by Reggi Allder
Later the pounding increased and if she hadn’t already checked the weather, she’d swear a thunderstorm reigned overhead. She turned back to the computer screen and tried to concentrate on her research.
What kind of apple sold best? If they planted the new orchard it might as well be with a popular apple, other than Red Delicious of course as the older trees were Delicious.
China and Australia dumped tons of apples on the United States Market. But Granny’s farm grew organic ones. Amy believed people wanted to buy local whenever possible and that gave her the edge.
Would parents want to feed their families apples shipped from thousands of miles away or ones grown on a nearby farm? She knew her choice.
Red Delicious was the most popular, Golden Delicious second. Gala would be next according to the research she’d done. She loved those, but she was in business to make money. Her farm needed another choice.
She rubbed her chin and tried not jump every time the thunder of hammers and men shouting interrupted her thoughts. How long would it take to get the job done?
Back to the decision for the bottom line, a sensible choice needed. Golden Delicious seemed right, but McIntosh, the green and red apple found originally in Eastern Canada might be good too. It was a little tart for her pallet, but it could be made into juice, cider, and pies. The downside, it didn’t keep in storage as long as other apples and had to be picked first and sent to market before they got mushy. They’d have to be harvested first and then go for the other apples which kept longer. McIntosh might increase her market share and open up new venues for Granny’s farm.
Decision made, she took her smart phone and texted Manny to let him know which trees to order. Many people didn’t know apples were still harvested by hand. Arrangements would be made for his crew to pick the crop as well.
That was one item off her “to do” list. Before she could feel too good about it, snail mail she had ignored for the last few days loomed on her desk. If she didn’t open something, it threatened to slide off onto the floor. What if something important hid in that pile?
As she moved the correspondence closer she discovered a small box under the magazines. Bobby probably brought it into the house and forgotten to tell her? Maybe Wyatt’s ring? The craftsman lived nearby but…
Too well packed, she’d better use a paring knife from the kitchen to cut the tape. She tore open the top and pulled back the tissue.
“Wow!” The gold wedding ring she’d ordered sparkled from the box. The small package might have been pushed to the floor. She held it to her heart. Be more careful.
Though platinum and white gold was the most popular choices right now, she’d chosen the yellow metal to go with the ring he’d designed for her. Gold from the Mother Lode of California had been used to make her ring.
She had to tell him about the band. Gone so much these days, he’d suggested she take care of the details for the wedding. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but with his job, traveling and now promoting the rodeo, there just didn’t seem to be enough time for everything. He’d kissed her and said, “I trust you, Amy. Do it and I’ll be happy.”
Even on her thumb, his ring was way too big. They’d never talked about him wearing it. He didn’t wear any ornamentation, Still, she believed most modern men wanted a band. If only he found the ring as amazing as she did.
She imagined placing it on his finger during the ceremony. Thinking of his powerful hands, large but gentle, her breath quickened recalling his caressing strokes.
The mail sat in front of her and she willed her mind to stop daydreaming and get back to work. She carefully sorted through the correspondence and stacked the letters by importance: read now, open later, or throw out. With her foot, she moved the waste basket nearer and pitched in most of the letters.
Not feng shui, but it felt better clearing some of the clutter. The top of the old wooden desk peeked out. Granny’s regulator clock sounded the hour. Only one in the afternoon, she had plenty of time to finish before Bobby returned home.
Every day she met him at the bus stop. She smiled thinking how proud he was being old enough to take the bus from school with the other kids in the neighborhood. They were a little older and she’d been worried about letting him do it at his age. His teacher was a friend of Vanna’s. She’d promised to make sure he got on the bus after school, though she’d manage it without making a fuss. Bobby wouldn’t be singled out as a kid that needed help from the teacher. Amy took a deep breath and remembered how important things like that seemed to kids in elementary school.
A letter in the pile had the logo of the biggest newspaper in Sacramento. She almost didn’t open it. With her budget, nothing was for left for a daily paper and used the online sites for news. Still, she tore the envelope open, glanced through it, and then examined it again.
“Well, I’ll be,” she whispered into the empty room. The lifestyle’s editor wanted her to write a column for the weekend section of the newspaper, discussing organic farming, apple recipes, and natural crafts. “I don’t believe…” she said a little louder. There’d been an email from the newspaper, but she’d sent it to her spam folder and deleted it. Maybe she should have read it.
Last year, she’d struggled to get the apples to market. Worked to sell from the pumpkin patch and make it a success and to have the Christmas crafts fair not to mention selling the Christmas trees at the farm to bring in money. All went well and the she’d received more than expected, though not enough to make it until next year’s harvest.
She’d done her best to advertise, but hadn’t thought anyone in Sacramento cared about the farm in Sierra Creek. Now the newspaper wanted her to write a column. According to the letter it paid a pittance, but the free publicity for Granny’s Organic Farm products, with the newspaper’s large circulation, irresistible. With a phone number in the letter, she should call and say she might be interested. She grasped her smart phone. When they answered, she’d say yes.
Things were going well; why was she nervous?
***
Wyatt was back. In the kitchen, she sat at the table and with her smart phone and searched the web looking for recipes. Planning dinner got harder every day, difficult to find new courses for Bobby to eat with celiac. In a rut, she too often fell back on the same dinners. Though no one ever complained, Wyatt and Bobby must be tired of the same meals.
“Amy, pack a bag,” Wyatt shouted as he rushed into the kitchen from the backdoor. He slid out of his jacket and tossed it onto a hook and plopped his Stetson on top of it.
“You’re home early.” She hugged him. “What do you mean pack?”
“You feel good.” He held her tighter then released her. “Get going.”
“Where?”
“We’ve been working hard; don’t you think we deserve a mini vacation?”
“Well, I—”
“Do you realize we’ve never dated? After Granny died, one thing or another had to be done. It didn’t seem right to go out.”
“I—oh don’t stop,” she said as he nibbled on her ear lobe and then sent warm kisses down the nape of her neck.
“We’ve never gone for a walk and held hands or gone to a movie and kissed in the dark. I haven’t wined and dined you. You’ve seen how charming I can be,” he said between kisses.
She giggled and relaxed in his arms. “You have no idea how wonderful that sounds—what about Bobby?”
“Taken care of. He’ll stay with Sophie and after school he’ll help Vanna at the preschool.”
“But...”
“It’ll be fun. I’ve booked a hotel in San Francisco and you can show me around the city.” He grinned.
“Now I’m excited.” Would it be right to act as an engaged couple, free from care and responsibility even for a couple of days?
Starved for downtime with the man she loved, did she dare?
Chapter 6
She hadn’t told Wyatt about the column she’d been asked to write for the food section of the Sacramento
newspaper. The deadline loomed. Many decisions for the wedding must be made if everything was to be ready on time. She planned to send the “Save the date” postcards soon to make sure everyone came to the ceremony.
“Come on. Bobby’s in the truck waiting. Don’t worry. Sophie and Vanna understand his dietary needs. They’ll make sure he gets the right stuff and he wants to stay with them. It’s a vacation for him too.”
“I want to, but there’s so much to do with the farm, the wedding, and the newspaper column you don’t know about and…” She paused to breathe.
“We haven’t taken a day off since before Bobby’s surgery and you worked every day selling the Christmas crafts too. You’ve done a great job. You keep everyone else on track and get us where we need to be. Don’t you want a day off?”
“Yeah—I guess.”
“Good. Get your suitcase and I’ll grab a few things from the cottage. Oh, and Bobby wants his new book and his stuffed animal, Mr. Fuzz.”
Her heart pounded as she ran upstairs. Could she get used to Wyatt, a man who made fast decisions and moved to transform their lives? It was so unlike her slow methodical decision making, taking in every variable and option before making even the smallest modification. The intensity of his rapid moves had attracted her to him, but living with it forever...could she be happy? She wondered if she could hold on tight enough to go with his sudden changes because it seemed to be his modus operandi.
***
Amy leaned back in the pick-up truck and relaxed. A breeze caressed her face as she breathed in the fresh air. She found it hard to believe she and Wyatt were going on their first date, out on the town.
Life on the farm had turned into a comfortable routine. Lately, Bobby appeared happy at school, without any problems eating lunch with the other kids. Mature for his age, he ate only the food on his list. As part of his job, Wyatt was gone more than she preferred. Though she didn’t like the situation, she’d understood that from the beginning.
Wyatt, dressed in blue jeans, a white dress shirt, and sports jacket, he looked more handsome than ever. The conflicts of last year were over. Vanna had told her, “Time to enjoy life.” In the spring, she’d be busy with the farm’s planting, the newspaper column, and the wedding plans. Wyatt would be away more often and for longer times. If they wanted time together, now seemed the right moment.
“Wyatt, I’ve been meaning to tell you a Sacramento newspaper wants me to write a column and blog for them. It doesn’t pay much, but it would give me a chance to promote the farm.”
Wyatt glanced at her. “No kidding?” Then he negotiated a curve turning the steering wheel sharply. “Do you want to do it?”
“It’d be free advertising for our farm’s products. Last year I struggled to find an inexpensive way to let people know about it. With the job, I could get attention for free.”
“Considering everything you went through, you did a great job.”
“Thanks, should I do it?”
“If you think it’s a good idea.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m kind of excited.”
“What does the editor want you to write about?”
“You know women’s stuff, recipes, crafts, etc.” She paused. “They also want me to talk about the wedding plans and how I’m going to use the farm for the reception and how to decorate the place on a budget, with photos.”
“Our wedding?”
“Of course, why?” Hearing the concern in his voice, she squirmed in the seat.
“Do they know who you’re marrying?”
“Why would that matter?”
“Just answer the question.”
She jumped at his fieriness; his tension filled the cab. “Well, yes—I told them when they asked.”
He grunted.
She waited for him to say more. The miles sped by in silence. She should be enjoying the day, but his stern expression prevented her. It’d be better if he’d say something, anything, not hold in his thoughts.
She’d been so happy about her job with the newspaper. His reaction made no sense. What was his problem?
On the outskirts of Sacramento, he stopped at a gas station and filled up. She went to the bathroom just to get away from his angry demeanor. She pulled out a comb from her bag and yanked it through her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. Maybe she should suggest they turn around and go back. No point in wasting money when they were both in a bad mood. She left the bathroom ready to tell him to drive home.
“I got each of us a fresh cup of coffee. They just made it. It’s not bad.” Wyatt handed a paper cup to her.
“Thanks. What’s in the bag?”
“Chips. I couldn’t resist them.” He grinned like a kid. “Want some?”
He might be trying to make nice.
She let out a sigh of relief. If he tried, she could meet him half way. “Yum.” She hugged him careful not to spill their coffee.
“Let’s get on the road.” He kissed her cheek and let her go.
The drink warmed her and gave a needed jolt of energy. She hadn’t realized her exhaustion. Munching on a few chips, she thought of fitting into her wedding dress and let him finish the bag.
For the next few miles she made small talk, not daring to bring up their past conversation.
“So where do you want to eat when we get there? Do you have a favorite restaurant in San Francisco?” he asked.
“There are so many great eateries.” She thought for a moment. “As you know I love Italian.” She shuddered remembering the last time they’d been in the Italian restaurant in Sierra Creek. What a disaster. “There’s a little place in North Beach,” she continued. “It has candles and white linen tablecloths, nothing fancy. Still, its chef is five star rated. He is from Northern Italy; Tuscany I think. The place is so popular I don’t know if we can get a table without a reservation.”
“Give them a call. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He handed her his smart phone.
She dialed several times trying to get a signal, then to get an answer from the restaurant. At last, someone answered.
“They’ve had a cancelation.”
“Good. Take it.” He hesitated. “Uh—Amy?”
“Yeah.”
Hey, I’m proud of you and all you’ve done with the farm.” He signaled and moved to the slow lane. “Even so, I don’t want you blogging about our wedding. It’s private.”
“But…”
“No.”
“Wyatt…”
“I’m on display on the rodeo circuit. And I’m doing TV ads soon. That’s enough. I want my home life private.”
“But…”
“I don’t want you to do it. Blog if you have to, but keep it about women’s stuff, not us.”
“But I’m proud—it’s my life too.”
“No. I’m on exhibit at work and with the ads. I’ve contracted to do the work to increase our income and make it possible to reopen the mill, but my visibility will increase. Enough.”
“Wyatt, I already told the newspaper I could work for them. They want to follow my wedding planning and the implementation of the decorations, food, etc. with photos of the farm as a backdrop.”
“They’re just using you to get to me.”
“What?” His words felt like a slap in the face. “You mean I have no value. I’m a conduit to you the big rodeo star. I can’t believe your ego. I really can’t.”
Before returning his attention back to the road, he glared at her with annoyance. “I don’t understand why you want to take our private ceremony and make it public, blasting our friends and family in the newspapers and social media.”
“It’s not like that. It means so much to me; I just wanted to share my ideas with other women. If they’re on a budget too, I could give my thoughts on ways to save money. And I wanted everyone to know how wonderful you are. I didn’t think…”
“No. You didn’t think, never considered anyone but yourself.” His grasp on the steering wheel increased and his expression of annoyance d
eepened.
Surprised by his response, she caught her breath. She’d had no plan to wed again, a man wasn’t needed. Then Wyatt came into her life. Now, she wanted to share her good fortune and let other women understand not to give up hope. There could be someone out there for them too. Obviously, he disagreed with the idea.
There was so much he didn’t know of her plans for the wedding. She and Vanna had notions for decorations, favors, music and such. She’d thought there’d be time before he needed to know. But maybe not telling him sooner had been a mistake.
They rode in silence toward San Francisco, the miles increasing her anxiety. If only he’d say something. Anything.
“Amy, I want you to do what’s important to you.” He pulled the truck off the road onto a wide shoulder and stared at her. “But you have to realize where I’m coming from.” He threw the transmission into park. “You’ve never been on the rodeo circuit with me.”
“No.”
“When I’m there, the Paparazzi hunt me so they can sell my photos. Reporters hound me asking about my injuries and who I’m dating. You’ve seen pictures of the women. They rush to get into the photos with me. Most want to get attention for their acting and modeling careers.” He took a deep breath and let it out a little at a time.
“Amy, it’s not only me. All the champions have to deal with it. Some of the guys like the attention. I don’t. For years, I’ve grinned and played along, while my insides churned because I hate it.”
“I had no idea.” Stunned, she absorbed the information. “I thought you enjoyed all the devotion from those beautiful women. You look so happy.”
“Photos can be deceiving.” He paused. “Hey, I can’t complain. It comes with the job and I’ve made a hell of a good living.” He spit out a breath of air. “I’ve put up with a lot, but it was my choice—I’m not making our wedding public. The Paparazzi could turn it into a fiasco.”