by Cathryn Fox
He stumbles backward, like someone just sucker punched him. “What the fuck?”
I snort, unladylike, I know. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“This is what you find funny?”
He shakes his head and rakes his hand through his hair, like he’s trying to wrap his brain around all this. I should be doing the same, but with him distracted, I take a moment to admire his body in those loose jeans and T-shirt, instead. I resist the urge to slurp, because yeah, the guy cleans up nice.
Is that pie? Mmmm…
“Are you related to Reid?” he asks.
“Reid is my last name,” I say.
“You own this farm?” he asks.
I hold my hand out. “I’m your new neighbor.”
“I… You… Wait, how do you know I’m your neighbor?”
“A lovely lady named Barbara stopped by when I first arrived. She said she’d send her son over with pie. You’re here, holding a pie. I can put things together like that.” I have no idea why I’m so calm, because honestly, my insides are slamming around like they’re on the dance floor, rapping to Drake.
“You own this place,” he says, a statement, not a question, as he shakes his head.
I turn from him and take in the barn/market, the rows and rows of apple trees on the hill, the petting zoo, and the old farmhouse I just explored.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
I spin back around. “When would I have done that, when you were yelling at me before we landed in the ocean, or when you were yelling at me after we were fished out? Oh, maybe I should have mentioned it right after you told me you were looking at me in my underwear, when you weren’t supposed to be.”
He swallows so loudly, it nearly drowns out the cow mooing in the distance.
I have a cow?
“I… Ah, yeah. Um, pie.” He holds it out to me, but his eyes aren’t on mine anymore. No, they’re raking down my body, taking in the oversized shirt I’m wearing. “Welcome to Matthews Orchard.”
“Did you know my uncle?” I ask, and his gaze darts back to mine.
“Yes. Very well.”
Something inside me softens. “I never knew him.” I wave my hand around. “I never even knew about this place until a lawyer called me out of the blue.”
“I never even knew Jack had any family until the reading of the will.”
I hold my arm out for the pie, but the movement lifts the shirt high on my thighs. I guess it doesn’t much matter. This man has seen me in my underwear. More importantly, I’ve seen him in his. “Pie.”
He holds it, like he’s reluctant to hand it over. “Do you know anything…”
Ah, there it is!
The question of the century. The one I’ve been waiting for. Jay knows I’m out of my element as much as I do, and it was only a matter of time before he questioned my abilities. “Do I know anything about what?”
He scratches his head. “Anything about running an orchard?”
I take a minute to compose myself. I hate admitting that I don’t know a lot of anything about anything. “Not as of right now, no,” I say.
His face is blank, expressionless, and then he laughs, like I cracked a joke.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, squaring my shoulders and placing a hand on my hip. This time, with my limbs thawed, it doesn’t take effort and hopefully gives the “screw you” look I’m going for.
“Come on, you don’t think you can just move here from…” He pauses, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“New York,” I say, starching my back.
“New York,” he repeats, “and just take over an orchard with no experience?”
I exhale. Is there any point in arguing any of this with him? He’s right. I know nothing. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do my damnedest, give my heart and soul to this place for at least a month—or die trying. It’s not just my parents I have something to prove to, it’s myself…but… “No, I guess I don’t. I suppose you think I’ll be lucky to make it through the night,” I say.
“I didn’t say that…exactly.”
I bite back a laugh. He didn’t have to. “You’re probably right, though,” I say, letting him believe what he wants, but I’m sure going to love his astonishment when I prove him and everyone else wrong—including myself—and stay for at least a month. “I realize you think I don’t belong here.”
“Do you think you do?”
I glance around, and my shoulders sag. I might not belong here, but here is where I plan to stay. At least for the next thirty days. I’ll have to figure out life after that. But for now…
Reading my defeated body language, Jay snaps his fingers. “Listen, I know a buyer. He’ll take the farm off your hands like this, and you can go back to New York and do whatever it is you do.”
“A man from down yonder,” I say, using Charlie Miller’s words. “He stopped by earlier and offered me a number already.”
He frowns at me. “Charlie was at your door already?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Stay away from him. He’s not a good guy.”
“He seemed fine.” I turn my attention elsewhere, wanting to change the subject. “There are a lot of animals on this farm. I take it you’ve been caring for them.”
“With the help of my brothers.”
“I really appreciate it.”
An SUV pulls into the driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel, and we both turn.
“Looks like you have your first customers. Jack always opened the market on the first Saturday of July.”
“And of course, that would be today,” I say. “My day is getting better and better.”
“I stocked it last week. I wanted to get things ready for the new owner.”
“I didn’t know Uncle Jack, but I’m glad he had people he could count on. Thank you for that.”
One shoulder rolls, like he’s shrugging off the compliment, and I get the sense he doesn’t like the praise. “Customer,” he reminds me with a nod of his head.
“I guess I should open it up then?”
“You don’t have to.”
“There are customers, and I might as well make myself useful while I’m still here, right?” I purse my lips and steal a glance at the closed double barn doors. “Um, do you know where the key is?”
“Your uncle kept one in the house, but honestly, he never locked the doors to the market or the main house.”
My jaw drops. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
He laughs. “You’re in rural Nova Scotia, Alyson. A long way from New York. Most folks don’t lock their doors.”
“I’ll be locking mine.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs one broad shoulder. “But I have a key; Jack gave me one in case of an emergency.”
“I’d like that back, please.” It’s not that I don’t trust him… Okay, maybe it is. I don’t trust those I don’t know. Heck, I don’t trust half the people I do know.
“It’s yours. I’ll bring it over tomorrow.” He slides another glance at the SUV as the doors yawn open. “Well, I’ll leave you to your first customers,” he says and finally holds the pie out.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
I am so screwed.
Ask him for help.
As kids pile from the car and run to the playground area, I open my mouth and shut it again. I have such a hard time asking for help. I hate exposing my weaknesses. But would anyone really expect me to suddenly operate a working farm and market with no experience? Jay here certainly wouldn’t. He just told me that.
I make a move for the pie, but he backs up an inch.
“I could do it for you,” he offers. “I mean, I’m sure you’re more than capable, but the credit card machine is anci
ent.”
“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
Christ, girl, accept his offer already.
“I don’t mind putting out,” he says and when he drags his front teeth over his bottom lip, my pulse jumps. Holy… Is he still talking about helping in the market, or something else altogether?
Damned if I don’t want it to be both.
No, no, no, I don’t. I am not looking for any sort of relationship. I need to find myself before I find myself with someone else. I can’t lose focus on my goals.
“Well, if you insist.”
His soft chuckle wraps around me, and I hate it. Hate that he knows I’m vulnerable, but I appreciate his help, nonetheless.
“Thanks for the pie,” I say and step toward him, but my damn heel has a different plan for me. It sinks into the mud, and I fall forward, face-planting on the wet ground before Jay’s boots.
Well, this has been fun…
Chapter Four
Jay
After helping Alyson up from the muddy ground, I lead her inside the market and wet a few paper towels from the kitchen area so she can clean herself off. She wipes her face then catalogs the market as her first customers of the season enter. They browse the produce as I browse Alyson in her muddy high heels and even muddier shirt. What the hell is she doing in Jack’s clothes anyway?
Wait! Is that really the first question I’m asking myself?
Since I can only focus on one thing at a time—I’m a guy, after all—and her sexy legs are sleek and bare, they’re dragging my concentration, despite the fact that there are a billion other questions bouncing around in the back of my brain. Namely, Jack had a niece? He never talked about family, and at times, he seemed so lonely. Why hadn’t he reached out to her before now, and what the hell was he thinking, leaving the place to her?
As if feeling my eyes on her, she lifts her head and gives me a somewhat shaky smile. It lights her blue eyes, and while my body takes notice, my goddamn stomach tightens at the vulnerability she’s trying to hide. If she knew what was good for her, she’d up and leave right now—but I suspect she’ll wait until morning. I can’t think of any reason why she would want to stay.
“Thanks for helping.” She waves her arms around. “Where does all this stuff come from?”
“The apples are last year’s crop. We, and by we, I mean, you, still have some produce in cold storage. I can show you that later if you like.” I wave my hand toward the back of the orchard. “Out back, Jack has an extensive vegetable garden, and he also purchases a lot of produce from my farm. He bags them and sells them here, and the craft stuff, like the sweaters, gloves, and mugs, and artwork, are here on consignment from local artists.”
“Amazing.” She goes quiet as the customers approach the counter, and I ring in their order. After they pay and leave, she says, “You don’t run a market?”
“No, but I have a U-Pick in the works. I’m waiting on the right permits. Insurance for people on the property and all that.” I reach under the counter and produce a folder. “Your paperwork is all here, for when you sell.”
“Oh, thanks. I guess that’s pretty important. You know, for when I sell.” She steps toward me, and while she’s trying to portray confidence and composure, there is a tightness in her shoulders that once again stirs my gut. She’s a nice girl, cares about tourists and animals, and I wish I could tell her everything will be all right. It won’t be, and I’m not about to give her false hope. I don’t want to see the farm sell to Bryce Kent, the local who’s been itching to buy it. Jack never really liked the man, and I only mentioned I knew a buyer simply because I think Jack would rather the farm succeed than see it run into the ground by a relative who is outside her comfort zone. She has no chance of success, and she pretty much told me she knew it.
“How… I mean, are people hired to take care of the trees and sprays and things?”
“Sprays and things?” I ask.
“Yeah, you know, like pruning, fertilizing, harvesting.” She waves her phone. “Google search.”
“Yes, Jack hires seasonal workers. The spring pruning has been taken care of; fall pruning will need to be done; trees have to be checked for disease and rot; and harvest is September to October. Jack sells his good apples to local grocery stores, the fallen ones to the juice makers. He hires pickers in the fall. All the information is in this file, but you won’t have to worry about that.”
Her body tightens, a sure sign that she’s overwhelmed by all this. “Right. Still, I’m interested in how things work.” She tilts her head. “Do those tractors out back have a manual I can read?”
“Yeah, I can probably find them.”
“I know nothing about this, but how hard can it be to run a farm, anyway?” she asks, making light of what we do in farm country, which seriously pisses me off.
I clench down on my teeth at her naïveté, her ignorance, her goddamn judgment. Really, though, did I expect anything more? I get it. City folk, especially ones who come from wealth, will always look at us hardworking farmers as dim-witted rednecks. They have no idea how hard we work or how much we care about the food that goes into their mouths.
She falters a little when I go silent. “Wait, I never meant—”
“Is that what you plan to wear on your feet while you’re here?” I ask and cut her off. I’m in no mood to defend what I do here or explain how important it is to me for people to buy local to make farming profitable and sustainable for our entire community. Instead, I let my gaze slide downward. When I realize I’m lingering a little too long on her pink-painted toenails, I jerk my head up. Dark lashes blink over wary eyes, and damn if I don’t get the sense that this girl needs a friend. I’m not sure why that twists me up inside.
“The airline lost my luggage, but I have to confess, I don’t have anything appropriate for farming. Do, uh, do you know where can I get proper footwear and attire?”
I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Down on Main Street. But it’s closed right now. Definitely not the kind of clothes you’re used to. Maybe you should just make use of Jack’s things for the next couple days.”
She frowns, and her shoulders drop. “I know you think I’m ridiculous.”
“I never said that.”
She opens her mouth like she’s about to counter but instead tugs on the collar of her shirt. Worried blue eyes search my face. “So you don’t think Jack would mind that I borrowed this?”
My insides soften at her concern for her late uncle. “He wouldn’t have minded at all. He would have liked it actually.”
She hesitates for a brief second. What other worries are going through that pretty head of hers? Probably a ton. She’s in quite the predicament, and I probably shouldn’t get too involved in her world. She’ll be gone sooner rather than later. Yeah, it’s best I keep at arm’s length while she’s here. My mother has other ideas for me—obviously. I get what she was doing with the pie—but I’ll straighten her out on that the second I see her.
She points to the small kitchen and big farmhouse table in the other room. “What’s all this for?”
“Jack made jams and preserves, as well as lunches for the visitors. He hired a local to help him in the kitchen when things were busy.” Lines form around her mouth and tighten as she looks downward. I get it: cooking isn’t in her wheelhouse, either. I pat the file. “Her contact information is in this file if you want to reach out to her.”
“I should probably be okay.” A forced laugh catches in her throat as she holds up her phone like it’s her lifeline, and I suspect it is. “Google.”
She might be a lot of things—everything about her screams pampered socialite, and I know the type all too well—but she’s tenacious and has a kind heart. But farming is hard work, and something tells me this city girl wouldn’t know a day’s labor if it jumped up and smacked her in the face. If that’s not enough to drive her awa
y by the end of the week, she’s a city girl—like my ex-fiancée. Juanita lasted all of four weeks.
“You, ah, want to stay and have a piece of pie?” she asks.
“My brother’s birthday was today, and I already had a slice, but thanks.”
Her lids lift, her eyes brightening. “You have a brother?”
“Two. Tyler and Beck. I’m sure they’ll be around later to annoy you.” She grins. “You have siblings?” I ask.
“No, it’s just me. I always wanted siblings, though. But it wasn’t in the cards.”
“You can have mine, they’re a huge pain in my ass.” She laughs at that, and I step out from behind the counter. I shove my hands into my pockets. “You want me to show you around Jack’s place before I go?” I’ll always think of it as Jack’s place. I can’t think of it as Alyson’s place if she’s not staying.
She takes one last look around the barn. “Sure, why not?”
I lift my hand and gesture for her to follow. “Come on.”
I shut the double doors on the barn, and we make our way to the play area.
“You already met my rooster, Cluck. I’ll have a talk with him about bothering you.”
“You’ll have a talk with him?” A grin plays with the corners of her mouth. “What are you, the rooster whisperer?”
I roll my eyes and feign insult. “I’ll have you know my talents aren’t just limited to roosters.”
“I can believe that,” she says. “You can probably charm the eggs from a chicken.”
I wink at her. “Too bad you’re not sticking around, city girl; you’d be amazed at what I can do.” I gesture with a nod. “Now speaking of chickens, you’ve seen them and the ducks, right?”
“And a little pig.”
“Ah, yes. Well, there are a couple more pigs around here. Each year, Jack purchased three.”
“Why three?”
“I don’t know. Maybe so he could call them Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner.”
“Wait, are you saying…?” I give her a second to digest and understand. Her big eyes widen. Ah, there it is. She gets it and, from the looks of things, is repulsed by it. “Do you mean at the end of the season…?” She runs her index finger over her neck in a slicing motion.
