Under The Desert Moon (Desert Sky Series Book 2)

by Mary Tate Engels

  When he finally joined her, she said, "I thought I'd never see that."

  "Me washing with a hose?"

  "Your boots." She laughed. "So dirty."

  He looked puzzled. "Is that significant?"

  "You bet it is," she said with a smile. How well she remembered his shiny boots and spiffy clothes. Maybe he was gradually adjusting to country life.

  For the next few days the three of them worked long and hard to replace the faulty pipe. Annie put on her jeans and rubber boots and got dirty alongside Diego and Brett. When the system was finally working properly, they rejoiced. But before they could rest, they had to move on to the next job, which was physically easier, but no less important.

  "Large orchards use chemicals for thinning, but I prefer to do mine by hand so I can raise organic apples," Annie explained.

  Brett's gaze swept the orchard directly behind them. "Looks like a slow, tedious job to me."

  "It's slow. But not tedious. Not to me, anyway. That's because I like to work with my hands." She spread them and shook her head sadly. "Which is why they look this way. I tried wearing work gloves for a while, but this is something that must be done very carefully by the feel. Like this."

  He watched her hands move quickly over the clusters of blooms, eliminating all but one. "How do you know which one to leave?"

  She moved to another cluster. "In the cluster of five or six, you trim to the center. Leave the largest, which is called the king bloom. Theoretically the trees produce best with one apple every forty leaves. Now you try it."

  Brett's large hands covered the blooms, and he flicked them as she had done. Or so he thought. But when he was through, no blossoms remained. "Damn! I must have gotten them all. What did I do wrong?"

  "Here, like this," she explained patiently. She put her hand on his and directed his motions. Clumsily he flicked off two, three, four blossoms. "That's better. Now, try it."

  He did. Again and again. Each time, he took too many. Or he left two and had to struggle to get a grip on one solitary blossom. It was terribly time consuming. And frustrating for him. Annie could see this wasn't going to work.

  Finally she said, "It's all right, Brett. Diego and I will do it."

  "Do you mean I've failed blossom-thinning?" He feigned a hurt expression.

  "Obviously it's not a job for everyone." She laughed and squeezed his hand. "It isn't a tragedy, you know. Your hands are just too big. Why don't you take a little break from apple farming, Brett? You probably need the rest."

  "But what about you? You aren't stopping to rest, are you?"

  "Not at this stage." She continued to thin the blossoms as she talked.

  "Annie, this is too slow. At this rate, you'll be thinning blossoms all summer long."

  "No, we won't. They won't last that long. They have to be done in the next few weeks. Then the apples start growing fast. It's an exciting time."

  He frowned at her, but devilish lights danced in his dark eyes. "Watching apples grow is exciting?"

  "Yep." She grinned good-naturedly. "You wait and see."

  "Hey, I've been looking forward to a little excitement around this place."

  "I'm sure it isn't your kind of excitement, Brett."

  "And what kind is that?" He reached for the clump of blossoms on the next limb.

  "Oh, bright lights, fast music, beautiful women."

  She heard him curse under his breath and looked up to see if he was reacting to her comment or having more trouble with the tiny, delicate apple blossoms. "Please don't, Brett. I'll get them."

  "You can't get them all."

  "Yes, I can. Diego will help. We did it last year without you."

  "Now I'm hurt. You'd better use me while you can."

  "There'll be other things for you to do. I promise. Please don't try any longer. I can't spare more apples. This is worse than the frost."

  "Oh! You cut to the quick!"

  "Sorry. But I have to save my apples." She sandwiched his hand between hers. His hand felt warm and strong, but not quite as smooth as a week ago. The palm contained a hard ridge where calluses were beginning to form, and she thought she detected a blister on one pad. The fingers were scratchy and rough to her skin. And yet, there was something secure about his hand, and she wanted to press it to her heart.

  "It's difficult to find men who are good at this," she said. "That's probably one reason the big growers use chemicals to thin the blooms. It's time consuming this way. I usually hire women because they have smaller hands and a more delicate touch."

  "I guess that leaves me out."

  "It's okay. You need a break. Now, go home and get some rest. We've been working you pretty hard lately."

  He stuffed his hands into his back pockets and looked around. "You've got a helluva job ahead of you, Annie."

  She shrugged. "I've done it before. Go on, now. Remember all those spy novels you wanted to read? Well, go read them." She released his hand and shooed him off with a little wave.

  He started backing away. "Tell you what. I'll fix dinner tonight so you won't have to go home and cook. Just come over to my house when you're finished with work."

  Annie knew she should refuse the offer. It was too appealing; he was too tempting. Spending an evening alone with him would be to run an emotional risk. Deep down, she feared he would be gone before the autumn harvest. And yet, as she looked into his dark eyes, she knew there was no way she could refuse him. Not right now. "Dinner sounds great, Brett."

  "Come around seven. No take-out fried chicken this time, I promise."

  "Can you cook?"

  "I'll learn." He winked and was off.

  Annie smiled after him, wishing time would fly so she could get to Brett's quicker. But as she turned back to her work, she knew that without help, she and Diego faced many hours of work. Last year she had hired several migrants for this job of thinning, but most of them weren't much better than Brett. This year she couldn't afford to hire anyone at all. She reached for another cluster.

  Annie worked until nearly dark and then realized her guests needed a nutritious dinner. When she got in from the orchard, Isabel was preparing turkey enchiladas and Carmen was setting the table. It was the first time they had taken the initiative to go into her house and work.

  "Diego said it would be all right if we started dinner," Carmen explained in an apologetic tone. "I hope you don't mind."

  "It's fine as long as no one comes around. But you'd better check with me before you become so visible."

  "Sí. That is wise."

  "It looks great, but don't fix a plate for me, thanks," Annie said, grabbing a clean towel from the laundry room.

  "Are you having company?" Isabel asked.

  "No, I've been invited out for dinner. But go ahead and eat. Be sure to fix a plate for Diego."

  "Are you going to see the sheriff's son?"

  "Yes." Annie noted a strained look on both the women's faces. "Don't worry. I won't mention you."

  Carmen smiled. "Gracias. We just want to help you because you've done so much for us. And we can do so little right now."

  "Oh, that's all right. I never expected—" She halted and looked at the two women. "You want to help me?"

  They both nodded eagerly.

  "Are you serious? Have you ever thinned apple blossoms?"

  They shook their heads simultaneously. And from the expressions on their faces, Annie knew they had no idea what she was talking about.

  "It's simple. And it takes small, careful hands. I'll show you tomorrow. Maybe you can help me a little bit, after all."

  "We would be so happy to do anything for you." Isabel stepped forward. "As you can see, we are not sick anymore. And we are not helpless. We are good workers."

  "Thanks. I appreciate it." Annie smiled gratefully. "Gotta go now. We'll start early tomorrow."

  It was nearly seven-thirty before she arrived at the Rocking M. The savory fragrance of chili greeted her at the door. Even though Brett hadn't started making re
pairs to the old house, it was beginning to take on a homey atmosphere. Maybe it was just having someone here to use the place that made it seem so warm and livable again.

  The meal Brett prepared was simple fare of chili served on corn chips, topped with cheddar cheese and hot salsa. Annie even enjoyed the beer. "This was excellent," she said as they finished and began clearing the table. "And you said you couldn't cook."

  "My culinary skills are limited. Coffee is at the top of the list, followed closely by chili. After that, the list is very short."

  "Having someone fix dinner for me after a long day's work was a real treat, Brett. You won't hear any complaints from me."

  "I'm really sorry about the mess I made with the blossom thinning."

  "Don't worry about it. I found some help—" Annie halted abruptly. She must not be thinking straight tonight to have told him that.

  "Oh? Who? Migrants?"

  "Yes. Some, uh, migrant women came around needing jobs."

  "The same one who was sick?"

  She had hoped he had forgotten about that, but no such luck. "Uh, yes. She's much better now."

  "Good. I'm glad you have help with the thinning."

  "We should be finished in a few weeks."

  "Now that I've lost my job at Annie's Apple Farm, I have another project." Brett changed the subject, much to Annie's relief.

  "I thought you were going to rest. Relax and read." She felt very uneasy talking about the illegal women. And she disliked the lie she was perpetrating. She just could not worm her way out of the situation. Unfortunately, one lie seemed to lead to another, and she hated it.

  "Too boring. I need to be busy."

  "To keep you out of trouble?"

  "You might say that." He fixed a pot of coffee. "I'm going to start cleaning and painting around here."

  "Is that for J.M.'s benefit?"

  "No. It's for mine. I want to make the place more livable since I'm going to be staying. . . awhile."

  Annie glanced quickly at him, unable to hide the doubt in her expression.

  "Honest to God, Annie, I'm staying long enough to enjoy it."

  He was staying? And enjoying it yet? Was that conviction she saw in those dark eyes?

  By the time the coffee was finishing brewing, they had washed the dishes. "Let's go into the living room," he suggested. "I'll show you what I'm doing in there."

  "Okay." She helped him with the coffee cups.

  He arranged a little plate of gourmet cookies and offered an apology. "They're from the bakery in town. I can't compete with your apple bread."

  She tasted one. "They're pretty good."

  He ate a cookie as he walked around the room. "I want to start in here. I did a little cleaning this afternoon, just to see what shape the place is in. The walls and fireplace need plastering. I thought your friend Holt could help me, or at least advise me on what to do and how to go about it."

  "I'm sure he'd be glad to." Annie followed him. "He's especially interested in restoring quality buildings. I've always loved this beautiful beehive fireplace."

  "And look at this." Brett knelt down and peeled back a corner of the carpet. "There's Mexican adobe tile under here. I'm going to rip up this old carpet and go back to the original tile flooring."

  Annie bent to look over his shoulder and caught his masculine fragrance. The scent was as mesmerizing as the man. "Why, it's beautiful, Brett. Looks to be in good shape, too."

  He straightened. "It should be. It's been protected by carpeting for as long as I can remember." He motioned across the long, narrow living room. "I can't decide what to do about the furniture. It's old and practically worn out, and I'd really like to get a different style. But this was my mom's choice, and I can't just toss it out."

  She leaned forward with a smile. "Is that a sentimental statement I'm hearing?"

  "I'm afraid so. See, even FBI agents have a soft heart when it comes to their mamas. We have feelings, too."

  They were standing very close. Annie felt drawn to him and wrapped in his embrace even before he touched her. "I never doubted you had feelings, Brett." She had seen an honest display of his emotions the other day in the orchard when she had been moved to kiss him.

  "I think you doubt my feelings for you, Annie." His hands touched her arms as he drew her closer. "I'm not sure I understand it, but I can't get you out of my mind. And all I can think of is kissing you again."

  "I know what you mean."

  His lips brushed hers softly. "Then you have these feelings, too, like I can't spend another night without you?"

  "Uh-huh." She couldn't admit that she was fighting them every step of the way. As his mouth met hers and she opened her lips slightly to receive his kiss, Annie realized she was losing that battle. She wanted the kiss as much as he did. And she let him know it.

  When his mouth molded sensuously to hers, Annie leaned into him, relishing the inherent strength of the man. His lips caressed hers, coaxing them open so that his tongue could edge her lips and dip inside. Her heart pounded a happy rhythm as swirls of delight radiated throughout her being. She wriggled into the welcome haven of his arms.

  Responding to her willingness, Brett pulled her fully against him, sliding one hand to the curve of her back just above her rear. He pressed them together, breasts to belly to hips. Just looking at her sometimes brought forth a strong masculine response, but holding her like this, feeling her against him, sent a surge of passion through him that traveled like lightning and felt like wildfire. Oh, how he wanted her! Tonight.

  Suddenly, like a double beacon, two beams of light flashed into the living room.

  It took Brett a moment to pull himself back to reality. Headlights in the driveway. He lifted his head from her sweetness. "Annie... someone's here." He glanced quickly out the window and groaned. "It's J.M."

  Immediately Annie pushed away. "I... I'd better be going."

  "Not yet. We haven't finished... our coffee." His gaze caught hers with a special intensity. Please don't go.

  Just as J.M. knocked, she shook her head. "I must." Didn't he understand? If she stayed much longer, there'd be no turning back. Right now, she wasn't sure if she could handle such intimacy in her relationship with Brett. She needed more than time; she needed to be sure about him.

  Brett greeted his father politely, but with the uncomfortable little silence that followed, Annie knew that J.M. could well guess what he had interrupted. Brett cleared his throat, and Annie touched her lips, hoping they didn't reveal signs of being thoroughly kissed.

  J.M. glanced at the untouched coffee cups and the little plate of fancy cookies. "Uh, sorry to interrupt," he mumbled.

  "You aren't interrupting, J.M. We were just having coffee," she said effusively. "Want some?"

  Before he had time to answer, Brett muttered, "I'll get it," and disappeared into the kitchen.

  J.M. tossed his hat onto the sofa. "Dammit, Annie, I should have called first. I just didn't think that you might be here."

  "It's okay, J.M." She smiled warmly. "We're just neighbors." At the moment, she knew it was better this way. Maybe she was just looking for an excuse to leave tonight. That, she decided, was okay, too.

  Brett returned with a cup of coffee for his dad. J.M. didn't bother sitting, but took two cookies and drank his coffee while he paced around the room. His conversation was limited to stilted small talk spoken in brief sentences.

  Brett watched his father move about, realizing that there was something else bothering him. Something besides a social visit and a discussion of the weather had brought him out here. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  J.M. glanced quickly at Annie. "I guess I can speak confidentially in front of you, Annie. This isn't something I want spread around."

  "Of course, J.M."

  The sheriff looked at his son with a desperate appeal in his expression. "We've got to stop this profitable flow of illegal migrants, Brett. We found an old van abandoned south of town this morning. It was locked. When we pried open the
doors, we found six illegals. Two of them were dead from heat exhaustion and dehydration."

  Annie gasped aloud. Could Carmen's husband possibly be among this group? No, it was too horrible to imagine! She wouldn't allow herself to even consider such a pessimistic view. She had to believe that he would appear any day to rescue them. "Who—do you know who they were?"

  He shrugged. "We figure the men were here to work in the fields. We're still trying to identify them and notify families. In Mexico."

  Men! She swallowed hard. "How. . . how old were they?"

  J.M. studied the ceiling a moment. "I'd say they were in their forties or fifties."

  Annie felt somewhat relieved as she left Brett and his father that night. But J.M. had succeeded in planting a niggling fear in her heart.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A week later, Annie sat in the 4-Runner, staring at the mission ruins. Feliz sat in the passenger seat, keeping watch. An owl, eager for the approaching night, swept through the sky and landed on a distant tree. Feliz perked her ears and keep her eyes trained on the owl and anything else that made a noise around them.

  Annie spoke out loud to her loyal companion who was busy keeping watch. "What should I do about these women now? Do I let them stay longer? How can I turn them away? And what about Brett? He makes me feel wonderful and alive and special. We have the beginnings of what might be a good friendship. Or more. What would happen if he knew about them?"