“Thanks for meeting us out here,” Drew said. “Beth, this is Walter Sherman.”
Beth shook his hand.
“I understand you’re the new owner?” Walter asked.
“My sister and I.” Molly had declined the meeting in favor of taking her new dog to the vet now that the puppy was ready to come home. Last Beth heard, she was trying to land on a name for the animal. Beth imagined they’d end up with a black Lab called Sparkles.
“Good to meet you. You’ve got yourself quite a project.” Walter surveyed the farm, taking in the barns, the acres, the work left to be done.
Beth hated the way he’d said it, like they’d bitten off more than they could possibly chew. And they had. She just didn’t like the reminder.
“We want to get a handle on the orchards,” Drew said. “I’ve done some reading, and our trees actually look pretty good.”
Beth admired the way he took ownership of the farm. Her dad would be impressed by Drew’s solid work ethic.
And he thinks I’m pretty.
“They should,” Walter said. “I’ve been pruning and harvesting them for years now.”
Beth looked at Drew, who appeared as surprised as she felt. “You have?”
“Harold probably didn’t leave much information behind, did he?” Even this early in the season, the man’s dark skin suggested hours of work out in the sun.
The photograph of Jess and the little boy sprang to Beth’s mind. “Actually, he left plenty, it’s just that we’re still sifting through everything.”
“That’s a job, I bet,” Walter said. “We’ve been caring for the trees going on twenty years now.”
Just after Jess had gone missing.
“Even after the farm closed?” Beth asked.
“Sure. After that, we harvested the apples for Sonya. Made a nice profit selling them at the farmers’ markets and the like. I imagine those apples kept them afloat for a while.”
“And after Sonya passed away?” Beth imagined all the prayers Sonya hadn’t written down but simply whispered into the wind. Had she strolled through the orchards, begging God for answers?
Why, God?
“Same thing. We’ve never stopped with the orchards. They’re valuable.”
“I’m surprised Harold kept up with your bills,” Drew said. “From what we can tell, he let everything go.”
“Oh, he didn’t pay us.”
“Well, that doesn’t make sense,” Beth said. “Did you take your pay out of what the apples made at the markets?”
Walter’s face warmed into a tender smile. “No, Harold and Sonya weren’t the ones who hired me.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pressed a business card into her hand. “This man hired me to take care of the orchards for them. I’m not sure they ever even knew.”
Davis Biddle.
“This man approached my sister,” Beth said. “Does he want to buy the farm?”
Walter’s smile broadened. “I don’t know about that, but Mr. Biddle has always had a soft spot for Fairwind. Or maybe for Mrs. Pendergast, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
Beth glanced at Drew, who said nothing.
“So he took care of the farm all these years because he was sweet on Sonya?” Beth asked.
Walter scratched the side of his mustache. “I couldn’t say for sure, ma’am. But he and Sonya were high school sweethearts.”
“Why didn’t he just buy the farm after Harold died?” Drew asked.
“He was in the Caribbean,” Beth and Walter said in unison.
“You say this started about twenty years ago?” Drew asked.
“Just after the girl went missing. Mr. Biddle got a bad reputation. He’s a shrewd businessman, and people don’t always understand his choices. He’s not known as a compassionate man, but when he heard what happened, he wanted to help.”
“There must’ve been something in it for him, some financial motive,” Beth said.
“Maybe he really loved her,” Drew said.
“So he spent twenty years taking care of her land? Even after she died?” she asked.
“People do crazy things for love,” he said.
Had Drew ever done something crazy for love?
“Maybe there was money in it for him,” Walter said. “I couldn’t really say. I don’t ask Mr. Biddle questions, I just do what he tells me.”
“I did a little digging on him when Molly gave me his card,” Beth said. “He owns property that meets up with ours.”
“I take care of his property too,” Walter said. “He’s hardly ever there—always traveling for business.”
Maybe that’s why Beth didn’t know the man. Willow Grove was a small town; if Davis Biddle had spent any amount of time there in the last ten years, Beth would’ve known him.
“He doesn’t talk about it,” Walter added. “So, keep this between us, if you don’t mind.”
Nothing about this made sense.
“Should we take a walk through the orchards?” Drew asked, probably tired of Beth’s suspicions. They were here to talk about trees.
“Sure. And I’ll tell you what it takes to keep it going, write you up an estimate just in case you want to keep us on, at least till you get your bearings.” Walter followed Drew toward the main barn, Beth and Roxie bringing up the rear. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you the family discount,” he said over his shoulder. “I love this old farm.”
Apparently, for some unknown reason, so did Davis Biddle.
And something about that didn’t sit right with Beth.
Drew drove a golf cart he’d found in the garage from the main barn to the orchards, with Roxie running close behind. He’d seen the business card on the table among Beth’s mess of papers, but the name hadn’t meant anything to him until Walter said it aloud.
Davis Biddle.
If he had a bad reputation—if he’d been Sonya’s high school sweetheart—maybe Drew had overheard his parents talking about him. Maybe Drew had even seen him at Fairwind sometime.
Or maybe Beth’s suspicious curiosity had rubbed off on him.
The only thing he knew for sure was that the name struck a chord in his gut—a chord telling him to pay attention—and left him wondering if Davis Biddle might be the key to filling in some of the blanks in his spotty memory.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Downtown Willow Grove bustled with activity on Saturday morning. The high school’s senior class was throwing their annual school carnival and bake sale, the last big event before tourists took over their little town. Locals came out in droves to support the event, partly for nostalgic reasons and partly to raise funds for whatever the graduating class decided the school needed most.
This year, they wanted a new scoreboard for the football field.
Beatty Park, with its open fields and ample shade, had proved to be the best place in town for an event like this, complete with carnival rides, games and local food vendors who showed up early to aid a worthy cause.
Though Beth was exhausted, she knew showing her face at the carnival was important. These were the same people she hoped would support not only their barn sale, but the farm itself. Besides, she couldn’t miss the carnival. It was a tradition.
She loved the artistic spin the Willow Grove locals put on a school fund-raiser. Off to one side of the park, artists set up easels to demonstrate their skills, surrounded by displays of the original artwork they had for sale. Beth always stopped to browse the paintings, the art lover in her wishing for the chance to hold a brush again.
After days of long hours and sore muscles, Beth told herself she wouldn’t rush through the morning the way she usually did. She’d go slow, talk to the people she knew, people who had come out to volunteer their time and manual labor in an effort to get the farm off the ground. She owed them so much.
Today, she promised herself she’d enjoy the day off.
And true Saturday enjoyment started with coffee.
Up ahead, she spotted the red-and-white gingh
am bunting of Callie’s bakery booth. She hoped her friend charged a fair price for her pies and pastries. Knowing Callie and her big heart, she was probably giving everything away. But—Callie would have coffee. And right now, that’s what really mattered. Beth made her way through the crowd, and as she finally reached the booth, she saw a familiar profile in line behind an old couple.
Drew.
He glanced her way. She smiled. Her efforts to maintain a professional façade around him had been valiant but flawed. Because everything inside her turned to mush as soon as she saw those eyes.
“You’re out early,” he said as she reached the line.
“So are you. You didn’t want to sleep in?” She knew better. He probably hadn’t slept at all.
Roxie sat beside him, her leash wound through Drew’s strong hands. The dog stood to greet Beth, but one tug from the leash and she sat back down. “She’s not used to being around so many people.”
Beth knelt down and rubbed Roxie’s ears, avoiding the thick tail that pounded the ground beside her.
“Hey, you two,” Callie said, clearly assuming they’d come together. “The usual?”
Drew nodded. “And two apple fritters.” He glanced at Beth. “Unless you’re not hungry?”
“I am, actually.” She rarely allowed herself pastries, but lately she seemed to be living on them. Thank goodness even her simple farm chores burned lots of calories.
Drew took a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and set it on the counter.
“Let me,” Beth said.
“Not a chance.”
Callie gave him his change and grinned at Beth. “Your sister was here already with her new dog.”
Beth groaned. “I hope she had it on a leash.”
“I think it might’ve been the other way around,” Callie said. “But she left me some postcards for the Fairwind Farm Market.” She patted the stack on the counter. “I’ll make sure everyone gets one, and I’ll talk to the vendors I know—some of them came out for this.”
“Thanks, Cal.”
A man walked up behind them, and Drew moved out of the way.
“I’ll stop back before I leave,” Beth said.
Callie smiled, waved goodbye to Drew and then waggled her eyebrows at Beth.
“You guys seem like good friends,” Drew said.
“The best.”
Drew followed her to one of the many picnic tables set up all around the park, opened the bag and took out the apple fritters, setting them on the paper between them.
“You’re lucky.” Drew took a swig of coffee.
She picked at the glaze on the fritter. “You must have some good friends back home.”
“Well, let’s see. There’s Mabel. I guess I’d call her a friend.”
Beth swallowed the bite in her mouth. “Oh.”
“Course, she’s a horse, so I don’t know if that counts.”
She glanced up just in time to see his smile skitter away. “Funny.”
A quiet lull fell between them.
“I feel like you know a lot about me,” Beth dared. “But I know almost nothing about you.”
“You know plenty about me.” He tossed a piece of apple fritter in his mouth.
“You worked at a ranch in Colorado—a ranch that has a web page that doesn’t list its staff, by the way.”
“You checked?”
“Course I checked. The only reason I didn’t call your boss is because I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“You’re thorough, I’ll give you that.” He smiled.
Oh, that smile. It was something.
“There’s really not much to tell,” he said.
“Did you go to school?”
“I did.”
“For what?”
“Agricultural sciences.”
“For real? No wonder you know how to do everything.”
He laughed. “Well, working at the ranch taught me most of what I know—more than school in a lot of ways.”
“So you have a degree from . . . where?”
“Colorado State.”
“Colorado State, and you’re doing this kind of work?”
He shrugged. “I like it.”
She eyed him for a long moment.
“What about you?”
She took a drink of her coffee, wishing that if they were going to change the subject, they could focus on something other than her. “What about me?”
“I assume you have a degree.”
“I do.”
“In?”
“Business.”
“I can see that. And, what, you just love Willow Grove so much you came back home after college?”
She laughed. “Can we walk?”
He balled up the fritter wrappers and tossed them in the garbage can. “Let’s walk.”
She kept her eyes ahead as they wandered down the makeshift rows of carnival games and food booths, smiling at the occasional passerby. He was quiet, most likely waiting for her to elaborate, yet she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to open up to him.
He was her employee, after all.
She glanced at him. His eyes were focused in front of them, leading Roxie through the crowd that had started to gather.
“I actually kind of hated it here.” She kept her eyes straight ahead. “I talked a lot of trash about this town. I guess I just wanted a different life. I mean, did you ever feel like there was something more you were supposed to do? Like you should’ve done it by now?”
Somehow, his silence encouraged her to go on.
“I went to college in the city, and by my senior year, I had this great internship with my dream company. I was in the running for a full-time job there after I graduated, but the job went to someone else.”
“Guess it wasn’t your job, then.”
She frowned.
“I mean, if the door didn’t open, it wasn’t your door.”
She laughed. “Did you read that in a fortune cookie?”
“I might have, actually.” He tugged Roxie away from a box of popcorn someone had dropped on the ground.
“I didn’t see it that way. I was crushed. I graduated and came back here, you know, to figure out my life, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“You might’ve skipped a little bit in there.”
“Like what?”
“Like, why didn’t you go back to the city and get a different job?”
She pressed her lips together, figuring out how to reply. “My dad had a great business here—a manufacturing company. They make two specific parts for lawn mowers. Doesn’t that sound glamorous?”
The corner of his mouth turned up in one of his trademark nonsmiles.
“I worked there in high school, just in the office, so after college, I took a very temporary position. That was seven years ago.”
He didn’t respond, not that she thought he would. What was he going to say—“Wow, that’s kind of pathetic?”
“I was the office manager.” I almost destroyed the whole business.
“Was?”
“I haven’t told anyone, but they asked me to resign just after Molly bought the farm.”
More silence.
“The truth is, if this Fairwind thing hadn’t come along, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” She stopped at a game booth, the one where she could throw baseballs at jars and win something if she knocked them over. It was humiliation, not a desire to play the game, that compelled her to stop there.
She gave the kid at the booth a dollar in exchange for three baseballs.
“Miss Whitaker, let’s see that arm,” he said.
She squared off with the jars, drew in a breath and threw the ball as hard as she could. It smacked against the back curtain with a thud, leaving the tower of milk jars standing perfectly still.
Sighing, she lined herself up again, threw the second ball and got the same result.
She glanced down at the third ball in her hand, turning it over. As she stood there, she replayed t
he day her father had learned that she’d gone against his wishes and it would cost them dearly, and her eyes clouded with fresh tears. She blinked them back, determined not to let herself cry again in front of Drew.
He put a hand on her back and wrapped his free hand around the baseball she held. “Let me.”
She stared at his strong hand wrapped around hers, their skin touching on the edges around the ball. She didn’t know how to let anyone do anything for her—but standing there, next to him, she wanted to try.
She released her grip on the ball, and he inched it out of her hand. “Here, take Roxie.”
He handed her the leash, and the dog sat at her feet as Drew stepped up in front of the booth. He lined up with the jars, threw one pitch and knocked all of them down.
“You’re not as alone as you think you are.”
Her mother’s words rushed back at her, but she didn’t know how to make sense of them. She was alone.
Drew took a small stuffed-animal prize from the kid manning the booth and handed it to Beth.
“Thanks,” she said.
As he took Roxie’s leash from her, her fingers brushed against his, and her whole body was aware of the touch.
He continued walking in the direction they’d been going before she’d stopped. “What happened? With your job, I mean?”
She looked away. She’d sworn she’d never tell a soul.
Why, then, was she actually figuring out how to put it into words?
Beth weaved in and around people walking in the opposite direction until finally Drew took hold of her hand and pulled her off the path and toward the band shell, where only a few other people sat.
He sat down and ordered Roxie to do the same.
“It’s nothing, really,” she said.
“It’s not nothing.”
She let out an exhausted sigh. “I was wrong.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“I was really, really wrong.” Slowly, she sat down in the chair next to him. “My dad had been running his business for years. It was doing really well—like, really well.” She glanced at him. She saw no judgment, only a willingness to let her talk.
“Like I said before, we manufacture lawn mower parts. I thought I’d found a less expensive way to make this one specific part. I went to my dad and told him about it, and he wouldn’t even hear me out.”
Hometown Girl Page 23