“What’s done is done,” the older man said. “And what she needs now is a man who can farm — really farm. That ain’t you, Peter Quincy.”
“No, it’s not.” That didn’t mean he was done asking questions. “On the other hand, there might be things a non-farmer can see that—”
“Nope. This farm’s got all the non-farmers it can handle. You’re a good enough fella, but you’re not the right one for this farm. Or Anne.”
“You can relax about that, Everett. It’s nowhere on the agenda.”
Lying in bed now, listening to the soft sounds of Anne in the hallway heading from her bedroom to the bathroom she and Everett shared, he knew she would agree with Everett.
She would agree with the order of Everett’s priorities, too — the farm first.
Quince could have told Everett he had nothing to worry about. That Anne wasn’t the least bit interested. Not in him. And, if he wasn’t too far off the mark, not in having any man in her life.
If he ever let her know how attracted to her he was, she’d shut him out so thoroughly, he’d think he’d been sent to Siberia.
…how attracted to her he was…
Yeah, Everett had gotten that part right. Quince was attracted to her.
What the older man didn’t know — couldn’t know — was that this attraction wouldn’t lead to action.
Not in Peter Quincy’s world. He was no saint, but he was careful that any women he wasn’t a saint with matched him in not looking for long-term.
Attraction was not what a woman like Anne needed. A woman who could commit her soul to a patch of land would do the same with a man — clearly had done it with her husband.
Nope. Attraction wouldn’t do for a woman like her.
So, just as Everett didn’t need to worry about Anne being drawn to Quince, he also didn’t need to worry about Quince making a play for her.
He had his faults, but trying to seduce a woman when he knew he couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she deserved was not among them.
At the same time he was drawn to her exactly because she was that sort of woman.
More soft sounds told the story of Anne emerging from the bathroom, quietly walking down the hallway, and shutting her bedroom door behind her.
He grimaced at the ceiling, shutting off his mind to any soft sounds — or images they might stir — from her room.
When it came right down to it, Anne was a lot closer in her suspicions than Everett was. Because she thought he had his eyes on her farm. That’s what made her as defensive as a porcupine.
In a way she was right.
Driving in with Everett, he’d wondered about the state of the farm. Then there’d been that exchange of looks between her and Everett, her reaction to the amount of his rent, and her eyes. Especially her eyes.
He didn’t know the full dimensions of the problem, but there definitely was a problem here at Hooper Farm.
If he could wish it away for the Hoopers he would. But he couldn’t. So he didn’t feel any guilt that his restless discomfort of the past months had shifted slightly, starting to realign toward familiar focus.
Ah, he did love a challenge.
*
Quince woke early, starting in on his computer for basic information.
He had the beginnings of a basic background portfolio on farming stashed on his laptop when he heard Anne, then Everett stirring.
He switched over and knocked out emails for Zeke-Tech, then got in the shower. When he came out, the house was as quiet as an old house getting battered by winter wind could be.
Anne and Everett were gone. He knew that even before he went downstairs.
There, on the kitchen island, a note instructed him how to microwave the homemade oatmeal she’d left in the refrigerator for him.
A P.S. informed him they were taking Grandy to perform his studly duties a couple of counties away.
So apparently their encounter hadn’t put the goat off his game.
Oatmeal was a hell of a come down from the eggs and bacon or pancakes that had started most of his mornings on Hooper Farm. But Quince was hungry and she’d left interesting jars lined up beside the oatmeal.
When he finished, he had to admit the oatmeal was surprisingly good. The nuts and strawberry preserves he’d put on top, selected from options she’d left, were delicious, but the base was even better.
Chalk up another lesson from living on a farm.
He left a return note, reminding her — them — that he was staying overnight in Chicago for meetings and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.
*
What Quince didn’t include in his note was that he had free time before he needed to leave for Chicago.
He decided to spend it at Stenner Autos.
Jennifer Truesdale looked up from her computer when he tapped on the open door to her office. She smiled, and gestured him in.
After hellos, she said, “Your coming must mean you’ve seen the error of your ways and decided to trade in that flashy city car for something more practical for Drago. You’ve come to the right place.”
“I hope I have, though I haven’t come here for that.” He lifted one hand. “At least not yet. If I make that decision this will be my first and only stop.”
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“I’m hoping you can give me some information.”
He sat still while she looked him over for a long moment. He knew that she knew what — or, more importantly, who — he was going to ask about.
“Why come to me and not Darcie?” she asked.
“You know Anne Hooper better,” he said, getting the name on the table.
“True. It’s also true that Darcie knows you better.”
“Knowing me isn’t the issue.”
“Isn’t it?” Jennifer was a very attractive and nice woman. That didn’t mean she wasn’t smart, too.
He ignored her point. “I’m not asking you for anything that isn’t common knowledge, that I wouldn’t hear by spending a few days at the café or perhaps a couple nights at bingo.”
She nodded. “Or a few more rounds with that poker group. But I’m not going to gossip the way they do.”
“Fair enough. You tell me what you’re comfortable telling. It’ll still save me a lot of time.” He allowed himself a small grin. “And think how much less gossip I’ll pick up.”
She continued to look at him for a moment. Then tapped her fingers on the desk in decision. “That’s fair. What do you want to know?”
“Am I right that she works all the time?”
“Pretty much. Except when something more important comes up.”
He snorted. “She doesn’t think anything’s more important than Hooper Farm.”
“Yes, she does.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow.
“When my daughter was hurt in a car accident at the end of the summer, Anne was one of the people who spent hours at the hospital waiting with me, supporting me until we knew she’d be okay. She’d just come in to the dealership when we got the word. A five-minute stop. It ended up being hours and hours.” She smiled slightly. “And that was on a good farming weather day.”
“What about her family?”
“Never met them. They’re out of the country.”
“Siblings, too?”
“Yes. One in Thailand, one in Brussels. She has good relationships with them and her parents.”
Had he imagined a slight weightiness to that last comment? Maybe.
“She seems to be well-regarded around the county.”
“Yes. Though she’s not well known. And having been here years and not generations she’s considered the newest of newcomers. Well, until you Zeke-Tech folks showed up. It’s going to be a real culture shock for Drago and the county.”
“For Zeke-Tech folks, too. And good for all parties.”
She grinned. “I agree. So, if that’s all—”
“How’d she meet her husband?”
&nb
sp; “Online. Not a dating site. It was something about farming.”
“Had she farmed before she came here?”
Jennifer lifted her shoulder, signifying she didn’t know.
“How was she viewed when she first arrived in town?” he asked.
“The people in town didn’t really notice until after she married Chris. The farm community, though, was probably aware of her from the first date.” She rested her hands on the desk. What she would tell him next would be the truth. But not all the truth. That was okay. He had no right to expect all the truth. “People were glad. Chris had a reputation for being quiet. Very quiet. From the first, Anne brought him out of his shell.”
He could have sworn he gave no reaction, but she said, “Yes, Anne. She wasn’t as quiet then. She even got him to a few of the high school sports events, the Lilac Festival parade, things like that. It’s only been these past few years that she’s been more withdrawn. Of course she’s been busy. They had a hard time after Chris died.” Jennifer gave him a questioning look. “You know…?”
“Yes, I know he died unexpectedly three and a half years ago.”
“Oh. Yes. Unexpectedly.” She seemed to be processing that he knew that.
“What kind of hard time?”
She paused a moment, then said, “Among other things, he’d been on a spending spree. Well, maybe that’s not fair. He wasn’t buying things for himself or anything frivolous, but he went out on a financial limb buying brand new equipment. New, fancy, and pricey.”
“They couldn’t afford it.” It was no question.
She nodded a brief confirmation. “After he died, they had to sell all of it, not getting anywhere near the amount he’d spent. That left them — Anne, really — with old, beat-up equipment being held together with baling wire and duct tape. Sometimes literally. Anne brought in the harvest that year practically single-handedly, not to mention newly widowed. It wasn’t a real good harvest, but still, it was a major job for one person.”
“Not a real good harvest… How much financial trouble are the Hoopers in?”
Jennifer withdrew without moving. “I don’t know that.”
“And you wouldn’t tell me if you did,” he filled in. “Jennifer, there might be ways I can help them.”
She frowned. “Anne’s a very proud woman. And Everett is equally as proud and even more stiff-necked.”
“I’ve noticed. I don’t want to be immodest, but I’ve dealt with some of the most powerful executives in the world. I like to think my skills are up to tactfully drawing out Anne and Everett.”
Though he did see a major obstacle.
Not the obvious one about his ignorance about farms.
It was the people involved.
He would never have predicted he’d view Zeke and Vanessa as easier to assist through the maze and obstacles of human interactions — which were a vital part of running a business — than a couple of farmers in the middle of Illinois. But that’s how it shaped up.
Zeke and Vanessa respected his ability. Believed him when he told them something was necessary. Trusted he’d guide them in the right direction. So they eventually — after requisite grumbling and resistance — did most of what he said had to be done.
Anne and Everett didn’t respect, believe, or trust him.
Yet.
That’s why he couldn’t come at this problem straight-on.
“I hope you succeed,” Jennifer said.
He chuckled. “But you doubt it.”
“Let’s just say I’d rather face the toughest executive than get on Everett Hooper’s bad side. Or Anne’s.”
CHAPTER TEN
Anne felt a jump of nervousness when she spotted the new pickup from Stenner Autos pulling to a stop near the back door Thursday afternoon.
Silly to be nervous about a couple women coming to pick up oatmeal for heavens sakes. It wasn’t like this was really a social call. No matter what Everett had grumbled about hen parties and coffee-klatches when she told him at lunch that Vanessa and Jennifer were coming by this afternoon.
Yet, she couldn’t shake off the knowledge that they were the first people she’d ever come close to entertaining at Hooper Farm.
Unless you counted Quince.
But of course he didn’t count, because he was a boarder. Not a guest. Certainly no one to fuss over, as Everett had accused her of doing for these visitors, simply because she’d dusted and vacuumed the parlor and given the kitchen a once-over. At least Quince wasn’t here to give her grief about it, since he’d been gone overnight.
Not that his absence was notable. Except that last night’s dinner and today’s breakfast were one-third easier. Even his help cleaning up wasn’t missed because Everett had stepped up to the job — though she’d had to bite her tongue from commenting on wonders never ceasing.
If she’d said the words would Quince have given her grief? Or would he—?
No. Didn’t matter.
Totally irrelevant.
Everett had made a quick phone call after lunch — if she let her imagination run wild she could say his manner had been surreptitious. Then he took the aging farm truck for an unspecified errand. She suspected it was all to avoid the company coming.
Before they could knock, she opened the door to the two women.
Except there were three.
“We come bearing baked goods,” Jennifer announced.
“It’s to make up for me inviting myself,” Darcie said as she followed the other women in. “Hope you don’t mind me horning in at the last second.”
“No.” Hearing the flatness of that, Anne added, “I mean you’re not horning in.”
Then she wished she’d left it at No.
If any of them recognized her awkwardness, they gave no indication of it.
Vanessa drew off gloves and slid them in her pockets before handing over her coat to be added to the collection on the hooks.
“They do this,” she said. “At least they did it to me in the fall. The pastries are good.”
Jennifer chuckled. “Are you saying that’s the only compensation?”
“No. But it doesn’t hurt.”
Amid general laughter, they came into the kitchen.
“I have tea and coffee. If you’d like to come into the front room — the parlor—”
“Oh, this is so warm and comfortable, can we stay here in the kitchen?” Jennifer asked. “Do you mind?”
Anne looked around the room rather doubtfully. “If you really want to.”
“Absolutely.” Darcie went to the sink. “Now this is a true farmhouse sink. I encountered a few designers who’d kill to get their hands on this.”
Busying herself with getting their orders for coffee or tea, Anne gestured the others toward the table. “I hear your renovations are terrific, especially the kitchen.”
“The absolute best thing about the renovations is that they’re nearly over. Don’t get me wrong, I love everything we’ve done, but I was more of the big picture person. Taking down walls, reconfiguring a few things, that’s what I liked.”
“So Zeke is the detail person?”
“Not with the house,” Darcie said. “And that’s probably a good thing. It’s a lot nicer than it would have been if Zeke and I had made all the decisions. To tell the truth, most of what the renovators call finishes were picked by Zeke’s assistant Brenda, with input from our mothers. They didn’t cut us out completely, but they narrowed it down and did a lot of the legwork, so we could point and say, ‘I like that.’ ”
She grinned and, despite the disparity between what she had heard was now the nicest house in Drago and this worn and utilitarian farmhouse, Anne found herself smiling back.
Darcie helped her carry the coffee and tea to the table.
“Oh, I’ll get a plate for the—” She gestured to the bakery box in the center of the table.
“Why? We can serve ourselves from the box and use our saucers,” Darcie said.
Jennifer chuckled. “In other w
ords, Darcie’s hungry. But I second her.”
“Third,” Vanessa said. “Did you get any of the raspberry tarts?”
“Of course.” Jennifer opened the box and held it out to each of them. “Now tells us about this oatmeal that Vanessa’s so enthusiastic about.”
They talked of how Anne grew the oats, then made the oatmeal. The conversation slid to Josh’s kids, then to his and Vannesa’s plans to take the kids to Virginia for a summer trip to soak up the history. From there it jumped to Jennifer and Trent’s wedding plans. That segued to the progress in bringing a division of Zeke-Tech to Drago.
“This whole effort must have meant a lot more work for you,” Anne said to Vannesa.
“A bit. But since Zeke became so adamant that I hand off duties—”
“It’s called delegating,” Darcie murmured around a bite into a pecan bar.
“—even with the move I’m working far fewer hours than I was.”
“That,” Darcie informed Anne, “means she’s finally dropped below twenty-four hours a day.”
Vanessa placidly continued, “Quince, however, carried much of the responsibility for getting the process started and keeping tabs on it now that it’s in progress.”
“He works too much,” Darcie said flatly. “It’s like he hides behind the work.”
Anne happened to be refilling Vanessa’s coffee cup and for an instant their eyes met. In the other woman’s face, Anne saw concern.
But her voice was even, almost flat when she said, “Quince is excellent at what he does.”
“Of course he is. That doesn’t change—”
“Anne, would you consider taking us on a little tour when we finish our drinks?” Jennifer asked.
Anne turned in time to see that Jennifer accompanied the question with a quelling frown at Darcie.
“A tour? Of … of the house?”
“If you don’t mind. It’s a great old house. And I’d love to see a little bit outside, too. Especially the barn.”
Anne wished she’d done a lot more cleaning. But she could have spent all month on the place and it would still be what it was.
Long before she was ready, the cups were empty and the tour began.
Frequently Anne had to plead ignorance to Jennifer’s questions about the history and architectural details of the house.
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