A Hopeful Harvest (Golden Grove Book 1)

by Ruth Logan Herne

  His sweet remembrance only made this moment tougher, because she’d let herself dream again. That made her feel even more foolish.

  “I’ll get to work.” Jax had taken off the faded army cap when he came in. He tugged it back into place and headed for the side door.

  “Not here,” she called after him. “We’re fine here on our own. Just as we’ve always been.”

  He stopped. Would he turn around? Apologize? Tell her it was all a grand mistake?

  He did no such thing.

  He stood there for several drawn-out seconds. Then he squared his shoulders and went down the short flight of stairs to the door. And when that screen door slapped shut behind him, Libby was pretty sure that was the last she’d ever see of Jackson McClaren... No, Jackson McClaren Ingerson. At least until she was forced to hand over the keys to the place her family had called home for over a hundred years. Gone—just like that. And there was no one to blame for any of this but herself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cheated.

  Double-crossed.

  And abandoned. Again.

  Libby stared at the to-do list she’d made Thursday night. She’d crafted the optimistic list before CeeCee woke with a nightmare and before Gramps decided to save someone’s baby from falling around 2:00 a.m. Of course, there was no baby and when she tried to tell him that, he stared at her—disbelieving, caught in whatever late-night image held him in its grip.

  Dear God, help me do this. Help me, please, because my low-fuel light’s been on for days.

  She’d spent the last three days running on minimal sleep and high-powered caffeine. There were still a lot of late-season apples to pick, sort and bag, orders to be filled, and the store and house to be maintained on top of watching over Gramps and CeeCee, but she was only one person. How could she possibly do it all?

  She couldn’t.

  And yet there was little choice in the matter. Come on. You can do anything for six weeks. Right?

  She wanted to believe that, but if something happened to Gramps or CeeCee during that time, how would she live with herself? Were apples all that important? Was anything all that important? And if the farm changed hands at the end of the season, at least she’d have the sale price in the bank.

  Or will you?

  She stopped looking at the list and reconsidered what was going on around her.

  She’d thought Gramps was leaving the farm to her until Jax came around waving a bill of sale. Did she dare count on the proceeds from the farm sale? Gramps and Grandma had drawn up a will leaving everything to her, but what if he’d changed that? It was his right to do so, but she needed to know what to expect, and when she went looking for a copy of the will, she couldn’t find it.

  And if Gramps needed costly end-of-life care, that would eat up the sale money, wouldn’t it?

  What if she did all this and there was nothing for her or CeeCee at the end? How would they live? Would they be forced back into homelessness? Gramps would never mean for that to happen under normal circumstances, but these were anything but normal.

  Her head hurt.

  She popped two pain pills, and poured a third cup of coffee as Mortie let herself in through the side door. Mortie stopped short on the top step and offered a frank assessment. “You have looked better, darlin’.”

  Libby groaned. “You’re supposed to pretend you don’t notice it, Mortie. What kind of friend are you?”

  “The kind who tells the truth and, girl, you need sleep. And a moment to relax, but telling an apple farmer to relax in October is a fool’s endeavor, for certain. How’s Cleve this morning?”

  “Restless.” She explained about the broken sleep and Mortie winced in sympathy.

  “I don’t know what it is about babies, but this is a common thing in some of my later-stage patients. Worrying about them, seeing them, hearing them cry. What a wretched thing for a brain to do to an old person. I am praying for a cure for this disease so this will be the last generation we have fighting it. There is little dignity in growing old this way.”

  “I’ll join you in that prayer,” Libby told her. Then she handed Mortie an envelope. “I can’t get to town today and I want to get this over to CVF quickly. Can you drop it by the post office when you go through?”

  Mortie studied the envelope. “Of course, but why are you writing to CVF? Were they here bothering Cleve again?”

  “No.” Libby hadn’t found the nerve to openly discuss this latest development, but she had to now. Mortie would need to know because anything that affected Cleve could affect his care. “They haven’t been back, but it seems that he decided to sell them the farm back in August and just mailed them the signed contract last Saturday when he came home from the hospital.”

  “He what?” Mortie stared at her, dumbstruck. She gripped the back of the kitchen chair so hard that her knuckles strained pale against her darker skin. “Cleve O’Laughlin would never sell this place to CVF and he would certainly not sell it out from under his own granddaughter. That’s impossible, Libby.”

  How she wished that was the case, but it wasn’t. Libby made a face of regret. “It seems we’re both wrong. Anyway, the whole thing blew up on Tuesday. I found out that Jax is really an Ingerson and he brought the signed real estate deal over to show me.”

  “Oh my.”

  Libby was pouring cream into her coffee. The note in Mortie’s voice brought her chin up. “You’re not surprised by that last part.”

  “No.” Mortie frowned. “I knew who he was but I also knew why he was keeping it to himself. Your grandfather had been so adamant about not wanting to sell, and I know that Jax hasn’t been working in the family business since he came home from the Middle East. I figured he’d tell you on his terms and in his own time. He’s a good man and it wasn’t up to me to call him out. Not when he was working so hard to keep this place going for you.”

  So Mortie was falling for this whole charade, too? That was another surprise. “You don’t think it was odd that he showed up right when everything started falling apart?”

  “Not when I’m a firm believer in God’s timing,” Mortie replied. “Some might call it a coincidence, but to put a trained apple producer who also has handyman skills and experience with dementia patients right here, at the best possible time? Totally a God thing. Isn’t it?”

  Libby was about to sip her coffee.

  She didn’t. She set it down and faced Mortie. “That’s silly. It was clearly a setup to make sure they got the land.”

  “You said Cleve signed it over the summer, though.”

  “In early August. But—”

  Mortie put both hands to her face and groaned softly. “I believe I know what happened and I’m afraid it’s partly my fault.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled for her online calendar. “August first, when you had CeeCee’s school physical, I drove your grandfather into town for his checkup like we planned.”

  “And we all met back here for lunch.”

  “Yes, but the doctor’s office was busy and they had Cleve waiting in a room. You know how he is about privacy with the doctor.”

  Libby knew, all right. Gramps would talk to the doctor, then the doctor would talk to Libby in a separate room.

  “I’d already spoken with the nurse practitioner. I told them I was going across to the diner to get coffee and do some notes. They were going to let me know when Cleve was done, and they did, but when I went back there to get him, I saw your mother come out of the Market Street entrance and get into a car.”

  Her mother in Golden Grove midsummer? Surprise number three. “Did Gramps see her?”

  Mortie sank into a chair. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to upset him. I talked with Dr. Green, then got Cleve back home. He didn’t say anything about it, and he’d already asked me to contact her if he got real bad. But why would he sudde
nly turn around and sign those papers the very next day? Would it have anything to do with your mother being in Golden Grove?”

  “I don’t know. It’s so hard to know what might trigger reactions in Gramps now. You think he might have seen her?”

  Mortie shrugged. “They were in the same area and he was in the waiting room when I came back for him, so it’s possible. He was agitated that he was done and didn’t have a ride. He said he didn’t like to be ignored and I thought he was just annoyed with me for going across the street. So maybe he saw her? Maybe that triggered his agitation? You know how this is now. Almost anything can do it.”

  “But to come home and sell the farm?” The lack of rationale confounded Libby. “That’s major. It took thought and follow-through. He might have been a little better in August than he is now, but he wasn’t mindful enough to do that. Was he?”

  “Oh, honey, if I could explain the workings of a dementia patient’s mind, I’d be a rare bird,” said Mortie. “The confusion comes and goes and messes fact and illusion on a regular basis. But of course he can’t be held accountable for what he might have done in a fugue state.”

  Jax had said the same thing and she’d brushed him off. Coming from Mortie, with a few days to calm down, the lack of cognition defense gleamed brighter. “You really think so, Mortie?”

  “Libby, I know so. I’ve been caring for troubled patients for a lot of years. I wish we could have gotten your grandfather to sign over power of attorney to you, but he’s a stubborn old goat about that stuff. Even so, I will protest anything he signed for the past six months. He has not had the mental capacity to make consequential judgments in a long, long time. Case closed.”

  Libby hugged her. “I love you, Mortie. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this far without you.”

  Mortie returned the hug. “The feelin’ is mutual, darlin’. And don’t you be too hard on that nice young man who came along to help, managed to save Cleve’s life twice and arranged to have everything fixed up after a disaster.” Mortie ticked the list off on her fingers as she spoke. “I’d say he’s a pretty upstanding fellow myself.”

  Mortie made a good point. Jax had done a lot of things to help them, but he’d been living a lie the whole time and she’d been down that rabbit trail before. Once was enough. “When you’ve been lied to all your life, you get sensitized. I promised myself that I was going to live a pristine life with CeeCee,” she went on as she tucked the work list into her back pocket. “That I’d never fall for a deceitful person again. And then I did. If I can’t trust my own judgment with men, how can I be a good mother to my daughter?” she asked honestly. “Children deserve to have the best possible parents. It didn’t happen for me, but I’m going to make sure it happens for my little girl.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” Mortie crossed to the sink and washed her hands. “You go on about your morning. I’ve got this. I can drive Cleve over to the barn once I’ve taken care of him.”

  “Thanks, Mortie. There’s a ton to do before we hit the ground running for this weekend. I’ll see you later.” She tugged a hoodie on as she passed the row of hooks inside the door. The morning had a late-season briskness that brought those final fruits to full sugar. Sunny days and crisp, cold nights were perfect for finishing apples. She drove her small hatchback to the barn. The pickers would load crates of apples onto the farm pickup and drive them over later. For now she’d restock what she could and get areas ready for the Braeburns and the Pinks, two local favorites.

  She parked the car and walked inside the barn shortly after nine o’clock. She had an hour to restock and straighten up, so she flicked the lights on, closed the door and turned.

  The apples were filled.

  The displays were, too. Backup stock had been set out where needed, the cider coolers were full and bags of white, orange and striped miniature pumpkins filled an entire display table that had been left pretty empty yesterday. The apple display tables had been readjusted, leaving space for the Braeburns and the Pinks, just now ready to come to the store.

  Jax.

  It had to be him, he was the only person who had access to the barn. She’d forgotten to get that extra key back when she’d asked him to leave on Tuesday.

  Her heartbeat revved up. She looked around and realized that he’d saved her hours of hands-on work, hours she didn’t have.

  Was he trying to ingratiate himself still? Or was he just a nice guy, like Mortie intimated? How could she know for sure?

  You could try talking to him.

  She considered that fairly obvious option as she unpacked the back of her car. Grandma had stored totes of vintage Thanksgiving things in the farmhouse basement. Turkey collectibles, rustic wooden wall art and pumpkin-shaped candleholders had been tucked into the large plastic containers with a collection of holiday-themed pie pans appropriately shaped for pumpkin and apple pies. She created price stickers and reset a display, then added stackable pumpkins, pie pumpkins and a broad variety of squashes to the display. The Thanksgiving-themed corner was an ideal complement to the apple displays and the vintage tools Jax had hung on the back walls.

  Call him. Say thank you. It’s the least you can do.

  A part of her wanted to. A part of her wanted to believe he was the real deal, an honest, hardworking man but honest men didn’t hide their identities, especially when they represented the very company striving to take over her farm.

  A farm that would soon belong to them unless she fought it based on Gramps’s diminished capacity which only made an ugly disease that much more unpalatable.

  Text him, at least. He saved you hours of work.

  She almost did it. She pulled out the phone and stared at the messaging app. Her finger hovered above it for three elongated seconds, then she slipped the phone back into her pocket.

  Dishonesty had affected too much of her life. She simply couldn’t risk being wrong again.

  It was a nice thing for him to do and she couldn’t deny the sigh of relief to see so much work done.

  But she wouldn’t call him or message him when the thought of him made her catch her breath. It was an absurd reaction to an impossible situation, but Mortie’s words struck deep. Was she accusing him unjustly? Was it timing, and maybe even God’s timing, that brought Jax up their road that day?

  Of course not. Because why would he cover up who he was?

  And that was what it came back to. He’d lied about his identity, and if he felt the need to mask that, there had to be a reason. The Ingersons didn’t need more land.

  They wanted more land. They were major kingpins of Washington State fruit, an industry that was pretty much controlled by a handful of producers as they swallowed up farm after farm in the Central Washington Valley.

  Whatever Jax’s motives were, she was pretty sure corporate greed ranked high on the list, because there was really no other reason for him to do what he did.

  Wasn’t there?

  Their amazing kiss came instantly to mind.

  Libby refused to think about that kiss. She reached behind the counter and turned the radio on. A country station filled the barn with background music, just enough to quiet her thoughts.

  She might have to go up and down the rows she’d worked with Jax, and stand in the very spot where they shared that incredible kiss, but she didn’t have to think about it. Not when country music offered an alternative, but when someone began crooning a love song about missing the dance, she reached over and turned the music off because she didn’t want to hear anyone lamenting missed chances. Not when she might have missed the greatest one of all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jax chopped wood until the cabin stanchions overflowed with Douglas firs he’d dropped a few months before. Fortunately the cabin was tucked deep enough in the woods that he could cut and chop more if he wanted to. It was his hands-on therapy.

  It did
n’t help.

  Nothing helped. Even slipping into the barn to make sure Libby didn’t overdo things seemed futile when he understood the pressure she was under.

  Sleep eluded him. Peace evaded him, the peace he’d felt while working on the O’Laughlin farm. Among their trees. Knowing that Libby was trying so hard to be so many things to so many people made him want to do better. Be better. Be healthy.

  She didn’t want him around her farm and her orchard. He understood that, but there was no way for her to handle the long work list on her own. They’d been barely covering the workload as it was. She couldn’t juggle Cleve and CeeCee and the apple store for the rest of the season. He’d stayed out of sight all week, but he’d have to step in today. He’d driven by the apple store yesterday and saw how busy it was. Those numbers would be magnified for the weekend. And when Gert called to tell him she and two other drivers had come down with flu, he knew he had no choice.

  He showed up at the apple store before it opened Friday morning. Libby pulled in two minutes later. She spotted him.

  He wanted her to look happy to see him.

  Didn’t happen.

  She parked her hatchback on the far side, climbed out and came toward him. “You can’t be here.”

  “Where’s Cleve?”

  “Gramps isn’t your concern, and no, I did not leave him home alone if that’s what you’re implying. Courtney is there.”

  He wasn’t implying any such thing, but he let that go. She looked tired. No. Exhausted was a better word, and that was with his clandestine assistance.

  “I’m here to help. It won’t do you any good to argue, I have never left a job undone and I’m not about to start with this one. Not when it means so much to so many people I care about. We don’t have to talk. We don’t have to even see one another, but there’s no way you can handle the rest of October on your own. There’s no pay involved, no worries, no contact if that makes it easier for you,” he told her. But while he had her attention, he needed to make one thing very clear. “And just so you know, CVF is not taking your farm. We never had any intention of taking your farm, and we consider that contract null and void due to your grandfather’s diminished capacities. I don’t know why he did what he did, but that signed contract was as much a surprise to us as it was to you. Now that’s a whole other matter, but I wanted it cleared up. Here’s my plan for today.” He shoved his cap back slightly. “I’m going to restock the coolers and help move things over here. I know some of your help’s come down sick and I’m not abandoning you with a three-day weekend at hand.” A scheduled superintendent’s conference day elongated this weekend. “You can put a call in to the sheriff’s office if you want, have me dragged out of here, but it would be a lot easier if you just put blinders on and let me do my job. Which, for the next few weeks, is helping you.”