The Last One (The One Trilogy #1)

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Sit down, Meghan, you don’t have to help. Sam, you do. Get off your ass.”

  Meghan kept clearing the table. “I like to be useful. Oh, and I have years of experience waiting tables, so I want to keep my hand in.”

  “When did you work as a waitress?” Ali took the dishes from her and rinsed them under the water.

  “Pretty much from infancy on. My family owns a restaurant on the beach in Florida.”

  “Oh my gosh, really? How fun. What’s it called?”

  “The Rip Tide. My great-grandparents started it, and now my mom runs it. Well, my mom and my brother and sister-in-law, I guess.”

  Ali turned to grin at me. “Sam, isn’t that cool?” She slid more plates into the dishwasher. “Sam loves the beach. When he was a teenager, he wanted to move to California and become a surfer.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I think I was ten.” I pushed my chair back. “I’m going to walk over to the stand and make sure they locked everything up.”

  “Oh no, you’re not. Everything’s fine over there.” She closed the dishwasher and then leaned against it, hands on her hips. “I need to go up and make sure Bridge is actually getting clean in the bathtub and not just drawing with the bubbles.” She pointed at me. “You’re going sit right back down and do your best to be a decent person. Show Meghan that you’re not the total dick you might seem to be.”

  “He doesn’t have to stay. I don’t need a babysitter.” Meghan softened the words with a smile. “I’ll just go unpack or something.”

  I ignored her and addressed my sister. “Ali, you know I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t check on the stand. Cassie Demeyer might be a very dependable high school junior, but she’s not you. I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

  “Fine.” Ali smiled, and for the space of one inhale, I actually thought I’d won. And then she added, “Take Meghan with you. It’d be nice for her to see a little of the farm.”

  “Ali.” I ground out her name. “Stop this. You’re not my mother, and you don’t have any right to try to teach me a lesson. Or make me pay for what I said.”

  “Maybe that’s something you need to remember, brother dear. But I’m not trying to punish you. I just think Meghan might enjoy the walk.”

  “I would.” Meghan surprised me by taking Ali’s side. I had expected her to want to be as far from me as possible. “And I’d like to scout out some possible places to paint while I’m here. Maybe see some spots I could take Bridget.”

  “Fine. Whatever. God knows I can’t fight two stubborn women.” I strode out the kitchen door, letting the screen bang close behind me.

  “Samuel Pierce Reynolds, our mother is rolling over in her grave right now.” Ali’s furious face looked at me through the open window over the sink. “You mind your manners.”

  The door opened again, and Meghan stepped out. A light breeze stirred her hair, and the last rays of sunshine glinted on the red curls. She paused, regarding me steadily.

  “If you don’t want me to go with you, it’s fine. I’ll just look around on my own. Your sister doesn’t have to know anything.”

  “She’d know,” I muttered darkly. “She always knows.”

  Meghan lifted one shoulder. “Well, I’ll go with you then, but you don’t have to talk to me. You can walk in front, and I’ll be quiet. I do know how to do that.”

  If that was a dig at me, I chose not to respond. Instead, I began walking across the yard, cutting through Ali’s herb garden and one of the empty fields. Over the last eighty years, my family had worn a path between the house and the main road, where our stand was located. I followed it without thinking, my mind preoccupied with the girl meandering behind me.

  We skirted around a field of trees, and I paused to point it out to Meghan. “This is the peach orchard. It’s part of our land, technically, but I leased it out to another farmer. For now, at least. One of these days we’ll be ready to deal with fruit again.”

  She stood next to me in silence, close enough I could breathe in her scent. It was musky and warm, making me think of the fields in high summer, when everything smelled alive and vibrant.

  “When are the peaches ripe?” She squinted, checking out the trees.

  “Ah, about another month or so. Clingstones are already being picked, but these are Semi-Freestones.” I reached for a branch and examined the fruit. “Yeah, maybe three weeks. When they’re ready, go ahead and help yourself to these trees. It’s part of our agreement with the renter.”

  “Good to know.” She smiled, and I thought of that night, holding her in my arms, when she’d reached up to touch my face. “I do love peaches.”

  Because I got a sudden image of her biting into a peach with juices dripping down her chin, running between her breasts, I only grunted and started walking again.

  The Colonel’s Last Stand wasn’t fancy. We still operated out of the original lean-to shed that my grandfather had put up during the Depression. Over the years, each generation had added a little more, though: it was enclosed on three sides now, and we had a fourth wall that we slid across when day was done. The register was against the back, and we had several permanent shelves that held jellies, pickles and local honey.

  I pulled keys from the pocket of my jeans and opened the padlock fastened on the front sliding wall. It rolled back easily, revealing the tables of produce and baskets of fruit.

  “Wow.” Meghan stood in the doorway, watching as I made sure the register had been shut down and locked. “It smells like heaven in here.”

  I breathed deep and nodded. Strangely it mattered to me that this girl who I’d only met three times—and only twice sober—understood at least a little of why this place was special. She wandered among the tables, running her fingers over the tomatoes and picking up a bunch of onions to examine them.

  “Do you get a lot of fresh produce where you live?” When I thought of the beach and the food there, I only pictured fish and seafood. But it was Florida, too, so I guessed there was more to it than that.

  “Oh, yeah. Depends on the time of year, but we get strawberries in February, corn by early May, and oranges on and off as they get ripe. My mom has contracts with local farmers for other food, too. You know, like lettuces, tomatoes, cucumbers, whatever.”

  “Yeah.” I gave the shadowed building a quick scan and assured myself that everything was all right. When I headed back out, Meghan followed me, stepping into the waning sunlight. I rolled the door back over and locked it. “Okay, we’re good to go here.” I turned back to the path.

  “The stand looks like it’s been here for a while.” Meghan was walking next to me now instead of a few steps behind. I tried not to care about that.

  “My great-grandparents opened it with a few baskets of peaches, tomatoes and onions back in 1936. It’s come a long way.”

  “Who’s the colonel?” Curiosity tinged her voice.

  “That would be my many-times over great grandfather, Colonel Pierce Reynolds. He fought in the War Between the States.”

  “You mean the Civil War?” She grinned, and I was hard-pressed not to return the smile.

  “I mean, the War Between the States. Or as some people around here still call it, the War of Northern Aggression.”

  Meghan laughed, and the sound made me want to grab her and pull her to me. That reaction in turn made me angry at myself. She was just a girl. Just a college girl, way too young for me. That is, she’d be too young for me if I were looking for that kind of entanglement, which I wasn’t.

  “After going to school in Savannah for three years, I’ve come to the conclusion that the war, whatever you want to call it, isn’t really over for some people. And that even though I live geographically farther south, Florida isn’t as much South as Georgia is.”

  “You’re probably right. I haven’t spent much time in Florida, but it seems like there’re more Yankees there than Southerners.” I leaned forward to grab the branch of a bush that was about to snap back to hit Meghan. “Did you like it? Growing up ther
e?”

  “Oh, yes. Living on the beach was wonderful. Summers were the best—we’d wake up, put on our bathing suits and just swim all day. Hang out at the beach. Even when I got older and worked summers at the Tide, I’d pull my shift and then go right down to the ocean. All my friends were there, too, and it just felt ...” She cast her eyes up, thinking. “Safe. And like home.”

  I nodded. “I get that. It’s how I feel about the farm. There was something about growing up here, knowing it was where my dad and my granddad had lived before me, doing the same things, more or less. I belong here.”

  “That’s exactly it.” We were approaching the house, and she stopped, leaning against a tree. “Belonging. I love Savannah, and going to school there’s been amazing. I’ve met so many people, and I’ve gotten to do things I never would have done if I’d stayed in Florida. But I still don’t feel like I belong there.”

  “So do you think you’ll go back to Florida after you graduate?” I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and widened my stance, watching her.

  Meghan made a face. “I don’t know. Probably not. The things that used to fit me there, that made it home, aren’t around anymore. Or they’ve changed. When I go back now to visit, it doesn’t feel the same.”

  I remembered that Laura had mentioned Meghan had just returned from a trip home the night she’d gotten so drunk. I felt another twinge of regret for what I’d said to her at Boomer’s.

  I knew I should just leave it alone, say goodnight and go back into the house, but I didn’t. “What’s changed?”

  Her chest rose and fell as she inhaled deep, and her teeth worried at the corner of her mouth. “My dad died, about two years ago. He’d had cancer, and he was sick for a long time. And then last fall, my family kind of imploded. My mom got married again, and my brother found out he was a father. He ended up marrying the girl, and she’s really nice, but still ... lots of change.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.” The sun was setting, and the last rays caught her curls until they were ablaze. Her green eyes were fastened on the ground, lost in some private thought or memory.

  “I really didn’t want to come here.” Her voice was low, and I had to lean forward to make out what she said.

  “Because of me?” It sounded incredibly conceited, but I was pretty sure it was true.

  “Yes. Well, partly. I thought if I went farther from home, I’d have a better chance of ... I don’t know, re-inventing myself, I guess.” She shook her head and met my eyes. “I mean, how weird is it that I’d be sent here? I’ve never even heard of Burton. Then Laura’s hairdresser tells her about that bar, and our car breaks down, and we meet you ... and the next thing I know, I’m spending the summer here.”

  “Coincidence is a strange thing.” It was all I could think of to say.

  “It really is.” She was quiet again, staring over my shoulder. “I’m sorry if me being here is a problem for you. I know we started off on the wrong foot, but maybe ...” She trailed off. “At least I can try to stay out of your way.”

  It was what I wanted, but perversely, hearing her say it stung. I tightened my jaw and turned toward the house. “I work pretty hard during the summer. I don’t think it’ll be hard to stay out of each other’s way.”

  I almost felt her quick intake of breath, the stab of hurt. But I didn’t turn around again before I went inside the house and straight upstairs to my room.

  “NOPE, I’M NOT KIDDING. It was the same Sam Reynolds.” I held my cell phone away from my ear as Laura expressed her surprise. Loudly.

  “How the hell did that happen? And how did you not know you were staying at his house?”

  I shifted on the soft mattress and worked to keep my voice down. It’d been all I could do to not text Laura as soon as I’d realized I was going to be spending the summer with Sam Reynolds. I’d managed to hold off on calling her until everyone was in bed.

  “All the paperwork had his sister’s name on it, and she’s divorced. So her last name is different than his. I knew it was a small town and I’d probably run into him this summer, but I never in a million years thought I’d be living with him.”

  “And he didn’t know either?”

  “Apparently not, judging by the look on his face when he walked in and saw me sitting in his living room. And think about it, why would his sister mention me by name? So he comes strolling in—oh, and did I mention he wasn’t wearing a shirt at the time?”

  Laura laughed. “No, you didn’t mention it. But why is that pertinent?” There was a teasing note in her voice.

  “Honey, when any guy built like him has his shirt off, it’s worth mentioning. I noticed his abs even that day at Boomer’s, but I’m willing to admit it was hard to keep my eyes on his face today. And he had that sweaty look—he’d just come in from the fields.” I fanned myself with my hand.

  “Don’t tease, Brian’s not going to be here for another week.” Laura sighed. “Did he freak out when he saw you?”

  “A little, but then his sister jumped in and made us explain everything. She’s awesome, by the way. She’s not much older than you and me, but she’s definitely the one in charge here. And her little girl is adorable.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Laura cut right to the chase.

  I hesitated, thinking about our walk out to the stand earlier in the evening. For a few minutes, I’d thought he was going to be human. We’d had what passed for a real conversation, and then before I knew it, he was telling me that he’d stay out of my way. That I’d probably not see him very much, which was clearly stupid since we were going to be living in the same freaking house. Eating our meals together. Sleeping under the same roof.

  “I guess I’m just going to take one day at a time. I like Ali and Bridget, and I’m here for the summer. I’m not going to run away just because I got assigned to a house where the guy hates me. That’s his deal. I’ll be as pleasant as I can be, and the rest is up to him.”

  I tried to keep that in mind over the next few days. It wasn’t hard, because it seemed that Sam had been right: he was up in the morning before I came out to the kitchen looking for coffee, and only sat at the dinner table long enough to eat. Ali didn’t seem upset, and she explained it to me after I’d been there three days.

  “We’re in the thick of onion harvest right now. It has to be done by hand, and we can only afford to hire help for a week. So they work as long as there’s daylight. As a matter of fact, I’ll probably go over tonight and tomorrow night. I know Sam’s a little nervous about getting them in, and he needs every hand.”

  “Can I help, too?” I surprised myself by asking the question.

  Ali raised her eyebrows. “Have you ever picked onions?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “But you can teach me, right?”

  She smiled at me over the rim of her water glass. “Sure. But you know, you don’t have to do this. You’re our guest.”

  “I’m not doing anything yet but planning the classes. Believe me, I have plenty of energy. Unless you’d rather I stay back here with Bridget?”

  “Nah, Bridge is going to come pick, too. She’s a pro.” Ali pushed back her chair and picked up her plate. “Okay, let me get these dishes rinsed off, and you go change. I suggest an old pair of jeans you don’t mind getting really dirty. And sneakers.”

  I frowned. “Not shorts?”

  “Not unless you want to get eaten alive. I’ll spray you down with bug repellant, but the mosquitoes are fierce. Cover up as much as you can. It shouldn’t be too hot by the time we get there.”

  I was happy I’d followed Ali’s advice by the time we got to the field. I batted at the annoying whine in my ear and itched at my arm. “And I thought the bugs were bad in Florida.”

  “Once you get some onion juice on you, they won’t bother you so bad. It’s just the walk over and getting started. Come with me, and I’ll get you set up.”

  She grabbed us each a lightweight basket to carry over our arms and led me to a row that w
as empty of people. A few of the other workers looked at me curiously, but no one said anything. I spotted Sam at the far corner, moving in rapid and fluid movements. If he’d seen us, he didn’t give any indication. I turned my attention back to Ali and the ground, which looked like it had been turned over already.

  “Why are they all dug up?” I toed a big clump of soil.

  “Part of the process. The onions have to be undercut and the soil loosened a few days before we actually pick them. They air dry for about three days, and now our job is to get them into the baskets and then into the barn. We have people in there who’ll cut the tops and roots, then bunch and bag them.” She leaned to the ground, grasped an onion plant at the juncture of the greens and white top. Gently, she shook off the dirt and laid it on its side in the basket. “See, it’s easy, but you have to make sure you pick it up in the right place. Why don’t you take over from here, and I’ll do the row next to you in case you need anything.”

  It did seem easy, but still, I was much slower at it than Ali or even Bridget. I saw the little girl out of the corner of my eye, cruising down a row a few over from me. I scowled and tried to pick up the pace.

  “Don’t let her intimidate you. She’s been doing this since she could walk, pretty much.” Sam’s voice behind me made me jump.

  I straightened and looked at him over my shoulder. He was working on the row to my left, and he didn’t pause as he spoke.

  “She’s fast.” I shook the dirt off the next onion and laid it in the basket. “I’m afraid I’m not much help.”

  He flickered his eyes to my face briefly. “You came out to help. That counts. We’re doing well, actually. Should finish up tomorrow.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be around the house more?” I blurted out the words and felt my face heat. “I mean, you won’t have to work so hard, right?”

  Sam laughed, and I smiled in spite of myself. I hadn’t heard that sound before, and it turned out that he actually had a pretty great laugh.