Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5)

by Valerie Comer

  “Where there is a great drought, a spring rain fills the cracks and seeps into the soil. The contrast is stark. From dark ugliness to great beauty.”

  She nodded at the word picture. He had a way of taking simple words and making them sound like poetry.

  “But rain falls on the mountains and in the lush meadows, too. It brings new life wherever it comes. So with the Spirit. The old is gone and no longer matters. All is refreshed.”

  Her soul craved that refreshment, but her spiritual horizon seemed as empty of rainclouds as the bright October sky.

  * * *

  Keanan tagged behind Chelsea as she perused the tile section of the third store. She was like a hummingbird, zooming here, hovering there. He could discern no pattern, no concept of what caught her eye and what wasn’t worthy of a second glance.

  What had been wrong with the tiles at the first store? Keanan was smart enough not to put voice to that thought… and a few others, for all he’d blathered in the car on their drive to Wynnton. He was in no hurry to return to Green Acres. Not until he could redeem the day.

  Chelsea seemed in her element, snapping photos on her cell phone, bringing up its calculator to tap in numbers, keying search words into the tiny browser tab.

  His fingers nailed three letters at once when he tried that. She was so dainty, so feminine. When had he stopped making mental mockery of her floral scarves and high heels?

  Keanan shifted closer, smelling the subtle scent of her, bending until his cheek brushed the top of her hair. “Find anything you like?”

  “Oh!” She startled, taking a step back and landing one pointy heel on his leather shoe. It would take more than that to bruise him.

  His hands balanced her, giant paws on her slender arms. “Sorry.”

  “Um, the tiles…” She turned, her blue eyes gazing up into his.

  “What about them?” He slid his hands down to her elbows then back to her shoulders. An invisible magnetic field kept him from breaking contact. The same pull kept his eyes fixed on hers.

  “There are tiles I like.” But her voice was breathy, and she seemed equally unable to look away.

  His hands slipped from her arms to her waist and settled on the curve of her hips. “Which do you like?” A bold question, with perhaps more than one correct answer.

  She bit her lip, dragging his gaze to the soft flesh. Did pink lipstick come off when kissed? This wasn’t the moment to find out. His gaze snapped back to her eyes, and he somehow managed to remove one hand from her hip. The other compensated by sliding around her slender waist.

  Keanan turned her to face the tile beside him. “Show me.”

  Her voice caught. “The tile?”

  Or how she felt about him. But tile was safer.

  “Um, that one.” She pointed, her pink fingernail gleaming. “With a band of the glass mosaic from the first store.”

  “Okay. How much do we need?”

  “About one hundred square feet.”

  Who knew there was a part of his brain still able to function and multiply by cost? Thankfully the math was simple. “Sounds good.”

  “We can look some more. If you want.”

  He pulled her tighter against his side. “If you like this one, it’s good by me. Let’s get it. May I take you for lunch? I hear the Bluebell has great food.” The sooner the shopping was out of the way, the sooner they could focus on the important things.

  Like how they felt about each other. Surely she wasn’t immune.

  * * *

  Chelsea took a deep, steadying breath as Keanan and the sales clerk stacked boxes of tile on the cart. What had happened there? Two conversations simultaneously. One about tile and one about… what? He’d hinted — more than hinted — at a desired relationship on the drive to Wynnton. When his hands encircled her waist and his green eyes bonded to hers, anything seemed possible.

  But it was expected by everyone at Green Acres. Her sister smirked whenever Keanan was present or even mentioned. Claire, Jo, Allison — each of them had wiggled their eyebrows a time or two. It was like it wasn’t possible or acceptable to be single.

  She remembered speaking flippant words to Brent a few months before, about the farm water causing people to fall in love. It’d been a joke. He’d been in the throes of unrequited love and hadn’t found her words funny at the time. Now it was Chelsea who wondered if it were true and not a tale. What other explanation could there be? Not that she hadn’t desired marriage and a family, but with Keanan? When had the thought become less repulsive? Or even inviting?

  She trailed behind him as he took the tiles, mastic, and grout through checkout. Followed him to the car, where he popped the trunk and loaded the building supplies.

  Keanan opened the passenger side for her and held her gaze while she slid inside. He shut the door and trundled across the lot to return the cart.

  Chelsea shivered and rubbed her arms briskly. Right where Keanan’s warm hands had rested not long before.

  He was safe. She could trust him.

  But could she trust herself?

  Chapter 11

  Keanan leaned back in the booth at the Bluebell, watching Chelsea as she poked a fork in her dessert. He could hardly take his eyes off her. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

  She flicked him a wry grin. “You’ve mentioned that before.” Chelsea popped a bite of pineapple upside-down cake into her mouth. A moment later she said, “What was your plan B for getting tile?”

  “Brent offered to order extra on his next order.” He shrugged.

  “Which would’ve depended on his other client’s taste?”

  Keanan nodded. “Honestly, they’re likely to make a better choice than I would have without help. But it’s only shower tile.”

  “But you’ll stand in that shower every day for the rest of your life.” Her gaze dropped back to her plate. “Or however long you’re at Green Acres, I guess.”

  Ah, was that part of the problem? She saw him as a transient? “Everyone needs a place to come home to.”

  If she cut that cake into any more pieces, she might as well run it through the blender. Little structure remained as it was. She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

  Time to share his dreams. His plans. “There’s a mission in Africa that supplies solar panels and teaches people how to use solar cookers. They make a difference in people’s lives every day. I think I’ve mentioned them before.”

  “I’m lost. We were talking about your shower tile. How did Africa get into the conversation?”

  “Sorry. I only meant that I now have a home base, but I’ll be in Africa for several months this winter. I’ll be back in Idaho before spring planting.”

  * * *

  Chelsea became aware of her gaping mouth and snapped it shut. “Just like that? Off to Africa?”

  Something squeezed her fingers, and she looked down. Keanan’s large hands enveloped hers. She pulled away and laid her hands in her lap. “I thought once you signed on at Green Acres, you were committing to the farm.”

  A flash of something — pain? — crossed his face, gone again in an instant, though the green eyes seemed a bit more wary. “I mentioned this possibility with the group a few times, perhaps before you came. Once the jars and freezers are full of food and the fall work is complete, there’s not much to do every day. Meals to prepare, animals to feed, eggs to gather. It doesn’t take ten adults each working a twelve-hour day.”

  She’d seen Green Acres with a blanket of snow when she visited last winter. She could hardly wait for that slower pace, the chance to catch up on reading and enjoy a cup of tea without feeling she was avoiding work.

  Still, he made some kind of sense. Chores through the winter would take minimal time. He made it sound like they’d all be slackers. Chelsea preferred to think of it as a well-earned rest.

  “Have you ever traveled, Chelsea?”

  She blinked his face back into focus. “Sure. I’ve been to Mexico several times. Belize twice.”

&
nbsp; He leaned forward, eyes lit up. “With what mission?”

  “Mission?” Surely she’d heard him wrong. “On vacation with my family at all-inclusive resorts.”

  “Oh.” The fire seemed to fizzle out.

  “Look, my parents tithe. My church back home supports missions.” She’d been about to say the youth went on church-building trips, but he’d ask if she’d ever gone. Somehow his opinion mattered, even with the gulf wide open between them. “I don’t have much personal income right now at the farm, but I tithe, too.” Had she cut enough defensiveness out of her voice?

  “Tithing is—” He took a deep breath. “Never mind.”

  “No, tell me.” She might as well get both barrels now. That would help her remember why Keanan Welsh was not the right man for her. To think she’d caught herself dreaming of taking a shower surrounded by those tiles they’d bought. Yeah. So not happening. Her first instinct had been correct. This guy was not only on a different wavelength but also from a different planet.

  “We are raised with so much privilege here.” Keanan studied her from serious green eyes. “Even those with little have vastly more than most people in third world countries.”

  Hard to argue with that, so she nodded. Thank God she’d been born in Portland to Tim and Sandra Riehl. It could’ve been much worse.

  “But we aren’t given wealth to hoard it. God expects us to see the needs of others and to do what we can.”

  “I told you I tithe. That’s not hoarding. I do my duty to others.” What gave Keanan the right to make her feel guilty about her lifestyle? “I’m not in pursuit of big money, anyway. We’re all about community at Green Acres. We teach stewardship and caring for God’s creation. If I wanted a fat paycheck and a big house, I wouldn’t have moved to Idaho. I’d have stayed in Portland.”

  Keanan opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he stared down at those giant hands of his for a long moment.

  Should she back down? No. A relationship with a guy like him had no future. Best to know this at the outset. Let him go to Africa. Let him do his thing and be better than her. Maybe she’d even send her tithe his way and enable him to do more good deeds.

  Was that what it meant in the Bible to heap coals of fire on someone’s head? She couldn’t remember. Probably not, but hey.

  “Did you want to finish your dessert or shall we head back to Green Acres?”

  Chelsea looked down. Man, she had mashed that cake into nothing. She set the fork carefully at the edge of the plate. “I’m done, thanks.”

  The waitress had deposited the check at the edge of the table some time ago. Keanan picked up the vinyl folder just as Chelsea reached for it. “I’ll pay,” she said.

  “No.” Keanan’s eyes narrowed. “We came to buy tile for my home. I’ll pick up the tab.”

  Right. It had never been a date. She clenched her jaw. “Fine then. Thank you.” Probably hadn’t sounded too gracious. She tried to inhale, but the sadness in his green eyes drowned her. What was she supposed to say? That she could be perfect just like him? She couldn’t be. She was who she was, and she couldn’t make herself into anyone else.

  A man who truly loved her wouldn’t expect her to change. Therefore, Keanan Welsh did not love her. No surprise there.

  He stood and waited for her. Like a gentleman.

  Chelsea grabbed her purse and slid out of the booth. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.” Without meeting his gaze, she bolted.

  * * *

  “Great choice.” Brent stacked the glass mosaics next to the six-inch tiles outside the bathroom door.

  Keanan shrugged. “You can thank Chelsea.” He couldn’t force animation into his voice when only a heavy heart at the day’s discussion lingered.

  “She’s got good taste.”

  “She does.” Probably she had good taste in men, too. A man totally unlike Keanan would sweep her off her feet one day. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to watch it happen.

  Brent leaned against the wall. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I’m not the most sensitive guy on the planet. I’m sure Allison could give you many instances where I’ve missed the boat.”

  Keanan doubted it. Brent had poured his soul into perfecting every tiny detail of the timber-framed house he’d built for Allison, not knowing at the time if he’d ever live in it with her and young Finnley.

  “You left this morning with a bounce in your step and you’ve come back dragging. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the day didn’t go as you hoped.” Brent nudged the boxes with a steel-toed boot. “Other than the classy tile.”

  Was this when Keanan admitted he was ready to borrow Brent’s truck and return the tile that had Chelsea’s personality stamped all over it? How could he bear to see this piece of her every time he entered his bathroom?

  He found his voice. “You’re right. The day zipped downhill.”

  “How so?”

  No mockery, no humor came through the other man’s eyes or voice. Maybe Brent would be a good sounding board. “Chelsea didn’t know I’m going to Africa this winter.”

  Brent tilted his head and his eyebrows rose.

  “I thought she’d see the value of a mission trip like that.” Keanan stared into Brent’s eyes. “She doesn’t.”

  “But she’s a believer. She must have signed a statement of faith to join the community. I know both Allison and I did. Didn’t you?”

  Keanan nodded. “I did. I’m sure Chelsea did, too. But that’s only the barest of foundations, as you know. She believes.” He sighed. “I thought when she offered to help in the kitchen at Alpha that she was burdened for the lost. Instead, she felt pushed into it by Ed Graysen. You know how he is. He doesn’t make it easy to say no.”

  Brent chuckled. “Too true.”

  “She told him she was an event planner and caterer, and he mentioned the church’s need for a coordinator. Before she knew what’d happened, she’d agreed.”

  “God can work through that kind of obedience.”

  “I agree. But willingness is useful.”

  “Not sure.” Brent looked thoughtful. “I seem to remember people in Bible times that God used, even against their desire.”

  “But it’s so much better to embrace God’s call! Stepping forward in faith to see what He’ll do.”

  “Not arguing with that, man. Not at all.”

  Silence reigned for a few minutes while Keanan forced his emotions into line. “I’m sure she thinks I think I’m better than her. I may have said things that were inappropriate.” Keanan scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Now I’m nothing but an oaf. An overgrown hippie.”

  Something flickered in Brent’s eyes. “She said that?”

  Keanan stared at the polished concrete floor. Did he have to admit it?

  “Looked in the mirror lately?”

  “What?” Keanan reared back, narrowing his gaze at the shorter man.

  “I’m sure you don’t look in one much. Haven’t installed one in here yet.” Brent shook his head, chuckling. “You look fine to me, but hey, I’m a guy. I understand testosterone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with long hair and wearing socks in your sandals. You know what they say. Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

  “I am not a hippie, no matter what she says.” Visions of dope-smoking free-love advocates in tie-dye sprang to mind. He wasn’t that kind of man. So he was big. He couldn’t exactly help his size. Could he do anything about her other assumptions? It didn’t matter. Not unless his opinion of her changed as well.

  “My friend, may I pray with you? For you?”

  Keanan looked at his friend. His brother in Christ. He bowed his head. “I’d be honored.”

  Chapter 12

  She’d managed to avoid Keanan Welsh since Saturday. It had taken some doing. Skipping church, sneaking plates of leftovers, and holing herself up in the duplex to work
on the big Christmas fundraiser event in Portland. Chelsea had organized it every year for the past five. She didn’t need to be on location to get the basics rolling. Besides, work helped push away not only thoughts of Keanan, but reminders of how tight he was with God.

  “Yes, everything is fine. I’m just busy.” She’d all but lied to Sierra, Gabe, and Claire. No one else had seemed to notice or, if they had, they’d counted on her sister to talk to her. To act as a bridge.

  Bridges were unacceptable. Crossing even one would topple this house of cards. Inside herself, a war waged, but she’d ignore its existence as long as she could. She didn’t embrace the chasm. The battle. But how could it be solved?

  Maybe it couldn’t.

  Chelsea slipped into the straw bale house early on Wednesday morning, carrying her keys and a note, which she set on the peninsula while she helped herself to a few assorted leftovers from the fridge and a canning jar of soup from the larder.

  A quiet snick sounded behind her, and she whirled.

  Keanan. She blinked. With a haircut?

  He stood just inside the door watching her across the dining room table, across the peninsula.

  Chelsea’s heart clenched at the sadness on his face. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry, and placed the jar inside her basket on the island. “Keanan. What are you doing in here so early?” He had as much right to be here as she did.

  “Sleep has been elusive. You?” He rounded the table and took a seat at the peninsula, his hands folded on the tile countertop, his gaze fixed on hers.

  She forced a nonchalant shrug and looked away. “Ditto. I got a little hungry so came for a snack.”

  Keanan’s large hand gestured at the basket of food she’d collected. “That looks enough for a day or two.”

  Busted. “So, um, you got a haircut.” She peeked up from under her lashes. From a thick mass that had flowed past his shoulders to an almost preppy cut. Not a buzz, thank the Lord for small mercies. The shock was big enough as it was.