If working at the farmers’ market could get her closer to her goal of bills paid, get out of town, then how much could it hurt?
“Fine, I’ll do it. But only after I make the filling for these pies like I promised I would. And Owen?”
Her brother had enough good graces to school his goofy grin before she could roll her eyes at him. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s just this once.”
15
There wasn’t enough coffee in the entire town for this.
Marley threw back the last of what was in her travel mug anyway, because hello, she might be exhausted, but she wasn’t crazy. While it had been a ton of work, the prep part of the farmers’ market job had been pretty straightforward—just a lot of inventory and organizing and a bunch of manual labor thrown in for good measure. With some help from Eli, then Hunter, she’d managed to get it figured out and finished before the sun had gone down last night. The really tough part would be today, when there were tons of people nearby, smiling and staring and mentally pigeonholing her into a family where she couldn’t belong.
Just breathe, Marley instructed herself, indulging in a deep pull of crisp, early morning air. Well, she supposed her brothers, along with every other farmer, baker, and local vendor setting up a tent in the pavilion right now, would say it wasn’t early at all. Seven-thirty in the morning was practically midday to them. As far as Marley was concerned, venturing out from beneath the warm, sweet haven of her bed before ten was pure lunacy.
Unless she was getting paid, in which case… “Okay,” she said, making her way to the back of Cross Creek’s triple-wide canopy tent. Her brothers had divided the prep tasks into unload (Owen), actual setup (Hunter), and organize (Eli). Considering Cross Creek had one of the biggest and most well-traveled stalls at the market, none of the jobs were a cakewalk.
Including hers, which was to be sure they made good time and that everything went according to plan. “Everything seems to be on track,” she told Owen, checking the list of tasks she’d snapped to the clipboard in her grasp. “Hunter got the last of the tables set up and in order, and Eli’s filling all of them with the bins of produce.” Marley gestured over her shoulder. “Cate is on top of her section with all the baked goods and jam, Scarlett’s got the displays, and Emerson is making sure all the signs with the prices on them are in place. The cash box is stocked, the iPad is charged and ready to go with a credit card reader, and the cooler is full of cold water. Oh!”—she flipped to the sheet of paper under the schematic she’d made of the layout—“And I don’t know if you guys normally do this or not, but I made a break schedule, so no one gets hangry…and by no one, I pretty much mean me.”
“Wow,” Owen said, bumping her shoulder gently with his own. “See? I told you. You’re a natural.”
The contact made her pulse skip, but she was able to smooth it back to normal with a breath and an expression she hoped passed as a smile. “No, I’m just good at being bossy. Speaking of which”—Marley sent her gaze over the controlled chaos of all the crates of produce, bright, fat tomatoes and sun-colored squash and baskets of leafy greens that had been measured into pretty, bouquet-like bundles—“are you guys married to having this one section set up this way?”
“What, with the watermelons?” Hunter asked, turning his attention from the task of setting them up in the very front of the space.
Marley nodded, and Eli paused to slide a forearm over his forehead before examining the display. “We’ve kind of always done it this way, since the watermelons are so popular this time of year. We usually crack one open so folks can see how pretty they are, and let them draw people into the tent to see the rest of what we’ve got.”
“Oh.” Marley’s cheeks flushed. Of course, that was a good strategy. One her brothers had probably tested time and again. “That makes perfect sense.”
“Why?” Owen asked, and ugh, she should’ve known he wouldn’t drop it now that she’d opened her mouth. “What’d you have in mind?”
Knowing better than to tell him to forget it, she said, “It’s just that today is the Fourth of July, so I thought you might want to push the apple pies Cate made, together with the watermelons and sweet corn. Like, what’s more American than apple pie? That kind of theme? It would be like one-stop shopping for a cookout, with everything other than the burgers and hot dogs right here together.”
The silence that followed breathed down Marley’s neck, the shocked stares of her brothers pressing into her for a beat, then another and another, until, God, she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“You know what, forget it. You guys totally know what works, and mixing the baked goods in with the produce will probably confuse people. We can just—”
“No, wait,” Eli said, his gaze turning to the front of the tent where they’d stacked the crates of watermelons and his brows tucked as if his thoughts were cruising at a mile a minute. “Actually, that’s a great idea.”
Marley shook her head. “You don’t have to humor me.”
“I’m not. A lot of high-end grocery stores are doing the same sort of thing, putting popular meal items into package deals to fit a theme. If we could hook people in with the special, then get them to maybe add on a few things like salad greens or tomatoes and butter lettuce for their burgers or maybe some veggies for grilling…”
“We’d upsell a lot of produce that way, and cross over with Cate’s baked goods,” Hunter said, excitement sparking in his sky-blue eyes.
The excitement, it seemed, was contagious, because even staid-and-serious Owen cracked a grin. “That’s great visibility for the storefront, too. If folks like the pies”—he paused to give up a look that translated to and who wouldn’t?—“then they’ll come out to the farm for more.”
“I can help make the display,” Emerson offered from across the tent, immediately looking sheepish as Marley’s jaw dropped. “Fine, so I was eavesdropping. But if you want to do a special price for a pie and a watermelon and, say, a dozen ears of corn, I can make a sign right now.”
“Oh!” Scarlett piped in, making her way over from the back of the tent, and jeez, did anyone in this family not eavesdrop? “I can snap a few pictures of the display once Emerson gets it all set up, and—wait, wait!” She turned to rummage through a bag she’d tucked nearby, pulling out a red and white checkered tablecloth with a triumphant grin—“I brought this to use as a background for some new photos for the website. We can go with a whole picnic theme, and I can upload the shots on social media right when the gates open. Fourth of July special!”
Marley blinked, unsure how her sorta-maybe idea had just exploded into a brand-new promotion. But then Cate chimed in, too, and Marley couldn’t help but give in to the excitement beginning to buzz through her veins.
“I’ve got a box of those single-serve plastic containers in my trunk. We can even divide a pie or two up and sell them by the slice. People can dig into a piece right now for some instant gratification, then grab a whole pie to take home for sharing.”
“Ohhh, that is a good idea,” Marley said. She rocked back on the thick heels of her motorcycle boots and waited for Owen to tell everyone to get moving, to delegate any other tasks that might need to be done in order to get things set.
But he didn’t. Instead, he simply looked at her. Her confusion must’ve been obvious—Lord knew she had enough whaaaa? winging through her to fill an industrial-sized dump truck—because then he gently said, “You’re the manager, remember?”
“Oh.” Oh. A warmth spread through her, one that had damn little to do with the sun rising higher in the sky overhead. “Okay. As long as you guys think it’s a good idea, then let’s do it.”
She paused for a minute to confer with her brothers about the best pricing strategy, then passed the information on to Emerson, who was already working with Scarlett to get the display set up.
“Here, wait,” Eli said, nearly dropping a crate of pickling cucumbers to the concrete as he rushed to the front of
the tent. “Let me pick that watermelon up. You’re not supposed to be lifting anything heavy,” he reminded Scarlett.
She threw her head back and laughed, long and loud. “Eli, please. I’ve been carrying a watermelon around for the last two months.” She gestured to the rounded curve of her belly. “This kid is going to be a linebacker, I swear to God.”
Still, she let Eli pick up the watermelon and place it on the display table. Not that Marley would bet he’d have given her any choice in the matter even if she’d argued. That whole stubborn thing really did run in their blood. Grinning, Marley turned toward the back of the tent to make sure all of the specialty produce from the greenhouse had made it out of the truck and onto the tables.
And nearly ran smack into Tobias.
“Oh!” The clipboard that had been between her fingers clattered to the pavement, her balance threatening a serious labor strike. Tobias reached out to stabilize her, and even though his grip on her upper arms was just enough to keep her from toppling over, the contact made Marley’s throat squeeze. For a beat, they stood locked in the moment, her unable to move and him holding her steady, and oh God, oh God, oh God, she seriously couldn’t breathe.
“Easy, there,” Tobias said, dropping his hands but not his gaze. “Sorry ’bout that. I didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.”
“What are you doing here?”
Okay, so the words escaped with far less grace than they could’ve, to the point that Owen flinched, clearly able to hear the conversation from the spot where he stood a few paces away, by the display of heirloom tomatoes.
If Tobias noticed her abruptness—or, more to the point, cared—he didn’t show it. “I was up early. Old habits, and all. Had breakfast at Clem’s, and figured I’d make the trip to see how y’all were farin’.”
Marley crossed her arms in reply, as if the move would help calm the absolute ruckus going on in her rib cage. Just as she was about to make an excuse and blaze a fast path to anywhere other than right here, Owen stepped closer, blocking her in.
“Everything’s going without a hitch,” he said. “As a matter of fact, Marley just came up with a really great idea to help promote some of the biggest sellers at the storefront.”
The deliberateness of how he’d trailed off made it obvious that he wanted her to dish up the details. But this whole family-business thing wasn’t what she’d signed on for. God, she should’ve known better than to agree to work at the market, money or no.
The farm belonged to Tobias, and to her brothers. This wasn’t the place for her.
It couldn’t be.
“The idea was no big deal. Anyway, I really should go finish this up.” Marley bent to pick up the clipboard at her feet, firming her shoulders as an added and-I-mean-it as she stood.
Tobias paused, just for a second before nodding. “Of course. It’s…real good to see you here, helpin’ out.”
“Owen’s paying me, and it’s just a one-time thing.” She managed to push the words past her lips even though they felt like they’d been made of dust, fragile and ready to fly apart. Gripping the clipboard extra tight to accommodate her sweaty palms, she measured her footsteps to the back of the tent—one, two, three, shaky inhale, four, five, six, weak exhale—but, damn it, Owen followed closely behind.
“You really can’t cut him a little slack?” he asked, canting his voice low enough to keep the conversation from reaching the spot where Tobias now stood, talking with Emerson and Cate by the newly forming display.
Marley ignored the sheen of sweat forming on her forehead and between her shoulder blades. “No.”
Owen swore, harshly enough to draw Hunter’s attention. Great. Just what she needed was for this to become a family affair.
“Jesus, Marley,” Owen bit out, his gray eyes flashing beneath the brim of his baseball hat. “When are you going to stop punishing him for something that happened twenty-five years ago?”
“I’m not…” Marley’s heart raced, her words slamming around in her head like a car crash, and oh God, she couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “You know what, this was a mistake. I don’t belong here.”
She turned to go, or maybe, more accurately, to run. But Hunter stepped in, dividing a look between her and Owen. “Okay, both of you. Just hang on a second. Please?”
His voice was so calm, so even and right there, grounded in front of her, that Marley managed to inhale, just enough.
“This isn’t the time or place for this conversation. I’m not saying it isn’t important, or that it doesn’t need to happen,” Hunter added, the flicker of intensity lurking in his stare telling her that he wasn’t thrilled about her exchange with Tobias, either. “But we’re less than a half an hour from those gates opening on one of the busiest days of the year, and we’ve got to focus on what’s in front of us. Marley, you worked real hard to organize things today. Obviously, you’re upset. But it’d be a shame if you didn’t see the market through.”
She closed her eyes, torn. No, she didn’t want to get all gather-’round-the-campfire with anyone, especially Tobias, but she had worked hard, and the fact remained that she was desperate for money.
Still… “I think I just maybe need a second.”
“Okay,” Hunter said. “Why don’t you take a walk? There’s a nature trail over there that winds the perimeter of the park, and it’s pretty secluded. There are benches, too, if you just want to sit.”
Marley blinked and refocused, looking at Owen. She’d agreed to run things, and he was paying her, which technically made him her boss for the day. At this point, he might not want to let her stick around.
Finally, after a minute that lasted for at least an hour, he nodded. “We’ve only got the display and a few small, last-minute things left to do. We’ll be okay if you need a break. But Marley?” he added, his voice serious enough to send a chill over her skin despite the warmth beginning to bloom in the air around them.
“One way or another, we are going to talk about this. Soon.”
16
It was official. Greyson was so sleep deprived and work-worn, he was flat-out seeing things. That was the only explanation for the fact that he’d swear on his uncle Steve’s grave that Marley Rallston was making a beeline through the Camden Valley pavilion. But no, after a series of head shakes and a whole lot of WTF, Greyson realized Marley was, in fact, right here in the flesh at the farmers’ market and striding toward the entrance to the nature path less that forty feet to his left.
And from the hunch of her shoulders to the shock of sadness on her face, she looked rattled as hell.
Instinct drove his legs to action before the rest of him had a clue he’d move so much as a single muscle. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his farmhands Clint and José, both of whose brows traveled up, but both of whom also knew better than to put their thoughts to words. Grabbing the prettiest peach he could find from the crate in front of him, Greyson made his way toward the path. The trail itself had recently been paved into a neat ribbon of asphalt so joggers and cyclists and parents with strollers could navigate things with better ease, enjoying the shade from the trees that lined both sides of the path and provided a thick canopy of leaves overhead. Benches had been scattered along the trail at strategically chosen spots, some scenic, others secluded. It didn’t take long to find Marley sitting on the bench farthest from the path, and whoa, the tension rolling off of her carried the same sort of charge as the August air, right before a thunderstorm.
Lucky for him, he knew just how to ride out nasty fucking weather. “You know,” he said, softly because even though he knew she was too guarded not to have seen him coming, he didn’t want to run the risk—however small—of scaring the crap out of her. “I didn’t realize you were gonna make this challenge to enjoy small-town living so easy on me.”
“Who says I’m doing anything of the sort?”
Her only movement was the slight lift of one dark, slender brow toward her tousled hairline, but Greyson had made do with
less. “I do,” he said, gesturing to the empty half of the bench in a wordless request.
She nodded and slid over a few inches, her cutoffs shushing over the wooden planks beneath her. “Okay, I’ll bite. How am I making it easy for you to win the challenge?”
“You showed up in one of the best places around without me having to drag you, and you look like you could eat.”
Without waiting for her to work up some smartass retort, he tossed the peach at her in a slow, deliberate pop fly, which she caught with both ease and surprise.
“What’s this?” Marley asked, and he’d be willing to bet all of the day’s profit that her smile was as unexpected to her as it was pretty to him.
“That there is the best damn peach you’re ever gonna taste. And it’s just the first of about a billion reasons to love living around here.”
“Bold words,” she said, but she was still smiling.
And God help him, he wanted her to stay that way. “True words. Go on and try to prove me wrong.”
“You’re so—” Whatever wildly creative adjective she’d been fixing to pin him with stopped short on her lips as soon as she got the peach close enough to her face to smell it, and a dark bolt of satisfaction speared clean through Greyson’s belly as she drew in a deep breath, argument forgotten. Her blue eyes wide, Marley sank her teeth into the fruit, and the sound that left her was something he was sure his mind would torture him with all damned day.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured, taking another bite, then another.
Christ, she was gorgeous. “Told you,” he said, hearing the gravel in his voice and not caring if she heard it, too.
Crossing Hope (Cross Creek Series Book 4) Page 15