by Gaelen Foley
The only two members of their gang not in sight were Mike and Reggie—understandably so, since the two first responders had both probably been on duty all night. Over among the lettuce, Lance and the dudes along with a bunch of their fellow high school students were filling up pails of salvageable produce.
Bea saw Jack’s waitresses, Finn’s outdoor guides, a few of Jules’s library workers, half the congregation from church, and even the parish priest.
She stood at the window, dumbfounded. Overcome with gratitude. And maybe a little embarrassed to find herself in the role of a charity case. For starters, she couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t heard the cheerful mob outside her window—unless someone had ordered them to be quiet so she could sleep.
She spotted Harry then in the middle of it all, and instantly realized he was the one behind this massive effort.
Standing between Pap and Gram, he was building hoop houses with them out of vinyl pipes and plastic sheeting to protect the tomato and pepper plants they had apparently managed to save from the wreckage of her greenhouse.
Bea’s heart turned to the consistency of melting butter at the sight of him. It seemed he’d been busier yesterday than she’d realized when he’d set off for town, while she had walked around in a daze.
Suddenly, Finn spotted her standing at her window like a very confused Rapunzel, straightened up, and pointed at her. “Hey, look who’s up. We heard you could use a few extra hands around here today, Honey-Bea.”
A ragged little sob of heartfelt appreciation escaped her as everyone turned to look up at her in the window. She lifted one hand to her mouth to hold back the renewed threat of shaky tears, and waved to the crowd with the other.
“I’ll be right down,” she called, trying to sound steady. “Thank you so much, everybody.”
“Can we crank the tunes now?” asked young Jesse, Lance’s pal, his crackly voice loud enough to be heard an acre away.
Laughter followed.
“Long as it’s none of that rap stuff,” Pap warned.
Bea didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she pulled down the blind so she could get dressed, then moved away from the window. She was still reeling from the knowledge that Harry had organized all this on her behalf as she took a deep breath and gazed into the mirror.
She was afraid to let herself hope what this new development could mean either for her farm or the prospect of giving him another chance.
With a sniffle, she got hold of her still-raw emotions, then quickly went into the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth.
Hurrying back to her room, she slathered up with sunscreen and pulled on loose olive cargo shorts and a peach-colored tank top. After stepping into her extra pair of waterproof work boots, she quickly put her hair up in a ponytail and snatched her sunglasses off the dresser on her way out.
It was time to face whatever the new day might hold.
But first, she needed coffee and a bite to eat. That she actually was hungry for breakfast seemed in itself a good sign. Arriving in the kitchen, she discovered boxes of donuts, coffee cake, muffins, and bagels that all her generous volunteers seemed to have been inspired to bring along.
The frying pan had been left out after Gram had made eggs and bacon for who knew how many people, but Bea just grabbed a multigrain bagel and smeared it with cream cheese, then fixed her coffee.
With her portable breakfast in both hands, she was on her way to the front door when she suddenly froze, spotting something on the hutch that she hadn’t seen in a very long time: the dark blue folder containing her business plan.
Uh-oh. What’s that doing out? A bright orange Post-it note was stuck on the front of it. Bagel in one hand, coffee in the other, she went over nervously to see what it said: Hey Bea – I read this overnight. Not bad! Let’s talk. I have a few ideas.
Beneath this message, her “soulless corporate henchman” had drawn her a little smiley face, and signed the note, H.
For a long moment, Bea could only stare at the awkward, rather misshapen smiley, obviously drawn by someone who didn’t make them often. It hit her then, and finally sank in, how Harry had been going out of his way to help her, just like he’d claimed. And maybe she was thick, but somehow, she managed to be taken aback yet again by the unexpected kindness of this mysterious outsider.
At that moment, the man himself walked in. “Ah, just the person I wanted to see,” he greeted her with a grin.
Bea smiled back and found herself blushing as he pulled the screen door shut behind him and approached. “Good morning,” she said shyly.
Harry looked even handsomer to her than usual—she wasn’t sure why. He had a fresh-scrubbed look about him this morning, despite the physical labor he’d been doing outside. His face was newly shaved, his jet-black hair still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he wore new jeans and a t-shirt with the logo on it from Finn’s outfitters shop.
Bea realized that with all of his own clothes in the trunk of the car that was probably still in the tree, Harry must’ve picked up new stuff to wear during his long sojourn in town yesterday. She hadn’t even seen him again last night after he had left the barn, asking to borrow her truck.
By the time she had emerged from her pity party among the chickens, he was already gone, and since she had gone to bed early, emotionally wiped out, their paths hadn’t crossed till now.
She vaguely remembered Gram readying one of the unused bedrooms down the hall from Bea’s for Harry to sleep in, since the inn was closed. Bea could only wonder what else she might’ve missed while she’d been deep in her fugue. All she knew was that, somehow, he fit better into the landscape of her life dressed like this than in his sharp city clothes.
Though he looked damned good in both.
“How are you this morning?” he asked softly, resting his hands on the back of the chair pushed up against the table.
“Doing better,” Bea said with a nod.
“Good.”
“Harry—are you the one behind all of that going on outside? Looks like you recruited a whole army out there to help me.”
“Hey, they volunteered,” he said, modestly dodging the question. “When I finished up pitching in yesterday in town, I had a burger at the Knickpoint and told your friends the situation. Everyone wanted to help. Looks like word spread pretty quickly.”
She gazed at him. “I’m really touched.”
He sent her a serene, almost tender smile.
The moment they shared gazing at each other ran so long that Bea began feeling awkward as a teenager around him again. She turned away, her heart skipping a beat. “I got your little note.”
She gestured with her bagel to her business plan lying on the hutch, then took a bite.
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I took the liberty of asking your grandmother if I could read over the business plan you had written up for the banks. She gave it to me—she didn’t think you’d mind. I hope that’s all right.”
She shrugged, chewing. At this point, it didn’t matter anymore.
“I just figured before you make a firm decision about selling, I could take a look and see if I could come up with anything to help.”
She took a sip of coffee and braced herself. “So what do you think?”
“Honestly?” He paused, arching a brow. “I think you’ve got some great ideas in there.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah, I love some of the mostly passive income ideas you’ve come up with. Growing Christmas trees. The public you-pick-it strawberries and pumpkin fields. Very smart thinking. Those are niche crops with a higher per-acre yield, plus, you’ll cut way down on your labor costs, having the customers do the work for you. But I think my favorite one might be your idea about turning one of the pastures next to the state forest into a campground where people can rent campsites and pitch a tent. These are terrific ideas.”
“Really?” she said, amazed at his enthusiasm.
“Yeah. I o
nly have one question. Why aren’t you doing any of these things?”
Bea was still processing the fact that a business expert like Harry liked her ideas. When she shook off her astonishment, she shrugged, unsure what to say. “I’m overwhelmed, mostly. I’ve been focusing on the fruits and vegetables. Organic growing is labor intensive. Beyond that, I’d need a clone to get it all done. Plus, those projects take some capital to get started, and I’ve been saving up all my income for my down payment. And for the green house,” she added with a pang.
Harry leaned against the chair. “Well, after I read over your folder last night, it got the wheels turning in my mind. I did some brainstorming and a bunch of online research, and I think I might’ve come up with a good compromise that’ll let both you and Curt get what you’re after—and maybe even me, too.”
“Let’s hear it,” she said in surprise.
“Are you sure? You just woke up.”
She lifted her coffee mug. “This’ll clear out the cobwebs. Believe me, I’m all ears.” She sat down at one of the kitchen chairs. “Lay it on me, Mr. Riley.”
“Okay, but hear me out before you say anything.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t freak out again.”
He smiled and propped his foot up on the chair across from her, but didn’t sit. “Just so you know, I already ran it past your grandparents. They approved but said the final decision is still yours to make. Bear in mind we can tweak this any way you want,” he added, resting his elbow on his bent knee. “But as a starting point, what I’m basically proposing is a partial sale.”
She tensed, listening.
“You keep, say, fifty acres or so, including the house, the barn, and any outbuildings that you need, the orchard, your established veggie fields, and certainly one of the pastures with access to the forest. The rest of the farm you sell to Curt.”
It was painful hearing those words spoken aloud, but she steadied herself and let him continue.
“I’m pretty sure two hundred and fifty acres is the minimum Curt is going to need to build the kind of property he envisions,” Harry explained. “I know him, and he’s not crazy about compromise under the best of circumstances. You might be able to retain seventy-five acres at the most, but push him too hard, and he just stops listening. Anyway, it seems like fifty acres is closer to the scale of operation you really want, judging by the mission statement in your business plan. Your original goal, as stated, was to slowly turn this farm into an organic operation, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Silage corn is what requires so many acres, but that’s not your thing—that was your grandfather’s gig. Besides, you can’t compete with the big guys in that space.”
She nodded. “You’re right. No offense to Pap, but that’s not what I care about. Humans can’t eat field corn. They feed it to livestock, and turn it into plastic and stuff. I want to grow healthy food for everyday people. Sweet corn, sure—corn on the cob for humans. Not silage corn, though, even though it’s considerably more profitable.”
“Right.” Harry nodded, looking pleased with her willingness to listen so far. “But don’t let me get ahead of myself here. First things first. If you’re going to make this organic thing work, we need to line up more accounts with local grocery stores and restaurants for you, where you could be their main supplier of organic local produce.”
She sighed. “I’ve tried, Harry, but the big grocery chains around here already have their favored dealers. I’m the little guy here. I’m shut out.”
“Yeah, but I’ll bet you could supply the local diners and the Knickpoint and maybe even the restaurants at Silver Oaks with all their summer salad greens, not to mention the Sweetwater Inn. I’ve got a friend on the inside there. Bet I can get you a deal.” He winked. “Then there’s the fresh fruit from your place. I mean, come on. Who can resist your peaches?”
Her lips twisted at his playful innuendo. He seemed determined to keep the mood light. No wonder, after she had been such a wreck in the barn yesterday. “Better yet,” he continued, “your buddy Chloe said that she would gladly help you pitch to these prospective accounts. Apparently, she’s got some experience doing corporate presentations, and from what I see, everyone around here is perfectly happy to do whatever Chloe says.”
Bea chuckled at that. “Yeah, we’re all very relieved she doesn’t use her powers for evil.”
“Okay! Moving on, then.” Brimming with energy, he looked encouraged by her reaction so far. “So, while you’re getting your primary business of growing organic produce fully established, you can start diversifying your portfolio with seasonal fallback crops, like the Christmas trees and Halloween pumpkins. Summer strawberries, too. See, you want to get customers coming here to the farm as a fun family outing, and then what you do is set up your own little farm shop right here, where your visitors can buy whatever you want to sell ’em. It doesn’t have to be just produce. Country crafts, antiques, garden stuff, whatever. I have some ideas about that, too, actually.”
Bea couldn’t deny that his confidence was contagious.
“All these other income streams will ease up pressure on the fruit and veggie biz, and you’ll be able to invest in getting them going, because once the sale goes through, you’ll have that hundred thousand we talked about to play with. Now, I ran the numbers comparing profits on raw organic veggies versus processed foods.”
“Processed foods?” she echoed.
“Bea, you’re leaving so much money on the table by only selling raw produce that it isn’t even funny.”
“I am?”
“All that fruit you harvest—why not turn it into jams, jellies, marmalades? Even dried fruit. That’s a healthy snack, right?”
“But that takes money. All that processing—”
He held up a finger. “Lemme finish.”
“Continue,” she said with a sigh.
“Then there are your vegetables. People fork over big bucks, relatively speaking, for ready-to-eat, washed, packaged, ready-to-go organic salads. All you have to do is set up a simple operation and get the proper licensing and insurance to turn your fresh-picked produce into packaged salads for people on the go. Especially in this town full of health nuts? The very same amount of vegetables will make you five times more money just by putting it together in a salad for people rather than having them do it themselves. See? You can profit from everyone else’s laziness,” he said with a wide smile.
She was silent, brow furrowed, absorbing the unfamiliarity of all he was suggesting. But as she began to see the possibilities he’d opened up, she could feel his enthusiasm pulling her out of the depths of despair about her future.
“I’ve got to say, Harry, this is some really good stuff.”
His smile widened. “But, my dear Ms. Palmer, you haven’t even heard the best part yet.”
“I haven’t?”
“Nope. You ready for this?” He leaned toward her, planting his hands on the table, and declared: “Wine grapes.”
Her surprise flashed across her face, but she didn’t shoot his idea down.
“Huh,” she said after a moment, very intrigued. She pondered, then shifted in her chair. “Would I still have the room for that with only fifty acres, what with the campground and strawberry field and Christmas trees?”
“Oh, but that’s the beauty of it. The wine grapes are on Curt’s side of the property line. You see? That’s the brilliance of it. Monty has a vineyard, so you know damn well Curt’s going to be hankering after one, too. But this is the really nice part. You grow the grapes for him on his side of the property line—then he has to pay you a salary.”
“Ohhh…” she said, her eyebrows shooting up high.
“It’s not like you’d have to be a fulltime professional vintner. You just grow the grapes. You’ve got to admit it would be pretty nice to have a regular income coming in, wouldn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” she mumbled.
He laughed. “And it’d be pretty cool for Harmo
ny Falls to have its own private label. We could get into some really fun marketing for that. I’m kind of a marketing wonk,” he admitted with a shrug when she arched a brow. “It’s nerdy, I know, but branding is my thing.”
She chuckled, then fell silent for a long moment, taking it all in. “You really think your boss would go for all this?”
“Absolutely. Provided we pitch it to him right.”
“Hmm.” Bea sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “Wow, Harry. I gotta say, I’m blown away.”
He looked pleased at her praise, but lowered his head. “Most of the ideas were yours, Bea.”
“Yeah, but you pulled it all together…and you’ve made it sound like it’s actually doable. My only answer has been to work harder.”
“Well, sometimes it’s about working smarter.”
“Yeah…” Then she frowned. “I doubt Tammy’s going to like the sound of this, though. She’s probably going to have a say in it, as Culpeper’s girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, well, between you and me, Curt’s got a lot of girlfriends.”
“Get out!” Bea exclaimed.
Harry laughed. “You didn’t hear it for me. Actually, the old dog’s notion of himself as a real ladies’ man could work in our favor if we play our cards right.” A sly smile spread across his face as he leaned on the chair back across from her. “I happen to know the cowboy’s got a thing for country girls. That’s why you’re the one who’s going to make the pitch.”
“What?!”
“You heard me.”
“No way.”
“You can do it,” he insisted with a smile. “How could he possibly say no to those big brown eyes? I know I couldn’t.”
“Harry. This isn’t my thing.”
“Sure it is. All you have to do is charm him, just like you did Monty. He was just about ready to ask you to marry him.”
“Well, that would solve all my problems,” she retorted.
Harry scoffed as Bea winced and sat back in her chair, nervous just thinking about it. “Aw, come on. Where’s my gutsy whitewater babe? There’s nothing to be scared of,” he assured her. “I’ll be right there with you every step of the way. Besides, he may be a billionaire, but Culpeper is pretty much like any other guy.”