Welcome Back

by Lin Stepp

  She tried to hold back a grin. He looked so serious in offering it to her. “Another calico, I’m presuming.”

  “Mary Beth found it on the porch of the country store when she started locking up to go home. We have no idea who left it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She’d have brought it up to you herself, but she had to get the boys bathed and ready for bed.”

  “Well, bring it on inside.” She opened the door.

  John stalked in and put the basket down on the couch. “I’m sorry, Lydia. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought another kitten, but I didn’t know what else to do with her right now.”

  Lydia sat down on the couch, opened the basket, and scooped out another calico kitten, this one predominantly white with black and gold markings. “She looks about the same age and size as the other kitten, but with more white coloring and shorter hair.”

  “I’m really sorry about this,” he apologized again. “It’s not much of a welcome to get dumped with two kittens the first night you arrive. Manu can take them both to the shelter tomorrow if you don’t want to keep them. Or Mary Beth said she might put them in a big box on the porch of the store with a “Free” sign on the box.”

  “Stop worrying, John. I don’t mind having two kittens here in the country.” A smile twitched at her lips. “But if any more show up, don’t you dare haul them up here.”

  He grinned at her. “We’re putting out the word tomorrow around town that you’ve been doubly welcomed with calico cats and not to drop more off.” John rubbed a hand behind his neck. “Surely there can’t be more than two in the valley, anyway. The coloring isn’t that common.”

  “Let’s see if they’ll get acquainted.” She stood up to look for Trudi, who had scampered out of the room when John knocked on the door.

  Retrieving the small cat from the kitchen, she brought it back to sniff the newcomer. After a little hissing and checking each other out, they began to play together, batting at the tassels on a throw pillow.

  “Looks like they’re going to accept each other with no trouble.” She smiled, watching them tumble off the couch and chase across the floor. “I think I’ll name our newcomer Ava. Trudi and Ava. How do you like those names, John?” She turned from watching the kittens to see his eyes sliding over her.

  “My Lord, you need to put some clothes on, Lydia Ruth.”

  Lydia looked down at herself in surprise. “It’s just a nightdress, and it hangs past my knees.”

  He swallowed. “Well, it’s thin . . . and in the light, well . . .” He swallowed again, not finishing the thought.

  “In the light what?” Lydia watched his discomfort with a small sense of wonder welling up inside her.

  He hesitated, his eyes moving up and down her, making her shiver. “It’s revealing,” he said at last. “Especially with the light behind you.”

  She moved slightly out of the lamplight. “John, we’ve been married twenty-eight years and lived together for eighteen of them. You’ve certainly seen me in clothing much skimpier than this nightdress.” She smiled. “In fact, often in much, much less. I can’t remember you having a problem with it before.”

  He walked closer to her. “Then I was a danged fool.”

  He lifted his hands to touch her hair and then traced them gently down the sides of her arms and around to drift behind her back to draw her against him. “I had no idea what I had, Lydia, when you were in my life. I’m so sorry I let my affection for you slip away, that I didn’t find a way to let you know every day how precious you were to me. How beautiful. To let you know you light up my days with your voice, your smile, your loving ways.”

  John pressed his face against her neck. “Even remembering the scent of you haunted my dreams these past years.”

  She put her hands against his chest, pushing him away from her as his hands began to explore more intimately. “This is too soon for me.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “We’ve been apart for ten years. There are so many things we need to talk about, resolve, and work out between us before we can consider being a couple again.”

  “Why?” He let his fingertips skim down her arms. “Why let another hour, another minute go to waste when we don’t have to? Who knows what might happen tomorrow and what we might regret in not savoring this minute right now?”

  She sighed and leaned against him. “Oh, John. You always could be a sweet-tongued, romantic man when you wanted to be. I’d forgotten.”

  He found her lips then, kissing her, the passion rising between them. “Let me remind you of even more good things.”

  Lydia put a hand to his face, stepping back slightly in his embrace. “Of all the things I expected when I saw you again, this was not one of the things I thought would happen.”

  “What did you expect?” He kissed her nose.

  “Arguments. Awkwardness. Quarreling. Angry looks. Stony silences. Recriminations. Maybe hurt.” She bit her lip. “I was afraid of more hurt.”

  His eyes grew pained. “I’m sorry there was so much of that. So much hurt and disappointment. So many misunderstandings. So many problems with . . .” His voice dropped away.

  “So many problems with your mother?” she finished for him.

  “Yes.” He didn’t say more.

  Her mouth tightened. “We need to talk about that some time. We need to talk about a lot of things.”

  “Or let it all be in the past.” He buried his lips in her hair, moving them around to kiss her ear.

  A shiver ran over her. “That was one of our problems, John—that you didn’t ever want to talk things through. You always wanted to deal with problems tomorrow, some other time. Or pretend they weren’t of any importance or weren’t there at all.”

  He shifted away from her, glancing down. “Too much talking has a way of putting a damper on things.”

  She followed his glance. “It’s just as well. I’m not ready for more between us yet.”

  He backed away. “Then put some more clothes on, would you?” His voice sounded cross now.

  Lydia watched him. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home.” She walked over to the door. “You brought the cat and it’s late. I need to get some rest.”

  He stalked toward the door and then stopped, turning back toward her. She heard him sigh deeply. “I meant the things I said earlier, Lydia.”

  She put a hand to his face. “I could feel that, and I’m touched and pleased,” she admitted. “Thank you.”

  His eyes searched her face. “Have you thought of me over the years?”

  “I think this may not be the best time to get into that, John.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, feeling suddenly modest.

  He followed her gesture. “Is there someone else?”

  Lydia shook her head. “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into a relationship with you, or with anyone, without giving it time and thought.”

  She watched him consider that. Then he turned to start out the door without giving another reply.

  However, before walking down the steps of the porch, he turned. “Mary Beth and Ela hope you might come down to the house tomorrow. They’d like to make dinner for you if that would be all right.”

  A chill slipped up Lydia’s spine at the thought of entering Main House again, of facing the ghosts of so many bad memories.

  John glanced toward the sign on the porch rail. “The boys, Bucky and Billy Ray, are real excited about it.”

  He knew the trump card to throw in the pile, she thought. “Of course I’ll come.” She offered a careful smile.

  “It will be all right, Lydia,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “That was then and this is now. Think of it like the scripture—‘Old things are passed away; behold, all things are new.’ ”

  “Slightly out of context, but we’ll see,” she said, shutting the door. “We’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Every day moved at an active pace on a working farm. Today, as a favor to his friend Neal Caldwell, John walked around his orchards with
a young farmer, Tom Kilgore, who planned to add apple trees to his property.

  As the boy walked ahead of them to look at a row of trees beginning to fruit, Neal said, “I appreciate your time, John. Tom is a nice kid and trying hard to give his family farm a future. There are some old apple trees on the back property of his place but he’d like to plant more.”

  Neal, an agriculture and forestry agent for the Haywood County Extension Office, often advised and worked with young farmers. He also lived on the neighboring property and had grown up with John’s sons.

  The boy turned to John. “How many varieties do you have at Cunningham Farm?”

  “We have thirty varieties now but focus on twenty-five main ones. Five are experimentals I’m working with to see how they’ll produce. I like finding the old Appalachian varieties and cultivating them.” He gestured to the rows ahead. “Here, you’ll see some of our oldest trees on the farm. We call this area the Lower Orchards and above the flat barn and greenhouse you see on the slope above us are the Upper Orchards. To the west end of the property lie the Side Orchards. We have three orchards on this farm. I understand from Neal that you have some apple rows on your land already. Neal can help you determine where you might want to cultivate more in the future.”

  The men walked along between the rows of apple trees as they talked. “Apple trees can grow to thirty feet tall and fifteen feet wide with a growth of eight to twelve feet per year. They require rich soil, good drainage, and full sun.” John stopped to pull down a leafy branch for Tom to examine. “This is a strong, healthy tree, trained to a productive shape as it grew, by cutting, trimming, and tying off, to bear the best fruit possible.”

  Neal jumped into the conversation. “Nearly all domestic fruit trees today are grafted trees. I can help you learn the methods for that when we examine your own trees more carefully. John does some of his grafting directly in the field and some in the greenhouse.”

  “How do you know the best area on your land for apples?” Tom asked John.

  “Rolling hills and south slopes, like you see here, make an ideal location for apples.” John gestured to the land rising upward with each row of trees. “You should never plant apple trees in a low-lying area that’s a frost pocket. It can kill the blossoms or fruit as cold air settles around the trees. Choose a high site so cold air will flow away from and downhill from the trees. Good air drainage is critical.”

  Neal reached down to pick up a handful of soil from around one of the trees. “Apple trees will tolerate a wide range of soils as long as the pH is adequate and the nutrients are not too limited. You can add nutrients as needed by testing the soil.”

  John grinned. “Neal can do that for you as your county agent.”

  “I can,” Neal agreed. “I can also recommend fertilizers. Established plants benefit from fertilization every few years. A soil test can show the nutrient levels in the soil, but it’s smart to use leaf mulch or compost instead of store-bought fertilizers as much as you can—especially in the blooming season.”

  Tom looked up at the rolling hillsides of the farm. “How big is your place here?”

  “About two miles across and three miles up to the park boundary. Nearly thirty-eight hundred acres, but only the lower half of the farm sits at the right elevation for the orchards. The upper land is too mountainous and the air too cold.”

  “You have a hunting lodge and rental cabins up there, don’t you?”

  “Yes. We try to find ways to use all our land productively,” John answered. “We even have a winter tube run on the Upper Farm Road. We grow pumpkins, vegetables, have some pecan trees, berry bushes, and grape rows. We even make a Cunningham wine in our wine house. Everything is an opportunity for income. I don’t like my livelihood overly tied up in only one enterprise.”

  John sighed. “You can have some real disappointments farming, Son. I guess you already know that growing up on your family’s land.”

  As the boy asked more questions of Neal, John glanced up the road to see Lydia walking across the avenue from the Manager’s House. His heart kicked up a notch at the sight of her.

  “Excuse me,” he said, turning to Neal and Tom. “I have something I need to take care of.”

  “I can see that.” Neal grinned and punched him on the arm. “I’ll finish taking Tom around the farm. Thanks for your time, John.”

  Tom stuck out a hand. “Yes, thank you, sir.”

  John shook the boy’s hand and then started up the road at a quick pace. He headed Lydia off as she stopped by the road to prop her arms on the fence beside the big vegetable garden.

  She looked up and smiled at him as he drew closer. “I’d forgotten how wonderful a vegetable garden looks in early June when everything is leafing out.”

  John reached under the fence to pluck off a ripe strawberry to hand to her. “The strawberries are in. You can come down and pick all you like. I remember you like them.”

  She smiled, popping the plump berry into her mouth.

  “We’ve got potatoes, zucchini, and summer squash coming in now. Pole beans and limas, too.” He propped a booted foot on the fence. “The corn rows are looking good but won’t be ready ’til July.”

  Lydia reached under the fence to pick a few more strawberries.

  “You can take a bucket and find blackberries on the upper property now, Lydia. You should remember where. Cherries are already ripe on those old trees near the lodge, too, and blueberries will be along later in the month. Help yourself anytime. There’s always plenty.”

  John studied her while she enjoyed the strawberries, licking the juice off her fingers. She had her thick copper hair pinned up in some sort of clasp today but, as usual, it drifted around her face and down her neck with a will of its own. It made him itch to put his fingers in it. He could see some of her legs today, too, since she wore those cutoff slacks women favored now. She had on another T-shirt, too, but wore a sheer, sleeveless orange tunic over it in the color of ripe pumpkins. And she wore orange tennis shoes.

  He snickered.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “The shoes. You’ve always had more colorful shoes than any woman I’ve ever known.”

  She raised her chin defensively. “I got them at a seventy-five-percent-off clearance sale. They weren’t an extravagance.”

  He winced. “I wasn’t criticizing—just remembering with fondness.”

  “Oh.” She shifted her eyes away from his, a slight blush touching her cheeks.

  “Did you walk over?” he asked.

  She laughed. “No, I drove. Had some visiting to do. But when I went to Manager’s House to see the Sheppards, and to visit Ozetta and Doris, Clyde decided to examine my car.” Lydia spread her hands expressively. “He said I needed new spark plugs. Soon he had the hood up, already working, so of course I had to leave the car with him.”

  “Of course.” John laughed with her. “I’ll bet Clyde got real excited about checking out that Mustang.”

  “He did.” Lydia nodded. “I got to see Sam, too, for a few minutes before I went in to chat with Ozetta and Doris—and got to thank them for the pie and food they sent up.” She paused. “Sam hasn’t changed a bit. I swear, I think that John Deere cap he had on was the same one he wore ten years ago.”

  “Naw. It’s a new one.” He grinned. “Sam just roughs them up quick.”

  “I was trying to remember how long the Sheppards have lived on Cunningham Farm.”

  “Since before my time.” He reached over to pick up a stick, turning it in his hand as he answered her. “Sam and I grew up together, you know. He’s managing the farm now with his son Charlie’s help. Sam’s dad, Eugene, managed the farm before Sam—still works on the farm even in his eighties—and Eugene’s father managed the farm before that. I don’t remember him. He worked for my great-grandparents.”

  “They’re all wonderful people.” She leaned against the fence rail. “I like all the Sheppards, and I was glad to learn you renovated Ridge House, the o
ld farmhouse above the Upper Orchards, for Sam’s son Charlie, his wife, and their family.”

  “Did you see Charlie and his wife, Nevelyn, yet?”

  “Yes, and I visited with Ela and Manu. Met Harley.” She paused, wrinkling her nose. “Where’d that yellow dog get the name Harley?”

  “Manu found the mutt as a pup alongside the road during one of the annual Harley motorcycle festivals in the valley. Dog must have felt frightened by the cycles. Barks at every motorcycle that comes around.”

  “Thus the name.” Lydia grinned, propping a foot on the fence beside John’s. “That’s a cute story.”

  John liked the look of their feet side by side on the fence again.

  “Who were you talking to down at the Lower Orchards?” she asked.

  “That was Neal Caldwell and a young farmer from over near Waynesville.”

  Lydia’s eyes brightened. “That was Neal? I didn’t know he’d come back to the valley. Last I remember, he’d moved to Columbia, South Carolina, and got married there.”

  “Neal’s the new agriculture and forestry agent for the Haywood County Extension Office. He came back two years ago and is living with his dad right now—good company to Burgin, who’s lived there all alone since his boy Dean married and moved out.”

  He paused. “Neal’s marriage, I understand, proved short-lived. A girl in the military, stationed at Fort Jackson. She quickly regretted settling down, divorced him, and moved on before they’d been married two years.”

  “I’m sorry. I always loved Neal.”

  He leaned companionably against her. “He loved you, too. You practically raised him after his mother died when he turned seven.”

  “I remember that as a hard time for him—and for his brother and his father.” She turned her eyes to look at John. “Has Burgin ever remarried?”

  John shook his head. “No, he can’t get past the memory of Nadine—even though a number of eligible woman have chased after him.”

  “Does he still own the hardware store?”

  John grinned. “Yes. Caldwell’s Hardware is an institution around here. Burgin’s there every day and Dean works in the business now, too.”