by Ellen Parker
His afternoon plans included getting at least a portion of his office corner organized and taking a good look at the antique cash register. As the brother with the better mechanical aptitude, he’d been assigned to fix the business machine. He tried to recall particulars of the cash register and failed. The other evening, Mona, his sister-in-law, had unveiled it while he moved the last of a lumber pile out of the designated orchard sales area. The plan was to use it when they opened to the public for retail sales at the end of the month.
Division of labor at the orchard was falling into a familiar pattern. Linc either handled or supervised all things to do with the apple trees. Mona showed a natural talent for marketing, and they all contributed to the business end by keeping accurate records.
A few minutes later, Jackson waited for traffic at the mouth of the parking lot. A silver van eased past, driven by a woman with an auburn ponytail. Lucky Leaf. My lucky day.
Chapter Two
The next afternoon, Beth drew in a deep breath laced with the scent of hot, fried fish as she stepped out of the tavern office. After locking the office door, she entered the main room of Jack’s Village Tavern. It was Friday, the busiest lunch and early evening of the week, thanks in large part to the walleye special. She ignored the rumble of her stomach and nodded to several regular patrons on her way to the bar.
“Done?” Jack Bland, owner and primary bartender, tossed the single word toward her as he set a third beer on a round tray.
She pointed at the second tap from the left. “All is neat and tidy in the ledgers.”
“Still using black ink? Staying for supper?” He held a clean glass under the tap and released golden liquid.
“Yes to both questions.” She adjusted the tote on her shoulder and rested one wrist on the polished wood bar. The tavern was one of her favorite accounting clients. Each Friday afternoon, she came in and spent quality time making computer entries and writing out checks from the invoices and packing slips left in the desk drawer.
“Good to hear.” He set down her beer and turned toward the kitchen window to give her standard supper order to the cook. “How did your dogs do yesterday?”
“Excellent. The kids did well too.” She flashed him a smile and yielded to the server ready to give him another bar order.
Carrying her drink across the room, she selected one of the square, black tables with a good view of both the door and the single pool table. Racked balls awaited a player. She checked her watch and considered the crowd. It was rather light. Granted, the farmers would still be working, making use of the daylight. But the group of dining retirees and commuters to the factories seemed thin. The fair. The grandstand performance tonight featured a tribute to The Beatles. Every bar and café in the county could expect a light supper crowd with that sort of competition.
“Crystal Springs.” She whispered the name so lightly, the foam on her beer only rippled.
It was a good place to call home. She felt safe here, in a small community where her family had century-deep roots. Three years and two months ago, her uncle Joe had offered her a deal. Actually, it was more like a lifeline and an opportunity to start over. Move to the tiny village. Start the kennel she’d dreamed of for years. Work with her cousins to keep the land in the family.
She’d accepted the offer and the unspoken challenges included with the move. Uncle Joe was gone now, another victim of lung cancer. She and two of her cousins, Carla and Anita, shared the house and work at Big Cat Farm. Each of them brought different talents and interests to the operation.
Carla, the one who had been raised on the farm, held a nursing degree. Her full-time job at the local care center supplied them with a steady, basic income.
Anita’s cage-free chickens and organic produce were marketed in the community, while the field crops were sold to a snack food company for a welcome seasonal supplement. The farm also kept all of them busy physically and mentally.
Accounting and kennel. Beth savored the internal sound of her contribution. Tax preparation gave a seasonal weight to the accounting. But both portions of her business were growing and financing their own expenses. She closed her eyes for a pleasant moment and exhaled. Crystal Springs was a good place for her. A setting to regain her balance. A place for roots.
Beth opened her eyes at the sound of the bell above the door. Out of both habit and curiosity, she turned toward the entrance. She drew a surprised breath and started to speak without weighing her words. “Are you lost, Mr. Jackson Dray?”
“Flattered that you remembered my name.” His smile grew, and he pointed at the empty chair across from her. “May I?”
“Certainly. I’ll buy you a beer if you like. Payment for timely dog catching.” Stop. She froze her lips in a half-smile. It was time to slow down, exercise some of her usual caution. Giving a handsome man the wrong impression wasn’t on her agenda.
“Offer accepted.” He settled into the chair and moved the condiment holder to the side of the painted wood table. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Excellent.” She raised her arm, got Jack’s attention, and used hand signals to order his beer. Taking a moment for a careful look at her new friend, her gaze stalled on his hair. “New haircut?”
“Minutes ago. Figured I’d get all trimmed up proper before starting a new job. First impressions and all that.”
“Where’s the new job?”
“Wagoner.”
The server interrupted her half-formed questions. She should let the entire topic drop. According to the village grapevine, Jackson was the relative moving in to assist at Hilltop Orchard. She pressed her lips together at the other portion of the rumor. Her life already contained too many lawyers. She’d married a law student and gotten an attorney as a brother-in-law. Making friends with another would be risky on all sorts of levels. She focused on the scent of her hot meal and plucked a pair of extra napkins from the holder.
“Fish fry looks good. I’ll have mine with fries and slaw.” Jackson spoke low enough to the server she could almost ignore it.
With a practiced twist of her fingers, she broke a fillet into almost equal pieces. Her hasty invitation started to look like a mistake.
“Your club ended with a good showing yesterday. Many of them are ready to move up to pre-open.”
“If they keep the same dogs.” She appreciated his change of topic. Talking dogs and 4-H was safer than studying the hint of muscles under his yellow Packers shirt. “So how does River County compare with Brown?”
He wrapped a smooth hand with long fingers around the bottom half of his beer glass. “Dog trial organization is as good or better. How often does the Idiots Saddle Club interrupt?”
She turned away as her laugh threatened to stall a bite of food mid-swallow. After a quick brush of knuckles across her cheek, she tested her voice. “First ever.”
“That’s a relief.”
A tiny lump within her, as small and hard as a kernel of popcorn, softened at his hint of a smile. “According to my information, you can add ‘drunken’ to the group name.”
“If your source notifies you of future meetings, let me know. I’ll arrange to be miles away.” He sipped his beer and leaned forward on his elbows. “Tell me about the shepherd. Was the name Tango?”
“She’s nine months. Amber’s family is fostering her until she’s ready to audition for law enforcement in another six months or so. And yes, her name is Tango.”
“Which parent do you own?”
Blood rushed to her face, prompting her to hide behind a napkin for a moment. Thank you, Grandma Maggie. She kept hoping that she’d grow out of blushing brighter than a sunburn. So far, no luck. “Am I that transparent?”
“Nothing wrong with being proud of family.”
“The mother. Dancer.” She wiped her fingers then reached into her tote. “She’s the first bitch I purchased. And while I try not to play favorites, I suppose she gets a bit more attention than the others.”
He sipped his b
eer and studied her. “You have more than one?”
“Three.” She laid a business card beside his cardboard coaster.
“‘Big Cat Farm,’” he read. “‘AKC German shepherds. Obedience training. Boarding.’ Impressive.”
“Give it my best.”
He tapped the edge of the card against the table. “Big Cat. Isn’t there a creek with that name south of town?”
“There is. The spring considered the source is at the back of our property.” She handed him a second card. “Lest you think all I do is dog breeding. And this is only my portion of Big Cat Farm.”
“Dogs and accounting. Do they believe it if you claim the dog ate the tax return?”
She laughed. “I’ll let you know if I ever need to use it when filing an extension.”
“Tell me more.”
“I don’t know where to begin.” Did he intend this conversation to be about the farm? Or was he leading to more personal questions? She took a sip of beer and considered which starting point would put her in a verbal corner later than the others. “Anita does the actual farming. Chickens, organic vegetables, and larger field crops for a snack food company. And she maintains a pair of bee hives. Rented one of them out to the orchard the past two years.”
Beth paused in ticking off items on her fingers. “Carla’s a nurse at the care center a block from here.”
“Sisters?”
“Cousins.” She filled her spoon with baked beans. Talking with him was easy, too pleasant. She needed to tend the shield around her heart before he got the wrong impression.
“Were you raised here? Full disclosure—I asked my brother Linc about Cosgroves. He didn’t give many specifics.”
“Carla was raised here. The farm goes back in the family to the 1890s.”
“And you were raised…?”
She hid a laugh behind her napkin. “Everywhere. I’ve been in Crystal Springs three years. Longest time in my life without an address change. My dad… he’s career Air Force.”
“Explains the ‘everywhere’ response. Did you have a favorite place?”
After a moment, she shook her head. “Pros and cons to each of them. I did enjoy the year we spent living with Grandpa in the old house. But Dad was off in a war zone and Mother worried a lot.”
Silence settled over their table. Beth allowed her thoughts to dart back to that year on the farm. Fifth grade. First flute lessons. Exploring the old foundation near the spring with her younger brother.
“Pretty.”
She straightened at his odd remark. “Nothing pretty about my father being separated from his family.”
“I meant your necklace. It matches your eyes.”
“Oh! Birthstone. Topaz. Sweet sixteen gift from my parents.” She lifted the necklace from her moss-green tank top and rubbed a thumb on the smooth back of the teardrop pendant. It was a reminder of the one constant in her mobile childhood—family. No matter how large a mess she’d created, her parents, brother, and other close relatives worked to keep the larger world out of her business. She owed them an impossible debt.
“I’ll remember that.” He leaned back as the server brought his meal. “In your dog world, have you heard of Lakeside Kennels? Near Rhinelander?”
“Only by reputation. I believe their dog won champion at a recent show. I wasn’t in attendance. Why do you ask?” She studied his long, agile fingers as he set his oval dish of slaw to the side.
He squeezed a puddle of ketchup beside his fries and added a circle of mustard on the outside. “I have a puppy reserved with them. Pick him up next weekend. He’ll need to be socialized. Basic obedience class might be a good place to start, if you have one.”
“You don’t want to train him yourself?”
“Oh, I’ll be doing my share. And he’ll have the orchard dog, Cider, to keep him company when we’re all at work. First off I need him to be quiet and polite around the customers and visitors.”
“Sounds reasonable. I have a class starting in October and ending before Christmas. I don’t attempt any during tax season.” She piled her soiled napkins into the basket formerly filled with her dinner. Her gaze stalled on his hand as he dragged a fry through the condiments. Wonder how that tastes. She removed two bills from her wallet, enough to cover her meal and two beers. “You mentioned the orchard. I take it you’re the relative rumored to be moving in?”
“Linc is my older brother. He and Mona are just getting the orchard into production. Since it’s family, I agreed to help out as soon as I could find a steady job within a decent commute.”
“Living in the country will have some advantages. With the dog, for instance.”
He took a bite of fish, chewed, and swallowed. “It didn’t take long for Linc to convince me. Finding the second part, the paying job, that took a few months.”
“I enjoyed talking with you. But chores await.” Testing the Crystal Springs grapevine for truth, she spoke again. “One, no, two quick questions. Your job in Wagoner, the one you start Monday. What and where?”
He shook his head and looked up from his meal. “I’m amazed the local gossips were incomplete.”
“Believe it or not, a few of us don’t trust word-of-mouth. In case you’re not familiar with small towns, the information is often as trustworthy as social media.”
“I’m an attorney.” He confirmed the first rumor. “I’ll be working at White & White.”
Beth felt her blood drop from her face to her toes. Five law firms in the county seat and he had to work at that one? She fumbled her wallet back into her tote and pushed to her feet. White & White represented Double Goode Seed Company, the firm Big Cat Farm and a dozen other growers opposed in a class action suit. They held the financial future of all the cousins in a closed fist of delays and unacceptable offers.
She forced moisture into her mouth, swallowed, and tested speech. “I’ve got to go. Dog chores.”
* * *
By the time Jackson pushed back his chair and stood, the door closed behind Beth. What did I say? He sat again, his appetite gone as if she had slipped it in her tote bag.
He stared at the two business cards. Dogs had been a safe topic. Each of them had contributed full sentences to that portion of the conversation. He appreciated the information about Big Cat Farm. It sounded as if three talented women were putting a modern twist on farming. But at the end? She asked. I answered. Attorneys weren’t popular in a lot of circles, but the usual response was one of the millions of bad lawyer jokes—not a hurried escape.
He closed his eyes and recalled her image during the friendly portion of the conversation. Auburn hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Hazel eyes in an oval face. And the freckles. They decorated her skin like dew drops on morning grass. Her nose, cheeks, and shoulders wore liberal sprinkles of them. And she was on the tall side of average. He sighed.
The bell above the door jingled. Jackson opened his eyes and smiled at the new arrival. “Care to join me?”
“Looks occupied.” Daryl Frieberg pulled out the chair to Jackson’s immediate left.
“She’s gone.”
Daryl tapped one of the business cards. “Nice young lady. Be careful.”
Jackson leaned back and studied the family friend. Jackson had grown up looking forward to the stories, and music, shared during visits with his father’s childhood friend. The two former classmates remained best friends to this day, and Daryl fit into Jackson’s life like an extra uncle. “Not the advice I expected from you.”
“Another beer, sir?” the server addressed Jackson as she cleared Beth’s dishes.
“No thanks.”
“I’ll have my usual. Water. Fish. Triple portion of slaw.” Daryl unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt to just below the elbows.
“Going casual, I see. Where’s your sweetheart?” Jackson liked the older man, but preferred to deflect the attention away from himself at the moment. It was hazardous to give away too much during a conversation with t
he retired Secret Service agent.
Daryl glanced at his watch. “Wausau. Kathy’s presenting at a conference. By now, she should be in the final minutes of a section on the importance of multi-generational contact with dementia patients. If they’re on schedule.”
“Is business good?”
“Last month was busy. This one is starting out the same. Do you plan on sending me work?”
Jackson nodded. After retirement from the federal government, Daryl had opened a private investigations firm. “Mr. White told me to hire you as necessary. He complimented your ability to find witnesses for the criminal cases.”
“I thank him for the reference. Now tell me how you’re doing. Are you settled in up at the orchard?”
“Depends on your definition of settled.” He thought about the contents of his former Green Bay apartment still in boxes at the farmhouse. The plan was to confine most of his activity in the farmhouse to a portion of the upstairs, leaving two bedrooms available for guests. His brother and his wife used the downstairs bedroom and bath. “I’m functioning. Getting assignments from Mona for all the mechanical stuff. She’s a very organized woman. Keeps Linc on task.”
“When do they open to the public?”
“Last weekend in August. Saturday and Sunday from nine to sunset. Linc figures another three or four years before they’ll have enough crop to be open seven days.”
“Expect Kathy to be a regular. I’ve requested frequent pie during the season.”
“Still haven’t learned to cook?” Jackson teased. Daryl had a reputation for an absence of kitchen skills. It was one of the few areas in which he lacked expertise.
“No current need.” He thanked the server as she delivered his meal, but when she left, he leaned forward and dropped his voice from conversational to private. “The answer to your email question is ‘no.’”
“What email? I haven’t sent you a question for… weeks.” If he recalled, the topic that time had involved a detail of his move and had been answered promptly to his satisfaction.
