A Man's Heart

by Lori Copeland

  “A commitment. From you?”

  “From me. I’m capable of making commitments—when I’m sure they’re the right ones. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Cruz. I admit that. Because of my commitment phobia — or maybe because I want to please everyone, I let you get away. Twice. Do you think I don’t regret my decisions? Haven’t you made mistakes, ones you dearly long to take back but you can’t? I loved you with all my heart and soul. I hurt you badly, and I’m sorry. Now can we bury the past and deal with the present? I’m tired of ignoring the fact that we once cared very much for one another.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “How did we get on the subject of you and me?”

  “Because that’s what this is all about. You and me. It’s not the kids. If you didn’t feel so threatened by me, you would let me care for the children until you could. Or Adan could. Neither one of you are in the position to raise children.”

  “Because the farm is going down?”

  “Among other things. You don’t even date that I can tell.”

  “How do you know what I do?”

  “I don’t, but I hear talk.”

  “Yeah, well I hear talk too, and every man in town thinks he’s got an interest in you.”

  “In my magic potato! Not me.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  She snorted. “Between me and a potato? If I have to tell you that, you’re hopeless.” She opened her purse and rummaged until she came up with a white paper.

  “Take the irrigation. Save at least one field. I loved you. I was wrong. You were right to insist that we marry years ago. I was a fool. I regret my decision to serve Pop instead of you. I’m an idiot.” She paused. “Have I covered it all?”

  “I’m the only man you’ll ever love?” he suggested.

  “You are.” Her eyes softened. “You are the only man I ever have or ever will love. Poor me.” She slapped the paper in his hand and walked into the house and shut the door.

  He glanced down and his heart sank. The woman had just served him countersuit papers!

  Chapter 29

  Jules smelled it the moment she pulled into the farm lot. Something burnt-scorched. When she opened the kitchen door, smoke blinded her eyes. Crystal sat at the table working a puzzle with Ethan.

  “The house is on fire!”

  Glancing up, Crystal shook her head. “No, it isn’t. I’m baking a cherry pie and the filling ran over in the oven.” Smoke poured from the stove. “I was going to take it out, but I figured I might as well finish baking it since the oven’s already a mess.”

  Jules threw open a couple of windows. “You’ll have a terrible mess on your hands.”

  Her sister shrugged. “I’ll clean it up.”

  Heading for the bathroom and an aspirin, Jules called, “What’s the occasion?”

  “Lucille Miller isn’t feeling well, so I thought I’d take her a pie. Want to come with me?”

  “When are you going?”

  “After dinner.”

  After dinner. Jules dumped two aspirin in her hand, thinking about the long day in the fields she’d just put in. John Mackey had stopped by and before she knew it she’d accepted a date for Saturday night. Now second thoughts plagued her. John was okay, and she didn’t feel as though he was interested in her only because of her potato experiment. He was single and loving it, so a movie wasn’t threatening.

  You really need to tell people the experiment isn’t working out. That was pure fact. She’d yanked plants from the last tub last night. Nothing she tried worked. The first “perfect” potato was the last, and hopes for a vast fortune were evaporating as quickly as a rat down a rope.

  Lucille Miller’s house reminded Jules of a thrift store. Odd pieces of furniture littered the small structure, all well used. Lucille had a thirst for clothing. Racks upon racks filled the musty smelling front room, and if Jules guessed correctly, the rest of the house. There wasn’t a woman on earth who could wear that many clothes, certainly not Lucille, who was well up in her eighties. Jules noticed that since her last visit, tags now appeared on every piece of furniture.

  “A pie for me?” Lucille shook her snow white head, peering affectionately at Crystal over the rims of her glasses. “Well, if that isn’t just the sweetest thing.”

  “I know you love cherry pie,” Crystal said.

  “Oh, I do. And cherries are so good for my gout.”

  Nodding, Jules smiled. “I’ve heard that. What are all the tags on the furniture for?”

  “Those? They state who that particular piece goes to when I pass. I have everything labeled now, even my shoes and clothing.”

  Jules’s eyes scanned the racks and racks of thrift store purchases. “You’ve been quite busy.” She hadn’t meant to bring up a sensitive subject. Lucille was getting on in years.

  “Little Jules.” Lucille stood back admiring her. “You’ve turned into such a pretty woman, honey. If you’d only let that hair grow a bit …”

  Jules ran her hand through the close-cut mop. “It’s hot and dusty in the potato fields, Lucille. I have to wash my hair a couple of times a day.”

  Lucille nodded as though she understood, but Jules knew the red light wasn’t on.

  “I’ll make tea.” Lucille started for the kitchen.

  “I’ll make it,” Crystal offered. “You guys visit.”

  Over tea and cookies, the sisters visited with Lucille well over an hour before Olivia started rubbing her eyes, a sure sign she was fading fast. Clearing the dishes, Crystal disappeared into the kitchen and tidied up. Lucille brought out the family picture album of her two sons, their wives and her grandchildren. Jules dealt with a now fussy Olivia, who tried to physically launch herself out of Jules’s arms a couple of times.

  Returning from the kitchen, Crystal smiled. “All done.”

  “Thank you, dear. You’re just the sweetest thing. Did I tell you how much I enjoyed that last casserole you sent over?”

  “You did, Lucille. You sent me a nice thank you note.”

  “I did?” She chuckled. “Where is my mind?” She walked the women to the front door.

  “I hope you’re feeling much better soon.” Jules paused, switching Olivia to her opposite hip.

  “Been feeling a little poorly lately, but I guess a woman my age expects to have an ache or a pain every now and then.” She smiled. “Oh my! Before you go, Crystal, I have something I want to give you.”

  “Me?”

  Lucille grinned. “Come with me.”

  The sisters trailed the woman into a back, even mustier smelling, bedroom. Lucille switched on the overhead light, a single bare bulb. “I want you to have this.”

  Jules and Crystal peered over the woman’s shoulder at a bare mattress that had seen better days. Better eons. The thing must be as old as Lucille.

  “Oh … a mattress?” Crystal asked.

  Lucille stood back, beaming. “It’s been mine since I was a small child. When I married Gerald I stored the bedding in the spare bedroom. We naturally purchased our own, but this one—this is mine, and I want you to have it.”

  Crystal reached out to take the older woman’s hand. “Oh, Lucille, shouldn’t this go to your sons?”

  Lucille dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “My boys have all they’ll ever need. They’re doctors and lawyers, you know. Very well off.”

  “But your grandchildren …”

  “Even more wealthy. Both mothers and fathers are professionals. Very high income. No, I want you to have the mattress for the goodness you’ve shown me.”

  Jules felt a tinge of envy. She’d always been kind to Lucille, but Crystal had baked pies and casseroles, took a real interest in the older woman. She eyed the gift and her jealousy dissipated.

  With a grateful smile, Crystal said, “Thank you, Lucille. That is so kind of you.”

  “Glad I could do it, honey. You’ve been a real blessing in my life. Now.” The woman glanced at Olivia, who was now a twenty-pound dead weight on Jules
’s hip. “The tiny one needs to be in bed. Thank you so much for the pie. I’m sure I’ll dearly enjoy every bite.”

  On the way home, Jules glanced at Crystal and grinned. “Lucky dog.”

  Shrugging, Crystal returned the smile. “It was a lovely thought.”

  “What are you going to do with that hideous thing?” Jules could picture hauling the moth-eaten bedding to UPS to ship to Crystal in Florida when Lucille passed. It wasn’t worth the price of postage.

  “I don’t know,” Crystal confessed. “I know it’s Lucille’s treasure, but I don’t have anywhere to keep something like that.”

  “Well.” Jules made a left turn onto the highway. “Maybe she’ll change her mind and leave it to someone else. She’s not that old. She could live to be a hundred.”

  “Let’s hope,” Crystal agreed.

  At nine-thirty the following morning, a pick-up truck backed up to the back door and braked. Jules stepped out of the shed, shading her eyes to identify the new arrivals. Two men jumped out and released the tailgate.

  Jules approached, eying Lucille’s old mattress. “Can I help you?”

  “Got a delivery for Crystal Matias.” The man extended a clip pad.

  Jules eyed the moth-eaten gift. Oh, Lucille! “Ye gads. I thought she meant after she passed.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Nothing.” Jules signed for delivery. “Just prop it against the living room wall until I can find a place to put it.”

  What was a ratty old mattress compared to a zillion Tin-kertoys scattered about.

  “Thank goodness I didn’t bake the cherry pie,” she murmured.

  Chapter 30

  The crowded movie complex provided limited parking. John and Jules walked a couple of blocks and John purchased tickets. Inside the cool lobby, the smell of popcorn tempted Jules. Though she’d just eaten a large dinner, when John asked if she wanted a drink and some popcorn, she didn’t refuse.

  Both agreed that Clint Eastwood had never been better when they emerged later. Overheard conversations in the teeming lobby all seemed to support the actor’s performance. When they stepped outside, a light rain fell. Jules glanced up, praying for a deluge. Tomorrow, she’d be forced to switch the pivot heads back to her fields. She supposed, though it was a lot of work and manpower, they’d share the irrigation system until harvest, which was coming up.

  “I never thought to bring an umbrella.”

  John grinned, opening his jacket to shield her. “I’ll protect you.”

  Ducking beneath the light wind-breaker, Jules laughed as they started off and bumped smack into another couple. When she looked up, her heart sank. Cruz and Midge Parker. She’d nearly bowled them off their feet.

  “Sorry,” she murmured.

  “Cruz, ole man!” John slapped the neighbor on his back.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Couldn’t be better. How about you, John?”

  “Could use a week of this rain.”

  Nodding, Cruz’s dark eyes fixed on Jules. “That would be a real blessing.”

  “Hi, Jules.”

  “Hi, Midge. Have you been out of town this summer?”

  “I’ve been back east to visit my grandmother for a few weeks. How about you? I’m so sorry to hear about Pop.”

  “Thanks. I’m fine. Crystal’s here, helping me run the farm.”

  Midge’s features softened. “I’m so sorry about Sophie. I know how close you two were.”

  “Thanks.” Jules blinked back sudden tears, avoiding Cruz’s eyes. Well, obviously he was dating now. Trolling for a mother for Sophie’s children — at her suggestion.

  “Guess we’ll forge ahead.” John reached for Jules’s hand, opening his jacket shield wider. “See you around!”

  “Yeah.” Cruz draped his arm around Midge’s trim waist. “See you around.”

  Jules fixed on the natural gesture and struggled to keep from outright crying.

  Later, she entered the kitchen door and tripped over a fire truck. Catching her fall, she picked up the toy and slammed the door shut.

  Crystal bolted off the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I have a splitting headache.”

  “Another one? You should get those checked out. That’s the third one this week. Maybe you need glasses.” Crystal sank back to the sofa and Jules noticed Adan, eating popcorn, his stocking feet propped all comfy on the coffee table. The perfect family portrait.

  “Hey, Adan.”

  “Hey, Jules. Good movie?”

  “Terrific.” Now Adan was trolling? For Crystal. Sophie, I hope you’re happy! You’re up there walking streets of gold, but down here you’ve started a stinkin’ matrimonial war!

  Edging past Lucille’s ratty old mattress, Jules went in search of the Bayer. Somewhere between May and now, she’d lost control of her life.

  Chapter 31

  The battle for temporary custody had only begun. Two could play this game, Jules decided, when she bumped into Cruz literally everywhere she went the following week. The brief conversations went this way:

  “Hi, Carol.”

  “Hi, Jules. What’s happening?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We need to have lunch and catch up.”

  “Let’s—as soon as harvest’s over.”

  “Hey, Cruz.”

  “Rick. How’s it going?

  “Holly. You’re looking great!”

  “Hey, Jules. It’s been ages.”

  Jake nodded. “Cruz.”

  By week two of one-up’s-man, Jules was exhausted. Her body couldn’t take this grueling dating regimen. She longed to stay home and curl up with a hot water bottle, but instead she was out most nights on dates she didn’t want to be on. She couldn’t keep teenage hours and work in the fields too. Something had to give, but it wasn’t going to be her. If Cruz thought he was getting on her nerves by taking her friendly advice to date, then he was sadly mistaken. She poured a cup of stiff black coffee and mashed the lid into place. There were plenty of men in her life. True, most wanted her potato — and there was no magic plant; still, they didn’t know that, and if they were dating her solely for mercenary reasons, then shame on them.

  Shame on everybody.

  She glanced up, thinking she heard God’s booming voice chastising her for the childish game. Marriage wasn’t a game; it was a serious proposition, one Jules would never take lightly and she prayed Cruz felt the same. Of course he felt the same; he was a good, decent man. She was the one turning him into a basket case.

  Tilting her head to see if God had anything further to add, she was met with silence. Shaking her head, she walked out of the door.

  Chapter 32

  Blue Bayou began harvest anywhere around July fourth until late October; today was the last day of August. Ten days prior to sending the big, complicated machines to dig potatoes out of the ground and separate them from other plant material, dirt and rocks, the workers had to be gentle enough to prevent bruising. Bruised potatoes would inevitably occur, so those were left in the field to cure.

  Today the killing process began. Two fields would be sprayed with special chemicals that would kill the leaves and stems, and potatoes would be left in the ground for at least twelve days before harvest, allowing time for the skins to thicken. Thicker skins help to prevent infectious diseases, which can destroy thousands of tons of stored potatoes.

  Jules spent the morning in the east field spraying. The big machine sent rivets of killing spray over the mature plants. She loved this time of year, when the proof of the long summer was tangible, when she could hold a large, thick skinned Russet in her hand and see the evidence of hard work.

  Thank you, God, that I could help Cruz salvage one field.

  The yield will keep him going another year, and I’m thankful that I had the machinery to help.

  If Pop were alive, he would be grinning today. The crop looked to be the best ever. If profits were as high as she thought, she could buy a new irrigation a
nd a laser-guided planter next year; a tractor that navigated fields using satellites, and irrigation that would deliver exactly the needed amount of water.

  She stopped at noon and went to the house to refill her water thermos. Crystal was working in the garden, wearing a large brim hat, looking the picture of domesticity. The children played nearby with a batch of new kittens. It hit Jules that Crystal would make some man a very good wife. She took to motherhood and home life like a moth to a flame. When her sister saw her, she smiled and waved, propping the hoe on a tomato stake. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Just stopped by to refill my water jug.”

  “I thought about coming to the field to find you, but the kids are so content.”

  Jules turned on the hose, took a long drink, and then doused her head. “What’s up?”

  “Lucille passed away this morning.”

  Jules let the hose dangle. “She did?”

  “They found her in her chair. She must have passed away sometime during the night.”

  Jules sighed. “That’s the way I want to go.” She thought of Sophie and the indignity and suffering she’d endured.

  “Me too. It’s sad. I’ll miss her.”

  “She lived a good long life.” Jules started into the house and then turned back. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but now that Lucille’s gone, can you get rid of that old mattress? We honestly don’t have anywhere to keep it, and it’s an eyesore sitting in the living room.”

  “Oh.” Crystal’s expression drooped. “Poor Lucille. She had that mattress most all of her life.”

  Jules knew the selfish request came too soon, but she’d stumbled over that bedding long enough. “I know she treasured it, but she’s gone now. Call the junk man and have him haul it to the dump.”

  Crystal nodded. “Of course. It is in the way.”

  Pausing beside the kitchen door, Jules softened. “Lucille will never know — and it’s useless.”

  Nodding, Crystal reached for the hoe. “Often it is the least valued thing in life that brings the most happiness.”