There was that. Luke wasn’t precisely afraid of heights, but he wasn’t crazy about them, either. Zoey had nearly laughed her head off when she’d found that out. “Son,” she said, “you do realize you just bought half of sixty acres of fruit trees, right?”
He’d realized it, all right, but when he bought into Keep Cold Orchard, he’d planned on it being an investment, his house on the lake a weekend getaway. However, when the company where he had been an engineer closed its doors three years before, he put his severance pay into his retirement account and went to work for himself at the orchard. He didn’t intend it to be his life’s work, but it was satisfying for now.
“You are good for something.” He grinned at his brother and looked at his watch. “You need to call it a day and get something to eat before practice.” The football team was doing two-a-day practices and Seth was working several hours at the orchard between them. It was a brutal schedule.
They unloaded at the apple barn and Luke tossed Seth his car keys. “I’ll take the orchard pickup home. Be careful.”
“All right if I go out after? Just swimming over at the public beach. Playing some music.”
“Just swimming and music,” Luke reiterated. “No booze or anything else that will get us both in trouble with either our parents or the law.”
“Gotcha.”
Luke was the last one to leave the orchard. That was a promise he’d made to himself and the employees when he became a hands-on boss. Most of the time it worked out well, but there were occasional middays that found him asleep on the couch in the office.
“That’s why it’s there,” Zoey had said. “Anything happens, they’ll wake you up.”
“Anything” usually meant something had broken down. Luke had gotten good at keeping the sorting machine and the tractor running. The cider press, an antique by any standard, presented more of a challenge. He’d taken to calling it Rachel’s Revenge because his two-years-younger sister had been threatening retribution for years for brotherly sins both real and imagined.
“Mr. Rossiter?”
The voice came as he was locking the door of the apple barn behind him. He turned, squinting into the setting sun. “Yes? We’re closed, but can I get you something quick?”
“I’m Cass Gentry.”
“Oh.” The sun moved enough that she became less of a silhouette and more of the tall, slender person he remembered from Marynell’s funeral. She wasn’t as slim now, and the cap of light brown hair was almost certainly her own, but he’d have recognized her anywhere. He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. I expected you earlier today.”
“My apologies. I underestimated the time it took to drive from the western edge of Missouri with an unfriendly teenager.”
He smiled at her. “I’ve done that. Well, to Detroit, anyway. Two hundred miles of loud silence.” He was inexplicably disappointed that she had a child. Did that mean there was a husband, too? He gestured toward the door. “Would you like to look around?”
“No, it’s all right. I’ll come back tomorrow. I didn’t even think about what time it was when I came by. I just dropped Royce off at the house we’re renting and came here. I thought a little time apart might be a good thing.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “A little breathing space never hurts. How old is your daughter?”
She smiled at him this time, the expression hesitant enough he thought maybe she didn’t use it much. “My sister is sixteen. Going on thirty. Your son?”
Luke nodded in acknowledgment of her remark. “My brother is seventeen going on twelve. My father was transferred to Detroit with his job and Seth’s a senior in high school. It looks like he’s going to spend the school year with me.” He wasn’t sure what they’d do if an ideal engineering job presented itself, but he wasn’t going to worry about it—there were worse things than long commutes.
“Ah. Royce’s mother, a couple of my dad’s wives removed from my mother, was deployed to Afghanistan. It’s probably her last deployment—she’s ready to retire—but she had to go. Royce preferred my company to our father’s. At least she did before driving across country with me. I think now her choice might be up for grabs.”
“Have you seen Zoey yet?”
“No.” She looked uncomfortable. “I don’t really know her very well anymore. Royce knows her even less. She met her when my mother died, but only briefly.” She hesitated, looking up at him in the darkness that followed the sun’s drop into the horizon. “You were there, weren’t you? You came all the way to California for a woman you didn’t even know.”
“I came for Zoey, whom I know very well. She’s hale and hearty, but I didn’t like the idea of her traveling cross-country by herself when she was grieving.” He gentled his voice. Cass Gentry wasn’t as slim as she’d been, and warm color washed the cheeks that had been ashen the last time he saw her, but he sensed fragility in the woman beside him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She started toward her SUV, which was parked beside the pickup. “When can we talk about the business?”
“Whenever you like. When would you like the fifty-cent tour?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Tomorrow? There will be a hayride through the orchard at ten. It gives you a good view of the place.”
“A hayride? Seriously?”
He wasn’t quite sure if she’d meant to sound derisive or if that was just how it came out, so he pushed back impatience. “Yes. We have them for groups by appointment or spur of the moment if someone wants to go and there’s an available driver. In October, we have evening ones.”
“All right, Mr. Rossiter. I’ll see you at ten.”
“It’s just Luke. Mr. Rossiter’s my dad, who would tell you, no, Mr. Rossiter’s my grandpa.”
She nodded, looking uncertain. “Can you tell me where the nearest supermarket is?”
“Sawyer.” He pointed. “Three miles that way.”
“I remember.” She sighed. “I think that can wait until tomorrow. I’m sure Royce won’t mind going out for dinner. What’s available at the lake?”
“Anything Goes Grill and Silver Moon Café. There’s also a pizza place that does carryout. The bulk foods store is great for groceries and has an excellent deli section. Are you staying at the lake?” Why would she do that with Zoey rattling around alone in that twelve-room farmhouse behind the hill of the orchard?
“Yes. For two weeks. That’s how long I’m giving myself to decide what to do.”
“What to do?”
“Yes.” She turned in a tight circle on the gravel drive, lifting her chin and gazing outward.
He followed her gaze with his own, wondering what she saw. The apple barn was there, its retail store convenient for customers. The cold storage barn, newer and bigger, had been built farther up the rise. The replica round barn, smaller than an original but true in shape and scale to the ones built in the area during the early twentieth century, held pride of place across the parking lot from the apple barn. The grapevines were behind it. The pumpkin patch filled the area between the driveway and the apple barn.
Trees were everywhere. Close to a hundred varieties of apples grew in neatly rowed sections all the way back to where Cottonwood Creek created the farm’s boundary. The way the orchard’s land rolled made keeping up with everything a challenge sometimes, but it was always rewarding.
The drives and parking lot were still gravel. Something always needed fixing.