“I’ll remember that,” Maxie said. “Can I fix you a PB and J to hold you over?”
“A what?”
“Peanut butter and jelly,” Tom supplied. And he unremorsefully kept shoveling food into his mouth, jealously eyeing Darla’s still-full plate.
Darla laughed as if it were a joke. “I’m fine, really.”
“What’s for breakfast?” Maxie asked.
Darla tilted her head, lifted a pretty blond brow and asked, “A little granola? Plain yogurt?”
“How do you feel about All-Bran?” Maxie asked.
Darla made a face.
“We’re going out for breakfast,” Tom announced. “I have eggs, potatoes, sausage, bacon and toast. I’ll be sure you have granola and yogurt.”
“Tom,” she said sincerely, “aren’t you worried about your cholesterol?”
He forked a big mouthful of potatoes, full of butter, cheese and sour cream into his mouth and after swallowing he said, “I lift a couple thousand pounds of apples a day. I dare my cholesterol to keep up with that.”
“I guess you have a point,” she said. “I work out every morning, but the rest of my day isn’t so physical. I’m in sales. I have a lot of meetings. Many of them in restaurants. If I ate everything that was put in front of me, I’d weigh two hundred pounds!”
“You look just lovely, dear,” Maxie said. “You’ll be fine. Now tell us about the sales job and who you sell your products to.”
And cleverly, Maxie turned the table over to Darla, who was not eating and could talk while Tom and Maxie finished their dinner. And it was interesting—her work with doctors and hospitals and drug trials that might actually cure diseases and conditions that to this point rarely were successfully cured. She traveled for three to four days every other week and enjoyed her travels. She had long-term clients who had become friends because they depended on her. And there were benefits—bonus gifts she could give to her clients, and to herself, like good seats at concerts and sporting events. There were greatly discounted resort destinations—the Caribbean, Hawaii, Mexico. She had the best vacations and bonuses in the world.
During her explanation of her work, Tom and Maxie rose from the table and began to clean up dishes, careful not to ignore her. Since Maxie was letting the broiler pan soak, it didn’t take long to wash up, put things in the dishwasher, wipe off the table. Maxie didn’t even bother with the pound cake yet.
“Come on,” Tom said, holding out his hand. “Let’s find your jacket and walk off some of those calories you stuffed away at dinner.”
Hopefully only Tom noticed Maxie roll her eyes.
Chapter Eight
To Tom’s great pleasure, it was a clear night. Cold, clear and the sky was peppered with a million stars. He walked with Darla down the lane between the two big groves, hands tucked into their jacket pockets.
“I can see why you love it here,” she said. “It’s so quaint and peaceful.”
“I guess I never think of it as quaint. It’s so much work. We move tons and tons of apples and gallons of cider.”
“But you have employees,” she said.
“Several. And now that I’m home I can manage the business end of things—accounts, payroll, shipping—all stuff Maxie did with Junior’s help while I was gone. I think she’s entitled to a slower pace. It was either run the orchard or think about selling it in the not-too-distant future.”
“Sell it?” she asked.
“It’s been in the Cavanaugh family since the first trees were planted—a very long time ago. I think it was my great-grandfather. I think Maxie would grieve it. I’m pretty sure I would. I can’t think of anything I could do but this.”
“And this is a good business?” she asked.
“Good enough to take care of all our needs year round. And in the winter when we’re not planting or picking, it keeps us very well.”
“Is it lucrative?” she asked.
“I guess so,” he said with a shrug. The fact was, Tom didn’t think like that. He wasn’t comparing his orchard to anyone else’s. They did very well and when there was profit left over, they always put it into the land, crop, equipment and the house. There were some savings of course, but mainly their money went back into the business. They were continually enlarging their crop. And of course they paid employees and provided benefits for all but the seasonal help.
“But what a great place to come on weekends, to get out of the rat race,” she said.
“Better than Jamaica?” he asked teasingly. “Better than front-row seats at a Lakers game?”
She gave him a playful slug in the arm.
“You come up here any weekend you feel like it,” he invited.
“Will you come to Davis?” she asked.
“Probably not during the harvest,” he said. “I rarely take a whole weekend off between the end of August and Thanksgiving. I can wrangle a day sometimes. Or an evening.”
“But you were gone for seven years and they did fine,” she pointed out.
“But I’m home now and they don’t have to make do.”
“Am I keeping you from something important now?” she asked him.
He stopped walking and looked down at her. “This is a treat. After spending all day in the orchard, I don’t usually do this. Walking through the trees at night, under a clear sky, it gives me a whole new appreciation for the place.” He took a deep breath and put his hands on her waist. “So, how are you doing, really, since Bob’s been gone?”
“Very well,” she said. “I had my time of grief, which was so hard, but I’m better. I’ve even had a few dates. Nothing very promising, but hey…”
“You know, I kissed my first girl in the orchard,” he said.
“I bet you’ve kissed a lot of them since.”
“Not in the orchard.” And he slowly closed in on her, cautiously meeting her lips. Her hands rested on his forearms and she tilted her chin up, offering her mouth. He moved over her lips softly, then slid his arms around her waist, pulled her against him and got serious about the kiss, deepening, demanding a bit.
Darla went along with this for a moment and then gently pulled away with a nervous laugh. He didn’t let go, but watched her smile, her eyes. “Let’s take this nice and slow, Tom,” she said.
“Sure.” Then he took her hand in his much larger one and walked with her down the lane. “I’m surprised that you got in touch, Darla.”
“Really? Because I thought you could tell when you visited—I was hoping we’d see each other again.” She looked up at him. “I asked for this class, Tom. I thought it might give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
“No kidding?” he replied, stunned. Then he grinned and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be damned.”
“You shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re a desirable man—handsome, accomplished, successful.”
“I am?”
She laughed and leaned against him. “We’re going to have a good time this weekend.”
* * *
Tom enjoyed watching Darla gasp in awe at the redwoods, at the rocky coast, aiming her cell phone at scenic views for pictures and short movies. He was surprised by the amount of pleasure it gave him to answer her many questions about the area, the business of operating an orchard, how he grew up with his grandmother. He assumed she had very few questions about his time in the Corps because, after all, that was how she lost her husband.
She did say she was comfortable around him because she felt as though he knew her, having served with her husband. Tom nodded, but in fact he didn’t feel like he knew her at all. Bob hadn’t talked about her much, just to say things like he couldn’t wait to get home, that his wife was gorgeous—no argument there. But Tom hadn’t known anything more about her. Tom was a captain, Bob was first sergeant. They weren’t exactly old friends, but Tom served with him in the sandbox and had a lot of respect for the guy. Bob was looking at a military career while Tom had been pretty sure he was heading out after that deployment.
Twenty-four hours into Darla’s first visit to the orchard, Tom already had a very hard time picturing her as a marine sergeant’s wife, especially a career marine. She was very proud of her job, loved what she did. She was passionate about her career.
He asked her if she and Bob had hoped to have children and she said they had barely talked about it. But over dinner on Saturday night, they managed to talk about more personal things. He told her about growing up an orphaned only child and she told him about growing up with one older sibling and devoted parents. It sounded like she had led a charmed life until choosing to marry a marine and being suddenly widowed. He felt bad about that; everyone had tough stuff to carry, but this pretty and successful girl shouldn’t have had to go through that trauma. It made him think about how many happy, pretty young women lost their men and how many fine young men had buried their wives because of the same war.
On Sunday morning they found that Maxie had managed to provide granola and plain yogurt for Darla, something that brought a bright smile to her lips. After his usual hearty breakfast, Tom kissed her forehead and told her he’d be back after doing a quick check of the orchard.
“Please do be quick,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I have to leave by noon and I don’t want to go without saying goodbye. And planning when we can get together again.”
And so Tom was back at the house in plenty of time. He found Maxie in the kitchen and grinned at her. “You’re something, you know,” he said. “How far did you have to go to find granola and yogurt?”
“Not that far,” she said. “But I can’t have her on my conscience. I saw her eat one asparagus spear all weekend.”
“I saw her eat more than that,” he said with a laugh.
“Thank God. She might not eat much, but she’s got an ensemble for every hour of the day.”
“I think that’s the reasoning behind staying slim,” Tom said, giving his grandmother a little tap on the nose with his index finger. “She’d have to file bankruptcy if she grew out of those clothes.”
At least Maxie laughed. “She’s packing up,” she said. “Go see if you can do anything to help. And offer her lunch, although I have no idea what she’d be willing to eat. I could mow the lawn and offer her a plate of grass… .”
“Don’t be mean,” he said, frowning. But then, chuckling to himself, he mounted the stairs and found Darla gently folding things away.
She smiled at him but he frowned. “Darla, are you folding your clothes with tissue paper?”
“Yes,” she said proudly. “It absorbs any odors, helps keep wrinkles out and if there’s any kind of luggage malfunction, like a hairspray or perfume spill—tissue paper is one more layer of absorbent. But really, I do it for odors and wrinkles.”
“Amazing.”
“I’m guessing you don’t go to this much trouble,” she said.
“No. A couple of clean drawers and a shaving kit—that pretty much does it for me.”
“Such a guy.”
There were three suitcases open on the bed. She was wearing her fourth pair of boots for the weekend—these were black with thick heels—and her fourth soft, sexy sweater. Since she was wearing boots, he assumed the fancy red boots that sat on top of the largest suitcase were traveling back to Davis. He picked one up. “Tell me about these boots,” he said.
“Tell you what?” she asked.
“Well, they look like they might be special. Are they special?”
She broke into a wide smile. “You could say so. They’re Jimmy Choo.”
“A what?”
“Peanut butter and jelly,” Tom supplied. And he unremorsefully kept shoveling food into his mouth, jealously eyeing Darla’s still-full plate.
Darla laughed as if it were a joke. “I’m fine, really.”
“What’s for breakfast?” Maxie asked.
Darla tilted her head, lifted a pretty blond brow and asked, “A little granola? Plain yogurt?”
“How do you feel about All-Bran?” Maxie asked.
Darla made a face.
“We’re going out for breakfast,” Tom announced. “I have eggs, potatoes, sausage, bacon and toast. I’ll be sure you have granola and yogurt.”
“Tom,” she said sincerely, “aren’t you worried about your cholesterol?”
He forked a big mouthful of potatoes, full of butter, cheese and sour cream into his mouth and after swallowing he said, “I lift a couple thousand pounds of apples a day. I dare my cholesterol to keep up with that.”
“I guess you have a point,” she said. “I work out every morning, but the rest of my day isn’t so physical. I’m in sales. I have a lot of meetings. Many of them in restaurants. If I ate everything that was put in front of me, I’d weigh two hundred pounds!”
“You look just lovely, dear,” Maxie said. “You’ll be fine. Now tell us about the sales job and who you sell your products to.”
And cleverly, Maxie turned the table over to Darla, who was not eating and could talk while Tom and Maxie finished their dinner. And it was interesting—her work with doctors and hospitals and drug trials that might actually cure diseases and conditions that to this point rarely were successfully cured. She traveled for three to four days every other week and enjoyed her travels. She had long-term clients who had become friends because they depended on her. And there were benefits—bonus gifts she could give to her clients, and to herself, like good seats at concerts and sporting events. There were greatly discounted resort destinations—the Caribbean, Hawaii, Mexico. She had the best vacations and bonuses in the world.
During her explanation of her work, Tom and Maxie rose from the table and began to clean up dishes, careful not to ignore her. Since Maxie was letting the broiler pan soak, it didn’t take long to wash up, put things in the dishwasher, wipe off the table. Maxie didn’t even bother with the pound cake yet.
“Come on,” Tom said, holding out his hand. “Let’s find your jacket and walk off some of those calories you stuffed away at dinner.”
Hopefully only Tom noticed Maxie roll her eyes.
Chapter Eight
To Tom’s great pleasure, it was a clear night. Cold, clear and the sky was peppered with a million stars. He walked with Darla down the lane between the two big groves, hands tucked into their jacket pockets.
“I can see why you love it here,” she said. “It’s so quaint and peaceful.”
“I guess I never think of it as quaint. It’s so much work. We move tons and tons of apples and gallons of cider.”
“But you have employees,” she said.
“Several. And now that I’m home I can manage the business end of things—accounts, payroll, shipping—all stuff Maxie did with Junior’s help while I was gone. I think she’s entitled to a slower pace. It was either run the orchard or think about selling it in the not-too-distant future.”
“Sell it?” she asked.
“It’s been in the Cavanaugh family since the first trees were planted—a very long time ago. I think it was my great-grandfather. I think Maxie would grieve it. I’m pretty sure I would. I can’t think of anything I could do but this.”
“And this is a good business?” she asked.
“Good enough to take care of all our needs year round. And in the winter when we’re not planting or picking, it keeps us very well.”
“Is it lucrative?” she asked.
“I guess so,” he said with a shrug. The fact was, Tom didn’t think like that. He wasn’t comparing his orchard to anyone else’s. They did very well and when there was profit left over, they always put it into the land, crop, equipment and the house. There were some savings of course, but mainly their money went back into the business. They were continually enlarging their crop. And of course they paid employees and provided benefits for all but the seasonal help.
“But what a great place to come on weekends, to get out of the rat race,” she said.
“Better than Jamaica?” he asked teasingly. “Better than front-row seats at a Lakers game?”
She gave him a playful slug in the arm.
“You come up here any weekend you feel like it,” he invited.
“Will you come to Davis?” she asked.
“Probably not during the harvest,” he said. “I rarely take a whole weekend off between the end of August and Thanksgiving. I can wrangle a day sometimes. Or an evening.”
“But you were gone for seven years and they did fine,” she pointed out.
“But I’m home now and they don’t have to make do.”
“Am I keeping you from something important now?” she asked him.
He stopped walking and looked down at her. “This is a treat. After spending all day in the orchard, I don’t usually do this. Walking through the trees at night, under a clear sky, it gives me a whole new appreciation for the place.” He took a deep breath and put his hands on her waist. “So, how are you doing, really, since Bob’s been gone?”
“Very well,” she said. “I had my time of grief, which was so hard, but I’m better. I’ve even had a few dates. Nothing very promising, but hey…”
“You know, I kissed my first girl in the orchard,” he said.
“I bet you’ve kissed a lot of them since.”
“Not in the orchard.” And he slowly closed in on her, cautiously meeting her lips. Her hands rested on his forearms and she tilted her chin up, offering her mouth. He moved over her lips softly, then slid his arms around her waist, pulled her against him and got serious about the kiss, deepening, demanding a bit.
Darla went along with this for a moment and then gently pulled away with a nervous laugh. He didn’t let go, but watched her smile, her eyes. “Let’s take this nice and slow, Tom,” she said.
“Sure.” Then he took her hand in his much larger one and walked with her down the lane. “I’m surprised that you got in touch, Darla.”
“Really? Because I thought you could tell when you visited—I was hoping we’d see each other again.” She looked up at him. “I asked for this class, Tom. I thought it might give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
“No kidding?” he replied, stunned. Then he grinned and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be damned.”
“You shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re a desirable man—handsome, accomplished, successful.”
“I am?”
She laughed and leaned against him. “We’re going to have a good time this weekend.”
* * *
Tom enjoyed watching Darla gasp in awe at the redwoods, at the rocky coast, aiming her cell phone at scenic views for pictures and short movies. He was surprised by the amount of pleasure it gave him to answer her many questions about the area, the business of operating an orchard, how he grew up with his grandmother. He assumed she had very few questions about his time in the Corps because, after all, that was how she lost her husband.
She did say she was comfortable around him because she felt as though he knew her, having served with her husband. Tom nodded, but in fact he didn’t feel like he knew her at all. Bob hadn’t talked about her much, just to say things like he couldn’t wait to get home, that his wife was gorgeous—no argument there. But Tom hadn’t known anything more about her. Tom was a captain, Bob was first sergeant. They weren’t exactly old friends, but Tom served with him in the sandbox and had a lot of respect for the guy. Bob was looking at a military career while Tom had been pretty sure he was heading out after that deployment.
Twenty-four hours into Darla’s first visit to the orchard, Tom already had a very hard time picturing her as a marine sergeant’s wife, especially a career marine. She was very proud of her job, loved what she did. She was passionate about her career.
He asked her if she and Bob had hoped to have children and she said they had barely talked about it. But over dinner on Saturday night, they managed to talk about more personal things. He told her about growing up an orphaned only child and she told him about growing up with one older sibling and devoted parents. It sounded like she had led a charmed life until choosing to marry a marine and being suddenly widowed. He felt bad about that; everyone had tough stuff to carry, but this pretty and successful girl shouldn’t have had to go through that trauma. It made him think about how many happy, pretty young women lost their men and how many fine young men had buried their wives because of the same war.
On Sunday morning they found that Maxie had managed to provide granola and plain yogurt for Darla, something that brought a bright smile to her lips. After his usual hearty breakfast, Tom kissed her forehead and told her he’d be back after doing a quick check of the orchard.
“Please do be quick,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I have to leave by noon and I don’t want to go without saying goodbye. And planning when we can get together again.”
And so Tom was back at the house in plenty of time. He found Maxie in the kitchen and grinned at her. “You’re something, you know,” he said. “How far did you have to go to find granola and yogurt?”
“Not that far,” she said. “But I can’t have her on my conscience. I saw her eat one asparagus spear all weekend.”
“I saw her eat more than that,” he said with a laugh.
“Thank God. She might not eat much, but she’s got an ensemble for every hour of the day.”
“I think that’s the reasoning behind staying slim,” Tom said, giving his grandmother a little tap on the nose with his index finger. “She’d have to file bankruptcy if she grew out of those clothes.”
At least Maxie laughed. “She’s packing up,” she said. “Go see if you can do anything to help. And offer her lunch, although I have no idea what she’d be willing to eat. I could mow the lawn and offer her a plate of grass… .”
“Don’t be mean,” he said, frowning. But then, chuckling to himself, he mounted the stairs and found Darla gently folding things away.
She smiled at him but he frowned. “Darla, are you folding your clothes with tissue paper?”
“Yes,” she said proudly. “It absorbs any odors, helps keep wrinkles out and if there’s any kind of luggage malfunction, like a hairspray or perfume spill—tissue paper is one more layer of absorbent. But really, I do it for odors and wrinkles.”
“Amazing.”
“I’m guessing you don’t go to this much trouble,” she said.
“No. A couple of clean drawers and a shaving kit—that pretty much does it for me.”
“Such a guy.”
There were three suitcases open on the bed. She was wearing her fourth pair of boots for the weekend—these were black with thick heels—and her fourth soft, sexy sweater. Since she was wearing boots, he assumed the fancy red boots that sat on top of the largest suitcase were traveling back to Davis. He picked one up. “Tell me about these boots,” he said.
“Tell you what?” she asked.
“Well, they look like they might be special. Are they special?”
She broke into a wide smile. “You could say so. They’re Jimmy Choo.”
