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

by Valerie Comer

  “Welcome home, Gabe. I’d like you to meet my husband.”

  Gabe turned toward Claire. Of the three gals who’d bought Green Acres Farm several years ago, he knew her the least. Of course, he’d heard about her marriage from Rosemary’s emails.

  “This is Noel Kenzie. Noel, meet Gabriel Rubachuk.”

  The guy had a strong grip. “Good to meet you, Gabe. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Likewise.” Gabe looked at Claire. She seemed relaxed. Happy. That boded well for their relationship.

  She smiled at him. “Thanks for bringing Doreen out for a visit. You two are staying for dinner, I hope? Noel’s on the barbecue tonight.”

  Noel laughed. “Not literally. Thinking steaks, for the record. Potatoes. Green beans. Tomatoes.” He pointed at the garden. “There’s no shortage of food, so you’re more than welcome.”

  This gang was like a family. Some things never changed.

  “Of course you’re staying,” Jo put in. “Rosemary made a peach cobbler, knowing you were coming.”

  * * *

  Sierra pedaled up Thompson Road. She’d gotten out of shape living in town since Claire and Noel’s honeymoon, but she’d moved back to the farm just a few weeks ago when they’d finished painting her side of the new duplex. Her clinic could be moved to the other half with only a few days’ notice.

  But was Gabe staying? He acted like a trapped animal, not a guy who looked ready to step back into normal life in northern Idaho. He’d be bolting again pretty quickly. She’d bet on it.

  The other shoe had finally dropped. She’d somehow built up hope he’d pick up the first one and lace it on her foot, like she was some kind of Cinderella. It was silly. She knew it was. She hadn’t known Gabe without Bethany except for the few weeks after the funeral.

  How had she ever gotten him stuck in her head? Probably from listening to Doreen as they worked together. She’d helped Doreen grieve and find new hope in life. When had she transferred those thoughts to Gabe?

  Seeing his cold expression when he saw her was a slosh of ice water into her face. She might have built up a crush on him, but he certainly hadn’t done the same for her.

  Her reality had been thoroughly checked.

  It sounded like party time at Green Acres. Jo and Claire had pulled the troops together for picking and canning tomatoes. Sierra’d be doing her share later. She and Claire had chosen recipes for the homemade ketchup and barbecue sauce they’d be creating tomorrow.

  Sierra turned her bike into the driveway. Coming home to Green Acres on a late September day was a balm to her soul. Her true friends. Her calling in life. Peace. Satisfaction. A sense of belonging.

  She didn’t need Gabe. There were other men in Galena Landing, like Tyrell Burke. Sierra dismounted in front of the duplex and removed her helmet. All those people, and her hair probably lay plastered to her head. She’d take a minute to freshen up before facing them.

  A few minutes later she rounded the main house then climbed the few steps to the back deck, where Noel adjusted the settings on the gas grill. He grinned and snapped a pair of tongs in her direction.

  Sierra heard Gabe’s voice. She stopped, one foot on the bottom step. What happened to taking to Doreen to Wynnton? He couldn’t have gotten back already. Where had he parked his car?

  Part of her screamed to go around the house and in through the larder door, but Noel had already seen her. Besides, she couldn’t avoid Gabe forever. Sierra took a deep breath, sent up a quick prayer, and stepped into view.

  Her gaze went straight to his, but Doreen wasn’t beside him, nor was she anywhere on the deck. Just the guys. Zach snapped the ends off a bowlful of green beans as he visited with Gabe.

  “Where is Doreen?” Sierra demanded, a hand wedged on her hip. She couldn’t help it.

  Gabe’s jaw hardened as he turned to face her. “Inside.”

  Sierra’s eyes narrowed. “Did you take her to Wynnton?”

  He averted his gaze, a flush creeping up his neck. “No. She convinced me she was okay.”

  “You might’ve let me know.”

  “You’re right.” Gabe tugged at his collar. “I’m sorry.”

  He probably wanted to hear, “that’s okay,” from her, but she didn’t have it to give. She shot a few more daggers at him then stepped over Domino into the house.

  “Whoa,” Zach said as she shut the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

  Whatever.

  The aroma of roasting tomatoes and eggplant wafted her way. Lunch seemed forever ago, like maybe last week.

  Claire glanced up from behind the peninsula. “Hey, Sierra, you’re home! Would you mind grabbing the beans from Zach? Hope he’s got the ends all snapped off. Supper’s in ten if he’s ready.”

  Sierra froze. Did she mind? Yes, she did. Could she say it? Not so much. She pivoted and headed back to the deck. Best to get this over with as quickly as she could.

  “Zach? Done with the beans?” She didn’t have to look at Gabe. No need. “Claire is ready for them now.”

  “Slave driver,” Zach muttered.

  Noel laughed. “She is that, but I’m starving, man. Hurry it up already. I can’t put the steaks on until those beans go inside. Chef’s orders.” He moved the potatoes around the grill.

  “Yeah, yeah, almost done.” Zach’s hands hadn’t stopped. “Sit down a minute, Sierra. You’ve had a long day, I’m sure.”

  Because she’d been rude to Gabe? She refused to look at him even now. “Pretty busy,” she allowed, sitting on the swing beside Zach. She reached for a handful of beans that needed snapping.

  “I’ve got ’em,” Zach said. “You don’t have to do everything.”

  “Just trying to help.” She made short work of the ones in her hands, and a minute later, Zach finished the rest and slid the bowl toward her. “Thanks.”

  Sierra took the beans into the kitchen. “Is Doreen around?” she asked before anyone else could either put her to work or tell her to stop doing it.

  Jo laughed. “She and Rosemary are in the larder organizing our empty canning jars.”

  The larder was one of the best things in this straw bale house they’d built together. It bore witness that they were serious about food security with its two large chest freezers and ample sturdy shelving for dozens of canning jars. Maybe hundreds. Sierra had lost count.

  The two women’s voices came clear as Sierra neared the doorway.

  “That’s forty-two quarts of tomato pieces,” Rosemary said.

  “Seems like a lot,” Doreen answered.

  Sierra grinned and walked in. “We’ll need at least double that, but there’s plenty ripening in the garden yet.”

  Doreen, seated on a kitchen chair with a clipboard in her hands, looked up in surprise. “Double?”

  If Doreen had ever canned, it had been for just her and Bethany. The number of people who poured through Green Acres at mealtime would boggle her mind.

  “We go through at least two quarts a week, and that’s on top of the ratatouille and pasta sauce we’ll prepare before canning.”

  Doreen shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”

  Sierra reached for her friend’s hand. “May I see how you’re holding up?”

  “It’s fine. See?” Doreen held it out. “The swelling hasn’t spread any further, and it isn’t as hot and itchy as it was a couple of hours ago.”

  “That’s good. Breathing okay?” Though if Doreen had allergies, those would have kicked in by now.

  “All is well. I told Gabe I didn’t need to go to urgent care, so he brought me out here with him.”

  Sierra smiled. “And you were right.” She’d said the same thing, but had Gabe listened to her? No.

  “Food’s up!” called Claire from the kitchen.

  Sierra could do cheerful. She’d even include Gabe in it. No way was he going to see how much he rattled her. If Jo or Claire got wind of it, though? She’d be toast.

  Chapter 3

  Gabe grabbed t
he bowl of barbecue-baked potatoes Noel handed him and followed Zach and Madelynn into the straw bale house. The tot peered at him over her daddy’s shoulder.

  He couldn’t help himself. He scrunched up his nose and winked. After warping his face into a few more expressions, he was rewarded with a little giggle.

  “She likes you.” Jo took the toddler and buckled her into a wooden high chair. “You accomplished a miracle in just a few minutes.”

  “Find a seat, Gabe.” Claire made room for his bowl of potatoes and the steaks Noel carried. She pulled out a chair around the corner from Noel.

  Gabe hesitated. Probably everyone had regular places. Didn’t they run this like a community? He touched the back of the chair beside Zach, hoping he wasn’t stealing anyone’s seat. But Jo sat beside Madelynn.

  Zach reached for his hand as others around the table did the same. He glanced to the other side. Sierra? Great. He couldn’t very well make a scene and, besides, it was just a convention. His own family had held hands over grace all his growing-up years.

  He laid his hand palm up on the table, and she placed hers on top. From somewhere in the distance, Steve prayed a lengthy prayer of thanksgiving. Gabe should probably be listening. Instead, he stared at the hand on his.

  A hand that knew work, but was still soft. Fingers that tapered to manicured purple tips, much shorter than what he remembered of Sierra. Bethany had once commented those nails wouldn’t last long on the farm. She’d been right, but they still looked nice.

  Madelynn shouted, “Amen!” and everyone laughed.

  Gabe pulled away both his gaze and his hand. No doubt Steve had been thankful for all the usual suspects on a farm in autumn. Abundant harvest. Plentiful food on the table. Friends.

  Sierra handed him the platter of steaks. He helped himself and passed it to Zach. The tantalizing aroma of barbecued meat rose to his nostrils, and his stomach growled.

  Zach’s elbow caught his ribs. “Hey, Rubachuk, when did you last eat? Pass the food over here, everyone. This guy is starving. To the death.”

  “I hit a drive-through in Coeur d’Alene.” That had been, what, five hours ago? Six?

  “Yeah, but that’s not real food. You know better, Gabe.” Claire glowered from across the table.

  He laughed as he took a potato. The bowl of sautéed green beans was right behind it. Man, those smelled awesome. And then tomato and cucumber salad. The burger, fries, and soft drink in the car hadn’t tantalized him as this did, even though it’d been three long years since he’d had the option of American fast food.

  “One of the jugs is full of iced mint tea and the other is raspberry vinegar, Gabe. Which would you like to drink?” Sierra asked.

  “Uh.” His memory shot straight back to childhood visits to the Nemesek farmhouse next door. “Raspberry vinegar sounds good.”

  She poured him a glass of the sparkling red juice.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip, and it tasted like his memories. Two young boys playing hard, running with the Border collies through the pastures and up the hillside, climbing into their tree house… no, he didn’t want to remember the tree house. That’s where he’d gone to grieve when Bethany died. Zach had found him. Been a brother to him.

  Focus on his best friend. Focus on today. He blinked the food on his plate back into view and picked up his utensils.

  “Anyone need anything from the city Thursday?” asked Sierra.

  Jo glanced over. “You’re taking Tyrell to the airport?”

  Sierra nodded. “Yes. His flight is at two, so we’re out of here between nine and nine-thirty. There’s plenty of time afterward if anyone needs me to run an errand.”

  “Why isn’t he leaving his truck in Spokane?” Claire wanted to know.

  “It’s in the shop. His cousin is picking him up Monday.”

  Gabe’s insides clenched. An answer to prayer… but was it? With Sierra, of all people? Man. But he was low on options. He gritted his teeth. “Could I get a ride back with you? I have to return my rental to the airport.”

  She glanced at him, her blue eyes guarded. “Sure. There’s no reason why not.”

  That was rather unanimated, but he guessed he couldn’t expect enthusiasm after how he’d treated her in the clinic this afternoon. “Thanks. I’ll go down to the DMV first thing and get my old car insured. I assume it’s still in your garage, Doreen?”

  She nodded from across the table.

  “Where’s Tyrell going?” Claire put in. “I must have missed something.”

  “He’s off to a beekeepers’ convention in California for the weekend. He’s learning about the opportunities for hauling his hives to the almond groves.”

  Claire’s utensils clattered to the plank table. “He’s transporting his bees to California? Sounds about the opposite of local food to me.”

  “Whoa,” Jo put in. “You’ve got to stop seeing this guy.”

  Sierra had a boyfriend? Good. Excellent, in fact. It would be so much easier to ignore her or talk to her or, well, anything if she were attached. Like Claire. No problem, right? She was married. Gabe could just be a friend to her as a member of the Green Acres community and it was no big deal. Like Jo.

  Yes, so much simpler if Sierra had a boyfriend. Hopefully it was a serious relationship.

  “You aren’t considering sending our hives as well, are you?” Zach leaned forward on the table.

  “Of course not. Don’t overreact, you guys.” Sierra swooped her hair back over her shoulders, giving Gabe a clearer view of the side of her face. “Tyrell has over three hundred hives. It’s his business, and he has to run it like one if he hopes to keep it going and stay in the valley. We’re on a small scale here, with just enough for us and our friends and to sell at Nature’s Pantry.” She turned to Gabe, eyes wide. “That is, if you don’t mind if we continue.”

  “Uh, no. That’s fine. Carry on as you have been.” What else could he say? He wasn’t ready to tell this bunch of people he planned to list the store. Next week was soon enough to talk to a Realtor. He’d have to go over the books with Doreen in detail first, but she’d expect that, no matter what.

  “Okay, good. We have customers who prefer a one-stop shop. We don’t sell tons through there, but enough to be worthwhile.”

  “Now, Sierra, don’t downplay it.” Doreen leaned across the table. “We sell a few jars a week. You see, Gabe, Nature’s Pantry has turned into this little hub for locally sourced food. We’re selling all kinds of vegetables and fruit in season and have several people interested in producing more for us.”

  Over the past months he’d stopped reading Doreen’s emails after the words, “the store is doing well.” He should’ve read the details. How could he sell now, when she’d worked so hard to build it up?

  * * *

  Sweat dripped off Sierra’s nose. What she wouldn’t do for a draft of cool air about now, but Tyrell had told her often enough of the need to keep the heat turned up in the extraction shed. The warmer the better to keep honey flowing smoothly as they rotated each wooden frame through the process.

  Claire flinched as bees circled her head.

  “They’re unlikely to sting,” Sierra told her friend.

  “I don’t know how you get used to it. Why can’t I wear a bee suit or at least a screen hat?”

  Sierra laughed. “You can if you want, but you’ll totally cook.” She picked up another frame and ran a comb across the partially sealed cells of honey. “And I’m not kidding when I say you are unlikely to get stung.”

  “He did.” Claire jerked her head toward Tyrell, who operated the steam decapper at the other end of the frame holder about eight feet away.

  And Tyrell had made a big production of it, too. “He forgot to check the handles of the super before he lifted it. You’d sting someone too if you were nearly squished. It’s like yelping if someone surprised you by grabbing you.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “Well, most people would.” Of course, calm
, cool, and collected Claire wouldn’t react that way. She’d freeze for a couple of seconds while she gathered her wits. Sometimes it was frustrating to be the only squealer in the group. No one understood.

  She turned and slid the scraped frame into a niche in the huge centrifuge. The aroma of warm honey flooded the air like a cozy down comforter. The drone of dozens of bees on top of the machines only added to the sleepy sensation. Soon the bees would find their way to one of the escape hatches at the peak of the translucent corrugated roof panels. They’d started the day with hundreds in the workroom. She counted it all good they were down to so few. Still, every time Tyrell cracked open a new stack of supers, a few more bees escaped from their confines.

  Claire swatted at another bee. “I don’t know how you can stay so calm. Everyone knows bees sting everything in sight.”

  “You’re mixing them up with wasps and hornets.” Sierra did her best to keep her voice from sounding like she’d told Claire this a hundred times. Which she had. “Honeybees don’t hate everyone in the world. They only sting to protect themselves — so don’t squish one — or to protect their queen, and she isn’t in here.”

  “How do you know?” Claire set a frame in the extractor and reached for another one.

  Sierra shrugged. “Because they’re not glomming onto one spot. If you ever see a big bundle of bees, you’ll know there’s a queen at the center of it.”

  “Is that extractor full enough to run yet?” yelled Tyrell over the hum of the steam decapper.

  “We need eight more frames first,” Sierra called back.

  “More scraping and less yakking!” He winked.

  Sierra grinned until she caught the thin set of Claire’s lips. “He’s only teasing.”

  “Just remember I’m here to help you, not him.”

  “Aw, he doesn’t mean anything by it.” Sierra pointed at Claire’s frame of honey. “You need to get the comb right into the corners so every cell is open.”