Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  Daniel tugged the brim of his Pioneer Seed Corn cap to acknowledge Corey and turned to Linc. “Man who actually cared would check for himself on more than weekends.”

  “I need the day job.” Linc kept his voice light. “At least for now.”

  “Time’s running out for you.”

  Linc moved his gaze over Daniel and wondered if he knew the particulars of the will from his parents or only the plentiful local gossip. “I’ve got a plan.” She’s buying drinks and sunglasses.

  “That’s an old story. What was that girl’s name? Tami? Understand she left you and your apple trees. Pardon me while I take her side. God didn’t create a messier tree in all the world.” Daniel set his feet at shoulder width and crossed his arms in imitation of a bar bouncer with indigestion.

  “You know better than to trust the local rumors.” Tami’s sudden exit from Linc’s life, three weeks before their scheduled wedding, had nothing to do with apple trees. It involved a software engineer with a low bar on the morality scale offering a ticket to California. And Linc wore a scar on his arm illustrating the feelings in their parting. But this was neither the time nor place to set the record straight.

  “Fact.” Daniel jabbed a finger toward Linc. “Time is not your friend. End of this summer, I’ll be ripping out your stupid trees and painting over the sign on the barn.”

  “Don’t buy the paint yet.” Linc pushed away from the counter, clenched his fists, and advanced one step. Living in the farmhouse didn’t give Daniel the right to threaten his trees. Eleven days remained for Linc to marry and claim the property. Eleven whole days left to lay claim to the entire 240 acres: buildings, water well, and orchard. All he had to do—too much to waste time and breathe with Daniel.

  “Hey, Sam,” Daniel called out as he stepped forward until his worn loafers were toe to toe with Linc’s Red Wing work boots. “How much Classic Barn Red you got in stock?”

  Linc flexed his hands once, twice, and felt the heat of anger run up his neck. “Time’s not up.”

  “Don’t matter. I’m going to enjoy the look on your face when I sign the deed.” Daniel’s hands shot out against Linc’s shoulders.

  Linc stumbled backward. His arms slashed air and he stayed on his feet. In a heartbeat his right hand opened and slapped against Daniel’s cheek. “I said, time’s not up.”

  “End of the month I’ll buy the whole damn place.”

  “With what?” Linc eased back as Corey stepped up and touched each of them on the chest as a signal to separate. “Do you hold a great ‘chemistry’ patent? You’ve killed or scared off all the cats. Even the stray dog hanging around in March has disappeared.” He stared into Daniel’s cold brown eyes. “You making ink and printing money in the barn?”

  “Whoa, boys.” Corey stiffened his arms to get the pair further apart. “Let’s cool this off a bunch.”

  “Spoiled little city creep. He can’t even throw a good fist.” Daniel looked over Linc’s shoulder toward the swinging doors.

  “Got the spray …” Sam spoke behind Linc.

  “Good.” Linc pulled out his wallet and handed a credit card to the clerk without blinking or taking his stare off Daniel. “Mr. Larson was just about to explain his recent wealth.”

  “Nothing of the sort.”

  “New trucks don’t grow on trees.” Linc fought back a grin. “Apples do.”

  Daniel picked up one foot before Corey stepped between the men and faced Daniel. “Not here. Not now.”

  “Thanks, neighbor.” Linc turned his attention to Sam while he gathered his receipt and picked up the five-gallon can of thinning spray. Angry energy bubbled under his skin while his brain took Corey’s advice about the time and place. He managed enough manners to raise one hand in farewell to Sam and Corey on his way to the door.

  “You owe me an explanation, Mr. Larson. Why has your truck been at my place three nights this week? Late. On nights Patti doesn’t schedule dance class.” Corey’s voice continued with questions and accusations about dance lessons and Corey’s wife until the door blocked the sound.

  • • •

  Mona sat on the van’s floor, her feet on the gravel lot outside the open side door. Sparse traffic rolled past, half of the vehicles pulling into the gas pumps at the store she’d recently left. Nine o’clock and the day loomed full of promise. A polite clerk, tidy restroom, and the usual convenience store items, including new sunglasses, encouraged her to visit the store again.

  Stop it. By next weekend I’ll be long gone.

  She glanced again at the Farm Service store. Should she go inside? No, the utilitarian sign and entrance indicated a male-dominated place, best saved for another day.

  Instead she turned her attention to the other vehicles in the parking lot. Two pick-up trucks were parked side by side, a study in contrasts. The one nearest the door wore faded red paint, a dent in the tailgate, and a skirt of fine mud spatters. Less than three feet away a black truck with bright chrome shined in the morning sun. Matt and his friends called vehicles like that “flash” and bragged of owning one in the future. Basil drives flash. She rubbed her arms as a mental image of the unique red vehicle chilled her bones.

  Linc emerged from the store at that moment, walking unevenly as he carried a large bucket with colorful warning labels. He tugged his Brewers cap down against the sunshine and clipped out two words. “Side door.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stepped aside, confusion flipping her stomach at his change in demeanor from a friendly smile when he walked into the building.

  He braced the pail between the side of the van and a piece of lumber on the rubber mat. An instant later he slammed the door shut and pointed her into the passenger seat without a word.

  “I won’t bite.” He broke the tense silence after they passed two more side streets. “My problem’s not connected to you.”

  “Okay.” She wasn’t the sort to argue. Not when he was her only transportation in a town that looked as if a Greyhound would be a novelty. She stayed silent, her attention on the street and business signs as they continued past a mixture of brick and frame buildings. They turned when a rather new, large, low building blocked their way.

  “Local Care Center.” He pointed. “County health department runs various clinics out of the smaller building across their main parking lot.”

  “I’ll remember that.” She made the sign of the cross when they paused at the stop sign in front of St. Mathias Roman Catholic Church.

  An unintelligible word from Linc captured her attention.

  “Problem?” She leaned forward to glimpse more than his profile.

  “Hope not.”

  Mona studied the determined set to his mouth. “I can see you have questions. Yes, I come from a Catholic family. Grandmother was very devout. Me? Not so much, but I’d check the box on any questionnaire.”

  He sighed and his shoulders shed their stiff control of a moment before.

  “Do you have a rule against devout Catholic housekeepers?”

  “No. Just mark me as surprised. I never hired a housekeeper before you—saint or sinner.”

  She turned her gaze to the passing scenery, cataloging the variety of styles in the houses. Her religion, even if she lacked an obvious one, was no concern to him. It was private; she didn’t have plans to preach.

  “The farm, Hilltop, is three point six miles from the hardware store.” Linc’s voice returned to the tourist guide tone from earlier. “Good county road until the driveway. If all goes well I’ll get a load or two of gravel on that before winter comes around.”

  “Nice first impression for a small town. Do they have a café on the other long street?”

  “Yes. Front Street is home to Sunrise Café, the bank, fire department, and a few other shops. Street plan resembles a ladder. Front and Back, connected with rungs named after trees.”

  “Sounds simple.”

  “No one uses the street names. You’ll hear references like ‘the old Anderson place’ or ‘turn at the barb
er shop’ most of the time.”

  “Is it nice? The café?” Do they need a waitress or a cook? She gave her head an invisible slap for thinking about the staff at a business in a tiny village she probably would never set foot in after today.

  “We won’t be eating there. They close mid-afternoon, after the lunch crowd. Our sandwiches will need to tide us over until later. I usually stop at Jack’s for supper.” He glanced toward her. “That’s Jack’s Village Tavern. Any objections?”

  “I’ve been inside a variety of taverns.” Her best paying jobs had been at sports bars. She could use one of those in the near future—the job and the tips—not the long, irregular hours.

  “We’ve arrived. Almost.”

  They turned onto a narrow strip of gravel and slowed to little more than walking speed between a large red barn on her left and a two-story frame house with a screen porch facing the road. “Who did you say lives in the house?”

  “Renter. Daniel Larson.”

  She settled her gaze on him while his mouth wavered between a frown and neutral. Last night Linc called Daniel a bully. She imagined an unwashed, unshaved, bald creature akin to the occasional homeless she passed in the city.

  “Welcome to Hilltop Orchard.” Linc stopped the van with the nose close to a steel gate.

  “I’ll get it.” Mona exited the van in record speed and unfastened the latch, a short chain with a dog leash end.

  “Open is fine.” He parked between two rows of young trees.

  She gazed down the nearest line of slender trees hugging a tall wire fence. They went on for—a football field? And they were baby trees, with bushy little green tops not much taller than Linc. The scene in front of her and the orchard she’d visited with friends two years ago didn’t look alike at all. This reminded her of—she dug into memories of textbook photos—a vineyard, with trees instead of grapevines. “How many?”

  “Sixteen rows times a hundred and twenty. Give or take. It’s only a beginning.”

  She studied the grass against her sneakers and eavesdropped on a sparrow conversation. After a long moment she raised her gaze to his face. Linc’s dream, the orchard he’d spoken of with pride, stretched out in front of her. Half or more of the enclosed rectangle remained bare except for wild grass, or ground cover, or whatever. This place, with pale new leaves indicating the presence of a breeze, surrounded them raw and unformed. The only thing with less substance was the future restaurant she carried around in her head.

  “Come on.” He opened the rear van doors. “I’ll introduce you to the tool shed and you can help me put these things where they belong.”

  She hung her new sunglasses on her tank top as soon as she emptied her arms. The shed, even with half of the wide door open, stayed dim, the air scented with dirt and oil. A small tractor, a shallow wagon, and implements she couldn’t name claimed the majority of the floor space. Shelves with a variety of strange metal and wood tools, baskets nested up to her shoulder, and half a dozen red gas cans lined the edges.

  “This is our water source.” Linc reached over a metal vat and turned a single tap. “It runs clean and cold after a minute or two. Have you ever used a trimmer?”

  “Landscape? Grass?” She waited for his nod. “Once. A friend demonstrated an electric on a long cord.”

  “Then allow me to introduce to you his gas-powered big brother.” He shut off the water and removed one of the tools from the bottom shelf.

  Mona wrapped one hand around a molded handle and her other around a metal cane protruding from a third of a lawn mower. This didn’t look like an acquaintance, let alone brother, to any yard tool she’d used. She stood still, waiting for instructions while Linc sorted through a small bin.

  “You need gloves. Give me another minute to find a left small the mice haven’t attacked. We used to have enough cats on the place to keep small rodents in check. Damn Daniel and his chemistry experiments.” He shook out a second brown glove and forced the pair into her hand supporting the wand. “We’ll gas it up outside. Better add the other shirt.”

  A few moments later Mona folded the cuffs back and over on the worn dress shirt Linc had loaned her. It still gave her complete arm coverage. She pulled on the gloves and picked up the trimmer again.

  “Hold it straight.” Linc inserted a funnel and poured fuel into a plastic tank. “The cans are numbered. Always use number two for the trimmer. It’s a two-cycle.”

  “Got it.” She understood that two cycle and four-cycle motors used different fuel but could not at the moment remember why. Or which one you added the oil to.

  “We’ll get you started trimming around these younger trees. Then I’ll mix my spray and begin with the older ones.”

  She lifted the tool and sent him a smile of false confidence.

  “Here. You’ll need these in a few minutes.” He draped protective earmuffs over her wrist.

  “Pull this to start?” Mona jerked the cord. Silence from the trimmer. “Again?” Another false start later she fought to temper the vibration that swept up her arms.

  Linc stood behind her. Close. Very close. His arms formed a loose circle around hers, his fingertips resting on the backs of her hands as he guided the spinning string at her feet in an arc around a trellis post. “Higher. Steady. Back a little. Let the end of the line do the work.”

  Easy for you to say. She took a small step to the right and blinked behind safety goggles over sunglasses as the head of the trimmer expanded every move of her arms, cutting right up to the edge of the wooden post. A little confidence seeped in when Linc retreated half a step. She moved in slow, cautious steps along the route he indicated.

  “Turn it off.” He pointed to the switch.

  She pressed her lips tight and waited for the engine noise to fade. “Something wrong?”

  “Not at all. Put on the ears and start up again. I’ll watch a bit and then you’re on your own.”

  Within half an hour Mona controlled her own space with new sureness. Fresh grass fell along the wire and around young apple trees at her command. Tension and sunshine combined to heat her back and legs. These trees, the youngest row, were her size, not intimidating like thick maple and ash in city parks. Their delicate leaves brushed against her head when she got close. She risked a glance at Linc. He worked half a dozen rows away, moving a spray wand over a tree crown and then quickly moving on to the next.

  She paused after the next tree to enjoy the sight of fair-weather clouds in a summer sky and to savor the scent of growing leaves mixed with the fresh-cut grass in the air. City noises and scents seemed a world apart. Basil would never find her here. Crystal Springs would be the perfect place to hide if a person could solve the problem of an income. Pity her stay would be temporary.

  • • •

  Linc recharged the backpack sprayer and squinted toward the sun to estimate the time as he neared the end of the second row. He’d been spraying more than an hour, and should be able to complete another row before taking a break. The trimmer buzzed at the northern edge of the trees, a constant reminder he didn’t work alone today. He shifted the weight on his back and glimpsed Mona moving between the slender trunks. Get to work. Find words and remember them.

  As he finished spraying the second tree in the next row he noticed a vehicle coming up the drive. Daniel. The charitable thing to do would be to wave the renter over and offer an apology for giving him a slap in Farm Service this morning. Linc held a very short internal debate and decided to let the other man make the first move to patch up the tiff. After all, Daniel had started today’s incident with verbal taunts and a shove.

  Linc lifted the spray wand and circled it over the crown of the next tree.

  Daniel got out of his truck and looked toward the orchard. A moment later, without a wave or called greeting, he turned and walked to the barn.

  With a shrug, Linc moved along the row. Daniel claims he’s going to buy this place? Linc thought about all the different ways he’d calculated a purchase if he didn’t ful
fill the marriage clause of the will. Two hundred and forty acres, house, barn, and sheds came to more than any of the three banks he’d talked to would lend. He did have savings. They came from living like a monk during five years with the seed company plus a little from a great-aunt.

  What did Daniel have for assets? He’d either dropped or flunked out of college after two years. Since then he’d worked several short-term construction jobs. The last three years he’d spent farming with his father and grandfather. Maybe he was printing money. Linc would run the possibility past Daryl the next time he spoke with the retired Secret Service agent.

  The trimmer went silent and he turned to look for Mona. She stood beside one of his youngest Honey Crisp trees and put the water bottle to her lips. Good. It’s getting hot. Heat, not from the sun, flooded his neck. Get back to work. He sighed and took his own advice.

  Thinning spray emerged as a dribble instead of a mist and Linc reached for the handle to recharge the sprayer. No familiar slosh of liquid as he changed position. He pulled a bright orange strip of cloth from his pocket and fastened it to the trellis, marking his starting point. As he walked along the row toward the shed he spotted Mona guiding the trimmer, her posture signaling attention to her work. A bubble of pleasure swelled in his chest at the sight of her figure in jeans and an oversized shirt concentrating on a task. He tried to imagine her face. How will it change if—when—I ask her to stay?

  Every few trees this morning he’d tested and discarded opening lines. If his awkward words had the substance of prunings, the stack would be the size of the tool shed going toward the volume of the old dairy barn. Do you have a boyfriend? I was engaged once. Would you help me with a problem? He shook his head at the neediness in the final one. It would be suited for a whining preschooler, not a man of twenty-nine proposing to a charming, if new, acquaintance.

  Tires crunched on gravel and he looked toward the driveway. He smiled at the black sedan and hurried to meet his friend at the orchard entrance.