by Susan Crosby
“Course we will. Hey, sorry for the mess at the house yesterday. We didn’t have time to clean up.”
“It’s okay. Actually, I’m glad someone’s been living in it. How come you haven’t built your houses on your own properties yet?”
“Didn’t seem to be a need to,” Adam said. “Maybe you comin’ home’s lit a fire for us, though.”
Brody shrugged. “I figure I’ll wait until I’ve got a bride to bring to it. Let her take part in the decision.” He clamped his mouth shut for a few seconds. “Sorry, Mitch. I know you did that for Marissa.”
“I got the house I wanted. Did you know she’s back in the valley?”
“Yeah. Saw her a couple of times. Don’t think she saw me, though,” Brody said. “She had kids with her.”
“She’s got three, with twins on the way.”
All three brothers went silent at that.
“Didn’t know a leopard could change its spots like that,” Adam said. “Sorry, bro.”
“I’m over it. Her. All of it. Have been for years. Listen, I’m gonna go saddle up.”
“You don’t want to say hi to Mom?”
“I’d end up staying for hours, and you know it. Tell her I’ll catch her one day this week. It’s good to see you both. I’ve missed you.”
His brothers moved back. He waved out the window as he took off.
Mitch took Buckshot in a different direction from yesterday, a place with fewer emotional ties, just open grazing land, fallow for now. He gave the horse his head, and they rode as one. There was little in the world that felt as good.
Except maybe a warm, willing woman in his arms—although not just any woman.
He led Buckshot back to the stable more slowly. Mitch wasn’t soothed by the ride as much as he’d hoped. Thoughts swirled in his head, truths and lies, hopes and disappointments. He hadn’t focused on the future for a long time, just the past and present. He’d kept his mind as blank as possible while he was in Argentina, doing his job day to day, not planning anything.
Until the past few months. He’d finally come home when his father ordered him for the fourth time because he was ready to come back.
When he rode into the yard and dismounted, his father came out from the stable to greet him.
“You can’t at least say hello to your mother?” he asked.
“I told Annie I’d have her truck back. I saw Mom yesterday, Dad. I’ll come visit soon.” He walked Buckshot inside, was officially introduced to the new hand who’d taken care of his horse the day before and left his horse with him. He would’ve groomed Buckshot himself except he figured his father would hang around the whole time. They walked toward Annie’s truck.
“Everything going okay?”
“Nothing’s changed since yesterday.” Mitch eyed his father. “Adam and Brody said they’ve been paying rent on my house.”
“The money’s tucked away in a brokerage account Vaughn chose. He says you’ve made some gains on it, but you’ll have to ask him. I stayed out of the decisions. Figured you wouldn’t want me involved.”
Mitch was a good saver and spent little, anyway, but to find he had a cushion made him relax in a big way. “Thanks.”
“Thank your mother. It was her idea.” They reached the truck. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Mitch nodded then climbed into the truck. He started the engine, put it in Reverse.
“Son.”
He looked at his father, saw an expression he couldn’t interpret. “What?”
“He wouldn’t want you to keep on grieving.”
Mitch clenched his fists. “I know.”
He kicked up dust as he drove the long road out of the ranch. When he reached the highway, he turned in the direction of Annie’s place and gave it some gas. He didn’t slow down, not until he’d gone ten miles past The Barn Yard. He pulled over under some trees and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.
His father was right. He should just remember all the good times, something that might be easier if Mitch hadn’t begged his grandfather to hold on longer than he should have. Because Mitch couldn’t bear to lose him, he caused his grandfather a great deal of pain in the end.
For that, Mitch would never forgive himself.
Chapter Eleven
Late the next morning, Annie approached the shed where Austin and Mitch were installing the new parts in his truck. She could hear Mitch describing what the part was, what it did, where it fit and what connected to it. They’d already picked all the produce for the farmer’s market, then loaded it and the buckets of flowers plus her booth setup parts in her truck, which was parked in the shade. They would leave right after lunch.
She wished Mitch would come with her but knew he wouldn’t. He’d been in a strange mood since returning yesterday—quiet and distant. She wondered where he’d gone. The same place as the day before?
To see a woman, maybe? That possibility didn’t seem likely, considering his obvious attraction to her, but then, she barely knew him. Anything was possible.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“We’ll find out soon,” Mitch said, straightening and wiping his hands with a rag. “I could end up replacing every part, one by one, until I’ve got it fixed, I suppose.”
“Lunch is ready. Can you stop?”
“I’d rather keep working. And I’m not really hungry yet.”
He’d barely touched his breakfast, which was totally unlike him. He and Austin usually consumed hearty amounts.
“What time do you think you’ll be home?” he asked.
“The market’s open from three to seven, then we have to take down our canopy and stow the booth. Sometime around eight, depending on how much we all talk after. There’s chili in the fridge you can heat up, if you want. I’ll wrap your sandwich up now and put it in there, too.”
“Thanks.” He stuck his head back under the hood.
“Can I eat my sandwich while we’re driving?” Austin asked. “I want to keep helping Mitch.”
“Sure.”
Half an hour later, Annie and Austin headed for town, first to the building supply store then to set up their site. It wasn’t a big marketplace. Only about fifteen people set up booths on a regular basis, but it was in a good location with lots of traffic and easy parking nearby. One of the biggest draws was the barbecued sausage sandwich booth, which moved each week according to which way the wind blew. Many residents came just for that, then ended up buying homemade beef jerky or table flowers or farm-fresh eggs. Local musicians took turns on a nearby corner.
Annie and Austin set up their pop-up canopy in minutes, then hung their sign from the back. They put three tables in a U-shape, where they placed a bushel of two varieties of baby potatoes, a bunch of pickling cucumbers and an ice chest filled with baby lettuces. The buckets of bouquets sat on the ground beneath the tables, except for a couple placed on the tables. Annie wore a cash apron with plenty of change.
Early birds usually showed up for first selections, and today was no different, including the organic restaurant owner, Brenna James, who’d become a regular already.
“Hey, Annie, how’s it going?” Brenna asked. The petite brunette with shiny long hair and near-black eyes shook hands. Annie figured she was in her forties.
“Very well, thanks. I’ve got two choices for you this time—dahlias and asters. Neither has much scent, so they’d work well for your tables.”
“Oh, I love the dahlias! What glorious colors, and they’re so big. They really make a statement. I’ll take three bundles.” She glanced at the bushel of potatoes. “These are gorgeous little fingerlings. I’ll take a few pounds. A mix of the colors, please.”
Annie could hardly contain her excitement as people around them listened in. Everyone knew Brenna was particular.
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“May I?” Brenna said, plucking a leaf of baby red leaf lettuce from the cooler.
“Of course.”
Brenna pronounced it wonderful and asked for two plastic bags full. “Do you grow shallots?”
“I haven’t, but I can look into doing that. I’m pretty sure they have a year-round growing season.”
“A shallot vinaigrette would be perfect with these greens. I need to come out to your farm and see what you’ve got. Do you have official organic status yet?”
“I’ve submitted the paperwork.” Two days ago, after getting the high tunnel up and running. She gave Brenna her business card. “I’m just waiting for the inspection. But I’ve complied with everything required to pass. Feel free to come by. Austin, please give Ms. James one of your flyers. Maybe Saturday would work for you, and you could choose some berries, too.”
“Sounds good, thanks.” She paid for her purchases and moved on to Ginny Otta’s booth, where the scent of peaches was heady.
And so it begins, Annie thought as she gave another customer a flyer about the U-pick coming up.
“You’re starting out well,” Ginny said after completing her transaction with Brenna. Ginny owned and operated a substantial organic orchard plus was director of the farmer’s market. Fiftyish, honey-blond and vivacious, she lit up the market with her friendliness. She was also the most knowledgeable grower Annie knew, and she’d been generous with her advice. The farmer’s market was her pet project, something she did for the community, as she otherwise direct-marketed almost all her produce to San Francisco and southern Oregon outlets. She was Annie’s hero.
“It’s exciting,” Annie said. “Every week I sell more. I’m so hopeful, Ginny, especially now that I’ve got the high tunnel up and operating. Thank you so much for recommending the handyman. He’s been incredible.”
“Really?” Ginny’s brows went up. “I heard he took one look at the place and left, scared of all the work.”
“How strange. Well, I guess he changed his mind. He did show up a day late, so he must have thought it over. I’m telling you, he’s been fabulous. He’s up before I am, and works really hard, plus he’s been good for Austin. I feel lucky he came back to—”
A customer hailed Ginny to purchase peaches, then suddenly customers appeared at almost every stall, old friends gathering, products being tasted, everyone catching up on the town news. With a trio singing and playing guitar on the street corner and the smell of sausages grilling, Annie relaxed and enjoyed the time. Austin manned the booth with her, selling strawberries and talking up the coming weekend sale at The Barn Yard. He’d brought along some blueberries for people to sample, his own idea, and seemed to enjoy pitching the product.
As Annie worked, having fun at the same time, she wondered how many people would’ve recognized Mitch.
She also wondered what he was doing with his time alone at the farm.
* * *
Lulu purred. Satisfied, Mitch drove to Vaughn’s house on Ryder Ranch land, pleased that he’d been able to fix his treasured vehicle and looking forward to time with his older brother. When Mitch left for Argentina, Vaughn had just finished building his house and moving in his wife and daughter after years of living and working in San Francisco. Now he was divorced and a single father.
The two-story, cedar-siding house fit the landscape perfectly, its wraparound porch welcoming. He’d landscaped with hardy evergreens and other low maintenance and drought-resistant plants, the same as their parents’ house. A swing set, slide and climbing structure sat to one side, shaded by oaks that had preceded generations of Ryders.
Vaughn opened the screen door, stepping onto the porch as Mitch climbed the stairs.
“Everything looks great,” Mitch said, greeting his brother with a strong hug.
“I’m glad I moved home. I think the only new structure since you left is the stables. Want to see it?”
“Sure.” Their strides were even as they walked. His brother hadn’t planted anything edible, although there was plenty of land to do so. “Still not a gardener, I see.”
“I don’t understand anyone’s need to dig in dirt,” Vaughn said. “But since Mom does, I let her supply me with plenty of fresh vegetables. I do cook, you know. Cassidy and I don’t starve, by any means.”
The stable reflected Vaughn’s life—orderly, organized and regimented. Walking into his bedroom when they were growing up was like walking into a military barracks. His stables were the same—and empty.
“They’re in the corral out back.”
They wandered that direction. Mitch recognized Vaughn’s horse, Cody. “I take it the old lady horse is Cassidy’s.”
“Cass will tell you she’s a pony, not a horse. She named her My Little.” Vaughn grinned. “She was three. What can I say?”
“It’s cute.” They draped their arms over the corral fence and watched in silence for a minute.
“How was it?” Vaughn asked.
“Hard and healing.”
“Mom about went crazy.”
“I’m sorry about that, but not sorry I went. It was what I needed.”
“And now? Are you ready to be back in the fold?”
“If it’s folded differently, yes.”
Vaughn eyed him. “What does that mean?”
“That I want more responsibility, more involvement in decisions, more credit.”
Vaughn nodded. “I get that. He’s a tough old bird, our dad.”
“He learned from the best,” Mitch said, laughing a little. “Granddad never budged an inch.”
“Except with you.”
Mitch shrugged acknowledgment. He’d learned that connections made in life often defied explanation. His with his grandfather was one of them. “I think you have Cassidy because of a similar connection. She’s not your blood, but she’s yours more than she was ever her mother’s.”
“True.”
“Where does everything stand with you?”
“Divorce is final. Ginger’s dropped out of sight. I’m trying to track down Cassidy’s biological father so that I can end all potential legal difficulties. It hasn’t been easy. Lots of dead ends.”
They returned to the house, grabbed a couple of beers then sat on the porch. Vaughn passed him a folder, the pleased look on his face tipping Mitch off to the contents. Mitch whistled when he saw the bottom line. “How’d you manage this?”
“In ways that would’ve had you hyperventilating. You’ve never been willing to take risks with money. I prefer to, myself. There’s your payoff.”
Mitch already had a pretty good cushion in the bank since he rarely spent money on anything. “This’ll go a long way toward my plans for my property. I can’t thank you enough. You’re right. I wouldn’t have risked much.”
“It’s why I didn’t let you know. Also why I told Mom and Dad not to tell you that Adam and Brody were paying rent. You would’ve had them plant it in your savings account. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“I take it you’ve done the same for yourself. You certainly can’t support yourself on Ryder Ranch’s legal needs.”
“Can’t and don’t. I’ve taken on quite a few ranches in the area as clients. It’s small business, but together it’s enough. Doing a little family law, too, and some consulting online. It all adds up.”
Mitch studied his brother. “Doesn’t sound like it adds up to a social life.”
Vaughn leaned back, crossing his ankles. “I don’t know which of us got worse treatment by a woman, but I think we’re equally jaded. At least I got Cassidy out of the deal. And I don’t live like a monk.” He grinned at Mitch. “Do you?”
“With Annie, you mean? There’s nothing going on there. Hell, I’ve only known her for a week.”
“So?”
“She’s got a ten-year
-old kid who’s there all the time.”
Vaughn laughed. “Meaning you would’ve been sleeping with the proud Ms. Barnard if the kid hadn’t been around?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’d like to.”
“Hell, yes. Unlike you, I have been living like a monk.”
“And she is one fine-looking woman. If a little prickly.”
“Not when you get to know her.” Mitch debated how much to say to his brother, the person he trusted most—which decided it for him. “Yeah, I’d like to take her to bed, but I can’t.”
He went on to share the whole story about how he ended up at her place and what had happened since. It felt good to say it out loud, to feel nothing but interest from Vaughn, who lifted his bottle of beer in a kind of toast when Mitch stopped talking.
“Rock and hard place.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said.
“Damned if you do tell her. Damned if you don’t.”
“Definitely.”
“Between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
“Got any more clichés for me?”
“Fresh out. Ah, here comes dinner.”
A little blue car with a sign attached to the top came up the driveway, kicking up dust.
“Aw, man. You remembered,” Mitch said, his mouth watering. Roma’s Pizza was the place he’d missed most. “Meat Lover’s Delight?”
“Is there anything else on the menu?” Vaughn met the driver at his car, then returned with a jumbo-size box, which he set on a porch table. He went inside then returned with two more beers.
They lingered a long time, reminiscing, debating, analyzing and sharing. As Mitch drove to Annie’s hours later, happiness settled in him, around him and through him. Her truck wasn’t in sight, which surprised him. The market ended at seven. It was almost eight-thirty. But he’d no sooner parked than she rolled in.
He opened the driver’s door, peering into the truck bed as he did. “How’d it go?”
“Great. We sold out. I had to hold a few things back so that I could trade for what we needed. Austin teased everyone with his sampling of blueberries. We even splurged and bought sausage sandwiches. And it looks like Brenna James is going to be a big buyer. I’m rethinking my plans for the farm.”
