She didn’t want to disappoint Emory, either.
But it seemed inevitable that no matter what she did, she was going to hurt one of the men she loved.
Shelby wiped her hands on the blue Moon’s Grocery apron she wore and hurried back to the produce section. There she found Mitch, a mild-mannered, gangly stock boy, holding a bag of apples overhead with a panicked look on his face. Flanking him were Myrna Carson and Bonita Fine, arms crossed and glaring at each other.
Mitch saw Shelby and mouthed, “Save me.”
Shelby dished out smiles all around. “How can I help you, ladies?”
Myrna turned to Shelby, her mouth tight. “You can tell Mitch to give me my bag of Winesap apples, please.”
Bonita turned, her eyes flashing. “You mean my bag.”
“I had my hand on it, when you grabbed it right out from under me.”
“You snooze, you lose, Myrna.”
Shelby lifted calming hands, then looked to Mitch. “Is there another bag of Winesaps in the basement?”
He swallowed and shook his head.
“I have to have them for a pie I’m making for the county fair,” Myrna said.
“No, I have to have them for a pie I’m making for the county fair,” Bonita said.
“How about some nice Granny Smiths?” Shelby suggested, gesturing to the piles of other bagged apples. “Or Rome Beauties?”
Myrna frowned. “Everyone knows Winesap apples make the best pie.”
“Right,” Bonita said. “Everyone knows that.”
Shelby exhaled. “Would you be willing to split the bag?”
“No.”
“Absolutely not. You have to have at least three pounds of apples for a decent pie.”
“Right,” Shelby said. “But my mother—”
“May she rest in peace.”
“God rest her soul.”
“Thank you,” Shelby murmured. “My mother always used two different kinds of apples in her pies. She said it made for a richer flavor.”
“Carolyn could make a good pie,” Myrna admitted.
“She did win lots of blue ribbons,” Bonita added thoughtfully.
Shelby leaned in. “Why don’t you each take half of the Winesaps, choose a second type of apple for your secret ingredient, and let the judges decide?”
The women looked at each other, then softened.
“Okay, I’ll agree to that.”
“Me, too. As long as you don’t spy on what other kind of apple I buy.”
“As long as you don’t spy on what other kind of apple I buy.”
Shelby looked at Mitch. “Will you please split up the bag of Winesaps and re-price them?”
He looked relieved. “Sure thing, boss.”
“Shelby,” she corrected, then spotting her father striding toward them, she gestured. “Here comes the boss.”
But her smile dissolved when she realized he looked…angry.
Walter Moon was a big man with graying hair and a slight stoop from stocking his own shelves for so many years. He was usually jolly, a favorite with the customers, but not today. “I have to take off for a while,” he said, his voice gruff. He untied his apron and handed it to her.
“Is everything okay, Daddy?”
“It will be,” he said, then marched off.
Shelby frowned after him, wondering what could have him so upset. Maybe someone from the bank had called. Maybe her father would be forced to face financial facts.
She folded her father’s apron and suddenly, thunder rumbled overhead, vibrating the building’s metal roof. The weather certainly mirrored the mood of the day.
“Shelby to dairy, Shelby to dairy.”
She sighed and muttered, “Coming.”
Chapter Three
Emory was pacing by his SUV in the parking lot of the Presbyterian church the Moons and Maxwells had always attended. Mr. Moon hadn’t sounded too pleased to hear from him, but he’d agreed to meet Emory to talk.
Emory would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. But he figured Shelby’s dad wouldn’t maim him in the parking lot of the church.
At least the rain had held off. The skies continued to roll and pitch, and thunder reverberated against the mountains that contained Sweetness in a lush, green bowl.
He heard Mr. Moon’s truck before he saw it, the engine racing a little too high. The man pulled in next to Emory’s vehicle. He climbed out, then yanked up his work pants, slammed the truck door, and stomped toward Emory.
Emory noticed Walter had left the engine running—a sign he didn’t plan on staying long. And the big man wasn’t sporting a cordial expression.
Emory stuck out his hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Moon.”
The other man shook his hand with bone-crushing strength. “Emory. I see you haven’t been shot yet.”
Emory’s gaze strayed to the rifle on the gun rack in the rear window of Mr. Moon’s pickup. “No, sir.”
“I’m busy, son. What’s this all about?”
Suddenly he forgot everything he was going to say to convince this man how much his only daughter meant to him. A lifetime of playing and laughing and crying and loving with Shelby scrolled through his mind. How could he capture and express all of those feelings in a few simple words?
Walter jammed his hands on his hips. “Spit it out, son.”
Emory straightened. “I want to marry your daughter, sir.”
Walter arched a bushy eyebrow. “And?”
“And…I’d like your blessing before I ask Shelby.”
The big man screwed up his mouth. “You planning to come back to Sweetness to live, are you?”
He knew it was a deal-breaker, but he wasn’t going to lie. “No, sir. But wherever Shelby and I settle down, I’ll never stop her from coming back to visit you as much as she wants.”
Walter Moon’s face darkened. “Visit?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Moon turned around and walked back to his truck. For a split second, Emory was afraid he might reach in to get his rifle, but instead the man just climbed in and banged the door shut.
Emory strode over to address him through the truck’s open window. “You’re not going to give me an answer, sir?”
Walter looked murderous. “The answer is no.”
Anger billowed in Emory’s chest. “I’m going to ask Shelby to marry me, Mr. Moon, with or without your blessing.”
“Do what you gotta do, son, and so will I.”
The man pulled out of the parking lot, spewing gravel.
Emory ground his teeth. If Walter Moon had his way, Shelby would live with him her entire life, waiting on him hand and foot and working in that shabby grocery of his.
He whipped off his hat and slapped it against his thigh in frustration. He had a good mind to call Shelby and tell her to be waiting, that he was coming by to pick her up.
Then he pulled his hand down his face. This wasn’t the way he wanted to do things. He wanted to walk in and surprise Shelby, to see the look on her face when she spotted him in his uniform. He doubted if Walter would tell her they’d met—he probably hoped he’d scared off Emory altogether.
But he hadn’t. If anything, he’d made Emory even more determined to get Shelby out of this town.
Angry and exasperated, Emory decided to stop by to see his father before going to surprise Shelby. His dad always gave him good advice.
Dr. Cletis Maxwell had an office in an old building near the town center that he shared with a florist and a bakery. Emory bypassed the patient entrance and walked to the loading dock built to accommodate supply trucks and ambulances. He rang the doorbell and a few seconds later, Nancy Cole, his father’s longtime office manager, opened the door. Her mouth rounded and her eyes lit up. “Emory!”
He pulled her into a hug.
“Your dad didn’t mention you were coming home.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Come on in. I’ll sneak you into his office and tell him a sales rep is waiting for him.
” She beamed. “He’ll be so happy to see you.”
Nancy slipped him into his father’s private office to wait. Emory walked around, looking at photographs on the walls—photos of him and the Armstrong boys in Little League, family photos taken when his mother was alive, his prom photo with Shelby, and a picture of Emory in his U.S. Army uniform.
The door opened and his father walked in, wearing a white lab coat and reading a file. “I’m in a bit of rush,” he said, then looked up. When he saw it was Emory, his face transformed. “Son.”
“Dad.” Emory pulled him into a long embrace. Unlike Mr. Moon, his dad was a softie. When he pulled back, his dad unabashedly retrieved a handkerchief to wipe his face.
“You look good. What a nice surprise.”
“Last-minute leave for five days. Porter came home with me.”
His father smiled. “Good. Emily will be happy to have one of her chicks home.”
Emory blinked. Despite the fact that the Armstrongs and Maxwells had been neighbors for years, he’d never heard his father call Emily Armstrong anything other than “Mrs. Armstrong.” Was it possible a romance had blossomed between the widow and widower? The thought made him smile.
“I’m sure Shelby was happy to see you.”
Emory removed his hat and ran his hand over his short hair. “She doesn’t know I’m here yet.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I came home to ask her to marry me, Dad.”
His father’s face lifted in a smile. “Well, it’s about time. Congratulations, son.”
“Don’t rent your tux yet,” Emory said with a sigh. “I talked to Walter.”
“And?”
“And he refused to give me his blessing.”
His father’s mouth tightened and he shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. Walter is a good man, but when it comes to Shelby, he’s blind to what’s best for her.”
“What do you think I should do?”
His dad hesitated, then clapped him on the shoulder. “I think this is between you and Shelby. Whatever the two of you decide, Walter Moon is going to have to accept it.” Then he grinned. “Oh, and a dozen red roses from the florist next door would be a nice touch for when you pop the question. At least it worked with your mother.”
Emory laughed. “Thanks, Dad.”
Cletis Maxwell pulled out the pocket watch Emory had always admired and made a rueful noise. “Sorry, son, I have to get back to my patients. And you’d better get going before the gossip mill grinds and Shelby finds out you’re here. I assume you’re staying at the house?”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll see you later.”
His father smiled. “Good luck.”
Thunder boomed overhead and the lights flickered for a few seconds, then came back on.
“Looks like we’re in for a storm,” his dad said.
Emory donned his hat. “Guess I’d better get going before all hell breaks loose.” He left and hurried to his SUV, studying the somber clouds rolling overhead like boiling water.
Although considering the way the day was going and how angry Shelby had been when they’d last talked, he might be better off taking his chances with Mother Nature.
Chapter Four
Shelby banged on the unresponsive cash register, to no avail. She looked up at Thelma. “Is my father back yet?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
Mitch came hurrying up. “Shelby, the coolers and freezers are out, too.”
Her shoulders fell. “Did you flip the breakers in the fuse box?”
“Twice.”
“Phones are down, too!” Betsy shouted from the upstairs office.
Shelby’s mind raced to assess the situation. The power had blinked for a few seconds. The overhead lights had come back on, but the outage had zapped most of their aging appliances. They couldn’t transact purchases, and within an hour, they’d have perishables going bad. Customers stood in line, antsy to leave before the looming storm descended, but unwilling to abandon their purchases.
And everyone was looking at her, as if she had the answers. Frustration welled in her chest, and she was on the verge of succumbing to tears when she realized everyone was instead looking at something behind her.
What now? Shelby turned, expecting to see another situation that needed her attention.
And her heart vaulted.
Standing at the door was Emory in his dress uniform, tall and tanned and heartbreakingly handsome, holding a bouquet of red roses.
She ran into his open arms, unable to believe it was really him. He kissed her and although she could feel his barely banked passion, they managed to keep it PG. Their audience was smiling and clapping when they finally dragged themselves apart.
“Surprise,” he murmured, handing her the flowers.
Shelby thanked him, then touched her hair self-consciously. “You look so handsome and I’m a mess.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his gaze intense.
He’d always made her feel beautiful, she realized. Then she swatted at his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“It was all last-minute.”
“How long are you home for?”
“Five days.”
She grinned—after being separated for so long, five days seemed like an eternity. “Great! Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”
He suddenly looked apprehensive. “Sure, but I was hoping we could duck out now, baby.”
Shelby bit her lip. “I’m sorry—I can’t leave. The electricity is out. Everything is down and Daddy’s not here.”
“Can’t someone else take care of things?”
“No. He’s relying on me.”
Emory’s mouth quirked downward. “As always.”
Anger sparked in her stomach and she remembered why she’d hung up on him when they’d last talked. She took a half step back. “Don’t start, Emory. I have responsibilities. They might not seem important to you, but they’re important to me.”
His square chin went up. “I thought I was important to you.”
Shelby leaned closer and whispered, “If you’d let me know you were coming, I could’ve arranged to take some time off.”
“If I’d let you know I was coming, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”
Her heart shivered in disappointment that the same old issues continued to spring up between them. “I’m not going to argue with you in front of all these people,” she said in a low tone. “I’ll see you this evening when I get off work.”
He looked contrite. “Wait—is there anything I can do to help?”
Her mind jumped ahead to her father’s reaction to finding Emory there “helping” in his absence. The two men were as territorial as a couple of bucks. If anything else went wrong, her father would probably accuse Emory of making things worse.
“No,” she said, then kissed him. “Please…just go and let me deal with this.”
He didn’t look happy, but he nodded. Then he turned around and walked out.
Shelby released a sigh and watched him stride through the parking lot, his body language stiff and angry. Everyone was at the end of their rope today.
The sound of glass crashing sounded from the back of the store.
“The PA is working,” Mitch’s voice boomed cheerfully over the loudspeaker. “Cleanup on aisle three.”
She closed her eyes briefly. For a split second, she wanted to tear off her apron and run after Emory, getting as far away from this place as possible. She even took a half step toward the door. Then she turned and climbed the short set of steps to the office with the window that overlooked the store, lovingly put the roses in a rinsed-out coffee pot, and hit the PA button. “Attention, Moon’s customers. We’re very sorry for the inconvenience caused by the power outage. If you could just bear with us for a few minutes to get situated, we’d appreciate it very much.”
This would be a good time for a cellular phone, she mused. But since they didn’t yet have service in Sweetn
ess, she picked up her purse and fished out several quarters. Then she dispatched Betsy to a pay phone to call an electrician. Next she gathered tablets of paper and a couple of calculators and passed them out to the employees. “Add up the orders and write down the total, along with the customer’s name. Everyone can pay later.”
Thelma’s eyes rounded. “What if people don’t come back to pay?”
Shelby shrugged. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take.”
While the orders were being processed manually, she went to assess the damage from the broken glass on aisle three and to make sure no one had been injured.
Then she circled around to ensure the freezer and cooler doors weren’t ajar—they needed to conserve what little refrigeration they had.
She rounded up Mitch and together they moved bags of ice to the meat case, their most valuable perishable merchandise. Betsy returned and said she’d located an electrician, who promised to come as soon as he could. Shelby was in the dairy section, pushing product to the rear of the shelves where it was cooler, and starting to feel like things were under control, when her father found her.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his face a mask of concern.
She brought him up to speed on what happened, and what she’d done. By the time she was finished, though, she couldn’t tell from his expression if he was pleased or upset. “Daddy, I didn’t mean to take over, I was just trying to do what I thought was best.”
He smiled and gave her a one-armed hug and kissed her hair. “You did exactly what I would’ve done, better even. What would I ever do without you?”
His words were casual, but his tone…she sensed something deeper in his meaning. “Where have you been?” When he didn’t answer, her pulse picked up. “Daddy, is everything okay?”
A screeching sound came over the PA, then a familiar male voice said, “Shelby.”
She frowned. “Emory?” She glanced up to the office and saw him standing in the window with the microphone.
Baby, I’m Yours Page 2