A Hopeful Harvest

That was then.

This is now.

Determined, he walked to the back of the house. And there it was. A second barn, much smaller, but just as flat. Would the house be next?

The house blocked the wind, allowing him time to give it a quick once-over. Where the barns lay in splintered pieces, the house stood firm and square. It was old, maybe the original structure, even, and craftsmen knew how to put a solid building together back then. No, the house looked solid, if worn.

He drew a breath and walked back inside. The home health nurse was brewing tea in the small kitchen. She raised her brows as he entered. “Bad?”

“Yes.”

“Both barns?”

What could he say to make this better? Nothing. He nodded.

“But no one died. Or got hurt,” the nurse added as the old man’s granddaughter came through the connecting doorway. “It could have been worse.”

He turned toward Libby. “Someone could have been hurt. Or killed.” He looked toward the living room beyond. “He was walking along the road in his skivvies, dazed and confused because he was all alone.”

Her gaze narrowed. The smile he’d found engaging disappeared. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Jax McClaren. I was driving by when I spotted him. And the barn.”

“Mr. McClaren…” Carol Mortimer began.

He included the nurse in his look. “When someone is that sick, should they be left alone?”

The nurse made a face. “Some patients are fine on their own for an hour or two. It depends on what stage they’re in. In this case, Cleve’s been fine for short periods. But seems like we might need to revisit our thinking if he gets riled that easily.”

“Having a barn destroyed seventy feet from the nearest window isn’t an everyday occurrence.” Libby folded her arms and faced him. “We need to remember we’re not dealing with a small child but a grown man who thinks he’s okay, and some of the time he is. And there’s still work to be done because this is a working farm. Mortie—” she moved closer to the home health nurse “—you understand. He doesn’t want to go someplace else. It would kill him. Grandma said that time and again. He was born on this place and he’s made his wishes clear often enough. He was born here and wants to die the same way. How can I deny him that after all he’s done for me?”

“But what if Mr. McClaren hadn’t come along when he did?” asked Mortie. “What if Cleve had wandered until a branch hit him? Or an airborne missile from someone’s roof or barn speared him?”

“What choice do I have?” The young woman splayed her hands. “He wants to be on the farm. It’s his one link to reality, but the barn’s gone, the shed’s demolished and we should be harvesting the early fruit, except there’s no place to put it now. Do I throw in the towel on the harvest and tuck him somewhere safe? Or keep my promise to Grandma and let him have one last season?”

A school bus pulled up to the driveway, leaving the question unanswered.

Libby hurried out, wrapped an arm around a small child and walked her inside.

A woman and child striving to make ends meet on a falling-down farm.

They needed someone who knew construction. Someone who knew apples. And, maybe most important of all, someone who’d cared for an Alzheimer’s patient before.

Jax didn’t want to help.

This place, this farm, this family had too many needs. He could handle any one of them and maintain his distance, but to face all three?

That called to the protector in him, a side he’d buried when he’d lost four good men to an accident that never should have happened.

He needed to walk away. They’d get by, one way or another. Folks always did.

But when Libby drew the little girl in, laughing about the wind and shrugging off the blown-down barn as if it was no big deal, he realized he had no choice.

He tugged his faded army cap into place. “I’m going to let this wind ride itself out, then I’ll be back.”

Libby frowned. “What? Why?”

“To help.” He brushed one finger to the brim of his hat. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” He turned, not waiting for permission that might not come. “Miss Mortie. And Miss—” He tipped his gaze down to the little girl.

The little girl didn’t cuddle into her mother’s side like so many would. She beamed a big smile his way and held up her hand, splaying five little fingers. “I’m CeeCee and I’m this many and Gramps said we could get a dog someday. Won’t that be the best fun ever?”

“It sure will.”

He trotted down the steps and to his truck.

He shouldn’t do this. He knew it. He could pick up the phone, inform his family of the situation, and they’d bankroll whatever was needed, letting him stay away.

Except this time he couldn’t.

Was it the old fellow’s struggle that drew him? Or the beautiful and determined young woman? Or the guileless child?

All three, he realized as he drove around the semicircular drive.

He’d help. Then he’d leave, like he’d been doing for three long years.

End of story.

Chapter Two

Huge equipment came rolling up the farm driveway at 6:55 a.m. the next morning. CeeCee let out a squeal of delight when she spotted huge Caterpillar treads spinning by the first-floor windows. “Mommy! A monster scooper thing is here! And a truck! Like a really, really big one!”

Libby got to the window in time to see the first machine lumber past. It was followed by a big dump truck. And then another. Within five minutes, the ginormous scoop arm was loading barn scrap into the truck’s wide bed.

“I heard a commotion.” Gramps came into the kitchen. The sight of the big machines riled him. “What’s going on? Who brought those here? Lib, we’ve got to stop them!”

“Gramps, it’s the fixer guys. We love fixer guys, remember?” CeeCee took his hand and something about the touch of her tiny hand calmed the old fellow. “The big wind knocked down our barns and now they’re cleaning it up for us. Isn’t that so nice of them?”

Libby had placed a call to the insurance company once Mortie and Jax McClaren had left, but she hadn’t heard back from them. They wouldn’t just send a team out to start fixing things the next morning, would they?

Jax’s extended-cab pickup truck rolled into the driveway right then. The sharp truck gleamed white in the September sun. He parked but didn’t come straight for the house. He met with the workers out back, then came their way. Libby met him before he got to the side door. “You did this?” She motioned to the oversize machines churning a hundred and fifty feet away from them.

“Can’t rebuild until we’ve cleared the area, right?”

“Except I haven’t even heard back from the insurance agency. How will they know what to settle if they don’t see evidence?”

He held up his phone. “Pictures. I took several yesterday. Between those and the building’s footprint on the ground—”

“The what?”

“The space a building takes up on the ground is its footprint.”

“So the area of the base as opposed to the cubic footage.”

He smiled as if she was suddenly talking his language. “Exactly. They can figure that out mathematically. Did you have replacement coverage or cash value?”

She heard Gramps coming through the door and didn’t want him upset by too much talk. “Cash value. Which means only the estimated value of the property in current condition gets paid out. Correct?” She didn’t have to ask because she’d worried about that all night, hence the dark circles under her eyes. What was it about this guy that made her think about her looks?

“There are ways of making it stretch.”

“I can make a fitted sheet stretch. Money’s tougher. But you’re right,” she added as Gramps drew near. “There’s always a way to make things work.”

“Your grandma said we should get the best insurance we could because old folks like us can’t be fixing things on a thin dime, but I told her our policy was fine and look at this!” Gramps stumped his cane against the stone driveway. He remembered to use it fifty percent of the time. The other half he shuffled along, finding a foot grip. “Look how quick they got here. I guess I was right again, eh?”

“You did just fine, sir.”

Jax’s words and his deferential tone puffed up Gramps’s chest.

Libby knew the work crew had nothing to do with the farm’s thin insurance policy, and Jax could have inflated his own ego by taking credit.

But he didn’t.

He let an aging dementia patient claim the kudos and seemed fine doing it. What kind of man did that?

A nice one, her conscience scolded. There are lots of nice people in this world. Stop being jaded.

There were nice people.

Libby knew that.

But her family’s reputation in Golden Grove left a sour taste on a lot of tongues. Her parents hadn’t been the raise-your-kid-normal and go-to-church-on-Sunday sort and when Grandma sent them packing, they took the one thing Grandma didn’t want them to take.

Her.

Then sent her back with a sack of ill-fitting clothes when they got tired of her eighteen months later.

Folks had looked at her funny then. And some still looked at her funny, but now she was mature enough to shrug it off. “I’ve got to get CeeCee ready for school. Gramps, are you going to stay outside and watch the action?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He’d set an old hat on his head. He was still in his pajama pants and a faded blue cotton T-shirt, but it was a mild morning. “If Mother comes looking for me, tell her where I am.”

“I will.” She was never quite sure if she should play along or explain reality to him, and no one seemed to have the answer. This time she played along.

Jax shot her a look of sympathy. The look felt good. As if someone besides Carol Mortimer understood the situation and was on her side, but she’d been fooled by a man before.

Her ex-husband had taught her a valuable lesson about trust. If she and CeeCee went through life as a duo, she was okay with that. She’d been raised by parents who really never cared. CeeCee would never need to say that.

The five-year-old met her at the door. “Look. I got all dressed for school so I can see the fixer guys. Okay?”

“Okay, once you eat breakfast. What’ll it be? A bagel or cereal or an apple?”

“Apple!”

“Ginger Gold or Gala?”

“The redder one.”

Libby cut the Gala into slices. She’d seen a study online that talked about the amazing health benefit of apples, how modern science proved the old adage “an apple a day” true. How apples were like the perfect food.

They would have lots of apples for the coming months. That was an added bonus of being on the farm. But with the barn gone and the insurance shortfall and the co-pays on Gramps’s meds, the already tight situation had just become impossible.

With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.

One of Grandma’s favorite verses in the Bible. The walls of the house were peppered with cross-stitched Bible verses.

Libby would cling to the idea that all things were possible. She hadn’t come back here by choice but by necessity. God had worked that timing out perfectly. So now?

She would put this firmly in His hands because once CeeCee was on that school bus, she had an orchard to spray, and right now she was just real glad she’d parked the tractor outside the barn before it blew down.

The tractor wasn’t parked outside the barn.

It was under the barn. Buried. And as the gaping mechanical claw reached in and scooped up a serving of weathered wood, a generous section of the tractor went with it.

Libby couldn’t take her eyes from the scene.

She’d parked the tractor here. Right here. At the edge of the driveway leading to the orchard because her phone alarm had startled her. And besides, they rarely put the tractor in the big barn except at the end of the season, once the apple sales were complete.

Gone.

Demolished.

Emotions didn’t just rock her this time. They fought their way for possession, like that giant claw digging through a debris field of shattered hopes and dreams.

Now there was no tractor to lift the crates of apples to the barn storage or the sale bins.

No tank to give that last vital spraying.

No nothing.

Nothing at all.

Was this God’s message to her? To tuck Gramps in a safe spot and walk quietly away with CeeCee? Because it was coming through loud and clear.

“You okay?” Jax was coming her way and his question brought her up short.

She wasn’t all right. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be all right. But Libby Creighton was a survivor, so she wiped moisture from her cheeks and turned.

Sympathetic gray eyes met hers beneath his military-cut brown hair. Ocean-gray eyes, they were. Not a hint of blue, but not storm gray like yesterday’s clouds. Softer. Gentler. She pulled in a deep breath and paused.

Then she blew out the breath and nodded. “Fine. As fine as I can be now that I see the tractor under thousands of pounds of roof and wall debris.”

“You didn’t know the tractor was in there?” Surprise furrowed his brow.

“Nope.” She made a face. “I parked it here when I realized I had to run to CeeCee’s school. Right here. There’s no way the wind could have pushed it into the barn, is there?”

“Not feasibly.”

“Then how?” She paused when she spotted Gramps talking enthusiastically with a very patient dump truck driver. “He must have moved it. After he woke up. Every now and again he’ll hop on it as if ready to work. Sometimes it’s a chore that needs to be done. Sometimes it’s a memory of what he used to do. He must have come out here and moved the tractor before you found him.”

“Into the barn. During the windstorm?” Jax looked disbelieving. “Do you know how close he came to being killed?”

His tone stung. She folded her arms, then unfolded them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cower again. Not now. Not ever. “I do now. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”

Jax stared at her, and she read his gaze because no one knew what Gramps was thinking. Or what he might do from moment to moment. It was obvious that Gramps couldn’t be left alone anymore. Not even for short periods of time. How was she going to manage that with everything else on her plate?

Libby didn’t have a clue.

She turned back toward the cleanup. “We’ll make sure someone’s with him from now on. We’ve been seizing the good moments as if they were the norm, but they’re not. Not anymore. It’s time we faced the fact that now they’re the exception.”

“I like to see them as a gift.”

His words surprised her.

“When we get those moments of lucidity. Of recognition. An hour here or there.” A slight wrinkle formed between his eyes. “Like opening a curtain on the past.”

“That’s exactly what it’s like.” She faced him more squarely. “He wasn’t this bad when I got here last year to see my grandmother through her hospice time. She loved him so much. When she saw what was happening, she made me promise to keep him on the farm as long as possible. To let him find peace among his apples. And then Central Valley Fruit stepped in to buy the farm, Gramps had a mighty row with their sales rep, and Grandma died while they were arguing the merits of small versus big at the top of their lungs. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for not being at her side when she died. When he remembers, that is.”

Central Valley Fruit.

The business his family began when irrigation was approved for the arid valley soil a hundred years ago. Central Valley Fruit was a megaproducer that had helped put Washington State on the map as a premier source of fruits, not just for American stores, but internationally. With European fruit production decreasing, Central Valley Fruit was happy to fill the void. His father had filled him in on their need for more land a few weeks ago, and available land wasn’t an easy find. So they’d put in a bid on this farm? Probably so.

“They contacted us again a few weeks ago. They said that our specific location would be especially good for certain apples because of the microclimate of a slope facing southeast.”

“And what did you tell them?” He didn’t mention that he understood the ins and outs of selective orcharding.

“I didn’t say anything. I left it to Gramps because the farm is still in his name, and he was adamant as he told the fruit rep to leave.”

“So he left?”

“He did. And he didn’t seem insulted. He said…” She paused a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Or maybe her emotions. “He’d give us time to think about it because he understood what a big decision it was. And he left the contract with Gramps, just in case.”

That would be Kenneth, his older brother. Kenneth had a heart. But he also had a goal, and if they needed more land, Ken would find it.

“Total world domination of the world’s fruit market.” That was a tongue-in-cheek corporate goal.

They used to laugh about it but Libby’s expression showed this was not a laughing matter.

The acquisition of land near the Yakima and Wenatchee Rivers was important to the development of new apple types. Not all apples were created equal and microclimates were crucial for production. The microclimate in Golden Grove was ideal for newer cultivars. “Are they offering a fair price?”

“More than fair,” she admitted. “Our current cash flow makes it quite tempting. But I made a promise to my grandmother and I never break a promise. Although I don’t know how we’re going to pull it off without a barn or a tractor.”

He swallowed hard.

He should tell her who he was. But then she’d wonder why he was here. Why he was helping. It would look like a setup to get in her good graces.

It wasn’t.

It was something to keep him from thinking. From remembering. From seeing that helicopter spin over a Middle Eastern desert, then watch helplessly as it came crashing down.

“Well.” She took a step back. “I’m going to call Baker Orchards and see if they’ll let me borrow their tractor for this last application on the September fruits. If they’re open to that, I can get one thing done.”

He nodded.

She didn’t have to do this.

She could walk away and no one would criticize her choice because this was an autumn disaster. Her inexperience was either her saving grace or worst enemy, because with no place to store the apples, there was little sense in continuing. “Your grandfather can stay here with me if you need to leave.”

That realization changed her expression. Knowing she couldn’t just hop in the old pickup truck and run up the road to the Bakers’ place, another roadside fruit stand on the opposite side of Golden Grove. “You wouldn’t mind? I’d take him but there’s no way to bring him back on their tractor. If it’s available.”

“Don’t mind at all.”

She pulled out her phone, made the call and was on her way in less than ten minutes.

Gutsy.

Resolute.

And he’d be a stupid man if he didn’t add downright lovely to the list of attributes.

He wasn’t stupid, but Jax knew his limitations. No one wanted any part of the nightmares, cold sweats and sadness that hit him when least expected. He didn’t want it, either, but he had little choice. It was his reality.

Little choice?

His conscience upbraided him none too gently.

Allison recommended you for that new treatment. The guy has an office in Seattle. A ninety-minute drive that could make a difference. So why haven’t you done it?

Fear? Doubt? Lack of faith in much of anything anymore?

Allison was a solid therapist. She made him think, sometimes too much. He wasn’t against getting help, but if nothing worked, why waste time?

He’d come home as damaged goods, but at least he’d come home. Those four men and the chopper pilot never got that chance.

So yeah, the big, brave warrior didn’t want to remember but couldn’t possibly forget. It wouldn’t be right to impose this reality on anyone else, family or friends. And that meant he’d quietly keep on doing what he’d been doing in the lush valley for the last few years. Helping people as he could. And pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

For now…

It was enough.

Chapter Three

Libby finished spraying the September fruit acreage just before CeeCee’s bus was due, but that brought new problems to the table. CeeCee couldn’t be left alone. Libby had lost a couple hours of time by driving Si Baker’s John Deere down the two-lane this morning and she had to have the tractor back to him by early the next day. And then there was Gramps.

Who was going to keep an eye on him when she was in the orchard?

She parked the tractor at the edge of the Gala apple rows. She should be picking them now, and she would have been if things had gone all right yesterday.

But they hadn’t.

The bus rolled up to the driveway. The door opened and Gert Johnson waved a hand as CeeCee came racing up the short drive to the house. “Libby, we’re all so sorry about what happened yesterday! A bunch of us bus drivers will be happy to help with whatever you need. And that includes pickin’ apples between bus runs. Call me. Okay?”

“I will, Gert. And thank you.” Oncoming cars made her yell the response back because Gert couldn’t be holding up traffic. On quiet days it wouldn’t matter so much, but during apple harvest season there was no such thing as a quiet day. Harvesters and pickers and trucks rumbled by continuously. In the Columbia Valley, the beautiful words of Ecclesiastes 3 came to life. “To everything there is a season.” Right now the season was apples.

“Mommy, look! Look!” CeeCee held up an unrecognizable picture. She beamed with pride and excitement. “Isn’t it so beautiful?”

“It is! I love how you captured the shape, darling.”

“Barn shapes aren’t real hard,” CeeCee told her, having no idea she’d given her mother a solid clue.

“Hard or not, you did a great job. Is this our barn?”

CeeCee shook her head. Her curls bounced as Gramps and Jax came around from the back. The last dump truck was being loaded, then the damaged sites would be scraped clean.

“It’s that one.” She pointed up the road to the Moyer building. The Moyers had sold their farm to CVF two years before. Their land stretched east but this one lone building hadn’t been used for anything except storage for over a dozen years. “See the slopey top?”

“I see it.” Jax smiled down at CeeCee.

CeeCee smiled back. “Because you know stuff about barns, maybe.”

“A bit.”

CeeCee grinned up at him.

He grinned back.

A warning stab hit Libby squarely. She wasn’t unfamiliar with how some men toyed with a woman’s heart. Been there. Done that. Not pretty.

But no one was going to mess with CeeCee’s emotions. Her ex-husband had already done his share of that with his lying and cheating. For years she could have called her life an old-time country song.

Not now.

Now her life would be an hallelujah. Because she had the power within herself to change what she could and shrug off the rest.

“Can you hustle inside and grab a sweatshirt? The Bakers’ tractor has a cab, so you can ride with me while I spray,” Libby told her.

CeeCee hugged her great grandfather and nodded eagerly. “I love helping!”

Jax stepped forward. He smelled of apples and fall and Washington fresh air. He put out his hand, then set it on her arm. “Let me do the spraying.”

Her arm warmed beneath his touch and her pulse skittered.