Blue Ridge Sunrise

by Denise Hunter

  A flock of geese passed overhead, honking as they flew in their V-shaped formation. Zoe looked at the leader, the one who was strong enough to take the brunt of the wind. She felt like a sickly goose near the back that no one could depend on. And Granny had put her at the apex of the flock.

  She wasn’t going to be that weak person anymore. She was going to figure this out, and do her grandma proud.

  “Let’s just make the best of it, huh?” Cruz said.

  She thought of Gracie, and a breath left her body on a wry laugh. The child’s brown eyes, so like Cruz’s. The shape of her ears. The little crescents at the corners of her lips when she smiled. Surely it would only be a matter of time before he saw it.

  She should tell him before he did.

  But what if he took Gracie from her? What did she have to her name but an orchard she didn’t even know how to run? He had a history of stability, and she’d been dragging her baby girl all over the country with a rock band. All the old fears crept in, swallowing her courage.

  She couldn’t even fire Cruz. Even if she were that cruel, she needed him. She was trapped. Backed into a corner as she’d been so many other times in her life.

  She needed a competent manager if she wanted to make it through harvest. If she hoped to make some money and keep this orchard going. She probably wouldn’t have to see him much. Hadn’t Hope said the place practically ran itself?

  “All right,” she said, lifting her chin. “I guess we’ll have to make the best of it then.” She turned to go.

  He took her elbow as she passed, releasing her when she stiffened.

  “I just wanted to apologize for last night. I-I think I might’ve provoked Kyle with something I said earlier. That wasn’t too smart of me.”

  She gave him a long, thoughtful look. The flush, rising on his neck, only made her more curious.

  She had to ask. “What’d you say?”

  “It’s not important.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him, her imagination running wild. “Tell me.”

  He held her gaze a long moment, and she saw the moment he decided to own up to whatever it was.

  His chin edged up, and the cords of his neck muscles stood out. “I asked him how my girl was.”

  A strangled laugh escaped her throat, a moment of glee at the thought of Cruz putting Kyle in his place. How many times had she wanted to smart off to him, but held back out of fear?

  Cruz’s words must’ve made him furious. She was surprised Kyle hadn’t decked him on the spot. “Well, you’ve never lacked nerve, Huntley.”

  “I’m not afraid of Kyle.”

  That made one of them. She resisted the urge to touch her aching jaw.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “it was a stupid thing to say. I was trying to get his goat, and he took it out on you. I’m sorry for that.”

  “You can’t be faulted for someone else’s actions.”

  Her own words pierced her like an arrow into a bull’s-eye. Why was it so easy to believe that when she was talking about someone else?

  Cruz stuffed his hands into his worn jeans pockets. “Will he come back? I mean, I can’t imagine that he won’t, what with your little girl.”

  Zoe’s eyes dropped to the ground. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “You’re not going to stay here alone, are you?”

  “I can take care of myself.” Maybe she hadn’t done such a good job of that lately, but she was turning over a new leaf.

  “Still, you should take precautions. You can’t be stupid about it.”

  Heat flushed through her at the familiar words. “I’m not stupid.”

  Cruz gave her a long, speculative look.

  Her skin prickled with heat as a memory paraded through her mind. Sitting at the table on the tour bus while Kyle tried to explain the financial side of the band’s business. The look on his face when she still didn’t get it the second time he explained. The slap of the financial records book closing. I give up; you’re hopeless. Guess I’ll just have to hire this out too.

  The self-doubt came creeping up on her like a lion stalking its prey.

  “It was a figure of speech, Zoe,” Cruz said. “I know you’re not stupid.”

  The screen door creaked open, and Hope stuck her head through, looking sheepish. “You two about ready to get started?”

  “Coming,” Zoe called and set her feet in motion. She had a lot to prove. To Cruz, to her family, to the employees depending on her for their livelihood. But most of all, to herself.

  A LONG HOUR later, Zoe looked up from the spreadsheets. They were sitting around her grandmother’s table: Phil Blackburn, the accountant; Cruz, Brady, and Zoe. Hope was in the living room entertaining Gracie.

  Zoe fixed her gaze on Phil. “So you’re saying we’re in the red right now.”

  “That’s the long and short of it.”

  “By that much?” She pointed to a number that took her breath away.

  “It’s not unusual for farms to take out loans to see them through until harvest.”

  “But my grandma had all that money . . . Why’d she have to take out a loan?”

  “The bulk of her money was tied up in mutual funds. There was a heavy penalty for early withdrawal. A loan made more sense.”

  “Okay . . . So how much does harvest usually net?”

  Phil’s eyes bounced off Cruz’s. “Well, that varies of course, depending on how good a year it is for the crops.”

  “And this year?”

  Phil’s thin lips pressed together. He pushed his glasses up his beaklike nose. He had kind blue eyes, and the sort of patience an accountant needed when going over numbers with her.

  Cruz was studying his hands, which were clasped on the table.

  “What?” Her gaze toggled between the two. Gracie giggled in the living room, then squealed at whatever Hope was doing.

  “I’m afraid it was a mild winter,” Phil said.

  Maybe she was ignorant about the financial side of things, but she knew her stuff when it came to peaches. She’d learned from the best. The trees needed between seven hundred and a thousand chill hours. Anything short of that meant a late or diminished crop.

  “How bad?”

  Cruz cleared his throat. “Crop’ll probably be about half of last year’s.”

  “Half?” Her stomach clenched as a heaviness weighted her from the inside out.

  Phil gave her a sympathetic smile.

  Her eyes swung to Cruz, narrowing. “You couldn’t have told me this sooner?”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She pressed her lips together, her thoughts bouncing around like a pinball in a machine. “But I should’ve had all the pertinent information.”

  “That’s what today’s for,” Brady said.

  “Well, it’s a little late.”

  She’d already kissed Kyle good-bye, including her steady paying job as backup singer. Maybe the nomadic lifestyle wasn’t all she’d dreamed it would be, but it wasn’t an albatross around her neck either—and she was beginning to think that’s exactly what the orchard was.

  “You can’t seriously mean you’d have”—Brady’s gaze flickered off Phil before returning to her—“done anything different if you’d known.”

  “I don’t know what I would’ve done. I just don’t appreciate being kept in the dark.”

  “Nobody intended to keep you in the dark, Zoe,” Phil said. “The orchard has had good and bad years, and everything in between. Your grandma always made it work. I’m sure you will too.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone’s sure.”

  ZOE’S MIND was spinning by the time the meeting was over. Phil had gone to his office, Cruz to join his pruning crew, and Brady back to his garage. Her brother had offered to fork over the money Granny had left him, but she wasn’t taking that. Granny had wanted him to have that money for his business, and he had plans for it.

  After the bad news about the diminished
crop, they had discussed ideas to make up for the loss. Her grandma had been thinking about opening up a market on the property to sell peaches, produce, and baked goods. There would be a better profit margin this way, and Granny’s recipes were the best. The small barn out by the road would be suitable—with a lot of elbow grease.

  This was not what she’d signed up for at all. She planted her elbows on the scarred kitchen table and palmed her eyes. What had she gotten herself into?

  At a nearby shuffling sound she looked up to see Hope in the kitchen doorway cupping a mug of coffee. “Want some?”

  “Better not. My thoughts are already spinning out of control.”

  From her spot at the table she could see Gracie hunched over the coffee table in the living room, coloring in her Nemo coloring book.

  Zoe nailed Hope with a look. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me Cruz was the general manager?”

  Hope winced. “I tried to . . .”

  “Well, you didn’t try very hard. Did you also know it was a bad crop year?”

  Hope settled into the chair catty-corner to her. “All the farms are struggling. I should’ve told you, but I was afraid you’d sell the place if you knew, and I couldn’t bear the thought. Besides, you belong here, Zoe. I see it, and Granny saw it. I hope you can see it too. You sure don’t belong with that loser.”

  Zoe gestured at the stacks of files in front of her. “Right now this just feels like too much to handle. We’re in the red, and the crop isn’t likely to get us out. I don’t have a paying job. I have a daughter to support. And the thought of getting a market open in time for Peach Fest is just overwhelming. It’s barely over two months away.”

  “You have people handling the day-to-day. The retailers are mostly in place, I’m sure. And Granny trusted Phil implicitly with the finances. Just jump in and get your feet wet. Maybe the crop is down this year, but the orchard has survived other bad years. And it’s still the same place you’ve always loved.”

  “You’re right. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Eventually. When she didn’t feel like she was drowning. When she had two dimes to rub together again and didn’t have to worry about how she was going to work and take care of her daughter.

  But she was a farmer now and at the mercy of the elements. It wasn’t only chill hours she had to worry about but late frosts. And even a good crop could be ruined by a hailstorm or pests or disease. Nothing was ever sure until the peaches were off the trees.

  And on a more personal note, there was Cruz. How was she going to deal with seeing him all the time? It had been hard enough to sit across the table and not be sucked right into those heartbreaker eyes. Not to remember how gentle his touch was. Or how his lips had stirred a fire in her like no one else before or since.

  She couldn’t let herself go there again. She was done with men. They were nothing but a disappointment.

  “Not to bring up another bad subject, but . . . when are you going to tell him, Zoe?”

  Her eyes flew to Hope’s, her mouth going dry. She squeezed out the words through a constricted throat. “Tell him what?”

  Hope gave her a knowing look. “He’s going to figure it out. Men are a little slower with the details, but he’s not oblivious.”

  She knew Hope was right, but she couldn’t deal with it right now.

  “I’ll tell him soon. I’m a little overwhelmed with all this stuff right now. If I can just get to harvest I’ll be able—”

  “Harvest? That’s two months away.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Hope, my life just took a drastic turn, and I’m reeling. To make matters worse, I’m meeting Daddy for dinner tonight, and goodness knows that’ll be as fun as pulling teeth.” When Hope refused to back down, Zoe huffed. “All right. Fine. I’ll tell him . . . soon. Just let me get my legs under me, for crying out loud.”

  Hope’s eyes searched hers even as she took a long sip of her coffee.

  “I will,” Zoe reiterated. “I promise.”

  Hope’s mug clunked quietly as she set it on the table. “Fair enough. But don’t be waiting too long. Secrets this big have a way of spinning out of control.”

  chapter eighteen

  The Blue Moon Grill wouldn’t have been Zoe’s first pick of places to take a four-year-old child. It was the fanciest place in town and a popular special occasion spot. But she supposed it wasn’t every day a man met his grandchild.

  The restaurant was situated on the outskirts of town, adjacent to Copper Creek. Inside, the dim lighting made the white tablecloths glow and cast intriguing shadows on the brick walls.

  She spotted her dad at a corner booth and, holding Gracie’s hand, she wove through the tables toward him.

  He turned from the window at their approach. She hoped he could see past Gracie’s cheap Walmart dress to the wonderful little girl beneath.

  “Hi, Daddy. This is Gracie.” She squeezed Gracie’s hand. She’d prepped her daughter on the drive over. “Honey, this is my daddy. Your papaw.”

  “Hi,” Gracie whispered as her dad fixed his eyes on the girl, perusing her face for a long minute.

  “Hello, young lady.” He held out his hand and Gracie took it.

  His gaze flickered up to Zoe, and she knew the moment he noticed her bruised jaw. She’d done her best to cover it, but makeup only went so far.

  The muscle in his jaw twitched. He’d no doubt heard all about Saturday night, but he resisted the urge to bring it up. “She looks like you,” he said instead.

  Zoe couldn’t tell whether he considered that a good or a bad thing. She ushered Gracie into the booth and followed behind her.

  A server came by with a children’s menu and crayons, and they spent the next several minutes perusing the menu and ordering.

  Afterward they made small talk about the town and its residents, steering clear of sticky topics as if by mutual agreement. Gracie, thankfully, loved to color and was busy drawing figures on the back of her menu.

  The restaurant wasn’t busy on Mondays, so their food came quickly. As they ate the conversation was stilted, her daughter unwittingly smoothing things over with her charming commentary and observations.

  Her dad’s green eyes fell on Gracie often, and he seemed to be taking her in. But he was not an emotional man and didn’t seem to know what to say to a child.

  Zoe was on tenterhooks waiting for him to bring up the subject of her leaving five years ago or her single-mother status or Saturday night’s events or a myriad of other ways she’d disappointed him.

  When she’d scraped the last of her food from her plate, the server swooped in to clear the table. Her dad folded his hands on the table and leaned forward, his eyes falling to her jaw again.

  “Please tell me you pressed charges.”

  Zoe’s gaze dropped to the bread crumbs on the tablecloth before meeting his gaze again. “I just wanted him far away. And he’s gone now.”

  “He should be in jail. I could make sure of it.”

  Her gaze flickered to Gracie and back to her father, and she saw the knowing look that indicated he understood that discretion was called for.

  “I did what I thought best.”

  “You always do.” He tipped his head back. “I heard your grandmother left you the orchard. You probably won’t get much for it. I’m afraid Brady got the better end of that deal.”

  She notched up her chin. “I’m not selling the orchard. I’m going to run the place just like Granny did.” She took satisfaction in watching his lips part in surprise. He’d never had much respect for Granny and her spirited ways.

  “That’s a poor decision.”

  “Well, it’s mine to make.” She smiled to take the sting from her words.

  He leaned forward, lowering his voice—his version of yelling. “It’s a bad year for crops. You must know that by now. By the time you finish harvest you’ll be in even deeper. Best to cut your losses now.”

  “I’ve got it under control, Daddy.” That was a joke, but confidence was the best way to combat her
dad’s controlling ways.

  “Look, Mama! Sunshine.”

  “That’s beautiful, honey.”

  “I’m going to dwaw a wainbow next.”

  “Good idea. Use all your colors.”

  Gracie went to work on the picture, and Zoe met her dad’s eyes. He’d aged in her absence. His hair had receded a bit. The furrow between his brows was deeper. The lines at the corners of his mouth more defined.

  He signed for the bill, and the server took it away. Then her dad straightened as if pulled upward by some invisible string. “I have a proposal for you, Zoe—don’t look at me like that. Is it so hard to believe I want the best for you?”

  “We’ve always disagreed on what, exactly, that is.”

  “Well, you’ve tried things your way.”

  And been a miserable failure. He didn’t have to say it. Heat rose in her neck. “My life isn’t up for negotiation, Daddy.”

  “Just hear me out, will you? Why do you have to get your back up every time I open my mouth?”

  She pressed her lips down on a retort. She counted to three. Then ten. “All right. Go ahead and have your say. I’m listening.”

  “The way I see it, you’ve got a child to support, an orchard that’s more of a burden than a gift, and nothing more than a high school education.”

  “Gee, Daddy, must you put such a positive spin on things?”

  “There’s no sense whitewashing the truth. You need a means of support. A career, not some two-bit dream. You don’t survive on hope and a whim. You must’ve figured that out by now.”

  She bit the inside of her lip and waited for him to finish.

  “It’s not too late to think about college. You’re a bright girl, and you’d do well if you only applied yourself. In the meantime you can work in my office. Not as an intern. I’d offer you a full salary and benefits. I’ll even pay for your college classes.”

  The full salary and benefits were more tempting than she wanted to admit, even to herself. But no. This wasn’t who she was or what she wanted. Besides, she’d only just escaped one controlling relationship. She wasn’t falling headlong into another.