You can’t always pick who you fall for…

Her orchard. His heart.

Can they successfully heal both?

When her family’s apple orchard is damaged by a storm, single mom Libby Creighton knows the harvest she’s depending on is in jeopardy. Though he prefers a solitary life, Jax McClaren has the skills to revive Libby’s orchard—and her guarded heart. But he’ll have to overcome the secrets of his past if he and Libby are going to have a fruitful future together.

Golden Grove

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Ruth Logan Herne

Multipublished bestselling author RUTH LOGAN HERNE loves God, her country, her family, dogs, chocolate and coffee! Married to a very patient man, she lives in an old farmhouse in Upstate New York and thinks possums should leave the cat food alone and snakes should always live outside. There are no exceptions to either rule! Visit Ruth at ruthloganherne.com.

Also By Ruth Logan Herne

Golden Grove

A Hopeful Harvest

Shepherd’s Crossing

Her Cowboy Reunion

A Cowboy in Shepherd’s Crossing

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

Grace Haven

An Unexpected Groom

Her Unexpected Family

Their Surprise Daddy

The Lawman’s Yuletide Baby

Her Secret Daughter

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

A Hopeful Harvest

Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90072-4

A HOPEFUL HARVEST

© 2019 Ruth M. Blodgett

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Jax didn’t want to help.

This place, this farm, this family had too many needs. He could handle any one of them and maintain his distance, but to face all three?

That would call to the protector in him, a side he’d buried when he’d lost four good men to an accident that should never have happened.

He needed to walk away. They’d get by, one way or another. Folks always did.

But when Libby drew the little girl in, laughing about the wind, and shrugging off the blown-down barn as if it was no big deal, he realized he had no choice.

He tugged his faded army cap into place. “I’m going to let this wind ride itself out, then I’ll be back.”

Libby frowned. “What? Why?”

“To help.” He brushed one finger to the brim of his hat. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” He turned, not waiting for permission that might not come.

Dear Reader,

I enjoyed writing this story because we all have so much to thank the Lord for, even in hard times.

I love blending faith and romance, and I love adding children into stories because they are the hope for the future. But Cleve was a big part of my love for this story.

The road of Alzheimer’s and dementia is not easy. It is nothing to be undertaken lightly. The scourge of Alzheimer’s runs in my husband’s family. His father, his grandfather, his uncles and all of his great-uncles had it. That makes this a personal experience for us as a new generation tiptoes into that age group.

I hope you loved Libby and Jax’s story. It was inspired when I read about this new treatment for PTSD developed by Frank Bourke to help post-9/11 victims. His work has been refined to help returning soldiers. When I read the positive results of the clinical trials, I saw my hero, Jackson Ingerson. The brain’s a funny thing. When one moment replays in our heads incessantly, it can mess with our emotional stability until we learn how to hit that mental off button without guilt.

Libby’s story hits close to home for me and so many people who come from dysfunctional families. It’s hard to live your life categorized by others’ actions, isn’t it? But she learns and rises above, and I just love her.

Thank you so much for reading this story. I love hearing from readers. You can email me at loganherne@gmail.com or through my website, ruthloganherne.com, and I love it when folks follow my friends page or author page on Facebook!

God bless you all, and I hope you love all of the Golden Grove, Washington, books.

With love,

Ruthy

But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy. And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace.

—James 3:17–18

To our fledgling prayer group: I love you all, and what a joy it’s been knowing you and praying with you. Aren’t we blessed with the fruitful harvest of faith and healthy children? God is good… And He certainly blessed me when He put you all into my life.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Mortgage. Electric bill. Car payment. Gasoline. Milk. Bread. Eggs.

That was as far as Liberty Creighton’s budget would stretch until the apple crop came in. She measured ingredients for the tank sprayer, added water and got ready to drive the aging tractor along the expanse of trees in Golden Grove, Washington. Recent rains meant additional spraying to guard against worms and disease.

Was she foolish to take this on to fulfill her late grandmother’s wishes to keep Gramps on the farm? Or was it an act of kindness?

She wasn’t sure, but she was on the cusp of her first solo harvest. Their winter budget depended on these final weeks and she and her five-year-old daughter had spent the last year in a town that used to scorn her. Maybe still did. That was their problem. Not hers. Except it still hurt, so maybe it was her problem after all.

She’d completed the Fujis and Galas when the calendar app on her phone buzzed a reminder. She stared at it, dismayed. Lunch with your best girl, twelve o’clock, Golden Grove Elementary!

She was a mess. She hadn’t bothered to shower or get dressed in regular clothes because somehow she’d marked her kitchen calendar for lunch with CeeCee tomorrow. Not today.

Maybe the app was wrong.

She knew better as she raced for the house. If she skipped the much-needed shower, threw on clean clothes and hurried to the school…

The clock said 12:05 p.m. when Libby flew back down the stairs. Gramps was snoring in his recliner. She wanted to tell him she was leaving, but she’d have to wake him and deal with his growing disorientation and there was no time for that.

She scribbled a quick note instead. “Lunch at school with CeeCee. Back soon.” She put it on his little side table. The table used to be cluttered with pills and random items. She’d reorganized it when she moved in and the order seemed to help Gramps’s cognition. He didn’t seem as confused with her there, managing things.

She dashed out the door, got in the farm truck and turned the ignition key. It started on the first try.

Thank You, sweet Lord!

She breathed the prayer as she headed for school, trying to ignore the dashboard clock. By the time she pulled into the parking lot, it was 12:19 p.m. She hurried to the door and hit the call button.

No one answered.

She pressed it again as precious seconds drained away.

The door buzzed. She went inside.

“Sign in here, please.” An elderly woman stood alongside the security desk inside the door. “And state your business.”

“Lunch with my daughter.” She spoke brightly as she scribbled her name in the log. When she spun to go, the old woman frowned and stuck out a hand. “Time in, please.”

Libby wrote the numbers 12:21 as quickly as she could, then rushed to the cafeteria. She homed in on the clatter of children and lunch trays. She darted through the first set of double doors and scanned the room.

Kids of all sizes were milling around. Adults were overseeing groups of tables, and while she knew CeeCee’s teacher, Libby had no idea who the lunch monitor was for her class. She moved to the right, toward the smallest children, and spotted CeeCee as the monitor called them to attention. “Mrs. Reynolds’s kindergarteners, time to take care of your garbage and recyclables and line up.”

She got to CeeCee’s side as her little girl stood up to clean her area. “Hey, girlfriend!”

“Mommy!” Pure joy lit CeeCee’s face. She threw her arms out and half jumped into Libby’s arms. “I knew you’d come! I knew it! I told everyone that my mom would never forget about me.” She turned back toward the gathering children. “Here she is! This is my mommy!”

The lunch monitor didn’t try to hide her frown or sound all that sincere. “That’s wonderful, darling. She can walk us back to the classroom. Won’t that be special?”

Her tone said it wasn’t all that special, and her sour expression indicated that Libby fell short in this woman’s estimation. Don’t let her push your buttons. Keep your chin in the air and own the moment.

Libby longed to take the woman down a peg. Clasp CeeCee’s hand and sign her out for the afternoon and make the whole day special to make up for her mistake. She couldn’t, though. She had work waiting, work that had been put off for too long already. On top of that, Gramps couldn’t be left on his own for long periods of time, so that meant she’d walk CeeCee to her class, kiss her goodbye and go back to her orchard chores.

“Mommy, thank you for coming!” CeeCee hugged her again, as if popping in for five minutes was enough.

It wasn’t, but she thanked God for her daughter’s understanding heart. “You’re welcome, darling. I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

“’Cept you don’t have a home.” One of CeeCee’s classmates spoke up, a little girl. “CeeCee said you don’t have a home so she lives with her grandpa. Right?”

“No home, for real?” An adorable boy shot dark eyebrows up in surprise. “Then you can come and stay with us, CeeCee, with me and my dad. And my big sister! I would like that a lot!” Excitement widened his smile and Libby fell in love with him instantly.

“Except we do have a home.” She squatted low and made eye contact with the kids, including the girl who called CeeCee out. “With my grandpa on the apple farm. We moved here to raise apples and pears and plums and to help CeeCee’s great-grandpa get around.”

“But we didn’t have a home before, did we, Mommy? When we were in that other place and they made us move. Right?” There was no denying CeeCee’s earnest request for honesty.

An old ache hit Libby’s heart.

Should she admit they’d been homeless? Or gloss over it? Nowhere in the parenting books did the experts explain what to do when your abusive ex-husband bleeds money from your accounts and leaves you bruised and penniless without a roof over your head.

She wanted to brush it off.

She didn’t. She faced CeeCee and nodded. “We did have to move, didn’t we? And then Ms. Mortie called me to say Gramps and Grandma needed help. We headed up here the very next day. It’s cool how God worked things out, isn’t it?” She smiled at the class as the teacher came forward to direct them into the kindergarten room. “Just when they needed us, we needed them right back.”

“’Xactly!” CeeCee kissed her goodbye and skipped into the room, totally happy. She didn’t understand the scourge of homelessness.

Libby did.

But she would never again fall victim to a man’s deceit. She’d been foolish once. She would never be foolish again.

The wind came out of nowhere. One minute former army captain Jax McClaren was heading toward his solitary cabin in the hills, and the next, his pickup truck was broadsided by a gust of wind so strong that it thrust the heavy-duty 4x4 sideways.

He gripped the wheel, then fought to maintain his forward progress.

The wind had other ideas.

Military training clicked in. He reduced his speed, eased on the brakes and kept the wheel straight. The brakes created instant friction to help keep the tires under his control. Not the wind’s.

He edged his way back to the proper side of the road as another car approached, heading west. When the wind slammed again, he narrowly missed sideswiping the smaller car.

His phone chose that moment to indicate a weather warning. “Approaching low front,” advised the digitized voice. “Expect dangerously high winds.”

He could have used the warning ninety seconds earlier.

The wind played tug-of-war for control of the truck. He was between towns. He’d left Golden Grove after finishing a job for a kindhearted widow who liked to bake him cookies. He had every intention of heading back to his solitary cabin to soak up some peace and quiet. Away from people. Away from gratitude he didn’t deserve. Away from life.

But when the wind slammed him again, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it. As that took hold, he realized two things more. An old man, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a T-shirt, was walking down the road, trying to block the raging wind with an inside-out umbrella. Behind him, not far from a bungalow-style house in need of attention, a wooden barn literally blew apart.

Jax didn’t blink. Didn’t think. He just pulled to the side of the road and jumped out of the truck, directly in the old man’s path.

His actions startled the man. White hair flying in the gale-force winds, the old fellow stepped back in alarm.

Jax had lost a grandmother to Alzheimer’s nearly a dozen years before. He’d watched the disease drain her mind. Her joy. Her attitude. And her caring. But while others grew impatient with Grandma Molly’s changeable faces, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Through the long years of decline, he’d focused on one thing: that she was the same grandmother who helped raise three little boys when they lost their mother. He knew she loved them to the very end. She just didn’t remember it.

Recalling that, he used his most respectful tone as he faced the confused wanderer. “I thought I’d give you a lift to wherever it is you’re going, sir.”

“You know where I’m going?” queried the old guy as if hoping for a positive response.

“I expect we’ll figure it out,” Jax replied.

“Sounds like a plan!” The old fellow tried to move toward the truck but the wind bested him. Jax took his arm gently and steered him toward the truck door.

A car was coming their way from the east.

Farther out, another car was fighting its way up the road from the west. He helped the man into the passenger side of the truck, then hurried around to reclaim the driver’s seat. He thrust the truck into gear and started forward. “Were you going home? Or leaving home?” He shot the aged man a comforting look and didn’t once mention the lack of attire, but inside he was seething.

Who would leave a sick, elderly person alone like this? Who would let him out of the house wearing nothing but underclothes? If a parent allowed a child to wander like this, they’d be arrested.

The old man pointed toward the bungalow just beyond the destroyed barn. “I reckon I know that place.”

“That’s where you came from?” Jax asked. He had to speak up over the roar of the wind. It raged through the trees and whooshed beneath the truck. He signaled a left turn just as an oncoming car signaled a right turn into the same driveway. “Looks like you have company, sir.”

The word sir made the old man smile. “I could use a bit of company now and again, but my missus won’t be happy about bein’ surprised. She likes the house just so when company comes by. That whole ‘cleanliness bein’ next to Godliness’ thing, you know. That’s a woman thing, I expect.”

Jax wouldn’t know. He’d been steering clear of God, family and women and anything that smacked of commitment or caring or real emotion. Surface stuff he could handle since leaving Iraq. Anything deeper than that sent him on to the next job. The next task. The next neighborhood. Offering his help but never his heart. He pulled to a stop as a middle-aged woman exited the car next to him. The insignia on her door indicated she was from a local home health care agency.

She looked from the old man to him, then the flattened barn and let out a low whistle. “What’s happened here, Cleve? Where’s Libby?” She included both men in the question as the wind helped push them toward the house.

Jax lifted his shoulders. “Don’t know. I found him walking down the road alone as the barn blew apart. I’m Jax McClaren.”

“Carol Mortimer, from the home health service in Wenatchee. Folks call me Mortie. Come on, my friend, I can’t be taking your pulse or blood pressure out here, now can I?”

Her question seemed to confuse the old man further.

She took hold of one of his arms. Jax took the other, and together they tried to guide him into the side door of the house.

He had other ideas. “I promised I’d keep a lookout,” he told them, and for a thin fellow, when he dug his heels into the soft valley soil, he dug hard.

“We can help,” said the woman softly. “It’s Mortie, Cleve. You remember me, don’t you? Where’s Libby? Did she have to go out?”

“Please don’t tell me that someone would leave this gentleman on his own.” That hiked Jax’s blood pressure to new levels.

The wind slammed them. He was just about to lift the elderly fellow into his arms and carry him into the house when a car pulled into the driveway.

It slid to a quick stop and a woman jumped out. The raging wind wrapped her longish sweater around her, and her light brown ponytail whipped back and forth, but it was her face that caught Jax’s attention.

Despair, mixed with a generous serving of worry and determination darkened her blue eyes. Despite that, she was still beautiful like one of those inspirational movie heroines his grandma used to watch.

She ran forward and got right in front of the older man. “Gramps, I think that wind’s a little too strong for any more spraying today, don’t you?”

The old fellow stopped. Stared. Then he blinked as if he’d just come out of a dark movie theater into the light.

The wind pummeled him.

Wide-eyed, he hurried forward of his own volition now. “What are we doin’ out in this?” he shouted as he hustled up the side steps and into the house. “Libby, you know better than to run the tractor in a storm like this, don’t you?”

The young woman went right along with his new train of thought. “I do. And I’m pretty sure you taught me to dress properly before going out in gale-force winds.”

The old fellow was quick to defend his choice of attire. “Well, I was in a hurry, you know.”

The woman—Libby—held the old-timer’s gaze but she offered him a pretty smile, lightly teasing. “Do tell.”

“I was on the lookout for something.”

A quick look of regret flattened her features, but she reengaged the smile swiftly. “Yes, you were. I asked you to watch for CeeCee’s bus while I was spraying the orchard. But that doesn’t come until later.”

“So I didn’t miss anything?” He posed the question quickly, as if worried he might have messed up. “I knew it was important, but I might have dozed off in my chair…”

The home health woman brought him a fleecy pair of pajama pants and helped him into them.

“And there was a wicked crash and I woke up and knew I was on the lookout for something, but for what?”

Libby looked around in confusion. “A crash?” She scanned the room and the kitchen beyond.

She went pale. Her eyes went wide. She stared out the back window at a monster-size pile of broken sticks and bricks and huffed out a slow, sad breath. “The barn.”

Jax hated to bring more bad news, but he’d already spotted her grandfather outside when the barn went down. So something else had awakened the elderly gentleman. He crossed to the side door, opened it and stepped outside.

A swirl of gravel dust stirred old memories he’d shoved aside. Haboobs. The Iraqi desert sandstorms. Troops hunkered down.

That was then.

This is now.

Determined, he walked to the back of the house. And there it was. A second barn, much smaller, but just as flat. Would the house be next?

The house blocked the wind, allowing him time to give it a quick once-over. Where the barns lay in splintered pieces, the house stood firm and square. It was old, maybe the original structure, even, and craftsmen knew how to put a solid building together back then. No, the house looked solid, if worn.

He drew a breath and walked back inside. The home health nurse was brewing tea in the small kitchen. She raised her brows as he entered. “Bad?”

“Yes.”

“Both barns?”

What could he say to make this better? Nothing. He nodded.

“But no one died. Or got hurt,” the nurse added as the old man’s granddaughter came through the connecting doorway. “It could have been worse.”

He turned toward Libby. “Someone could have been hurt. Or killed.” He looked toward the living room beyond. “He was walking along the road in his skivvies, dazed and confused because he was all alone.”

Her gaze narrowed. The smile he’d found engaging disappeared. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Jax McClaren. I was driving by when I spotted him. And the barn.”

“Mr. McClaren…” Carol Mortimer began.

He included the nurse in his look. “When someone is that sick, should they be left alone?”

The nurse made a face. “Some patients are fine on their own for an hour or two. It depends on what stage they’re in. In this case, Cleve’s been fine for short periods. But seems like we might need to revisit our thinking if he gets riled that easily.”

“Having a barn destroyed seventy feet from the nearest window isn’t an everyday occurrence.” Libby folded her arms and faced him. “We need to remember we’re not dealing with a small child but a grown man who thinks he’s okay, and some of the time he is. And there’s still work to be done because this is a working farm. Mortie—” she moved closer to the home health nurse “—you understand. He doesn’t want to go someplace else. It would kill him. Grandma said that time and again. He was born on this place and he’s made his wishes clear often enough. He was born here and wants to die the same way. How can I deny him that after all he’s done for me?”

“But what if Mr. McClaren hadn’t come along when he did?” asked Mortie. “What if Cleve had wandered until a branch hit him? Or an airborne missile from someone’s roof or barn speared him?”

“What choice do I have?” The young woman splayed her hands. “He wants to be on the farm. It’s his one link to reality, but the barn’s gone, the shed’s demolished and we should be harvesting the early fruit, except there’s no place to put it now. Do I throw in the towel on the harvest and tuck him somewhere safe? Or keep my promise to Grandma and let him have one last season?”

A school bus pulled up to the driveway, leaving the question unanswered.

Libby hurried out, wrapped an arm around a small child and walked her inside.

A woman and child striving to make ends meet on a falling-down farm.

They needed someone who knew construction. Someone who knew apples. And, maybe most important of all, someone who’d cared for an Alzheimer’s patient before.

Jax didn’t want to help.

This place, this farm, this family had too many needs. He could handle any one of them and maintain his distance, but to face all three?

That called to the protector in him, a side he’d buried when he’d lost four good men to an accident that never should have happened.

He needed to walk away. They’d get by, one way or another. Folks always did.

But when Libby drew the little girl in, laughing about the wind and shrugging off the blown-down barn as if it was no big deal, he realized he had no choice.

He tugged his faded army cap into place. “I’m going to let this wind ride itself out, then I’ll be back.”

Libby frowned. “What? Why?”

“To help.” He brushed one finger to the brim of his hat. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” He turned, not waiting for permission that might not come. “Miss Mortie. And Miss—” He tipped his gaze down to the little girl.

The little girl didn’t cuddle into her mother’s side like so many would. She beamed a big smile his way and held up her hand, splaying five little fingers. “I’m CeeCee and I’m this many and Gramps said we could get a dog someday. Won’t that be the best fun ever?”

“It sure will.”

He trotted down the steps and to his truck.

He shouldn’t do this. He knew it. He could pick up the phone, inform his family of the situation, and they’d bankroll whatever was needed, letting him stay away.

Except this time he couldn’t.

Was it the old fellow’s struggle that drew him? Or the beautiful and determined young woman? Or the guileless child?

All three, he realized as he drove around the semicircular drive.

He’d help. Then he’d leave, like he’d been doing for three long years.

End of story.

Chapter Two

Huge equipment came rolling up the farm driveway at 6:55 a.m. the next morning. CeeCee let out a squeal of delight when she spotted huge Caterpillar treads spinning by the first-floor windows. “Mommy! A monster scooper thing is here! And a truck! Like a really, really big one!”

Libby got to the window in time to see the first machine lumber past. It was followed by a big dump truck. And then another. Within five minutes, the ginormous scoop arm was loading barn scrap into the truck’s wide bed.

“I heard a commotion.” Gramps came into the kitchen. The sight of the big machines riled him. “What’s going on? Who brought those here? Lib, we’ve got to stop them!”

“Gramps, it’s the fixer guys. We love fixer guys, remember?” CeeCee took his hand and something about the touch of her tiny hand calmed the old fellow. “The big wind knocked down our barns and now they’re cleaning it up for us. Isn’t that so nice of them?”

Libby had placed a call to the insurance company once Mortie and Jax McClaren had left, but she hadn’t heard back from them. They wouldn’t just send a team out to start fixing things the next morning, would they?

Jax’s extended-cab pickup truck rolled into the driveway right then. The sharp truck gleamed white in the September sun. He parked but didn’t come straight for the house. He met with the workers out back, then came their way. Libby met him before he got to the side door. “You did this?” She motioned to the oversize machines churning a hundred and fifty feet away from them.

“Can’t rebuild until we’ve cleared the area, right?”

“Except I haven’t even heard back from the insurance agency. How will they know what to settle if they don’t see evidence?”

He held up his phone. “Pictures. I took several yesterday. Between those and the building’s footprint on the ground—”

“The what?”

“The space a building takes up on the ground is its footprint.”

“So the area of the base as opposed to the cubic footage.”

He smiled as if she was suddenly talking his language. “Exactly. They can figure that out mathematically. Did you have replacement coverage or cash value?”

She heard Gramps coming through the door and didn’t want him upset by too much talk. “Cash value. Which means only the estimated value of the property in current condition gets paid out. Correct?” She didn’t have to ask because she’d worried about that all night, hence the dark circles under her eyes. What was it about this guy that made her think about her looks?

“There are ways of making it stretch.”

“I can make a fitted sheet stretch. Money’s tougher. But you’re right,” she added as Gramps drew near. “There’s always a way to make things work.”

“Your grandma said we should get the best insurance we could because old folks like us can’t be fixing things on a thin dime, but I told her our policy was fine and look at this!” Gramps stumped his cane against the stone driveway. He remembered to use it fifty percent of the time. The other half he shuffled along, finding a foot grip. “Look how quick they got here. I guess I was right again, eh?”

“You did just fine, sir.”

Jax’s words and his deferential tone puffed up Gramps’s chest.

Libby knew the work crew had nothing to do with the farm’s thin insurance policy, and Jax could have inflated his own ego by taking credit.

But he didn’t.

He let an aging dementia patient claim the kudos and seemed fine doing it. What kind of man did that?

A nice one, her conscience scolded. There are lots of nice people in this world. Stop being jaded.

There were nice people.

Libby knew that.

But her family’s reputation in Golden Grove left a sour taste on a lot of tongues. Her parents hadn’t been the raise-your-kid-normal and go-to-church-on-Sunday sort and when Grandma sent them packing, they took the one thing Grandma didn’t want them to take.

Her.

Then sent her back with a sack of ill-fitting clothes when they got tired of her eighteen months later.

Folks had looked at her funny then. And some still looked at her funny, but now she was mature enough to shrug it off. “I’ve got to get CeeCee ready for school. Gramps, are you going to stay outside and watch the action?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He’d set an old hat on his head. He was still in his pajama pants and a faded blue cotton T-shirt, but it was a mild morning. “If Mother comes looking for me, tell her where I am.”

“I will.” She was never quite sure if she should play along or explain reality to him, and no one seemed to have the answer. This time she played along.

Jax shot her a look of sympathy. The look felt good. As if someone besides Carol Mortimer understood the situation and was on her side, but she’d been fooled by a man before.

Her ex-husband had taught her a valuable lesson about trust. If she and CeeCee went through life as a duo, she was okay with that. She’d been raised by parents who really never cared. CeeCee would never need to say that.

The five-year-old met her at the door. “Look. I got all dressed for school so I can see the fixer guys. Okay?”

“Okay, once you eat breakfast. What’ll it be? A bagel or cereal or an apple?”

“Apple!”

“Ginger Gold or Gala?”

“The redder one.”

Libby cut the Gala into slices. She’d seen a study online that talked about the amazing health benefit of apples, how modern science proved the old adage “an apple a day” true. How apples were like the perfect food.

They would have lots of apples for the coming months. That was an added bonus of being on the farm. But with the barn gone and the insurance shortfall and the co-pays on Gramps’s meds, the already tight situation had just become impossible.

With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.

One of Grandma’s favorite verses in the Bible. The walls of the house were peppered with cross-stitched Bible verses.

Libby would cling to the idea that all things were possible. She hadn’t come back here by choice but by necessity. God had worked that timing out perfectly. So now?

She would put this firmly in His hands because once CeeCee was on that school bus, she had an orchard to spray, and right now she was just real glad she’d parked the tractor outside the barn before it blew down.

The tractor wasn’t parked outside the barn.

It was under the barn. Buried. And as the gaping mechanical claw reached in and scooped up a serving of weathered wood, a generous section of the tractor went with it.

Libby couldn’t take her eyes from the scene.

She’d parked the tractor here. Right here. At the edge of the driveway leading to the orchard because her phone alarm had startled her. And besides, they rarely put the tractor in the big barn except at the end of the season, once the apple sales were complete.

Gone.

Demolished.

Emotions didn’t just rock her this time. They fought their way for possession, like that giant claw digging through a debris field of shattered hopes and dreams.

Now there was no tractor to lift the crates of apples to the barn storage or the sale bins.

No tank to give that last vital spraying.

No nothing.

Nothing at all.

Was this God’s message to her? To tuck Gramps in a safe spot and walk quietly away with CeeCee? Because it was coming through loud and clear.

“You okay?” Jax was coming her way and his question brought her up short.

She wasn’t all right. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be all right. But Libby Creighton was a survivor, so she wiped moisture from her cheeks and turned.

Sympathetic gray eyes met hers beneath his military-cut brown hair. Ocean-gray eyes, they were. Not a hint of blue, but not storm gray like yesterday’s clouds. Softer. Gentler. She pulled in a deep breath and paused.

Then she blew out the breath and nodded. “Fine. As fine as I can be now that I see the tractor under thousands of pounds of roof and wall debris.”

“You didn’t know the tractor was in there?” Surprise furrowed his brow.

“Nope.” She made a face. “I parked it here when I realized I had to run to CeeCee’s school. Right here. There’s no way the wind could have pushed it into the barn, is there?”

“Not feasibly.”

“Then how?” She paused when she spotted Gramps talking enthusiastically with a very patient dump truck driver. “He must have moved it. After he woke up. Every now and again he’ll hop on it as if ready to work. Sometimes it’s a chore that needs to be done. Sometimes it’s a memory of what he used to do. He must have come out here and moved the tractor before you found him.”

“Into the barn. During the windstorm?” Jax looked disbelieving. “Do you know how close he came to being killed?”

His tone stung. She folded her arms, then unfolded them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cower again. Not now. Not ever. “I do now. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”

Jax stared at her, and she read his gaze because no one knew what Gramps was thinking. Or what he might do from moment to moment. It was obvious that Gramps couldn’t be left alone anymore. Not even for short periods of time. How was she going to manage that with everything else on her plate?

Libby didn’t have a clue.

She turned back toward the cleanup. “We’ll make sure someone’s with him from now on. We’ve been seizing the good moments as if they were the norm, but they’re not. Not anymore. It’s time we faced the fact that now they’re the exception.”

“I like to see them as a gift.”

His words surprised her.

“When we get those moments of lucidity. Of recognition. An hour here or there.” A slight wrinkle formed between his eyes. “Like opening a curtain on the past.”

“That’s exactly what it’s like.” She faced him more squarely. “He wasn’t this bad when I got here last year to see my grandmother through her hospice time. She loved him so much. When she saw what was happening, she made me promise to keep him on the farm as long as possible. To let him find peace among his apples. And then Central Valley Fruit stepped in to buy the farm, Gramps had a mighty row with their sales rep, and Grandma died while they were arguing the merits of small versus big at the top of their lungs. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for not being at her side when she died. When he remembers, that is.”

Central Valley Fruit.

The business his family began when irrigation was approved for the arid valley soil a hundred years ago. Central Valley Fruit was a megaproducer that had helped put Washington State on the map as a premier source of fruits, not just for American stores, but internationally. With European fruit production decreasing, Central Valley Fruit was happy to fill the void. His father had filled him in on their need for more land a few weeks ago, and available land wasn’t an easy find. So they’d put in a bid on this farm? Probably so.

“They contacted us again a few weeks ago. They said that our specific location would be especially good for certain apples because of the microclimate of a slope facing southeast.”

“And what did you tell them?” He didn’t mention that he understood the ins and outs of selective orcharding.

“I didn’t say anything. I left it to Gramps because the farm is still in his name, and he was adamant as he told the fruit rep to leave.”

“So he left?”

“He did. And he didn’t seem insulted. He said…” She paused a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Or maybe her emotions. “He’d give us time to think about it because he understood what a big decision it was. And he left the contract with Gramps, just in case.”

That would be Kenneth, his older brother. Kenneth had a heart. But he also had a goal, and if they needed more land, Ken would find it.

“Total world domination of the world’s fruit market.” That was a tongue-in-cheek corporate goal.

They used to laugh about it but Libby’s expression showed this was not a laughing matter.

The acquisition of land near the Yakima and Wenatchee Rivers was important to the development of new apple types. Not all apples were created equal and microclimates were crucial for production. The microclimate in Golden Grove was ideal for newer cultivars. “Are they offering a fair price?”

“More than fair,” she admitted. “Our current cash flow makes it quite tempting. But I made a promise to my grandmother and I never break a promise. Although I don’t know how we’re going to pull it off without a barn or a tractor.”

He swallowed hard.

He should tell her who he was. But then she’d wonder why he was here. Why he was helping. It would look like a setup to get in her good graces.

It wasn’t.

It was something to keep him from thinking. From remembering. From seeing that helicopter spin over a Middle Eastern desert, then watch helplessly as it came crashing down.

“Well.” She took a step back. “I’m going to call Baker Orchards and see if they’ll let me borrow their tractor for this last application on the September fruits. If they’re open to that, I can get one thing done.”

He nodded.

She didn’t have to do this.

She could walk away and no one would criticize her choice because this was an autumn disaster. Her inexperience was either her saving grace or worst enemy, because with no place to store the apples, there was little sense in continuing. “Your grandfather can stay here with me if you need to leave.”

That realization changed her expression. Knowing she couldn’t just hop in the old pickup truck and run up the road to the Bakers’ place, another roadside fruit stand on the opposite side of Golden Grove. “You wouldn’t mind? I’d take him but there’s no way to bring him back on their tractor. If it’s available.”

“Don’t mind at all.”

She pulled out her phone, made the call and was on her way in less than ten minutes.

Gutsy.

Resolute.

And he’d be a stupid man if he didn’t add downright lovely to the list of attributes.

He wasn’t stupid, but Jax knew his limitations. No one wanted any part of the nightmares, cold sweats and sadness that hit him when least expected. He didn’t want it, either, but he had little choice. It was his reality.

Little choice?

His conscience upbraided him none too gently.

Allison recommended you for that new treatment. The guy has an office in Seattle. A ninety-minute drive that could make a difference. So why haven’t you done it?

Fear? Doubt? Lack of faith in much of anything anymore?

Allison was a solid therapist. She made him think, sometimes too much. He wasn’t against getting help, but if nothing worked, why waste time?

He’d come home as damaged goods, but at least he’d come home. Those four men and the chopper pilot never got that chance.

So yeah, the big, brave warrior didn’t want to remember but couldn’t possibly forget. It wouldn’t be right to impose this reality on anyone else, family or friends. And that meant he’d quietly keep on doing what he’d been doing in the lush valley for the last few years. Helping people as he could. And pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

For now…

It was enough.

Chapter Three

Libby finished spraying the September fruit acreage just before CeeCee’s bus was due, but that brought new problems to the table. CeeCee couldn’t be left alone. Libby had lost a couple hours of time by driving Si Baker’s John Deere down the two-lane this morning and she had to have the tractor back to him by early the next day. And then there was Gramps.

Who was going to keep an eye on him when she was in the orchard?

She parked the tractor at the edge of the Gala apple rows. She should be picking them now, and she would have been if things had gone all right yesterday.

But they hadn’t.

The bus rolled up to the driveway. The door opened and Gert Johnson waved a hand as CeeCee came racing up the short drive to the house. “Libby, we’re all so sorry about what happened yesterday! A bunch of us bus drivers will be happy to help with whatever you need. And that includes pickin’ apples between bus runs. Call me. Okay?”

“I will, Gert. And thank you.” Oncoming cars made her yell the response back because Gert couldn’t be holding up traffic. On quiet days it wouldn’t matter so much, but during apple harvest season there was no such thing as a quiet day. Harvesters and pickers and trucks rumbled by continuously. In the Columbia Valley, the beautiful words of Ecclesiastes 3 came to life. “To everything there is a season.” Right now the season was apples.

“Mommy, look! Look!” CeeCee held up an unrecognizable picture. She beamed with pride and excitement. “Isn’t it so beautiful?”

“It is! I love how you captured the shape, darling.”

“Barn shapes aren’t real hard,” CeeCee told her, having no idea she’d given her mother a solid clue.

“Hard or not, you did a great job. Is this our barn?”

CeeCee shook her head. Her curls bounced as Gramps and Jax came around from the back. The last dump truck was being loaded, then the damaged sites would be scraped clean.

“It’s that one.” She pointed up the road to the Moyer building. The Moyers had sold their farm to CVF two years before. Their land stretched east but this one lone building hadn’t been used for anything except storage for over a dozen years. “See the slopey top?”

“I see it.” Jax smiled down at CeeCee.

CeeCee smiled back. “Because you know stuff about barns, maybe.”

“A bit.”

CeeCee grinned up at him.

He grinned back.

A warning stab hit Libby squarely. She wasn’t unfamiliar with how some men toyed with a woman’s heart. Been there. Done that. Not pretty.

But no one was going to mess with CeeCee’s emotions. Her ex-husband had already done his share of that with his lying and cheating. For years she could have called her life an old-time country song.

Not now.

Now her life would be an hallelujah. Because she had the power within herself to change what she could and shrug off the rest.

“Can you hustle inside and grab a sweatshirt? The Bakers’ tractor has a cab, so you can ride with me while I spray,” Libby told her.

CeeCee hugged her great grandfather and nodded eagerly. “I love helping!”

Jax stepped forward. He smelled of apples and fall and Washington fresh air. He put out his hand, then set it on her arm. “Let me do the spraying.”

Her arm warmed beneath his touch and her pulse skittered.

She hid her reaction and started to refuse, but he dropped his gaze to CeeCee before lifting it to her grandfather. “You’ll do better here and I’ve run a lot of spray arms in my time. Is the tank full?”

She nodded.

“How far did you get?”

“Through the Red Delicious.”

“I’ll start at the Granny Smiths, then. They’ve finished the demo removal and I’ve got nothing going on the rest of the day.”

Why was that? she wondered.

But she didn’t wonder long because it made sense. “If you really don’t mind, that would be wonderful. Then I can get the tractor back to the Bakers and start harvesting tomorrow.”

“Glad to help.” He’d lost his army cap somewhere and was wearing a faded baseball cap with USA in bold letters on the front. He tipped it slightly. “You know where I’ll be.”

He didn’t just walk to the tractor. He strode as if spraying her trees was the most important job ever given.

CeeCee jumped into her arms. “I’ve got so much to tell you guys because school was so much fun!”

Her genuine delight eased Libby’s school concerns.

“Tell me all about it. Gramps, how about if I make you a cup of tea and you can rest awhile?”

“I won’t mind it a bit. These feet are tired of standin’ watchin’ others do the work, but it was some quick work, wasn’t it? I told your grandmother that policy would be just fine. I told her.”

“You did.”

She’d read that green tea helped cognition. She’d read a lot of stuff, but nothing seemed to help Gramps’s hastening decline. She brought him the tea and turned the TV on softly. He was asleep in five minutes. By the time Jax rolled the tractor back up the access drive, she had a pot of red sauce ready and water simmering for pasta.

He knocked at the side door. CeeCee rushed to let him in. When she went to hug him, he held back. “Not with spraying clothes on, little lady. Chemicals and kids don’t mix.” He ignored CeeCee’s look of disappointment and called up the side stairs. “Give me your car keys and I’ll run the tractor up the road, then bring your car back.”

She crossed to the stairs and looked down, right into his eyes. A gaze that hinted at melancholy, much like hers. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve done so much already.”

He smiled. “I think a plate of pasta and whatever sauce you’ve got cooking makes it even. Don’t you?”

Having him stay for supper? Um, no. Small-town single mothers and stray men were not a good mix.

“You can have supper with us? Like, tonight?” CeeCee didn’t hug him, but she grasped his hand. “That would be so nice! Wouldn’t it, Mommy?”

What could she say without being rude? She wiped her hands on a dry towel, stepped down and handed him her keys. When she did, her hand brushed his. The lightest touch. So why did that minimal contact send her heart beating stronger again? Faster? She drew her hand away quickly. “We’d be honored to have you to supper. Of course.”

“I don’t have to stay.”

He was graciously offering her a way out of the predicament. Because he sensed her hesitation? Or because he disapproved of how she handled Gramps?

Either way, he’d gone the distance for them today. “Please stay.” She lifted her eyes to his as he took a step back toward the gravel drive.

Big mistake. Because she was pretty sure when she looked into his eyes, she saw his soul. A soul that was just as fractured as hers. Then the glimpse was gone, replaced by a smile that seemed well practiced. She knew because she had polished one of those smiles herself.

“Mighty obliged, ma’am.” He winked. Then he climbed back onto the tractor, whistling. She couldn’t hear the whistle when he started the old John Deere up, but she’d recognized the tune. Gramps used to sing it to her twenty-five years ago, when she’d dash in and around the apple trees. It was their song.

She hummed it now.

Gramps woke up as she put the pasta into the boiling water a few minutes later. He grinned as he came into the kitchen. “Remember how we used to sing that when you were a little girlie?”

“I sure do.”

“And then you went off and started sittin’ under apple trees with other folks. Not listenin’ to your grandma and me.”

Every now and again he’d start scolding. It took everything she had not to take offense. He wasn’t wrong. They’d tried to warn her about her choices. In a search for someone to love her, she hadn’t listened, and every now and again Gramps brought it up. “We all make mistakes, Gramps. Look, I made red sauce. Your favorite.”

Trying to change the subject didn’t work today. “I told ya. Your grandma tried to talk sense into ya, but kids don’t like to listen. We saw what happened with your mother and we didn’t want the same thing to happen with you.”

She set down the spoon and crossed the room. “I learned my lesson. Now I’m here and we can leave all that behind us. Can’t we?”

His brow drew down. His forehead wrinkled. He seemed to be grasping for something to say, but Jax walked in the side door right then.

He seemed to size up the situation quickly. “Sir, can I take you for a short walk to the barn sites? I need your opinion on a couple of things.”

“Me? Oh. Sure!” The transformation of Gramps’s face was almost instantaneous. “We’ll be gettin’ the apples in the barn soon, if I can get this girl on some kind of proper schedule.”

Kindness deepened Jax’s expression when he looked at her. Then he took Gramps’s arm and helped him down the three steps to the side door. “Still smells real good in there.” He flashed a quick smile her way, but it was a smile tinged with compassion. “How much time do we have?”

“Eight minutes until the pasta’s done.”

“We’ll be back.” He led Gramps outside.

She breathed.

Minute to minute, she wasn’t sure what Gramps would say or do. Remember or forget. She would seek Mortie’s advice once Gramps and CeeCee were asleep. Mortie wouldn’t mind her calling after hours. She’d been a good friend to Libby’s mother when they were young, before her mother took a walk on the wild side. Mortie would advise and counsel. Never blame. And Libby could use a dose of that wisdom right about now.

Worn down.

That was what he saw when he looked into Libby’s dark blue eyes. Eyes that matched the Central Washington sky.

Was she worn down by life? Circumstances? The current situation?

Maybe all three. Which meant he needed to keep his distance like he did on every job. Trouble was, this job was different. If he stayed to help rebuild that barn, he’d be here every day, wanting to help because something in her called to him. The pain she tried to hide. The self-confidence she pretended to have. The hurt he’d seen from something the old fellow said.

Grandma Molly had been the same way. She’d gotten downright nasty at times, and he’d been one of the few people who saw beyond the curt words. The hurled insults. Because he knew it wasn’t her saying those rude things. It was the disease.

He should leave this job to someone else. The family foundation could have the whole thing done as an act of mercy, but then she’d know that it was Central Valley Fruit footing the bill and might refuse their help.

“Them apples, them first ones, they’ve got to come off those trees now.” Cleve gripped Jax’s arm with one hand and pointed with the other. “They should be in the barn, and out on the sales tables out front. What’s that girl been doin’?” he grumped, then stopped dead to rights. “Where’d the barn go?”

The old fellow’s angst made Jax’s decision. Yeah, the foundation could rebuild the barn but they couldn’t get to the root of the problem. The old man’s declining state.

He could. If nothing more than giving her some respite as things got worse. He’d faced this disease with his grandmother with a host of help, professional and family.

Libby had no one but herself and her little girl and the nurse from the local agency. Jax knew the score. This was a 24/7, 365 kind of illness. Two hours a day, three times a week wasn’t going to cut it.

He’d see it through.

He’d try to keep his distance from Libby Creighton and her precious daughter. He’d stay civil and kind. That was what they needed right now. Strong hands, a strong back and someone to help with Gramps. He readdressed the orchardist’s concern about the barn. “We had a wicked windstorm yesterday, sir.”

“Call me Cleve. We’re friends, ain’t we?”

“I’d like that. Well, Cleve, we had a bad windstorm, as bad as I’ve seen it get, and it took down the big barn and the smaller one, too. So we got them cleaned up today, and we’ll have supplies brought in to start rebuilding soon.”

“Supper’s ready.” CeeCee dashed down the drive to meet them. “Mommy said to tell you.”

Cleve glanced back as they moved toward the house. “Them big trucks came, right?”

Jax encouraged the memory. “They did. They cleared the site for us.”

“I told Mother. I told her our insurance policy was plenty good enough and she argued to beat the band but I stood my ground.”

“You did just fine, Gramps.” Libby shot Jax a look of gratitude as he helped Cleve up the stairs. “It all worked out.”

“Won’t she be surprised when she gets home and sees I was right all along?” Cleve almost preened at the thought. “She’s smart as a whip but there’s no flies on me. If you know what I mean.”

“That means you’re smart.” CeeCee offered the old fellow an adorable grin. “You told me that and I believe it, Gramps.”

Cleve’s smile grew. He took a seat. For the moment, he was happy. Satisfied. But when Jax glanced back at Libby, he read the emotions there.

She knew it wouldn’t last. She understood. But how could one woman handle an elderly, sometimes contentious, dementia patient and run an apple orchard at harvest time? With a little girl who loved to run around?

She couldn’t.

But she could with his help, and that made it a no-brainer. As long as he could keep his distance.

“Can you say grace, Mr. Jax? Please?”

He froze in place, wondering how to reply.

Libby laid one hand on Cleve’s and one on his, and gave a soft blessing. A sweet note of thanks. Then she looked up and met his gaze. Held that look longer than she needed to.

She saw him.

The real him.

He sensed it in her eyes, in her touch, in the prayer. Somehow she glimpsed the soldier behind the civilian facade. The soulfulness in her gaze reached out to him.

His heart sped up even though it shouldn’t. Even though it couldn’t.

She held his gaze one beat longer, then smiled.

When she did that, he realized something else. She might be helping him as much as he helped her.

And that wasn’t a thought he dared to contemplate.

Chapter Four

“The town won’t approve a building permit to replace the barn until they have a plan in front of them,” Jax told her the next morning. He tipped his army cap to block the angle of the morning sun as they waited for CeeCee’s bus. “I didn’t know what you had in mind, because there are several ways to go. We should sit down and talk about it. Get a plan drawn up.”

Should she? Libby wondered as CeeCee’s bus pulled to a stop in front of them. She kissed CeeCee goodbye and waved until the bus was up the road while she considered the question.

Did it make sense to rebuild the barn if she was going to sell the orchard?

It didn’t. Yet it felt wrong not to, as if she was shrugging off part of her family’s past. It couldn’t be built in time for the current harvest, so what was the point? “I need to really think about this,” she told him. “There are multiple issues and we’re in a time crunch. I’m in danger of having the Galas overripen, and no place to put them. I asked the Bakers if they wanted to buy them wholesale and market them with theirs, but it’s a bumper crop year and they’re overloaded. Who would ever think a great harvest was a bad thing?”

“A bumper crop year is perfect for cider production,” he noted.

“Gramps was the only one who could get the press to work,” she told him. “And the press was in the small barn that no longer exists. When I was a little girl they would buy tons of apples from the other farms to make cider. It was amazing to see. Now most of the apples are produced by the major fruit producers and Gramps stopped pressing cider when it became too difficult to find enough affordable apples. Did you know that our state exports over thirty percent of the apple crop now?”

He hesitated momentarily. “That bothers you?”

She answered as she moved toward the house. “No. It’s smart marketing. There’s only so much that can be used in one area or even one country. While that drives up the retail prices, it doesn’t have the same effect on wholesale prices. People expect us to be lower priced without the middleman but it’s a narrow profit margin.”

Jax didn’t hide his surprise quickly enough and she frowned. “You didn’t think I knew about margins and break-even levels and median production, did you?”

He made a face. “Busted.”

“I have a bachelor’s degree in supply-side logistics and merchandising, but when I got my degree I realized that I didn’t care as much about shuffling goods as I did about the presentation of goods. The final package. But one feeds the other, I guess.”

“The producer cares about one and the retailer rules the other.”

“Exactly.” She paused by the door and faced the now-empty barn site before addressing him again. “I want to take a couple of days to figure things out. About the barns, the rebuilding, the deductibles, what makes sense in the long run. I’m not fooling myself about Gramps’s condition.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t know if it makes sense to put all that money into this property and then walk away. And if I don’t do it, I’m putting another nail in the farm’s coffin by inaction, which will limit my choices even further.”

He started to speak but paused when she held up a hand. “Give me three days. I’ll pray. I’ll sound it out with a few others around town and gather some advice. I’m always better when I have the facts surrounding me.”

“Fair enough.” He motioned toward the orchard. “I’ve got some bins being dropped off. We’ll get the early apples off the trees this week. I rented some cold storage space just outside town.”

She frowned. “That’s pricey.”

“The insurance had a clause for rental facilities as needed. It wasn’t a generous amount, but it will cover a couple of weeks. Enough to buy you a little time.”

He’d seen a need and developed a plan, which made him seem even more ideal because he’d not only saved her time, he might have saved the early apples. “That’s perfect.”

He was carrying a laptop bag over his shoulder. He motioned to it. “Can I take a spot on the back porch and run some figures? If you have Wi-Fi, that is.”

“We do and yes. Unless you’d be more comfortable inside?”

He headed for the shaded porch. “Too nice a day. When I was a kid, a day like this was called Washington Perfect. It got to be a saying with my brothers when something went right. We’d look at each other and say, ‘Washington Perfect.’”

“How many brothers do you have?” she asked, but the moment she did, he went quiet. Then he answered normally.

“Two. One older, one younger.”

She was going to ask if they lived locally, but he was already rounding the corner of the house. Just as well. She didn’t need to know personal stuff about him. Nor him about her. She was okay keeping her marriage to Keith to herself.

You’re afraid he’ll think you were stupid.

She swallowed hard as she climbed the short flight of stairs to the kitchen.

Every time she looked back on the past seven years, she felt stupid. A four-year college degree that she’d barely used, a horrific mistake in her choice of husbands and letting things go long enough to end up homeless. A smart woman would never put an innocent child in those conditions.

“There’s my girl!” Joy heightened Gramps’s voice when he saw her come through the door. “Come to visit, have you? I’ll get Mother. We can set a spell. Okay?”

She couldn’t squash his hope and re-explain their circumstances, how she was living with him and that he had a great-granddaughter he recognized some days and not others. “I’d like that, but first I’m going to take care of these dishes, okay?”

“She left them to sit there?” He stared into the kitchen, frowning, because Grandma had always taken pride in a clean kitchen and a job well-done. Libby saw the moment realization hit him. His face dimmed. His eyes lost their sparkle. He didn’t say a word. He simply shuffled away to his chair in the front room. He sat and studied the room around him, his eyes darting from this to that.

He was trying to memorize it, she realized.

He was studying things to commit them to memory. Within minutes he would forget again, and these brief moments when he tried to regain a hold on reality hurt the most.

Oblivion came with an air of peace. Realization brought nothing but frustration to a beloved man, but how could she justify hoping for oblivion when he was striving to maintain what little mental capacity remained?

“Keep things as structured and as much the same as you can,” the doctor had advised, and she’d been trying to do that, but life had been messing that up lately.

A soft tune came through the open window. Jax whistling “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” like he’d done the other day.

Gramps’s song.

She took a glass of tea in to Gramps. He greeted her as if she was a waitress in a diner, and when he was settled, she decided she didn’t need anyone’s advice about the barn.

She was savvy enough to know that easing an old man’s last months was worth the cost of a mortgage to pay the balance on the barn. With land prices at record-high levels, she should recoup the investment when she sold the farm eventually. She’d stop by the local bank and get things in motion. They’d want a plan, too, most likely.

She used the back door to access the small porch facing northwest. Jax looked up immediately. The warmth in his expression made her heart stutter again.

She reined in her reaction, then indicated the sloping hills and rugged Cascades beyond them. The arid mountains were brown and bare in spots, a stunning difference to the lush valley below. “We don’t do much sitting out here during the cold months.”

“Or the front porch, either, I expect, if we get a whip wind.”

“And yet we get enough pleasant weather to make a porch seem like something to come home to, don’t we?” She crossed to the open post, gazed out, then turned her attention back to him. “I know I said I’d wait, but I decided I want to replace the barn. How do we pick plans to present to the board? Do I need to hire an architect?”

He motioned her closer. “I was just looking at some pole barn packages. You can go old-school with lumber and we can build a wooden barn, but the new pole barns are beautiful and cost-efficient.” He’d pulled up a web page of an appealing barn with overhangs on two sides. “I thought the porch covers would be good for outdoor displays. Protection from sun and rain. This model is lower and tighter with no wasted space and you could have a cooler big enough for the small forklift to bring bins in and out.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He nodded. “They’ve come a long way with these. You could go bigger, but I don’t think you need to. Room to store things in the back, room for a produce-type store up front and plenty of refrigerated space.”

“How do we get plans and how do we present them to the building inspector?”

“The plans are as easy as pressing a button,” he told her. “Do you have a printer?”

“In the front room, yes.”

“Wi-Fi enabled?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s supposed to be but isn’t, so I keep a cable attached.”

He stood, laptop in hand. “Let’s print this up and get the ball rolling.”

She stepped back.

He didn’t want her to, because having her look over his shoulder—her long hair brushing his cheek as she leaned closer to check out the barn’s stats—was too good to resist.

He was drawn to her. No denying that.

Her pretty hair smelled of apples and spice. Did she do that purposely, because of the season? Or did she just like the shampoo?

He wanted to know that and so much more, which meant he needed to put the brakes on. Steer clear. Trouble was, he didn’t want to. Just as he was thinking those dangerous thoughts, three cars rolled into the driveway. An unlikely looking crew of people piled out. Gert Johnson spotted them and came forward the way she always moved when she wasn’t driving a bus. Quickly. “We’re here to help, Libby.” She motioned to the six local bus drivers gathering around her. “You point us in the right direction and we’ll get things going because when Gert Johnson says she’ll do somethin’, she does it, and the same goes for this motley crew.”

“I’ll find the printer,” he told Libby once he greeted the newcomers. “Then I’ll take folks into the orchard and we’ll get going on those Galas. How long have you got?” he asked the group, and Slim Viney spoke up first.

“We’ve got afternoon bus runs at two forty, so we have to leave here by two fifteen to get back in time. And we’ll be doing this every day until the job’s done. That’s what folks do in Golden Grove.” He aimed a significant look in Libby’s direction. “They shore each other up when the chips are down.”

“Sure do!” said Dora Donaldson, a stout but lively woman who helped run the church calendar for Golden Grove’s oldest church. Her great-grandfather had been one of the first settlers this side of Quincy, and he’d worked side by side with Jax’s great-grandfather a long time ago. Jax used his middle name as a surname here. If he uttered the name Ingerson, his relationship to CVF would be instantly known. Loved by some, hated by a few, his family had invested time and money to grow their business over four generations. He wasn’t one bit ashamed of that. He simply wanted to fly under the radar for a while.

His conscience scoffed as he went inside to hook up his laptop.

Three years and counting. That’s a long penance by anyone’s standards.

Would it ever be long enough when four of his men drew a death sentence that day? A dull throbbing began to take root at his temples. A throbbing that could explode into a massive headache.

Sit. Breathe. Do the relaxation techniques you’ve been taught. You can interrupt this cycle.

But he had no time to sit and do the breathing exercises to relax the muscles that clenched when memories came flooding back. He needed to get the barn plans printed and get into that orchard. He’d offered his help. Painful head or not, he’d made a promise. Now he had to keep it.

He frowned, crossed to the slim desk in the narrow hallway, hooked the laptop to the printer, printed a double set of plans, then checked on Cleve.

The old man had dozed off in his chair. His food was untouched. Jax debated leaving it there or taking it back to the kitchen. In the end, he left it. Cleve might eat when he woke up or might forget to eat at all, another disease conundrum. He started to head out, but a group of photos on the nearby wall caught his eye. He moved closer.

A middle-aged couple snuggled a little girl who looked a lot like CeeCee. Bright blue eyes laughed into the camera while a younger Cleve’s salt-and-pepper hair lay against the little girl’s golden curls. His wife seemed amused and delighted by something. Their antics, maybe? And this picture was flanked by a half-dozen other pics of Libby at various ages. The grandparents’ love for her was obvious. He also noted a conspicuous lack of parents in the photos.

“Them were good times for the most part.”

Cleve’s voice startled him.

The printer clicked off right then, too.

The old fellow looked that way, frowned and lifted his plate of food. “Mother never lets me eat out here, she must be gettin’ daft in her old age.” He giggled as if he was getting away with something and began taking small bites of food. “She said, ‘Cleveland O’Laughlin, we’ve got a child to raise and we need to set a good example.’”

“She meant Libby, I expect?”

The old man frowned. “Who?”

Jax saw no sense in riling the old fellow up so he changed the subject. “How’s your breakfast?”

“Good enough. Could use more salt.”

Libby came in just then, Gert came along with her. When she spotted Libby’s grandfather, she crossed the room and gave the old fellow a quick hug. “Cleve, it’s me, Gert Johnson. I live over on East Third Street, remember?”

“I don’t remember much, but I do recall that pretty face and a white wedding gown when you and B.J. Johnson got married a ways back.”

“Do tell.” She crouched low and smiled at him. “That was a fine wedding, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” He nodded, then tried to angle a bite of scrambled egg onto a piece of toast. One hand missed the other and the egg fell with a light plop onto the plate. “I was just tellin’ Mother that we haven’t seen you folks in a while. Got any kids yet?”

Libby started to interrupt, but Gert rose to the challenge nicely. “Four, and they are my pride and joy. I’m just stoppin’ in with some of my bus drivin’ friends to do some apple pickin’ for you, so if you see any of us wanderin’ round, we’re supposed to be here. Okay?”

“It’s picking time?” He peered toward the window as if checking the leaves and the weather for confirmation.

“It sure is,” she told him, “and we’ve got the best crew on board to help Libby while you folks put things to rights.”

“Libby.” He frowned, stared at Gert, then Jax and then Libby. “I don’t know a Libby. My wife’s name is Carolyn. She’ll be out here soon, I expect, especially when she sees me eating in the living room.”

Unremembered. Unappreciated. Misunderstood.

Jax remembered the drill like it was yesterday, not a dozen years before. How his brothers shied away from Grandma Molly’s sharp tongue and wild ramblings because it hurt to be forgotten. It hurt to be overlooked by someone who loved you enough to raise you to be fine young men. He looked at Libby.

She’d wiped the frown from her face and moved forward. “I think Grandma would approve. She gave me her permission to let you eat out here when CeeCee and I moved in last year. She wanted you happy and healthy, Gramps.”

He frowned, then slapped a hand to the chair arm. “Oh, Libby! Yep, I recall a Libby now, a little girl, real pretty curls and we had to straighten her teeth. Cost a fair penny, too, but in for a penny, in for a pound, I like to say.”

“And very pretty teeth they are,” quipped Jax. He smiled at Libby to ease the moment, then raised the sheaf of papers in his hand. “I’m going to put a set of these in the truck, then I’ll take the pickers into the orchard. We’ll start filling sacks and bins. I saw a pile of apple sacks on the back porch.” Apple sacks were strong canvas bags draped around the neck, leaving both hands free to pick fruit.

“I washed the dust out of them over the weekend, so they were spared the onslaught of the wind,” Libby told him. “There’s about fifteen there. Take what you need.”

“Will do.” He reached over and touched Cleve on the shoulder. “I’ll be picking apples today, too. If you want to take a walk or give us a hand with the Galas, I’d be happy to have you by my side.”

“I’m fast,” Cleve warned him, and he puffed up his chest when he said it. “Folks couldn’t believe how fast I was when it came to apples, but I don’t let anything keep me down. Persistence runs in my family, you know.”

“I’m sure it does.” Jax stepped back.

Libby took Cleve’s empty plate and moved back, too.

She didn’t look pained by the old man’s pendulum swings of behavior and memory. She took the plate to the kitchen quietly, then rinsed it under a stream of water. He followed to use the side door but paused when he noticed three new crayon drawings of doglike creatures on the refrigerator. “CeeCee’s been planning her campaign, I see.”

“Oh, she has.” Libby sent the new dog images a bemused look. “She wants a dog in the worst way, so her renditions of Dreamer keep appearing throughout the house. There was even one on the upstairs bathroom mirror this morning.”

“I hear persistence runs in the family,” he teased.

“And then some,” Libby replied. “But I can barely stay afloat with what I’ve got going now. How do I add a dog into the mix?” She shrugged. “Maybe next year. I need to know where I’ll be before I can commit to something that’s going to be around for a dozen years or more. Do you have a dog?” she asked. For some reason, the question caught him off guard. He almost stuttered his reply.

“I did. Now I don’t.”

She noticed the pain in his voice. He saw the recognition in her face. “It’s hard to say goodbye, isn’t it?”

He’d never gotten a chance to say goodbye. Flint had died four weeks before he’d come home, killed by a hit-and-run driver.

His friends gone because of a mechanical mistake.

His dog gone when a careless driver had left him lying in a ditch along Route 2. He walked toward the back door. “I’m going to stow these, put my laptop away, then get to work.” Thoughts of Flint and the war put a vise grip on his temples.

He stowed the computer and the barn plans, grabbed a stack of bags and gave one to each bus driver. While the earnest pickers began bringing in what might be Cleve O’Laughlin’s final harvest, he piled apple crates onto his truck, then unloaded them in strategic locations along the straight, trimmed rows of the old-style orchard.

He’d made it through these last few years by keeping busy, holding thoughts at bay. As long as he was moving, he could make it through the days because if he stayed busy enough, there wasn’t time to consider the problems that plagued him at night.

The doctor had prescribed sleeping pills.

Jax refused to take them because being kept asleep artificially was almost as scary as being unable to sleep. What if the meds never wore off and he just stayed asleep forever?

He shoved the thoughts aside, dropped off the crates, then joined the pickers, doing a job he’d been raised to do from the time he could walk. To pick Washington Perfect apples, like everyone in his family before him. For today it would be enough if the pain would just stop.

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