Where Love Grows

“No! You can’t do that. It could be evidence—”

“See? You do think I’m running a scam.”

“Evidence can prove you either guilty or innocent, Ryan. But if you destroy it, you destroy any chance of me helping you.”

“You? Helping me? Why would a hired gun from Ag-Sure want to help me?”

Frustrated, she ground her teeth. “I am not a hired gun. The outcome of this case—at least from my point of view—is not a foregone conclusion, okay? But you’re being so damned paranoid that you’re sure as hell acting guilty.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just frustrated, okay?”

“Okay. But believe me. I’m here to help. Surely you can’t have tapped out all the experts on this sort of problem.”

The flicker of hope in his face died, and the corners of his mouth twisted. “You might as well know since you’ll find out sooner or later—if you don’t already know.”

“What?”

The bonfire crackled as the flames fed on the pine resin. Bits of ash rained down on Becca and Ryan, but she waited. She tried to read anything but misery in Ryan’s expression.

She couldn’t.

“One of my last projects with the ag chemical company I worked for was on a farm in Texas with this same dodder vine. I didn’t have a clue what to do to help them, and neither did anybody else. And I damn sure,” he bit out, “don’t know how to get rid of it here. I was there, on-site, equipped with means and opportunity to bring the vine east. So, you still think this case has no foregone conclusion?”

[e-mail]: Have you ever wondered about me? I mean, what I look like, who I am? If you’ve ever passed me on the street?

[e-mail]: I know pretty much everybody on the streets I’ve been on, but I’ve wondered, yeah.

[e-mail]: What would you say if you met me, but you weren’t sure it was me? If we did meet up?

[e-mail]: I probably wouldn’t say anything—what if it wasn’t you? She’d think I was nuts.

[e-mail]: So do you think one day we ever will meet?

[e-mail]: Maybe…but part of me doesn’t want to spoil the way things are.

CHAPTER SIX

RYAN’S PATH WAS BLOCKED by a four-foot-ten-inch pixie with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Charlotte, I swear. I don’t know where J.T. is,” Ryan told the diner waitress. “I haven’t heard from him in months—since Gramps’s funeral. You just need to…”

Ryan tried to swallow the anger he felt whenever he thought of the disappearing J. T. Griggs. The man had taken advantage of at least two women—Charlotte and Mee-Maw—left them high and dry, and still they defended him.

“You just need to forget J.T.”

Charlotte Hooks shifted her weight from one rubber-soled foot to the other, the carafe of hot coffee sloshing dangerously in her hand. “I can’t. He was a good man. I—I just don’t understand it, Ryan. J.T. just wouldn’t vanish this long without telling me where he was going. He wouldn’t leave Mee-Maw in a crunch, leaving right after Mr. Mac’s funeral. He had respect for Mr. Mac, and you know that. He flat worshipped the ground that man walked on.”

“Maybe he went back to Texas?”

Her brows drew together in an even darker frown. “They have phones in Texas, last I heard. If he’s that tight for money, he could at least send me a postcard. Besides, J.T. swore he wasn’t ever going back there. Wasn’t anything there for him, he said.”

Ryan eyed the glass door leading to the private dining room, the one where Murphy was holding court—and waiting for him.

He didn’t need to be here. He needed to be out plowing—and making sure that damned vine hadn’t taken any more potential harvest.

Ryan had been on a tractor, in fact, when Murphy had called this impromptu meeting this morning. Some people didn’t apparently have to work for a living.

But calls from Murphy—what with his web of connections to local politics and his big fat checkbook—were the equivalent of a command performance. Mee-Maw—and what she might have done to protect Gramps’s memory—was part of this equation, as well. Ryan hated the doubt and suspicion that had clouded his thoughts about her lately.

Besides, Ryan had a few things to unload on Murphy.

Not that it would do any good.

First, though, he had to get past Charlotte.

“I swear, scout’s honor, I have no clue where J.T. is. He hasn’t called me, hasn’t written, hasn’t left a crop circle or a message in skywriting. But if he should, you’ll be the first to know, okay? I know…I know you miss him, Charlotte.”

Her mouth twisted, and tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m worried. That’s what I am. He had so much going for him. He was finally getting his life together. He wouldn’t throw it all away. He wouldn’t.”

Maybe he didn’t have a choice.

Ryan shook off the dark thought. “That’s right. I’m sure he’ll let you know where he is and what he’s doing. How about getting me a cup of that coffee and bringing it to me in the back dining room?”

“That’s another reason why I thought…You never come here anymore. I thought maybe you knew something and weren’t telling me.”

I never come here anymore because I’m flat broke and even a dollar for a cup of joe is hard to come by.

“If I find out anything about J.T., I’ll tell you. Now, how about that coffee?”

After Charlotte trudged off for a cup, he proceeded back to the dining room.

Murphy looked up from his plate of grits, eggs and bacon. “’Bout time you got here. We’ve been waiting on you.”

The we included a motley crew of area farmers, some clearly straight from the fields as Ryan was, others in pristine golf shirts free from any signs of true labor. Murphy was part of the latter, his white knit cotton stretched taut over a big belly. Five minutes in a tractor and that shirt would have been history.

It also, Ryan realized with a sick twist of his stomach, included Jack.

Ryan pulled out a chair and sat down. He gave Jack a penetrating look, but his cousin merely shrugged in reply. The other men stared at Ryan, waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, Murphy forked in another bite of fried egg, chewed, cleared his throat and spoke.

“The fellows here are hoping you can tell them what to expect from that lady investigator. Understand she started with you last night. And stayed pretty late.”

“Now you’ve got me under surveillance?” Ryan glanced Jack’s way. Had his cousin told Murphy?

“Small town, Ryan. You know that. A gnat can’t fart in this town without someone knowing about it.”

The crude comment evoked a titter of uneasy laughter from the men at the table, but it did nothing to ease the tension.

“Well? Tell us about her. What’s she like? What’s she askin’?” a farmer named Steven Tate finally blurted out.

The whole scene did not sit well with Ryan. He hated feeling as if he was a spy.

“Ryan, your grandfather knew how important it was for all of us farmers to stick together. You could learn a thing or two from Mac.”

That not-so-subtle warning from Murphy served to goose Ryan into reluctant action. “She’s nice enough. She asked the obvious questions—when did it start? How did it start? What had I done about it?”

Nobody spoke, not until Murphy had sopped up his grits and cheese with a bit of biscuit. “She seem satisfied with your answers?”

Translation: was Becca Reynolds going away anytime soon?

“For now…but she wants to nail down a detailed time line of the spread of the vine. She really wants to know how it got from Texas to here.”

That last bit was inspiration on Ryan’s part. Maybe he could force Murphy into revealing just how he’d pulled that trick. Murphy had been hinting for weeks that Gramps had had a hand in it…and the threat had a way of keeping Ryan in line.

But Murphy simply spat out a foul curse. “Detailed time line? What the hell’s the point? It’s here. She could see it. You showed her, right?”

“You have to admit, Murphy, it looks suspicious. No reports of infestation between here and Texas? Of course the first question the insurance company is going to ask is what train it rode in on.”

“Maybe we could buy her off,” offered Doug Oliver, who fidgeted with his cap. “She look like the type who could come to some sort of understanding?”

Murphy shot a quelling look at Oliver. “It’s too soon for that. But it raises a good question. She the type, you think, Ryan? If push comes to shove?”

“No. And I won’t be a part of it.” Ryan’s blood hissed in his ears.

Murphy’s answering chuckle was a short, sharp bark. “You’re already a part of it. You’re here, aren’t you? This dodder vine was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Ryan made to push his chair back. “I’m here out of respect for Gramps’s memory and his long association with most of you. You keep saying this whole thing was my idea, but I don’t have a clue in hell why you think that. I had nothing to do with any of this.”

“Nope. Not a clue. Didn’t tell Mac anything about a slam-dunk way to get crop insurance to pay off, did you?”

Ryan seethed at the way Murphy was twisting the truth. He would have shot back a reply, but Murphy had moved on.

“What’d you tell her? What’s she got planned?”

Believe me. I’m here to help. That’s what Becca had said to him last night, and damned if he didn’t believe her. But why? Why would she go out on a limb for the likes of him? What made her think he could be saved—was even worth saving?

“Ryan?”

Ryan dragged his thoughts back from Becca’s motivations. “She seems pretty bent on doing a thorough investigation…but on the flip side, she’s ready to give us the benefit of the doubt.”

“Maybe she’s angling for a little grease on the wheels, eh?” Oliver said.

Everybody ignored him. They waited for Murphy’s answer.

“She’s here for the long haul? Say anything about inspecting the other farms?”

“No, but I expect she will. She seems to know her stuff.”

“I don’t like it,” another farmer spoke up. “I thought this was supposed to be a slam dunk like Murphy said. After that insurance adjuster came, they were supposed to cut a check, and then we could start burning off our fields. As it is, I’m spending out the wazoo to tend a crop I for one didn’t think I’d have to be fooling with at this point. Pretty soon, I’ll be in the hole, even with the insurance money.”

“You’ll get your money,” Murphy told him. “Everybody just stick together, stick with the story, and you’ll get your money.”

“Maybe you guys should just cut your losses,” Ryan said. “I’m telling you, you let this stuff go unchecked for much longer while you wait on an insurance company to decide, and it’ll gain a foothold. Then next year you won’t even be able to put in a crop. You guys just don’t understand how bad this particular vine can be. It’s already jumped the cotton fields and got into Mee-Maw’s garden.”

To his satisfaction, Ryan heard a collective gasp. That’s right, scare ’em into doing the right thing.

But Murphy seemed unperturbed. “Well, now, Ryan. Guess that shows you how important it is that we get this woman in and out on the double-q. Before anything happens to y’all’s precious Mee-Maw. Glad to hear you’re grasping the situation.”

It took a moment for Ryan to catch Murphy’s drift. “You son of a—” Now he was on his feet, with Jack struggling to get up, too, but hampered by his leg. “You were the one who planted that stuff in—”

“That’s no way to talk to your gramps’s friends, is it? Mac never talked to us like that. All I was saying is that we need to answer this woman’s questions and send her on her merry way before that stuff spreads any more. After all, you know what it can do. So it’s in everybody’s best interest to persuade her to get this investigation over and done with.”

Tate leaned forward. “Murphy, if we can’t persuade her, then we might have to—” the farmer scratched his chin “—consider other options.”

The double meaning in Tate’s brief statement was enough to sink a flotilla. Ryan could barely hold on to his temper. The thought that Murphy had deliberately put that vine in Mee-Maw’s garden was enough to leave him speechless with rage.

But Tate practically threatening violence?

Murphy gave his head an abrupt shake. “You leave the Reynolds girl to me. Last thing we need to do is get her more suspicious. I know how to handle her kind. They come on strong, but when they see how things work in the real world…”

Behind Ryan, the glass door swung open. He turned to see Becca, clad in snug-fitting blue jeans and a V-necked T-shirt, taking in the gathering. Her eyes went from one farmer to the other, finally landing on Ryan.

Was it disappointment he saw in them?

BECCA KNEW A WAR ROOM when she saw one, and despite its Rotary banners spouting “Is it the truth?” this was most definitely a war room.

She looked past Ryan, his face taut with emotion—rage? Worry? She couldn’t be sure—and met the cool, implacable gaze of Richard Murphy.

At least that’s who she thought the man sitting at the head of the long table, radiating authority like a lord over his fiefdom, must be.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said. “I was looking for a Mr. Richard Murphy.”

She hadn’t been wrong. The man pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “That’d be me.”

“I’m—”

“Becca Reynolds. Ryan here was telling us all about you.”

Becca took in the way Ryan’s mouth turned down even more at the corners.

He’s not happy about whatever is going on.

“Well, good. That saves me the trouble of explaining things. I was wondering if you’d be available to show me your…infestation later today.”

“We all will. Right, boys? We certainly want to cooperate with Miss Reynolds so she can get her job done.”

“That’s—that’s great.” This was creepy, the way the men around the table—including Jack MacIntosh—all nodded enthusiastically at Murphy’s directive, though their expressions looked anything but.

“Uh…Becca. You said you had some more questions for me. We can handle them now, if you want to follow me back out to the farm. Or are you here for breakfast?”

Ryan’s voice seemed strange, forced. Was he following orders or just using her as a handy excuse to ditch the meeting?

It didn’t matter. She knew him in a way she didn’t know the other men in the room. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she’d get the full story out of Ryan quicker than she would anyone else. She was convinced he wanted to tell her the deal.

Or maybe you’re just fooling yourself.

“Sure, I’ll follow you. I’ve already eaten.”

Ryan threw down a couple of bills onto the Formica table. He exchanged a long look with Jack, but he didn’t, she noticed, say goodbye to anyone. Everyone else seemed to be waiting for her to get out the door so they could resume the meeting.

“Looking forward to seeing you later today, Miss Reynolds. Just come on when you will.”

Murphy’s invitation reeked of phony goodwill as his words didn’t match the hard, speculative light in his eyes.

“I’ll do that, Mr. Murphy. Ryan? If you’re ready?”

They headed outside into the early-morning sunlight. She took a stab at loosening some details from Ryan.

“I didn’t mean to drag you away from your breakfast buddies.”

“They’re not my buddies,” he growled.

Well. That was a reaction. It cheered her immeasurably, save for a niggling doubt about what Ryan’s cousin had been doing there. She tackled Ryan about it. “Not your buddies? What about Jack?”

Ryan’s dark glower morphed into worry. That was then smoothed into something more inscrutable. “He was probably there for the same reason as me—waiting to see what Murphy had to say.”

Maybe. But Jack did sell insurance—though not for crops—and he wasn’t happy to have someone poking around. She’d need to keep an eye on Jack.

The thought that someone other than Ryan could be the focus of the scam eased some of the anxiety eating at Becca. She’d spent an insomnia-plagued night second-guessing herself, and then had been awoken at 6:00 a.m. by her dad’s phone call.

Becca hadn’t exactly lied to him, she just hadn’t spilled the whole truth. It was too complicated, and she wanted to figure out a few things first. He’d been satisfied to hear that she thought something hinky was going on.

“Thought so,” her father had said. “Mighty funny that a guy with MacIntosh’s know-how is at the epicenter of a bunch of claims on some parasitic plant. Mark my words, he’s in it up to his neck.”

Becca looked at Ryan now. She prayed that he’d talk to her, come clean about whatever had been said in that room. If it were a conspiracy, he would be considered just as guilty as the rest of them if he knew what was going on and said nothing.

“Mee-Maw wanted me to invite you to lunch today. It’s leftovers, mind you, but Mee-Maw’s leftovers are better than a lot of people’s fresh-cooked.”

“I’ll definitely take her up on it.”

“She likes you.”

What about you, Ryan? Do you like me? Don’t you see any of Sunny in me? Won’t you trust me?

“Ryan!” a woman called from the diner’s door. She hurried over to where Becca and Ryan stood.

“Charlotte, I told you—”

“I know, I know. I’m a worrywart, and you want me to quit nagging you about J.T.”

J.T. again. Becca tried to fade into the background to hear anything that might prove enlightening.

Ryan shot a sideways glance toward Becca. Was he in a hurry to cut the waitress’ conversation short?

“I promise, when I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know,” he answered the woman cryptically. “Becca? Are you ready? I’m already so far behind I’ll never get caught up.”

With that, he strode off toward his pickup.

CHAPTER SEVEN

RYAN PUT THE TRUCK in gear but held the clutch for a moment longer as he stared in the rearview mirror. Becca was in a deep conversation with Charlotte.

His stomach flipped. Just what he didn’t want—both Becca and Charlotte asking questions and comparing notes about J.T.

Real smooth, MacIntosh. You couldn’t have been more obvious if you’d circled Charlotte with a pen and scribbled Clue!

Becca handed Charlotte something, a card probably, and headed for that oversized-lawn-mower car of hers.

Ryan gnawed at his lip, considering. What could he safely tell her? He’d be dumb as a load of bricks to fall for her “I’m here to help” routine. She probably did that to all her targets.

Highly effective on a sap like you, too, isn’t it?

He groaned. Gramps, I wish you were here. This was the kind of deal Ryan always went to him about. If Gramps were still around, they’d pop open a couple of colas and a pack or two of peanuts, and Ryan would tell him the whole sorry tale. By the time the peanuts were gone, Gramps would have kicked his butt and put him on the road to right.

He ran his fingers over the dash of the truck, closed his eyes. With a sigh, he shook off the grief and the longing to dump this whole mess onto the capable shoulders of someone wiser, more experienced.

No point in it. He had to get back to the farm, answer what questions he could, avoid the ones he couldn’t and do it as quickly as possible.

His cell phone buzzed. Ryan fished it out of his pocket, keeping one hand on the wheel.

“Hey, Ryan, I wanted to explain—”

Ryan cut off Jack in midsentence. “Yeah, I’m waiting. What the hell were you doing there this morning?”

“Same as you. Murphy called me first thing. I aim to keep him happy—and you should, too. You know what he’s got over us—over Mee-Maw.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“I think I do sometimes. Look…we’ve talked about this before. Let’s just keep our heads down, get through this season as best we can, start fresh next year. For Mee-Maw’s sake.”

“He planted—”

“Because he thinks you’re not playing ball, Ryan. I don’t like it any better than you, but…we’ve got no choice. You know that. Right?”

Ryan expelled a long breath. “Right.”

“What’s the deal with you and the Reynolds woman, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. I saw the way you were looking at her. Don’t fall for it, cuz. Don’t let a pretty smile take us all down.”

“What the hell is it—” Ryan bit back the protest he’d been about to utter. “Look, I’m just cooperating with her. You heard Murphy. We’re all supposed to make nice. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” He hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror to see Becca’s Mini behind him. If only he and Becca hadn’t met like this.

Maybe Jack was right. If Ryan was going to dig his way out of this mess, he couldn’t afford to waste time stewing over regrets or missed goodbyes to Gramps. He had to think of Mee-Maw.

MAYBE IT WAS SILLY, but to channel Gramps’s wisdom, Ryan pulled out two bottles of Coke and the peanuts and laid them out for Becca. She sat across from him on the front porch, in the chair he’d always sat in for long confessionals with Gramps. As he sat in Gramps’s high-backed rocker, he didn’t feel worthy of the seat. He’d screwed up and he didn’t know quite how to fix things. Had Gramps ever felt that way?

Ryan worried that maybe, in those last days, Gramps had.

Don’t even think that, MacIntosh. Gramps was as straight as an arrow, despite what that SOB Murphy says.

He waited for whatever Becca would unload on him. Lord, she was pretty. He could almost fool himself that this was a Sunday-come-a-courtin’ conversation and that the biggest thing at stake was whether he’d get a goodbye kiss.

Be nice if it were that simple.

“So…you farmers frequently have meetings first thing in the morning?”

Ryan harrumphed. “That wasn’t first thing in the morning for any self-respecting farmer. And no, we don’t. At least I don’t. Who has time to fool with breakfast out when you’ve got a to-do list that stretches to the moon and back?”

“It felt like a board meeting.”

“Murphy’d like that analogy. He’s a little full of himself, you ask me.”

“You mean, you’re not best buds with him?”

“’Fraid not. First of all, Murphy doesn’t have time for a Podunk farmer like me. He’s not the, um, mentor I’d choose for a fount of wisdom. He got where he is by a few lucky breaks and the money that came from them.”

Becca lifted a honey-colored brow. “Funny. I’d say, looking back at all of Murphy’s crop-insurance claims with Ag-Sure, that he was one of those guys you don’t stand near in a lightning storm for fear that when he’d get struck, you’d get hit, too.”

“You ask Murphy, he’ll tell you a sad story, all right.”

“I will ask him. I’ll ask everybody. But I’m starting with you. So, do you have anything you might want to share?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. The way she made him feel was the way Gramps had over the years. Whether he found a garden snake in the house, an unexplained dent in the bumper of the truck, an angry girlfriend, Gramps had always used a soul-searching stare and unrelenting silence to get the truth out of Ryan. Becca was no different.

“I’ve pretty much said it all, I think.”

She looked disappointed. But she didn’t waste time dog-gnawing him or haranguing him. “I got the distinct impression this morning that I was about as welcome as the tax man. I assume that meeting was called to discuss how to handle me?”

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