“I knew about your plans, Nora—we’re all ready to back you up. We might have an issue with the next two weekends. If you’re not going to be able to work, tell me now—we’re opening up the orchard to the public. It gets chaotic.”
“So I’m told. I wonder—would it be all right if Jed and Susan come and bring the girls? I promise not to get too distracted.”
“Absolutely, tell them about it. Maxie would probably love it.”
“I’m going to get moving before I’m caught burning daylight.” She zipped up her jacket and pulled on gloves. She went past him to the break room to grab a rain slicker off a set of hooks on the wall that held a dozen or so.
“Don’t you want a cup of coffee to get your engine started?” he asked her when she passed back through the office.
She grinned at him. “Now that I’m wealthy, I have coffee at home. With cream!” And off she whirled. He heard her outside as she said, “Hey, Duke, old pal—how are you this morning? Gonna be another wet one, but you like it that way, don’t you? Doesn’t that wet dog smell make it all worthwhile?” And then she laughed.
She was just the cutest damn thing, he found himself thinking. He wondered what she’d think of stuffed grape leaves… .
It was a few hours later, the morning fog and mist beginning to give way to a bright morning sun, when Tom heard the bell from the back porch. He had asked Maxie to ring it when Darla was ready to have her luggage carried downstairs. The bell had almost never been used. Tom’s grandfather had installed that bell when Maxie was very, very pregnant. It was one of those old-fashioned things with a strip of rawhide attached to the clapper. He wanted her to use it if she needed him for anything rather than walking up and down a couple of acres of trees looking for him. And what had Maxie done? She had walked through the entire orchard to find Grandpa to tell him, “I didn’t want to bother you, but I’ve been in labor all day and now I think I have to call the midwife. Can you get her for me?”
Tom laughed to himself. He’d heard the story so many times while growing up. His grandpa had swept his grandmother up in his arms, carried her to the house, up the stairs to the bedroom and sent someone for the midwife. The midwife was from another town, of course—that long ago Virgin River wasn’t much but a few farms. And the midwife didn’t make it, which at the end of the day had been something of a tragedy because Maxie had a few complications that left her unable to have more children. Of course there was no guarantee that getting the midwife there on time would have mattered.
Even though his grandparents, dead in love till the day Grandpa passed away, said they’d love to have had a baker’s dozen, they were also quick to say they were grateful for the bounty God gave: a son, an orchard and a woman who could bake a decent pie.
He trudged across the yard to the house. For some reason he had a picture in his head of Nora tromping through an entire orchard rather than just ringing the bell. And then, unsummoned, an image of Darla being carried on a litter by a group of Nubian slaves… .
He found himself ridiculous—stuck in a box of his own making, rejecting the one who appealed and spending every weekend with the one who was not right for him, though he had desperately wished she could have been. But it was hopeless. She was hopeless.
She was waiting in the kitchen. “Going to get an early start?” he asked Darla.
“Since you’ll be busy all day, I’ll get the drive behind me. I look forward to next weekend. It sounds like such fun.”
Tom mentally tried to calculate how many more weeks she’d be in Davis, close enough to spend every freaking weekend at the orchard. “Let me go up and grab your bags,” he said. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Long ago,” she said with a smile. She turned to Maxie, who was stirring a giant pot on the stove. “Thank you once again, Maxie. Your hospitality is unsurpassed.”
“Always a pleasure, dear,” she said. “Oh, by the way, the next two weekends? There will be lots of company. I hope you love a crowd.”
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Staying over,” Maxie stressed. “Some of my girlfriends from around the mountains are coming. We’ll be packed in here.”
“It sounds like fun!”
“Good, then.”
Tom, chuckling and shaking his head, headed up the stairs. He managed the four designer bags in two trips, loading up her trunk. He drove her to the gate, opened it while she transferred herself to the driver’s side. She slipped her arms around his neck, stood on the toes of yet another pair of boots to give him a brief kiss. He was planning his email in his head—Darla, rethink this idea of spending the weekend during the apple festival. If Maxie’s friends are coming, you might end up on a cot in the cider works. And if you pick at your food, they might tie you down and feed you. They’re old, but they’re strong and bossy.
He went back to the house, to the kitchen, having been called by wonderful smells that he hoped weren’t being prepared for dinner.
“Whatcha got going there, Max?” he asked.
“Chili,” she said. “It’s getting so cold, so wet, I thought maybe I’d put it in the break room on a warming tray along with some disposable bowls. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll do that for you, after I’ve had a couple of bowls right now. Crackers? Shredded cheese?”
She lifted one thin brow. “Side of beef to go with that?”
“Make it a big bowl,” he said. “Then I’ll see if I can go pick the rest of your apples for you.” He waited patiently while she fished around in the cupboard for a large bowl, grabbed a bag of shredded cheddar out of the refrigerator and a box of crackers from the pantry. “I’m going to make corn bread to go with this but I sense you can’t wait for that.” She placed it in front of him with a spoon.
“Can’t wait,” he confirmed. “So? Company’s coming? Who?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” she said, sitting down at the table with him. “I never have any trouble rounding up friends.”
“I see,” he said, crumpling crackers on top of his cheddar-laced chili. “You haven’t invited them yet.”
“I’m going to do that straight away.”
“Why? We’re usually awful busy on apple festival weekends.”
“They’ll come early, help with baking, all that stuff.”
“That’s not why,” he said. “Damn, this is good, Maxie.”
“Thank you.”
“So? Why?”
“I’m getting tired of Miss Picky Pants. If you marry her I’m going to kill myself.”
His smile fought hard to get out, but he held it in. “What if I’m completely in love with her?”
She rolled her eyes and clasped her hands together as if praying for strength. “I’ve had a good life…”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He leaned toward her. “Maxie, do you ever think about retirement?”
“Of course. This is my retirement. I don’t work nearly as hard as I used to—Junior manages almost everything. At least he did until you came home.”
“Ever thought about selling the orchard?” he asked.
“No, I thought about you selling it after I was dead. I felt kind of bad for Junior and the others, but by the time I’m dead, they’ll be near dead anyway and I just can’t manage from the grave.”
“No doubt you’ll try,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“My hearing is perfect,” she informed him.
“So,” he asked, deliberately speaking very quietly. “Have you ever considered one of those homes for seniors? When you’re, you know, senior?”
“I’m seventy-four,” she said. “How much more senior do you expect I’ll get?”
“I think some of your girlfriends live in fancy-dancy senior communities. Don’t they? Where they can have the lawn taken care of for them, the cooking pretty much done every day, a little housekeeping? Some fun and games?”
“Lorna is the karaoke queen at hers… . Ever hear of such a thing?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “You ever lust after one of those places?”
“You need a little more privacy, Tom? Because I have places to go if you want a weekend alone or something.”
He shook his head. “Darla mentioned they put her grandmother in one of those assisted-living places and she didn’t want to go at first, but now she’s happy about it. Loving it.”
Maxie’s face contorted into a very mean grimace. “Is that so?”
“So it seems.”
“You might want to tell Miss Picky Pants I have a shotgun and I’m a right fine shot.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back.
Tom roared with laughter. “Maybe I’ll just let you handle this whole thing your way.”
“What whole thing?” she asked. “Is she already putting me out to pasture?”
“Uh-huh. And selling the orchard and investing the money and getting me started in a new career,” he admitted. He thought about telling his grandmother what Darla had paid for her red boots, but then Maxie might stroke out and he was afraid Darla would move in to help him cope.
“For the love of God,” she said.
Tom put down his spoon. His eyes became serious. “Listen, we have a situation. Her husband was one of my men, killed while he served in my command. She’s lonely. She’s nearby. She wants to come here… Why, I’m not entirely sure. It’s not like she eats apples or wants to bake pies. But she wants to come. Maybe the service is too good… .”
“I could get out the lumpy pillows and scratchy toilet paper… .”
“I tried to discourage the next couple of weekends but she’s planning to come even though I warned her she won’t get any attention. It’ll be apple-picking time. You told her you were going to fill the house up with old women and she still wants to come. I think, at least until she finishes this course in Davis, we’re stuck with her.”
“You’re not mad in love with her?” Maxie asked.
He shook his head. “I want to be,” he admitted. “She’s very pretty.” Sexy. “She seems smart and I gather she has a solid, functional family background, but…” But I haven’t had sex in so long I can’t even remember how…and I still can’t get excited about her coming for another visit… If she sprawled n**ed on my bed, I probably wouldn’t be able to…
“Tom, can I say something about that? About that solid, functional family background? I don’t know where you got that judgmental streak or your almighty standards—maybe from your great-grandfather. Your great-grandmother was so open to possibilities, so nonjudgmental. When I stumbled into this orchard looking for work, I had come from a really rugged family—dirt-poor, had nothing, uneducated, didn’t know what the term emotional support meant—and your grandfather took an instant liking to me anyway. I’m sure because of that your great-grandfather refused to hire me on. But your great-grandmother did hire me—brought me into the house, into the kitchen to help with jam, ciders, pies and housework. Tom, I had a lot of what you young people call baggage, but your grandpa didn’t care. He said he loved me and wanted me no matter what my past had been like, no matter what load I was bringing along. That’s never been a secret in our family—that I had burdens. Your grandpa had to take on a lot to take me. Most people have a load to carry, Tom. So do you—look at your family history! You have some amazing family history and some of it kind of strange—like the disappearing mother. You know.”
“So I’m told. I wonder—would it be all right if Jed and Susan come and bring the girls? I promise not to get too distracted.”
“Absolutely, tell them about it. Maxie would probably love it.”
“I’m going to get moving before I’m caught burning daylight.” She zipped up her jacket and pulled on gloves. She went past him to the break room to grab a rain slicker off a set of hooks on the wall that held a dozen or so.
“Don’t you want a cup of coffee to get your engine started?” he asked her when she passed back through the office.
She grinned at him. “Now that I’m wealthy, I have coffee at home. With cream!” And off she whirled. He heard her outside as she said, “Hey, Duke, old pal—how are you this morning? Gonna be another wet one, but you like it that way, don’t you? Doesn’t that wet dog smell make it all worthwhile?” And then she laughed.
She was just the cutest damn thing, he found himself thinking. He wondered what she’d think of stuffed grape leaves… .
It was a few hours later, the morning fog and mist beginning to give way to a bright morning sun, when Tom heard the bell from the back porch. He had asked Maxie to ring it when Darla was ready to have her luggage carried downstairs. The bell had almost never been used. Tom’s grandfather had installed that bell when Maxie was very, very pregnant. It was one of those old-fashioned things with a strip of rawhide attached to the clapper. He wanted her to use it if she needed him for anything rather than walking up and down a couple of acres of trees looking for him. And what had Maxie done? She had walked through the entire orchard to find Grandpa to tell him, “I didn’t want to bother you, but I’ve been in labor all day and now I think I have to call the midwife. Can you get her for me?”
Tom laughed to himself. He’d heard the story so many times while growing up. His grandpa had swept his grandmother up in his arms, carried her to the house, up the stairs to the bedroom and sent someone for the midwife. The midwife was from another town, of course—that long ago Virgin River wasn’t much but a few farms. And the midwife didn’t make it, which at the end of the day had been something of a tragedy because Maxie had a few complications that left her unable to have more children. Of course there was no guarantee that getting the midwife there on time would have mattered.
Even though his grandparents, dead in love till the day Grandpa passed away, said they’d love to have had a baker’s dozen, they were also quick to say they were grateful for the bounty God gave: a son, an orchard and a woman who could bake a decent pie.
He trudged across the yard to the house. For some reason he had a picture in his head of Nora tromping through an entire orchard rather than just ringing the bell. And then, unsummoned, an image of Darla being carried on a litter by a group of Nubian slaves… .
He found himself ridiculous—stuck in a box of his own making, rejecting the one who appealed and spending every weekend with the one who was not right for him, though he had desperately wished she could have been. But it was hopeless. She was hopeless.
She was waiting in the kitchen. “Going to get an early start?” he asked Darla.
“Since you’ll be busy all day, I’ll get the drive behind me. I look forward to next weekend. It sounds like such fun.”
Tom mentally tried to calculate how many more weeks she’d be in Davis, close enough to spend every freaking weekend at the orchard. “Let me go up and grab your bags,” he said. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Long ago,” she said with a smile. She turned to Maxie, who was stirring a giant pot on the stove. “Thank you once again, Maxie. Your hospitality is unsurpassed.”
“Always a pleasure, dear,” she said. “Oh, by the way, the next two weekends? There will be lots of company. I hope you love a crowd.”
“Oh, yes,” she said.
“Staying over,” Maxie stressed. “Some of my girlfriends from around the mountains are coming. We’ll be packed in here.”
“It sounds like fun!”
“Good, then.”
Tom, chuckling and shaking his head, headed up the stairs. He managed the four designer bags in two trips, loading up her trunk. He drove her to the gate, opened it while she transferred herself to the driver’s side. She slipped her arms around his neck, stood on the toes of yet another pair of boots to give him a brief kiss. He was planning his email in his head—Darla, rethink this idea of spending the weekend during the apple festival. If Maxie’s friends are coming, you might end up on a cot in the cider works. And if you pick at your food, they might tie you down and feed you. They’re old, but they’re strong and bossy.
He went back to the house, to the kitchen, having been called by wonderful smells that he hoped weren’t being prepared for dinner.
“Whatcha got going there, Max?” he asked.
“Chili,” she said. “It’s getting so cold, so wet, I thought maybe I’d put it in the break room on a warming tray along with some disposable bowls. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll do that for you, after I’ve had a couple of bowls right now. Crackers? Shredded cheese?”
She lifted one thin brow. “Side of beef to go with that?”
“Make it a big bowl,” he said. “Then I’ll see if I can go pick the rest of your apples for you.” He waited patiently while she fished around in the cupboard for a large bowl, grabbed a bag of shredded cheddar out of the refrigerator and a box of crackers from the pantry. “I’m going to make corn bread to go with this but I sense you can’t wait for that.” She placed it in front of him with a spoon.
“Can’t wait,” he confirmed. “So? Company’s coming? Who?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” she said, sitting down at the table with him. “I never have any trouble rounding up friends.”
“I see,” he said, crumpling crackers on top of his cheddar-laced chili. “You haven’t invited them yet.”
“I’m going to do that straight away.”
“Why? We’re usually awful busy on apple festival weekends.”
“They’ll come early, help with baking, all that stuff.”
“That’s not why,” he said. “Damn, this is good, Maxie.”
“Thank you.”
“So? Why?”
“I’m getting tired of Miss Picky Pants. If you marry her I’m going to kill myself.”
His smile fought hard to get out, but he held it in. “What if I’m completely in love with her?”
She rolled her eyes and clasped her hands together as if praying for strength. “I’ve had a good life…”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He leaned toward her. “Maxie, do you ever think about retirement?”
“Of course. This is my retirement. I don’t work nearly as hard as I used to—Junior manages almost everything. At least he did until you came home.”
“Ever thought about selling the orchard?” he asked.
“No, I thought about you selling it after I was dead. I felt kind of bad for Junior and the others, but by the time I’m dead, they’ll be near dead anyway and I just can’t manage from the grave.”
“No doubt you’ll try,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“My hearing is perfect,” she informed him.
“So,” he asked, deliberately speaking very quietly. “Have you ever considered one of those homes for seniors? When you’re, you know, senior?”
“I’m seventy-four,” she said. “How much more senior do you expect I’ll get?”
“I think some of your girlfriends live in fancy-dancy senior communities. Don’t they? Where they can have the lawn taken care of for them, the cooking pretty much done every day, a little housekeeping? Some fun and games?”
“Lorna is the karaoke queen at hers… . Ever hear of such a thing?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “You ever lust after one of those places?”
“You need a little more privacy, Tom? Because I have places to go if you want a weekend alone or something.”
He shook his head. “Darla mentioned they put her grandmother in one of those assisted-living places and she didn’t want to go at first, but now she’s happy about it. Loving it.”
Maxie’s face contorted into a very mean grimace. “Is that so?”
“So it seems.”
“You might want to tell Miss Picky Pants I have a shotgun and I’m a right fine shot.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back.
Tom roared with laughter. “Maybe I’ll just let you handle this whole thing your way.”
“What whole thing?” she asked. “Is she already putting me out to pasture?”
“Uh-huh. And selling the orchard and investing the money and getting me started in a new career,” he admitted. He thought about telling his grandmother what Darla had paid for her red boots, but then Maxie might stroke out and he was afraid Darla would move in to help him cope.
“For the love of God,” she said.
Tom put down his spoon. His eyes became serious. “Listen, we have a situation. Her husband was one of my men, killed while he served in my command. She’s lonely. She’s nearby. She wants to come here… Why, I’m not entirely sure. It’s not like she eats apples or wants to bake pies. But she wants to come. Maybe the service is too good… .”
“I could get out the lumpy pillows and scratchy toilet paper… .”
“I tried to discourage the next couple of weekends but she’s planning to come even though I warned her she won’t get any attention. It’ll be apple-picking time. You told her you were going to fill the house up with old women and she still wants to come. I think, at least until she finishes this course in Davis, we’re stuck with her.”
“You’re not mad in love with her?” Maxie asked.
He shook his head. “I want to be,” he admitted. “She’s very pretty.” Sexy. “She seems smart and I gather she has a solid, functional family background, but…” But I haven’t had sex in so long I can’t even remember how…and I still can’t get excited about her coming for another visit… If she sprawled n**ed on my bed, I probably wouldn’t be able to…
“Tom, can I say something about that? About that solid, functional family background? I don’t know where you got that judgmental streak or your almighty standards—maybe from your great-grandfather. Your great-grandmother was so open to possibilities, so nonjudgmental. When I stumbled into this orchard looking for work, I had come from a really rugged family—dirt-poor, had nothing, uneducated, didn’t know what the term emotional support meant—and your grandfather took an instant liking to me anyway. I’m sure because of that your great-grandfather refused to hire me on. But your great-grandmother did hire me—brought me into the house, into the kitchen to help with jam, ciders, pies and housework. Tom, I had a lot of what you young people call baggage, but your grandpa didn’t care. He said he loved me and wanted me no matter what my past had been like, no matter what load I was bringing along. That’s never been a secret in our family—that I had burdens. Your grandpa had to take on a lot to take me. Most people have a load to carry, Tom. So do you—look at your family history! You have some amazing family history and some of it kind of strange—like the disappearing mother. You know.”
