She spotted the pie sitting on the ground and was puzzled to see that only one portion had been very neatly scooped out. Raccoons didn’t eat that way. No animal did.
What then?
Glancing all about, she was overcome with the creepy feeling that someone was watching her. Could it be one of the Colton farm workers who had strayed away from the work area, lured by the smell of homemade apple pie?
Mustering bravado, she called, “All right. Whoever you are, come out of there and face the music. If you wanted a slice of pie, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to steal it.”
There was no response.
She bent down and picked up the remainder of the pie. “All right. Be a coward about it. But I won’t put any more pies on the sill to cool. You can be sure of that. Not with a thief around.”
There was only the slightest rustling in the brush but it was enough to tell her where the culprit was hiding. “I know you’re in there. Now come on out and introduce yourself. I’m not mad, really. And it gets lonely out here. I wouldn’t mind making a friend.”
She began backing toward the cabin, feeling a bit uneasy. She had extended an invitation to forgive and forget, yet they would not come forth. So maybe it wasn’t an innocent case of pie stealing, at all. Maybe it was someone hiding in the woods and up to no good, an escaped convict, perhaps. Was there even a prison close by? She had no idea.
Now she felt stupid for having acted so nonchalant about it all. What she should have done was jump in the car and drive away. But one thing was for certain, before the sun went down she would have a good, solid lock on the front door, as well as all the windows.
Maybe she would buy a CB, too, to have communication with the outside world. While it seemed like a lark at first, with terror inching up her spine, she now realized the folly of being so cut off from everything.
She made it around the corner of the cabin, then, resisting the urge to just bolt inside, grab the car keys and get out of there, she paused.
She put the pie on the porch railing, then went back to press against the chinked logs and inch her way back just far enough that she could peek toward the rear of the yard again.
And then she saw him.
A little boy who looked to be around five or six years old had stepped out of the bushes and was slinking toward the rows of Christmas trees.
Smiling, and filled with wonder over the pint-size pie thief, Jackie quietly moved to follow after him.
Intent on reaching the haven of the forest, the boy was unaware of her presence...until she sprang forward to clamp both hands on his shoulders and cry, “Gotcha!”
To her amazement, he did not scream, nor attempt to make any kind of sound. Neither did he struggle. Instead his knees buckled and he fell to the ground to stare up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes.
At once Jackie dropped beside him. “Hey, little bandit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have scared you like that. And taking the pie is no big deal, really. I’m not mad, and there’s no cause for you to be afraid.”
He continued to stare at her, eyes still round with fear.
She reached for his hands, which were sticky with pie juice. She could feel him trembling. “Please, don’t be frightened. I’m not going to hurt you.”
His expression said he wasn’t so sure of that.
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
“Mme’s Jackie.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Tell you what—it’s damp here on the ground. Why don’t we go back to my cabin and have some milk and another slice of pie? This time on a plate with a fork, so it won’t be so messy.”
He shook his head.
“Tummy full? Then how about a glass of milk to wash it down?” Then she remembered she’d finished off the bottle that morning with her oatmeal. “Oops. Sorry. Fresh out of milk. But I’ve got some soda. What do you say?”
She thought she caught a glimmer of interest. Standing, she gently pulled him up with her. “Come on. Let’s get acquainted.”
He held back.
“I won’t hurt you. I promise. I want to be your friend, little guy.”
She could feel his reluctance as he shuffled along beside her, her arm around his little shoulders. He was a cute little boy with a sprinkling of freckles on the tip of his nose. But she was struck by his lackluster brown eyes and his overall somber mood. Maybe he was just embarrassed over having been caught and worried she would tell his parents.
“I won’t tell,” she said suddenly, brightly, as they reached the porch. “It wasn’t right to steal, though. I’m sure you know that. But we’ll just forget it happened, and the next time you want a slice of pie or a cookie or whatever, you just knock on my door, and I’ll fix you right up, okay?”
She patted him and bent down to see his face, expecting some kind of reaction—relief, joy, whatever. But there was nothing. He just continued to stare at her dully.
She sighed. He was a strange little boy. He also looked a bit unkempt. His hair could use trimming, and the knees of his jeans were worn and needed mending. His sneakers were untied, but she fixed those right away, tying a bow on each.
“Won’t you even tell me your name?” she pleaded.
He cast a wistful glance at the pie, still sitting on the porch railing.
She did not miss it and cried, “Aha! You are still hungry. Well, then, my mysterious friend, we will swap a name for a slice of pie. Come on.”
He followed her inside and, without being told, climbed up on the bench beside the table.
Cutting a large wedge of pie, Jackie put it on a plate, then, along with a napkin and fork, placed it before him. “I wish I had ice cream to go on top, but I forgot to buy any. I’m going into town today, and I’ll get some for your next visit. How’s that?”
He started eating.
She sat down on the bench opposite and watched him, eyes narrowed as she wondered what was going on here. Then it dawned, and she could have kicked herself for not realizing it before. The boy was a mute. That explained why he did not answer when she had first called out to him. He could not hear a word she said.
“You’re deaf, aren’t you?” she said softly, resisting the impulse to reach out and run her fingertips down his soft cheek in sympathy.
But suddenly he looked at her and shook his head, and she was so startled she almost fell backward off the bench. “You hear,” she yelped.
He nodded.
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
He dropped his eyes to the pie and continued shoveling huge bites into his mouth.
Maybe, she decided, he was just shy. “Well, maybe you’ll talk to me when you get to know me a little better. You will come back to see me, won’t you?”
Still he did not speak, and when he finished his pie, he politely wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, then got down off the bench and walked toward the door.
Jackie was right behind him.
“I can’t let you just leave like this, little bandit—and that’s a good name till you tell me your real one. You could get hurt out there traipsing through those woods. Snakes and bears and no telling what else. Now you just wait here and let me get my car keys, and I’ll drive you home. If you don’t want to talk, you can point me in the right direction.”
With a pat on his head, she hurried into the bedroom where she had left her purse and keys.
And when she returned, he was gone.
Jackie saw no sign of Sam as she passed his house on her way to town. She wondered where he was working... where trees were being harvested and if it was even time. She had heard chain saws, all right, but that might not mean anything. Actually she was frustrated not to know beans about growing Christmas trees, anyway. The only thing she knew was that around the end of November she started seeing them for sale in front of grocery stores or in vacant lots.
That had to change, she thought with firm resolve as she turned onto Main Street. And the place to start was reading, which me
ant a visit to Willa Kearney’s Book Nook.
But first things first.
At a corner gas station she spotted a pay phone inside the door and pulled in. With a long-distance card, she called Mr. Burkhalter’s office, but his secretary said he was in court.
“Well, maybe you can help me,” Jackie persisted. “Do you know whether a man named Sam Colton called him to verify my inheritance?”
“He must have,” his secretary said. “Mr. Burkhalter had me send him some papers to do just that. Is there a problem, something you want me to tell Mr. Burkhalter about?”
“I hope not. Thanks.”
So that’s how it was going to be, she mused as she got on with her shopping. By now Sam would have received everything he needed to prove she was telling the truth, but he was obviously taking the attitude that it didn’t mean anything. He was just going to ignore her. Well, she had news for him.
After buying groceries, she crossed the street to the Book Nook.
The instant she opened the door she could smell good things baking and fresh coffee brewing.
Glancing about, she was grateful there were no other customers.
Willa was rearranging a display of greeting cards and smiled to see her. “I remember you. You were in here about a week or so ago, asking Eddie about the Colton place. Did you find it?”
Jackie knew there was going to be no getting around being the target of prying questions. After all, it was a small town, and a newcomer was, no doubt, big news. “Yes, I did, thank you.” Then, to hedge, she asked, “Do you have any reference books?”
Immediately Willa’s brow furrowed as she looked her up and down. “What kind of reference books? I hope you don’t mean sex books. I don’t carry stuff like that.” She winked. “But I do carry lots of romance novels. You won’t believe how many I sell. And believe me, that’s all you need to feel all cuddly and loving, and—”
Jackie swallowed a groan and moved to cut her off lest she keep hurtling down the wrong track. “No ma’am. Nothing like that. I’m interested in books on Christmas trees...how to grow them.”
Curtly Willa demanded, “Why?”
Jackie could not believe the extent of the woman’s nosiness. “I’d like to read about it, that’s all.”
Willa walked over to the table where she kept the coffee urn. “Have a cup?” she asked. “We can talk a spell.”
“No, thanks. I have to be going. I guess you don’t have what I need.” She turned toward the door, not about to be made to feel that she had to explain herself.
“Well, you’re wasting your time chasing after Sam Colton. He’s not interested in women.”
Jackie whirled about, heat rising to her face in embarrassment that she could think such a thing. “I beg your pardon, but that’s the farthest thing from my mind.”
Willa’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Then what other reason would you have to learn about his business? Seems to me you’re just trying to bone up on what he does for a living so you can make yourself interesting to him, and—”
“And I resent your saying that,” Jackie exploded. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to own half of that land up there now, and I want to learn all I can about what’s being grown on it.”
Willa gasped. “What are you talking about? The Coltons have owned that land as long as anybody can remember. I think you’d better see a lawyer—or one of them head doctors if you think you own any of Sam’s farm.”
Even though she was not about to explain how she came into the land, Jackie did not want to make an enemy of this woman if she could help it. Pleasantly she suggested, “Maybe you should ask Sam to explain it. I’m sure the two of you are old friends, and you don’t know me at all.” She held out her hand. “My name’s Jackie Lundigan, by the way.”
Almost grudgingly Willa shook it.
“Can you tell me where the nearest library is?”
“That would be up in Boone. They ought to have a good one, being it’s a college town. It’s not far—about fifteen miles or so.”
Jackie thanked her and again started to leave, but Willa’s apology held her back.
“Forgive me if I offended you, but what you said was such a shock. I still don’t understand.” She shook her head. “But it’s none of my business. As for thinking you were chasing after Sam, well, you wouldn’t’ve been the first. There aren’t many good catches up here in the mountains, I’m afraid, and he’s one of the best.”
“I’m sure he is,” Jackie said for lack of knowing what to say. She saw no reason to point out that looking for a good catch was not on her To-Do list.
“You need anything, you call me,” Willa urged. “And don’t be mad. I’m just a nosy old lady, but I’ll make a good friend if you give me a chance.”
Jackie drove the twisting, scenic road to the sleepy and picturesque little town of Boone, North Carolina.
She found the library by asking directions at the security guard’s booth. A librarian showed her how to work their computer, and in no time at all she had printed out a treasure trove of information.
Afterward, she stopped at a Mom and Pop restaurant for fried country ham, red-eye gravy, stewed apples and the biggest biscuits she had ever seen. They were so good that she bought a half dozen to take home, along with a slab of cured ham.
Passing a roadside stand that was still open, she stopped and bought a jug of apple cider.
Life would be just about perfect, she thought as she crossed the mountain, if she could just work things out with Sam Colton. Maybe by reading up on the business they were in, he would see she was serious and meant to take an active part, not just collect her share of the money as Libby had done through the years.
And the money hadn’t meant anything to Libby. She had turned it over to charity.
Jackie could also understand Libby’s motive in passing the land along to her. She knew how badly she needed a new start in life and felt that a gift once bestowed out of deep and abiding love could only bring good things to whomever it was passed on to.
Jackie prayed she was right...and vowed to do everything she could to make it happen.
All she had to do was make Sam Colton see it that way.
Otherwise she feared she might have a war on her hands.
“Modern-day Hatfield and McCoys,” she said aloud as she turned into her drive. “Only this time it will be Lundigan and the Coltons.”
She wondered how many of them there were. If Sam didn’t have a wife, he might have sisters or cousins who lived with him. If so, they would all be against her as they had been Libby.
Truly, she had her work cut out for her and decided she might as well get busy. As soon as she got the groceries put away, she would start studying. She wished she had thought to buy a lock for the front door. But she wouldn’t have known how to install one, anyway.
She turned into the drive, then gasped and slammed on the brakes.
Sitting on the front porch, looking very tiny in one of the big oak rocking chairs, was her visitor of that morning.
She rolled down the window and waved. “Hi there, little bandit.”
He did not wave back, just stared at her, his hands gripping the arms of the rocker.
Easing the car on into the yard, she gathered up her groceries and got out.
“You came back to see me,” she said with a smile. “That must mean you aren’t too scared of me. Are you going to tell me your name this time?”
He continued to stare, tight-lipped.
Undaunted, Jackie motioned him to come inside. “I have some pie left, and I remembered ice cream, too.” She had stopped on her way back from Boone and bought a half gallon of vanilla.
“And there’s something else,” she said, remembering the takeout she had bought at the restaurant in Boone. “Do you like fried ham and homemade biscuits?”
When he still didn’t answer, she walked on in and busied herself getting out a skillet and then carving two slices of ham. When it was sizzling and
the aroma was enough to make her own mouth water, she turned to go back to the porch to see if the boy was enticed enough to come on m.
She jumped, startled, to find him already seated at the table.
“My, you are a quiet one, aren’t you? Well, welcome again.” She poured him a glass of cold milk and went back to watch the ham so it wouldn’t burn, talking to him all the while. “Maybe when you learn to trust me, you’ll tell me your name and where you live. I’m happy for the company, believe me, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for a little boy to be wandering around up here. You could get lost. Anything could happen.”
She scooped up the ham and put it between two biscuits on a plate and set it on the table. Before she could take a seat on the bench across from him, he was already eating.
She watched, amazed, as he wolfed down the food, then she asked—expecting him to refuse, “Pie and ice cream?”
He nodded.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said brightly, leaping to her feet. “And before you know it that kitty cat that’s got your tongue will let it go.”
She ruffled his hair when she walked by him and was relieved to note he did not wince or pull away. Evidently he was just shy, and in time, everything would be all right.
She watched him devour the ice cream, then dared to suggest, “How about if you let me mend the knees of your jeans? I’m real good with a needle and thread.”
For answer, he shoved back his plate, got down off the bench and quickly walked out the door.
Jackie stared after him and murmured, “Nothing like eating and running. Oh, well.”
She cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the sink.
There would be time to think about the little bandit later and wonder who he was and where he lived. Now she had to think Christmas trees. Spreading her papers on the table she began to read.
Sam had just finished loading his truck with rolls of plastic for balling the roots of the live trees dug that day. It would soon be dark, and he needed to get back to the house and start supper. What to fix was the problem. He didn’t mind cooking. He just got tired of making the same old things—fried hamburgers and pork chops. And he was sick of frozen dinners and fast food.
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