Romance Grows in Arcadia Valley (Arcadia Valley Romance Book 0)

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  He nodded. She had delicate hands. How were they strong enough to work dough like that? “I noticed the hedges out front need trimming. I used to do that for Naomi, and for my mother, before that. I thought I’d offer to continue.”

  “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” Ruth frowned. “I’m not sure where the gardening tools are.”

  “There’s a shed out back. I can show you, later, if you like. It has all your snow removal equipment, too.” Corban cleared his throat. “So that’s a yes, then?”

  “Can I pay you?”

  “Oh, no. I just enjoy doing it. So... yes, then?”

  “Yes.”

  He bobbed his head and left the kitchen, rounding the back of the house to the shed. The trimmers were right where they should be, as was the extension cord. He carried them out front and got to work. Across the road, the tractor looked lonely. But his work wasn’t suffering, and this was a way to get to know the enigma who now ran his mother’s old B&B. She was pretty, but he couldn’t quite decide if she had a personality in there at all. Maybe she was just shy.

  As he shaped the final curve on the last rounded bush, Ruth stepped out of the front door. The sun hit her hair. Whoa. Where he’d first seen plain brown, there was now a riot of color as red and blonde competed to shine. His breath caught in his chest. Corban flicked the trimmer off and lowered it.

  “I thought you might be thirsty. I brought some orange juice.”

  He smiled, set down the tool, and crossed to the stoop. “Thanks.”

  “I came into a large box of citrus yesterday.”

  Corban laughed. “Sorry about that. I should’ve asked if you wanted it.”

  Ruth shrugged and looked out across the yard. “Thankfully, Naomi had a juicer. Most of it is in the freezer now. This looks much better. Thank you.”

  “You froze it? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of having fresh?” Corban took a long drink, the cool juice soothed his throat.

  “Well, it wouldn’t still be fresh by the time my first guests arrive in two weeks. So it was that or let it rot. This way I can use it in smoothies, sauces, or thaw it back out to serve as juice. And the peels are soaking in vinegar, which will make a nice cleaning product after it steeps for a while.”

  Who knew? Corban drained the glass and handed it back. “Sounds like you’ve got it covered, then. And the bread?”

  She smiled. “Should be out of the oven in another twenty minutes. Would you like to hang around a bit and have a slice?”

  It was tempting. Corban glanced over where his tractor waited and the pull of duty won. “I wish I could. I need to get back to the fields.”

  “Oh. Of course you do. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. This was a nice break. I’ll just put the trimmer away and—”

  “Leave it. I can get it. I — thank you. Really.”

  Corban shook his head and unplugged the trimmer. “It’s not a problem. Appreciate the juice.”

  “Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Ruth hurried behind him.

  “I’m sure. I’ve been doing this since Mom first opened the place. Your friend let me keep on doing it. I’m happy to continue with you.” He deposited the equipment in the shed and closed the door, tugging on the handle to be sure the latch caught. It had a tendency to pop open in the wind if it didn’t catch just right. When he turned around, he nearly plowed into her. He grabbed her arm to steady her as she jolted. When their eyes met, he drew in a breath. “Beautiful.”

  Red stole across her cheeks and she looked away as she stepped back, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I’ll just, um, thanks again. Bye.”

  He stood still as she turned and fled around the corner of the house. A door slammed. She must’ve gone in the kitchen. Corban rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but that didn’t change the truth of the statement.

  * * *

  Corban leaned back in the rocker and propped his feet on the rail of his front porch. His Australian Shepherd, Spock, flopped on the deck nearby. The sun was just starting to sink on the horizon. Maybe it was a little cool for porch-sitting, but the walls had been closing in on him inside. He ought to find something for dinner, but it could wait.

  The crew was all lined up to come back, so that was one less thing to worry about. He hadn’t been sure they would. His dad had hired the bulk of them, and even though Corban had been in charge for going on ten years now, five of those with his parents in another state, the guys all called it his dad’s farm. Now, with Dad gone, would they finally realize he was the one in charge? Did it matter? Not really. They still took instruction from him. It just always seemed like they were waiting for him to go and double-check.

  A small sedan pulled into his driveway. Spock lifted his head off his feet. Corban sighed. He didn’t recognize the vehicle, but he also didn’t need another casserole or someone else coming to pay their respects. The ache in his heart had settled to a manageable level, as long as people didn’t go around poking at it. If only his mother hadn’t raised him to be hospitable, he could send them on their way.

  The door opened and Ruth slipped out.

  Corban pursed his lips. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad after all. “Evening.”

  She straightened and nearly dropped whatever it was she had in her hands. “Oh. Hi. I’m sorry to just drop by. I brought you some bread.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Thanks. Why don’t you come on in and we can have a slice in the kitchen.”

  “I don’t want to...”

  Corban stood and grabbed the screen door, holding it open. Spock scurried through, disappearing into the house.

  Ruth frowned, but she shut the car door and crossed to the porch. “You’re sure I’m not interrupting?”

  “I’m sure.” Corban breathed in the subtle fragrance of yeast and oranges that seemed to float around her. “Kitchen’s straight back.”

  She nodded and entered.

  He let the screen slap closed behind him and followed as she picked her way across the gleaming wood floor. He hated polishing the wide planks, but they’d been his mother’s pride and joy.

  “This is just what a farmhouse should be.” Ruth set the bread down on the kitchen table and looked around. “You must love it here.”

  “I do. Would you like me to put the kettle on? I have some tea... I think.” His mother had kept one cupboard full of various teas — bags, loose, she loved it all. She’d taken some south when they’d moved, but had left the bulk here so she’d remember to come visit. Like she’d ever forget. He probably still had a good selection. Somewhere.

  The smile lit her face, changing it from simply pleasant to almost beautiful. “That’s okay. Water would be fine.”

  “I know I have some lemonade. It’s not as good as yours. I get those tubs of powder at the grocery store. Not sure there were any real lemons harmed at any point in the process of making it. But it tastes fine.”

  Ruth chuckled. “That sounds good, too. Can I help?”

  “Oh. No. Just have a seat.” Corban ran a hand through his hair. Was he really this rusty when it came to entertaining? He crossed to the cupboards and pulled down two tall glasses. He snagged the pitcher from the fridge and filled them with the electric yellow liquid before setting them on the table. He slid a knife out of the block on the counter, collected two plates and a cutting board, and sat across from her. “Is this the loaf you were working on when I stopped by?”

  Ruth sipped from the glass and winced. “Wow. That’s sweet. No, that was just a simple sourdough. After you did the hedges, I wanted to do something special, so I played around with one of my grandmother’s challah recipes.”

  He unwrapped the loaf and pulled his hand back. “That looks too nice to cut up.”

  “Please.” Ruth shook her head and reached for the knife. “It’s a simple braid.”

  Simple? The bread was a shiny golden brown, and the pattern looked far more intricate than a braid. He poked the middle of the slice when she
slid it toward him. “Raisins?”

  “And some nuts. You can eat nuts, right? I always forget about nut allergies.” Ruth sawed through the bread and put a slice on the second plate.

  “No allergies here. Challah you said? I’m not sure I’ve ever had it before. I usually get my bread at the grocery store.” Corban took a bite. It was tender, eggy, and not overly sweet, despite the fruit and nuts. “This is good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No. I just didn’t know what to expect.” With the bread or the baker.

  Chapter 3

  Ruth smiled. Now what? Was she supposed to leave? She glanced down at the slice on her plate. Probably not time to leave just yet. He’d asked her in and offered to share. She pulled off a piece and popped it in her mouth. It had risen well, at least, but it needed... something. Maybe there was a reason challah wasn’t usually mixed with anything sweet. She’d had success transforming other traditionally savory breads.

  “Are you okay?” Corban’s fingers rested light on her hand.

  “Sorry. I was thinking about the bread. It’s not as good as I was hoping it’d be. You don’t have to keep it. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

  He pulled the loaf closer and cut off another slice. “Nope. This is mine. Maybe I’m not a connoisseur, but I think this is quite tasty. You play around with recipes a lot?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Not as much as I’d like these days. I’m hoping the B&B gives me a chance to get back to it. I found a big tin of wheat berries and a mill when I was poking through the cupboards and figured maybe it was a sign.”

  “Naomi got that from me maybe three months back. Never did say what she wanted it for. Must’ve been right before she found out she was sick.”

  Or she’d already known and had been planning for when Ruth would take over. Her friend had been just sneaky enough to do something like that. They’d had several conversations where Ruth had lamented the lack of time for baking in her life. As much as she appreciated having it now, she’d give it all up to have her best friend back. “Guess so. I’m sorry about your parents.”

  “Thanks.” Corban shifted in his chair. “So tell me this, why take on the B&B? Why not sell it?”

  Ruth sighed. “Now you sound like my brothers. I don’t have anything holding me to the D.C. area. Well, nothing other than them. And they understand. Mostly. This feels like a second chance. Plus, I don’t want to let Naomi down.”

  “I know a little about that. Have you run a hotel before?”

  Why was this starting to feel like an interview? Sure, his mother had sold it to Naomi, but she’d owned it free and clear, hadn’t she? Ruth picked at the crust of the bread in front of her. “I have, in fact. Five years ago, I opened a small inn on the outskirts of D.C. I sold it three years ago.”

  “Oh, wow. And since then?”

  He had to ask. “A little of this and that. What about you? Have you always wanted to farm?”

  He smiled and her heart skipped a beat. It was probably good he didn’t unleash that too often. “No. But by the time I was halfway through college, I realized it was where I was meant to be, which was good since I’d been planning to come back anyway. It just meant that I came back excited and ready to make it my own instead of dragging my feet and fighting my dad the whole time. I’m grateful God settled my heart. There’s nothing worse than pulling in the opposite direction of where He’s leading.”

  What would it be like to know your place and be comfortable in it? She’d get there someday. She had to. The B&B was a good start. Even with the Victorian decor, it already felt more like home than her apartment in D.C. had. Maybe this was God settling her heart. She could hope. “Can I be impertinent?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Why not?”

  “How old are you?”

  He laughed. “That’s not impertinent. It might be if I asked you, since I’m pretty sure you don’t ask a lady that, but I don’t mind. I’m thirty-six.”

  She grinned. “I’ll make my grandmother, rest her soul, roll over in her grave and go ahead and answer what you were too polite to ask. I’m thirty-three.”

  “I figured that. Naomi said you were friends in kindergarten, and I know how old she is. Was.” Corban sighed. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Ruth nodded and pushed back her chair. “I should probably go. Enjoy the bread.”

  Corban stood. “I will. Thank you. Come by anytime.”

  She smiled and held his gaze for the space of a few heartbeats before nodding. “Okay. You too. The door’s always open. Well, probably not unlocked, but I’ll let you in if you knock.”

  * * *

  Ruth cringed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I’ll let you in if you knock?”

  He had to think she was a psychopath. She dried her face with the hand towel and reached for her cell phone. She needed to talk to her brothers. She hadn’t been away from them for this long in... ever.

  Settled in the chair-and-a-half in what passed for the living room of her private quarters, Ruth punched in Micah’s number. It only rang twice before he picked up.

  “Heya sis. How’s it going?”

  Ruth smiled, her entire body relaxing. “Better now that I’m talking to you. I didn’t think you’d be home on a Friday night. How about you?”

  “Same old. I scheduled my time off though, so did Mal. We’re still working on Jonah, but he’ll figure something out. You know how he is.”

  Jonah was the most serious of the four of them. He had to weigh everything from as many angles as he could think up before he’d move. “Yeah. I miss you guys.”

  “As you should. You sure you don’t want to sell and come back home?”

  “To what? At least here I don’t have the stink of failure clinging to me. I have a chance to make this work and prove that the debacle in Georgetown wasn’t my fault.”

  “Prove to whom? No one who knows you — or the situation — thinks it was.”

  She clamped the phone against her ear with her shoulder and scrubbed her hands over her face. Maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t. She couldn’t say why it mattered so much, just that it did. “Maybe I do. I don’t know. I’m terrified I’m going to mess this up. And I’m homesick. And the farmer across the way is entirely too handsome for his own good. And—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. Handsome farmer? Maybe I need to move my tickets up.”

  Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. One of these days she was going to keep her brain one step — maybe two — ahead of her mouth when talking to her brothers. “No. It’s not... it’s nothing. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Nope. I want to hear about the farmer who’s making a play for my older sister.”

  “He isn’t making a play. He’s just friendly. And his mom used to run the B&B, so he has a vested interest.”

  “Uh huh. So you’re making a play for him?”

  “No.” Oh gosh. Did Corban think that? The bread... she was just trying to be friendly. Why hadn’t she just stayed home tonight?

  “That was fast.”

  “Micah, come on. You know me.”

  “I know you’re gun-shy. I know that if I meet Lars on the road, I’m likely to punch him in the nose. And I know that you deserve to find someone who loves you.”

  “You’re sweet, Micah, but I’m—”

  “Going to see what happens. You’ve already said he’s handsome. Is he nice?”

  He’d brought her oranges. Well, technically they weren’t for her, but the fact that he’d think to bring oranges for anyone after being away to settle his parents’ estate said a lot about him. And he’d trimmed her hedges, and cleaned up even after she’d told him not to bother. “Yeah, he is.”

  “A believer?”

  “That I don’t know. I want to say he has to be, given how he acts, the things he says, but I know better.” Her only serious boyfriend, the man she’d planned to marry and wasted eight years of her life on, had proved that beyond a reasonable dou
bt. “I guess I’ll ask him.”

  “That’s the spirit. Hang in there. You don’t have any guests for two weeks, right?”

  “Actually, I got a last-minute reservation this afternoon. Even though the woman wants to stay for two weeks, I have plenty of room. She’ll check in on Monday. It’ll be good to be doing instead of sitting around waiting.” Ruth rubbed her eyes.

  “Well, save space for Mal and me, and hopefully Jonah, starting next Friday, too.”

  “That soon?” Would she have enough space with her brothers here? “You’re going to have to share a room. Or hang with me in the owner’s area. I think the couch pulls out.”

  “We’ll make it work one way or another. Don’t sweat it. Just think how fun it’ll be to have us there. And you should text Mal. He’s missing you. A lot.”

  She chuckled. “I will. Thanks. You’re just what I needed tonight.”

  * * *

  Ruth smoothed the sides of her khaki A-line skirt. It was a little chilly, but it wasn’t clear on the website if Grace Fellowship was a dress-up congregation, or if she could get away with slacks. Better to be overdressed than under. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. She could do this. It was no different than finding a new church in D.C. Easier, maybe. After all, the smaller community had to mean that people would want to get to know her. Didn’t it? Not that she had to stick with the first church she visited. Arcadia Valley might be a small town, but there were still several options for worship.

  The foyer was reasonably full of people milling around before the service started. There was a good mix of ages, and dress appeared to be whatever people wanted it to be. She didn’t stick out one way or the other, and that did wonders for the butterflies in her belly. She smiled and nodded to people who made eye contact as she headed toward the worship center doors. Taking a bulletin from the usher, she stepped to the side and scanned the room. Her gaze landed on a familiar profile. What were the odds? Still, it would be nicer than sitting alone.