A Farm Fresh Romance Series 1-3 (A Farm Fresh Romance Box Set)

by Valerie Comer

  Jo set a plate of Claire’s muffins on the table. “No, thanks. I drink my coffee plain.”

  Mom sniffed. “I can sure see why.”

  No way was Jo going to dignify that with a response.

  Mom eyed the muffins suspiciously. “What are those? I suppose they’re some kind of health food.”

  “Pumpkin bran. Claire made them.”

  “No thanks. I had a large breakfast at the hotel.”

  For Denise Jimmiesin, that meant a croissant and coffee. Whatever. Mom lifted the mug to her lips, grimacing.

  Jo sliced open a muffin and buttered it. Now what? Mom was going to be around for another couple of days. An hour last night had been more than enough. Time to take the initiative. “So, Mom, what have you been up to in California? How’s Brad’s farm, er, agribusiness doing?” Not that she wanted to know. Jo disapproved of her mother’s lifestyle every bit as much as her mother disapproved of hers.

  Her mom sniffled. “Business is good, as usual. Brad’s considering opening an organic division. People seem to lap up that sort of thing. It should be right up your alley.”

  What she was really trying to say was that Brad had found another sure moneymaker. “Organic isn’t everything.”

  Mom’s eyebrows angled up.

  “No, really. Brad will still need to add tons of additives to the soil when he’s growing a bazillion acres of carrots in the same fields every year. That’s not farming. It’s big business.”

  “Well, yes. It’s how he makes money.”

  “Which isn’t as important to me as helping the earth replenish itself.”

  Her mother shook her head, obviously trying to figure out the difference.

  Jo heard a rap at the door. Saved by the bell. Strange, as she hadn’t heard a car drive up. Her heart began to triple-beat. Zach? He was one of the few close enough to walk over.

  “Come in,” Jo called.

  Mom’s eyes grew huge and her jaw worked back and forth as the door began to open. Mom, afraid? Of what?

  “You don’t know who it is,” she whispered.

  Rosemary breezed in carrying a plate covered with a tea towel. “Hi, Jo. It’s so hard to tell when you girls are home, with only one car. But I thought I’d take a chance. Didn’t think you’d be going out too far these days.” She finally noticed Jo’s mom, who sat partially hidden behind the open door. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know you had company. I can come back later.”

  “No! Join us for coffee.” And save my hide. “My mom is visiting from California for a few days. Mom, this is my neighbor Rosemary Nemesek. Rosemary, this is my mom, Denise.”

  Rosemary set the plate down and extended her hand to Jo’s mother. Jo tried to see her neighbor through Mom’s eyes. Pretty sure Zach’s mother came up lacking. The knees of Rosemary’s jeans had met a little garden dirt earlier, and her #1 Grandma t-shirt had obviously seen better days.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Rosemary said. “You must be so proud of your daughter.”

  Jo nearly choked. “The coffee in the French press is still hot. We just made it a few minutes ago. Can I offer you a cup?”

  “If I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all.” Jo bounced up and poured a coffee. “Take anything in it?”

  Rosemary slid into a vacant chair. “Sugar, thanks.”

  A squeak came out of Jo’s mother that didn’t sound all that high class.

  Jo ignored her and set a mug and teaspoon in front of her neighbor. “Just honey. Right there on the table.”

  “Hm.” Rosemary opened the jar and dipped a spoon in. “Never tried that in my coffee before. Should be interesting.” She pulled the tea towel off the plate she’d set down, revealing chocolate chip cookies, still steaming. “Here, enjoy.”

  “Thanks.” Taking her seat again, Jo picked one up and noticed her mother reaching as well. So much for the large breakfast in the face of normal-looking cookies. Molten chocolate oozed around Jo’s mouth. Mmm.

  Mom had a dainty nibble and her eyes widened. “You made these? Yourself?”

  Oh, come on, Mom. Like you’ve never tasted homemade before.

  Rosemary glanced at Jo, who lifted a shoulder slightly.

  “Yes. I’m heading into the city Saturday to see Steve at the medical center. He’s been complaining about institutional food so I thought I’d bring a tin of his favorites.” She grinned. “But he doesn’t need them all.”

  “Her husband came down with Guillain-Barré,” Jo told her mother, then turned back to her neighbor. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s getting around a bit with the walker now, but everything exhausts him.”

  Jo shook her head in sympathy. “How much longer will he stay there?”

  “It’s so hard to know. When the physiotherapist feels he’s regained all that he’s able to, for now. We’re trying to look at every day he’s there as something positive.”

  Jo’s mom pursed her lips. “What’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Guillain-Barré is a type of autoimmune disease. They may have traced it back to the feedlot where he worked part-time.” Rosemary sipped her coffee. “Mixing farming and big business just isn’t good for the land or the people.”

  Jo’s mother stiffened.

  Whoa, this conversation better get diverted. “Well, I’m glad he’s doing better.” Jo hesitated. Not a big enough break. “What’s Zach up to?”

  As soon as his name came out of her mouth, she regretted it wholeheartedly. Her mom’s eyes narrowed and Rosemary’s twinkled. Why hadn’t Jo asked about the garden? That would have been more logical. Or at least less incriminating.

  “He’s working for Doc Taubin for the next couple of months. Wally’s having hip replacement, you know.”

  “That’s ni—” Jo began, but Mom interrupted.

  “Who is this Zach?”

  “My son. He recently graduated from veterinary college.”

  Jo felt her mother’s gaze and refused to meet it.

  “Is he single? He sounds like a good catch.”

  Heat flowed up Jo’s neck and spread across her cheeks. “Oh, I’m sure he is for somebody. Just not me.”

  Rosemary raised her eyebrows, and Mom looked back and forth between them.

  Jo tried again. “Really. We’re simply not compatible personalities.” More like their core values didn’t match, but there was no point in airing all that in front of both their mothers. She picked up a second cookie—they really were very tasty—as Rosemary opened her mouth.

  Whatever she was about to say disappeared in Jo’s mother’s shriek as she scrambled up onto her chair. “Mouse!”

  Uh oh. And the creature didn’t look that lively, either.

  **

  Zachary pulled into the driveway, every bone in his body aching. Gary Waterman’s cows had resisted being corralled, resisted entering the chute, and then resisted being inoculated. At least it was done.

  “Want some supper, son?” Mom looked up from her hand-quilting hoop. “There’s a plate in the fridge you can zap.”

  “Thanks.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up behind the door. About the only good thing about this gig was not having to fix food for himself after a long day at work. He found the plate, stuck it in the microwave, and leaned against the counter while he waited. “That quilt doesn’t look like your usual. Isn’t it a bit small for your Romanian orphans?”

  She held up the hoop, displaying a small quilt containing yellow ducks and turquoise waves. “I’m donating this one to the hospital auxiliary gift shop. They’re raising funds for a new whirlpool tub in the physical therapy department.”

  “They don’t have one?”

  “They could use another. Too many people need it.”

  The microwave pinged. “I hope Dad isn’t in there that long. When are you going to see him next?” Zach carried the plate to the table.

  “Saturday. I’ve done some baking for him. I’ll take this baby quilt along and get it finished before I
leave to come home. Then it’s back to the Romanian quilts.”

  He nodded and dug into the sausage casserole. His favorite.

  “Those girls next door still have mice.”

  Zach stared at his mom, a fork halfway to his mouth. Where had that comment come from?

  “And that tiny girl’s mother sure can scream.”

  The train had left the station without him. Zach shook his head. “Back up a minute. Whose mother? What are we talking about here?”

  “Josephine’s mother is visiting. She’s something else.”

  “That’s a surprise.” Like mother, like daughter.

  Seemed Mom caught the sarcasm in his voice. “What happened? I thought you might be falling for her.”

  Zach shot a look at his mom, but she had her head bent over the quilting hoop. “It would never work. She’s too stubborn. And…” He let his voice trail off.

  Mom sighed. “And you’re not planning to stay. I know.”

  If she knew everything, why did she bring it up?

  Chapter 18

  The next afternoon Rosemary dropped Jo off at The Landing Pad. Mom had flat out refused to come back to the farm again, preferring instead to remain in the mouse-free hotel and hold court there. And Rosemary, bless her heart, had not only offered Mom a ride back to town yesterday, but volunteered to bring Jo with her to town on her grocery trip today. Jo had hated to accept the offer at all, but she was cornered.

  Because a day with her mother was what she wanted most out of life.

  Jo peered through the truck cab before slamming the door. “No more than two hours. Please.”

  Rosemary’s eyes twinkled and for a brief moment Jo saw a huge resemblance between her and her son. “I’ll pray for you, Jo.”

  Jo trudged up the hotel’s wide, carpeted steps to the third floor, then down the corridor to #312.

  Her mother opened the door.

  Jo stared at her, trying to think when she’d last seen her so haggard. Her hair was not perfectly coifed, and her makeup did not quite hide the saggy lines beneath her eyes. “You okay, Mom?”

  She sniffed and turned away. “The bed is very uncomfortable and the room smells funny. This morning the hot water ran out in the middle of my shower, and I had to rinse the conditioner out of my hair with tepid.”

  Jo edged her way around the end of the bed to the only easy chair in the room and settled into it, the springs shifting beneath her. The Landing Pad had definitely seen better days. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Her mom swung to face Jo. “Why are you punishing me this way, Josephine?”

  Jo’s jaw dropped. “Pardon me? This isn’t my hotel.”

  “Making me come all this way to the backside of beyond to find out what is going on in my only child’s life? I email you, and you choose not to answer. I phone you, and you are too busy to talk. How am I supposed to take that?”

  Jo worked her mouth open and closed. Had she really been that obvious?

  Her mother nodded. “Exactly. You’ve been avoiding me, and now that I have seen the, the hovel, in which you live, I understand better. You’re embarrassed to admit you made a mistake.”

  No, that wasn’t it at all.

  “I understand. It’s hard to admit one’s faults to one’s mother.” She perched on the edge of the bed and leaned closer to Jo. “I know my own dear mother, may she rest in peace, did not accept my choices at all.”

  Jo gulped for air. “You ripped me away from my grandparents and the only home I’d ever known. You took me away from them and then they died and I never got the chance to see them again.”

  “It was for the best.”

  “It was not for the best! I was happy there. You never asked me what I wanted. I was ten years old. I was old enough to be consulted. You just—just bulldozed over my feelings and told me it would all be okay.” Jo’s right hand clenched on the arm of the chair’s frayed upholstery. If she had two good arms she’d pull herself out of this deep sinkhole of a chair and stalk out of here. “It wasn’t okay. Not even a little bit.”

  Her mother patted Jo’s cast with her manicured hand. “Let it out, baby. Let it out.”

  “I am twenty-five years old.” Jo forced her voice to level. “Don’t patronize me.”

  A frown crossed her mom’s face. “How did I fail you? All I wanted was to give you a better life than I had, growing up.”

  Seriously? “You didn’t marry Brad for my sake, Mom. Don’t even pretend. I was happy with Grandma and Grandpa.”

  Mom’s eyes narrowed. “You were growing up a tomboy. I only wish I’d met Brad when you were younger. Then maybe I could have saved you from all that turmoil. I know my parents meant well, but…”

  Brad, her salvation? Brad, the man who didn’t care who he stomped on in his quest for money?

  Her mother looked down at the hands she twisted in her lap. “I don’t know why you’ve never appreciated him. He’s given you everything a girl could want.”

  That did it. “With tainted money.”

  “Tainted?” Her mom rose slowly to her feet, glaring down at Jo. “How dare you!”

  The room was too small for them both to stand, but Jo felt like she was suffocating in that chair. She gripped the arm. “What else do you call it when a businessman cuts so many corners that people get sick and die, and all he can think of is how it affects his bottom line?”

  “You obviously don’t understand business. If you don’t make money, the business folds. It is a simple concept.”

  “On other people’s blood? I don’t think so.” Jo tried to slow her thoughts, to control them, but they zoomed straight from her mouth. “All he cared about was if he still had enough profit to lease a yacht in the Mediterranean that summer. Six people died and he dodged lawsuits to protect his vacation.”

  “Look, it was a bad situation. I’ll grant that. But it wasn’t really Brad’s fault. Not personally.”

  “He’s the head of his company. If he doesn’t take responsibility, who will?”

  “He did.” Her mother’s eyes flashed. “Brad’s company paid out the lawsuits. He did the right thing.”

  Only when the media ran with the story and supermarket chains began canceling produce orders. Only when officials threatened to shut down all of Jimmiesin Farms’ operations. Only when he and his lawyers had been backed into a corner. Only then.

  Jo took a long, shaky breath. Why had she thought for a moment that her mother was ready to face the truth? When the scandal shot to the top of the news during Jo’s second year of college, she’d been mortified. Then relieved that Brad had never adopted her and given her his name as Mom had constantly pushed for. Then determined to do her part for a world that didn’t depend on huge corporations to feed families.

  Mom stared at her from narrowed eyes. “Your high morals didn’t stop you from accepting college tuition.”

  A flush crept up Jo’s face. “It’s been bothering me, trust me. How much do I owe Brad? I’ll figure out a way to repay it.”

  Her mother lined the TV remote up with the edge of the nightstand. “I keep telling you it wasn’t Brad.”

  “Well, whose else could it be?” A sudden thought pierced Jo’s mind. “Have you been gambling?”

  “No. I have not. Just leave it alone.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t try. I want to live my life respecting God and making sure I’m doing what He wants.”

  “I don’t know where you got all this talk about God.” Mom shot Jo a nasty look.

  Interesting day when God was less contentious than other subjects. “I got that from my grandparents, too. I went to Sunday school and learned about the Bible and God’s plans for me. Didn’t they take you when you were a kid?”

  “Free Sunday morning babysitting with entertaining children’s stories.” She fluttered her hands in dismissal.

  Lord, give me words. “There’s more to it than that. Sure, kids can believe, but it doesn’t do them much good unless they recognize their need for God a
nd ask Him to forgive them. Then it becomes a life-long commitment.”

  Mom sniffed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Only the most important aspect of life.” Jo tried to gentle her voice. “Grandma told me you loved to learn about God when you were little. What happened?”

  “I grew up.” Her mother paced the small space. Even here, in this chilly room, she wore a short-sleeved sweater and knee-length skirt with hose and heels.

  “What do you mean, Mom?”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The Bible is something most people grow out of, like believing in Santa Claus. You can’t go back to your childhood, Josephine. This…this farm you have isn’t like your grandparents’. Times change. People move on. Regression is bad for society.”

  Jo blinked and gave her head a shake. “You see my choices as regressive? As clinging to my childhood?”

  Her mom frowned. “What else can it be? You’ll soon learn it’s a lot of hard work. You break your fingernails and get dirt wedged behind them. Your hands get callused and your muscles ache. It’s a nasty way to make a living. Most can’t do it.”

  Best Mom didn’t take a close look at Jo’s hands. “I’m not afraid of labor, Mom. We’ll have guests paying to come experience our lifestyle.”

  At Mom’s shocked look, Jo grinned. “I’m serious. There’s a huge market in it. So we’ll hire out what we can afford, and what can be done ethically, but all three of us are willing to get those sore muscles. It’s for a good cause.”

  “Ethically.” Mom planted her hands on her hips. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Jo stared at her. “Pardon me? It has everything to do with everything. You think I’m here reliving my childhood? No. We’re trying to preserve the earth so that future generations will have a place to live.” Back to discussing her mother’s husband, then. “That house Brad built for you is completely unsustainable. The two of you don’t need a fraction of that space or the expensive furniture and art that’s in it. It’s just for show.”