die.”

  Rachel felt her eyes bolt open wider. “He’s killing you off in the bargain?”

  Now Edna looked up. “Believe or not, even I’m gonna die one of these days.”

  Maybe so, but…well, Rachel really didn’t like thinking about that.

  “I thought it was a right generous offer. Knowin’ I’d have my little home ’til the end does a lot to put my mind at ease about the whole idea.”

  Rachel remained livid, though, and still in utter disbelief. “Since when do you want to sell this place to a Romo?”

  “It’s simple,” Edna said, placing two ripe apples alongside the sandwiches she’d just set on plates. “My whole life, I figured one of my children or grandchildren would want to take over the orchard when I’m gone. But it’s lookin’ like that ain’t gonna happen. Now, I don’t make a big deal over it, but the fact is, when I pass on, I’d much rather know the orchard’ll live on and be cared for by a Romo than not live on at all.”

  Of course, the words did exactly what they were designed to do—make Rachel feel guilty. On behalf of her whole selfish family. For not being here. For not helping more. For not caring about the family business. “Okay, I get that,” she admitted. “But still, a Romo? Of anyone in the world, you’d pick a Romo to keep the place going?”

  Edna shrugged. “Is a Romo my first choice? Nope. But a Romo’s what I got to choose from. And like I said, Mike’s a good enough fella—and he’s better than no choice.” She poured two glasses of iced tea, adding, “If you or one of your cousins suddenly decide you wanna run an orchard, you let me know. Otherwise, I’d be a fool not to consider Mike’s offer.”

  Heading into the old-fashioned dining room complete with blue flowered wallpaper, they sat down at the antique table and ate silently for a few minutes, and as Rachel bit into her Gala apple she turned it all over in her mind. Finally she said, “Are you making this whole thing up about Mike Romo? Inventing some elaborate scheme to try to trick me into saving the family business?” She shook a potato chip at her grandmother across the table. “Because I gotta tell ya, Edna, you’re seriously on the wrong track with that. I won’t do it. I can’t. I’m willing to help you out here for a few weeks, but I’m not an outdoorsy kind of girl and things like that don’t change.”

  “You’re tellin’ me,” Edna said. “You’re about the slowest apple picker I’ve come across. Not that I don’t appreciate the help, and I’m sure you’ll get better with practice, but…nope, Rachel Marie Farris, this ain’t a trick. I know that somehow or other I turned out a bunch of city-dwellin’ offspring—and I’m just finally startin’ to accept it and make plans accordin’ly.”

  “Well…good,” Rachel said, adding, “I think.” Since Edna had somehow made being city dwelling sound like a highly undesirable trait. “Good that you…get that, I mean. But I still can’t believe you’d ever sell the orchard to a Romo.”

  Particularly the one that still made her skin tingle every time she thought about him, damn it.

  Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

  William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet

  Four

  Rachel drove along a ribbon of dark, winding road, headed to Tessa’s place for “snack night,” a tradition from their girlhood. In high school, she, Tessa, and Amy had gotten together once every couple of weeks, each forgoing dinner and providing a snack of their choice to share over girl talk. They always recreated snack night at least once on their annual visits, and now that Edna had dropped the apple festival bomb, looked like they might be able to get several snack nights in while Rachel was here. Tonight, she’d come bearing Edna’s pie.

  As the road dipped deeper into a dark valley, though, she couldn’t get her mind off the day, so chock-full of revelations. Like that she now had until October to work on her apple-picking skills! And that Edna had some sort of history with Mike Romo’s grandfather! And the kicker—Mike Romo was trying to get the orchard from Edna.

  Just thinking about that incensed her.

  Maybe it shouldn’t—because everything Edna said made sense. It was better someone keep the place going than no one. But she couldn’t help thinking of Romo like some vulture waiting for just the right time—now that Edna was getting older and in need of help, bad knees or not—to swoop in and convince her this was what she wanted. When it really wasn’t. Because Edna couldn’t really want to sell to the Romo family. She’d spent Rachel’s whole life denouncing their evil ways. So if she sold to Mike Romo, it would be a move of desperation.

  Which did make her feel guilty—even though she knew she shouldn’t. There were plenty of Farrises to take the blame, after all—she wasn’t the only one who had left. And why should anyone feel obligated to take on a business that didn’t inspire them? Besides, Rachel was busy with a career that would provide Edna financial support when she needed it. She was only one woman; she could only do so much.

  And she had gotten a bit of good news today. An e-mail on her Blackberry informing her that her team had won a new account for an organic skincare line—she’d been courting the Natural Girl people for a few months, and though it wouldn’t make up for the recent loss of the massive K&K account, it was still a nice feather in her cap right now. In fact, she would have been in a downright celebratory mood…if not for everything else on her mind.

  As she swung the car around an S curve winding through the tree-shrouded valley, she appreciated the way the BMW hugged the road—but good God, where on earth did Tessa live? The log cabin out on Whisper Falls Road had sounded quaint and rustic, but now it seemed more…dangerous and spooky. Tessa, of all people, wanted to live out here? She knew Tessa had gone through some big changes in the last couple of years, yet now that Rachel saw the drive Tessa made just to get home at night—yikes. She was waiting for a headless horseman to go riding by any minute.

  And that was when the glow of blue lights illuminated her rear window.

  Rachel instantly began muttering a long string of curse words. Unbelievable! He’d gotten her again?

  It never even occurred to her that it might be some other Destiny cop—and it wasn’t. Because Mike Romo was apparently the only one out prowling the rural roads looking for lawbre
akers like her.

  “Are you stalking me?” she said when he shone a big, stupid flashlight in her eyes.

  “No, I’m ticketing you. You’re going fifty-five in a thirty-five.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep, that’s what I clocked you at.”

  “No—I mean are you serious about giving me another ticket? Before I’ve even had a chance to recover from the last one?”

  She could see his pointed look even in the dark. “You seem recovered enough to me. Since it didn’t slow you down any.” She could also see that—oh, crap—his eyes were just as gorgeous as usual, even in the dark.

  “You know, Officer Romeo,” she said as he finally pulled the flashlight away to write out the ticket, “you have a lousy way of making someone feel welcome in this silly little town.”

  “It’s not my job to make you feel welcome,” he said without glancing up from his work. “In fact, the sooner you leave, the sooner I can quit writing out all these tickets. My fingers are starting to get tired.”

  She rolled her eyes in response—and just in case he didn’t see, she let out a large harrumph, too.

  And then she noticed, as she always did, how ridiculously broad his shoulders were. And how good-looking he was. He hadn’t shaved in days, and she found herself wanting to touch the dark stubble on his jaw. And suffering that familiar fluttering sensation in her panties again.

  And then—yuck—she remembered that the last time she’d seen the big lug he’d been taking Miss Tan Chick home to bed. A thought which made her stomach hurt, just as it had then. Ridiculous that she still felt the gnawing ache, but she did.

  “And another thing,” she said, suddenly remembering. “You leave my grandmother alone. Because I know what you’re up to.”