by Louise, Tia
Taron
The foreman’s cottage is about thirty yards up the hill from the house. The door sticks a bit, but Sawyer pushes it open and crosses to switch on a small window unit.
“It’s stuffy, but it’ll cool off fast.” He opens a narrow door at the back corner. “Full bathroom here. Closet there.”
I drop my oversized duffel on a chair, looking around the small space. “Not bad.”
“You’re welcome at the house anytime, and you’ll eat with us.” He walks to the door, his boots thumping on the pine floors. “But here you’ll have some privacy… if you meet somebody or whatever.”
My mind tries to drift to Noel, but I catch it. Hooking up, especially with my best friend’s little sister, is not why I came to this tiny town.
“Nobody should mess with your stuff, but just in case.” His tosses me a set of keys. “Come to the loading dock when you’re done, and I’ll show you how to use the forklift.”
With that, he’s gone, and I give the place a quick scan. It’s small, but a double bed is in the corner with a nightstand and lamp beside it. A few books are on the shelf—both look like cowboy novels. Across the room, a mini fridge is on a counter with a coffee maker beside it.
Blinds cover the windows, and the chair where I dropped my bag is positioned in front of a small, flat screen television. I look at my phone—still no service.
“Whatever.” I’ve checked in with the only people I care about in Nashville.
It takes me five minutes to unpack, hang my few belongings in the closet and place my toiletries in the bathroom before I head out again, leaving the keys on the small table by the door.
Noel’s got a group of teenagers in the enormous peach shed, and I watch as she uses a basket of tennis balls to demonstrate sorting. It’s a good mix of boys and girls, and she’s encouraging but strict as she guides them through the process of finding the yellow balls with black lines down the sides and sorting them into baskets while stacking the all-yellow ones into crates.
“You need to move fast, but not so fast you miss bad ones.” She helps a petite blonde girl turn one of the balls over before sorting it into a waiting crate. “That’s a good one.”
The next ball bounces off the Lazy Susan and rolls to where I’m standing. The girl beside Noel wails, “I busted that one!”
Noel only laughs. “It’s okay! Actual peaches don’t get away from you that easy. You’re doing good!”
Our eyes catch and she smiles as she walks to where I’m standing holding the escaped fake peach. My stomach tightens, but I push those feelings down, reminding myself why I’m here.
Still, my eyes drink her in as she approaches. The cutoffs she’s wearing put her tanned legs on full display, down to the calf-high cowboy boots she’s wearing, and her dark hair is still piled in a messy bun on top of her head. She smiles—full, natural lips parting over straight white teeth, and damn, she’s gorgeous.
“Betsy lost her peach.”
I can’t resist. “That’s the pits.”
She blinks at me.
For a moment, she doesn’t say a word, and I picture a plane crashing and burning…
Until I see the twinkle in her eye.
Her lips press together, and she holds out her hand. “She’s a little fuzzy on the details.”
My lips tighten, and I hold out the tennis ball. “She seemed speachless.”
“She needs to practice what I peach.”
I can’t hold back a chuckle, and I shake my head. “You got me.”
Her eyebrow arches and she takes the tennis ball, turning on her heel and walking away victorious. “Pitty.”
That makes me laugh out loud, and she spins back, laughing. A small dimple is right at the corner of her bottom lip, and I shake my head. This girl.
“Hey!” Sawyer’s sharp voice snatches my attention. “We need to get these palettes over to the loading dock now.”
I follow him out the back entrance, and we spend the rest of the morning lifting and carrying wooden crates across a concrete lot. After a while, they feel like they weigh five hundred pounds each, and I get why Sawyer sailed through basic training.
Sweat rolls down my sides, and my tee is soaking wet and sticking to me when Leon appears with a cooler in his hand.
“Thanks.” I reach for a water bottle, and he digs out sandwiches and cokes.
“Noel said there’s plenty more if you want it.”
I’m unwrapping what looks like chicken salad.
Sawyer has already finished his first sandwich and is tearing the wrapping off a second as he fishes out his truck keys. “I’m heading to town to pick up the last of the crates. I’ll back in an hour.”
Leon is right on his heels. “I’ll ride with you.”
His brother puts a hand on his shoulder. “I need you here in case Digger shows up before I get back.”
“Digger? Why is that asshole coming here?”
“He knows about running an orchard.”
“Into the ground.” Leon crosses his arms, and I see a resemblance between the brothers.
“Digger was just a kid when all that happened.”
“Still, he inherited the genes. I thought they did cotton now.”
“He’ll do what I tell him to do.” Sawyer turns to the truck. “You’ll behave yourself.”
Leon walks over and sits on the back of the flatbed, watching his brother get in the Chevy and pull out of the loading area where we’ve been working.
My hunger is somewhat eased, and I’m on my second bottle of water. “Who’s Digger?”
“Some dick who’s got his sights set on this place. Sawyer doesn’t even see it. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care. He is leaving, after all.”
He hops off the trailer and starts walking toward the rows of trees stretching over the hill. I glance in the direction my friend just left and decide to take off after his little brother.
We walk up the hill for a bit in silence. I watch as Leon stops occasionally, pushing leaves off the dappled fruit and inspecting each one. He finally picks one that has a split down the side and continues to the next short tree.
“Hey.” I stop while he repeats the process, finding another overripe fruit and dropping it into the cooler he brought with him.
He cuts his eyes up at me. “What?”
His curt tone doesn’t bug me. “How many do you need?”
“Noel said to bring her ten. She’s making ice cream.” He finds another split peach and drops it into the cooler.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Just ones that can’t be sold.” He picks another one, and I search the limb in front of me.
I’m surprised how long it takes to find a blemished peach. “I guess I thought there’d be more split ones.”
“These are Freestone peaches. They’ll keep ripening until the end of July.” He picks another and hands it to me. “You can eat one.”
Turning it over in my hand, I look for signs of insects. “Does it need to be washed?”
“Nah, we use a natural insecticide to control the caterpillars and borers.”
“Cool.” I take a bite of the split fruit, and the juice is refreshing after the long day hauling palettes in the heat. “It’s not as sweet as I thought it would be.”
He keeps going, picking several more fruits.
I follow, finishing off the one he gave me. “Should I toss the pit?”
He shrugs. “It won’t hurt anything.”
I drop the stone and wipe my hands on my jeans. He stops and looks ahead before closing the top of the cooler. It’s just after noon and hot as the face of the sun out here. I step on a pit in my chucks and wish I’d packed tougher-soled shoes.
Leon glances down. “We can run by the boot store if you want to get some boots for while you’re here.”
“Not a bad idea. You can go with me.”
“When fucking Digger finally gets here.”
My lips tighten, and I have a feel
ing he’s not allowed to drop the F-bomb. Still, I’m not looking to bust his balls. I get he’s pissed about Sawyer leaving. “You really hate that guy.”
“Hating’s a sin.” He kicks a fallen peach and a swarm of flies swirls around it then resettles where it lands. I give him a look, and he shrugs. “You’ll see when he gets here.”
We walk a little farther up the row, and I take a chance. “You’re pretty smart. What are you, a junior?”
“I’ll be sixteen next week.” He looks over at me like it’s an accomplishment. “You know I was an accident?”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s the family joke.” He shrugs. “My name’s Noel backward. They said it was because my parents had run out of names. My birthday is exactly six months after hers.”
“Wait… but Noel’s—”
“She’ll be nineteen at Christmas. I just mean her birth date is December 25th, so they named her Noel. Mine’s June 25th, the exact opposite.”
“So they named you Leon.” I chuckle, wondering what their folks must’ve been like. It’s hard to square with what I know of them.
He turns and we start down the hill again, toward the house. “I don’t really remember them much. I just remember Sawyer working his ass off all the time.”
“He said he had to drop out of school for a year.”
“He figured it was more important to keep things running here than finish tenth grade. It was right in the middle of planting season. The whole town pretty much pitched in to help us. Church ladies brought us food and clothes.”
I think back to my mom, struggling with a waitressing job, doing her best to take care of me alone in Nashville. “Not everybody has that kind of support.”
He shrugs. “I guess.”
“Your brother really cares about you. He talks about you all the time.”
“Then why’s he leaving?” He cuts his eyes at me, and I see hurt simmering there.
We’re back at the house, and I choose my words carefully. “You said he’s been working his ass off since he was your age. Maybe he wants to do something for himself now. While he still can.”
“Yeah, well, we need him here. Not in some foreign country where who knows what might happen to him.”
“Hey.” I catch Leon’s arm. “I won’t let anything happen to your brother. I promise.”
The anger in his brow eases slightly. He shakes his head and starts up the steps, letting the screen door slam behind him. I hear Noel’s voice inside and walk toward the shed. I need a shower, but I don’t know what else my friend has lined up for us this afternoon. I feel like the walking dead after working all day on five hours of sleep.
A warm breeze blows nonstop through the empty peach shed, and I take a seat on the flatbed, thinking about the promise I just made to Leon. I don’t know what’s ahead of us when we leave for active duty, but I plan to do whatever it takes to keep that promise. It’s what we all agreed when we parted ways. Family.
4
Noel
Half the peaches Leon picked are washed, diced, and in the freezer. The remaining five go in the food processor with honey, lemon zest, and cream for fresh sorbet after dinner.
I pour the mixture into the ice cream maker and gaze up the hill at the large shed where I spent the morning teaching twenty kids the art of sorting peaches. Tomorrow, Mr. Hidalgo’s crew will descend on the orchard and clean the trees fast, emptying their haul onto the belts where the teens will sort the bruised or cut ones into baskets for jams, preserves, peach syrup, or peach ice cream.
The unblemished fruits will be stacked into crates, which the bigger boys lift and haul to the waiting flatbed trucks.
Taron will have to eat his words—Brenda Stein, one of the bigger girls, wanted to help the boys haul crates to the trucks, and I said she could. She promised not to overdo it.
My mind filters through the conversations we had today. He’s so easy to talk to, so playful and relaxed. I snort remembering our pun war. He should’ve known I’ve heard them all.
Wiping my hands on a towel, I walk out the door and up the hill toward the shed. As I approach, I see Taron is lying on his back on one of the flatbed trailers with his ball cap over his face. He’s still wearing those converse sneakers, and I just hope he knows they’ll be ruined if he wears them to work in the fields.
Without really thinking about it, I go to where he’s perched and playfully shove his crossed feet. “Better get some boots, City Slicker—oh! Oh no!”
Taron’s feet flop to the side, but they don’t stop there. His legs go off the back of the truck, and the rest of him follows, hitting the ground with a thud.
“Fuck!” His low voice is loud.
“Taron!” I run around the end of the trailer to where he’s lying on his side, shaking his head.
“What the hell?”
I drop to my knees, putting my hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry!”
“Did you just shove me off the flatbed?” Anger flashes in his wolf eyes, and I feel like shit.
“I didn’t! I—”
“I think you did.” He pushes up to a sitting position, shaking his head.
His face is all covered in dirt, and I want to die. “Here.” I hold out the towel still in my hands. “Let me wipe your face. Are you okay?”
He holds my arm and stands slowly, stretching to one side and wincing. “Shit… Feels like I cracked a rib.”
I clutch a hand to my mouth. “Taron. I’m so sorry.”
He cuts his eyes at me, and I think I might cry. As he studies me, the anger seems to melt. Something different takes its place, something devious.
“Now I owe you one.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t…”
“Oh, yes I do.” He lifts his shoulder and circles his arm, wincing again as he does it.
My heart beats faster. I’m a little nervous about what payback could be. “It was an accident…”
“You didn’t accidentally shove my feet off the flatbed.”
Stepping forward, I catch his arms. “I really didn’t know you’d fall—”
Our faces are close again, and I feel his breath against my cheek. My eyes drift up and his are cast down, meeting my gaze and sending heat flooding my panties.
It’s just like in the kitchen when he caught me. The air around us seems to crackle. His hands span my waist, and his arms are like bands of iron beneath my grip. I feel like peach sorbet melting in the sun under his gaze. My lips grow hot and heavy, and Oh, lord, I want him to kiss me so bad…
“Hey, what’s happening over here?” I recognize the tenor voice at once and step back, away from the inferno that is Taron Rhodes holding me in his arms.
“Digger?” I shake myself, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you looking for Sawyer?”
I walk around the flatbed, and I feel Taron watching me as I go. I’ve felt him watching me all day, and it tingles in my lower belly.
“Hey, Noel.” Digger Hayes steps forward to give me a brief hug. He always wants to kiss my cheek, but I dodge just in time.
Taron’s deep voice interrupts his greeting. “Sawyer had to drive into town to pick up some crates.”
Digger’s eyes narrow as he inspects Taron. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“We haven’t.” Taron steps forward, extending a hand. “Taron Rhodes. I’m here for the harvest.”
“Ah.” Digger’s eyebrows rise, and I see him visibly relax. “You must be Sawyer’s military friend.”
“Marine. I’m his Marine friend.”
“Oh, right.” Digger does a little laugh that makes me cringe. He is such a condescending dick. “And how are you liking our little town so far? I imagine it’s a far cry from Nashville.”
“I’ve only been here a day, but I like what I see.” His ocean eyes meet mine, and it’s like a bolt of lightning straight through my core.
“We’re pretty happy with it.” Digger puts his arm around my shoulders, and my head snaps ar
ound to face him. Has he lost his mind?
I step out of his unwelcome embrace. “I’ll put on some coffee if y’all want some?”
Taron’s eyes narrow. “I’m good. Thanks, Noel.”
“Sounds great.” Digger smiles, moving to follow me. “I’ll walk you to the house.”
What is his deal? “No need. I’ll bring it out. Sawyer should be back any minute.”
“I don’t mind.” Digger has a pointed look in his eye, and I exhale a sigh.
“Whatever.”
Taron crosses his arms, eyes still narrowed as he watches Digger follow me to the back door. I glance back a few times. I want to somehow let him know I have nothing to do with this sudden interest coming from my old friend. My old, annoying friend.
Pushing the door open, I go straight to the coffee pot and pull out the carafe to fill with water. Nothing fancy around here.
“He seems like a nice fellow.” Digger looks out the bay window toward the peach shed. “Nice of him to come down to help with the harvest.”
“Sawyer’s different. I think he’s excited.” I scoop the coffee grounds into the basket, shove it in place, and hit go. “He’s been so focused on this place for so long.”
“And what about you?” Digger turns to me, a weird grin on his face. “Are you excited to start business school?”
The way he says it feels like he’s patronizing me. “I’m excited to try new things, yes.”
“Have you figured out how you’re going to pay for it?”
Crossing my arms, I arch an eyebrow. “Is that any of your business?”
“I happen to know the orchard is just barely covering expenses right now.”
I won’t even ask how he knows that information. Everybody seems to know everybody’s’ business in a small town.
“I’ve got plans of my own.” Not that I want him knowing them.
“Right. The store.” That condescension is in his tone again.
“We get a lot of tourists through here. A lot of people like to eat organics, and clean beauty is a growing industry—”
“I was just thinking…” He places a hand on my upper arm, interrupting. “Maybe you’d like to go out sometime. With me.”
Exhaling a laugh, I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Didn’t we try that?” Dating Digger Hayes is about the last thing I want to do again.