Molly's Garden. Roz Fox Denny

down on him, standing tall and loose-limbed, wearing a crooked little smile, Molly debated with herself about how to answer. She settled on muttering, “No, no, of course not. I hate driving the truck in freeway traffic. During my time with the Peace Corps I only drove a beat-up Jeep on what would be considered here as cow paths. Pass me more crates, please. Markets open before the sun gets too high.”

      “Sure.” Adam quickly set half a dozen full crates at her feet. “So you served in the Peace Corps?”

      “Mmm-hmm.” She gave a noncommittal shrug.

      He jogged past the truck to other rows and returned with more crates of ripe tomatoes. “Getting back to your former drivers. What do you think they did to make enemies?”

      “Funny, the sheriff I spoke to seemed to think the enemies are mine.”

      “Really?” Adam shaded his eyes and gave her a thorough once-over. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d irritate men.”

      His close scrutiny sent a hot flush to Molly’s cheeks. Recovering, she shot back, “Don’t count on that. May I ask what gives you such insight into how someone makes enemies? Might it correlate to jobs you did for Mr. Cole?”

      Adam fumbled and almost dropped the crate he’d picked up. “Uh, you talked to Kevin?”

      “Henry did.”

      “What did Kev have to say? I haven’t seen him in a while. I only spoke to his secretary.”

      Molly tossed her head. “Henry said he was vague. He guessed you handled some kind of government job. Mr. Cole told Henry you did some work out of the country. Were you a mercenary?” she asked abruptly.

      Adam laughed. “Nothing so exciting. Try engineering.” He dropped three crates at her feet and left to retrieve a new batch.

      “Oh.” It wasn’t until he glanced back over one wide shoulder, his eyes curious, that Molly realized she may have sounded disappointed.

      And maybe she was.

      The rough-and-tumble life she’d made up for him meant he could handle whatever guys wanted to disrupt her business. Also, soldier of fortune fit him. At least it fit his looks.

      Adam squinted up at her again. “I have another question. Since you send certain produce to specific markets each day, do buyers always go there looking for those foods? I’m trying to understand this business.”

      “Dedicated shoppers may travel to more than one market a week. Is that what you mean?”

      “Yeah, but what does your sales staff do, say, if more people show up in a morning than they can accommodate? Are there food fights? I’m thinking of a tool sale I attended once where guys came to blows over a limited number of drills.”

      She laughed. “Food fights? Farmers’ markets...aren’t like that. Have you never been to one?” When he shook his head, she took a deep breath and explained. “Regulars know to go early. They buy what’s available. Occasionally we have a few vegetables left over. People who can’t afford to buy wander back at the end of the day to see if vendors have produce to give away.”

      Adam straightened. “Is that a racket? I mean, couldn’t someone who can afford to buy food game the system?”

      “Why would they? People are proud. No one wants a handout.”

      He might have made another remark, but Henry drove up, parked and climbed from his aged pickup.

      She still had questions about Adam. For instance, he’d said he’d been an engineer for Mr. Cole, but on his application under education, he’d written “some college.” The engineers she’d met in the Peace Corps had had a lot of years of university and bragged about it. So had this man quit college?

      Nitro jumped up from his shady spot between the bean rows. He remained on alert until he recognized Henry, then he sank down again in the cool dirt.

      “Good morning, you two. Glad to see you showed up early, Adam.” The older man plucked a couple of pea pods out of a crate and ate the peas. Dropping the pods, he smiled. “Sweet. Way better than in the supermarkets.”

      Molly stopped shifting crates on the truck bed. “Why would you buy peas at the supermarket when you can walk out in the field and pick all you want?”

      “Shouldn’t we check out the competition? Just kidding. I tagged along while Alma did our grocery shopping last night. You aren’t charging enough for peas or string beans.”

      Henry and Molly discussed pricing while Adam collected more crates he then set at Molly’s feet.

      Henry turned his attention back to Adam. “You wearing a back support belt?”

      Molly paused in lashing down a row to stare at the man who’d just shed his long-sleeved shirt. A white undershirt molded to bands of rippling muscles, making Henry’s question seem silly. Adam Hollister had back muscle and every other kind of muscle to spare.

      “We have back belts in the barn for the taking. I know, I know...” Henry waved a hand as if to erase Adam’s anticipated objection. “At your age, I scoffed, too. Now I have a bad back. Miss Molly’s daddy grumped because she never wears one.”

      She realized that comment brought Adam’s scrutiny to her again. “I should set a good example,” she said. “But they’re hot.”

      “How much do you suppose one of these full crates weighs?” Adam asked.

      “They vary.” Molly scooted crates filled with eggplant into four separate lines.

      Henry answered. “According to OSHA rules those cucumbers are heavy enough to do some muscle damage.”

      Molly made a face. “Okay, okay. Point taken. This is the last of this load. We’ll stop at the barn and get back support belts, and use them when we unload. The last thing I need is a squabble with the government’s Occupational Safety and Health Administration.” She lashed down the last two rows of crates and jumped off the truck.

      “Adam, if you’ll drive up to the barn, I’ll get Nitro and meet you and Henry there.”

      Nodding, he retrieved his shirt from a bean pole and climbed into the cab.

      Henry got into his pickup and, after a sputter or two of the ancient motor, drove off.

      Molly stopped to thank the pickers whose day was done. “Come to the office for your pay. Anyone who can return tomorrow will pick summer squash, carrots and radishes. Some of you will cut romaine lettuce. If you’ve done lettuce, you know it goes slower since we twist Organically Grown marketing bands around each head.” She repeated what she’d said in Spanish. When no one asked questions, she got Nitro and set off for the barn.

      The men stood talking inside the open double doors.

      “Henry, would you mind giving Adam the back belts to put in the truck? I’ll open the safe and pay the workers.”

      “Are they finished?” Adam said in clear surprise. “They can’t have earned very much in such a short day.” He followed Molly to the office, but took the belts Henry handed him.

      “You maybe didn’t notice. They are all women. Most have school-age children at home caring for younger siblings until Mom gets back. They start here at dawn. The short work day suits them.” She spun the dial on a big floor safe, opened the heavy door and took out a stack of clipboards and a money sack.

      Adam disappeared with the belts. He came straight back and watched Molly spread clipboards across a big oak desk. She opened a money bag and pulled out stacks of bills and smaller sacks of coin. Taking a seat behind the desk, she glanced past Adam and smiled at a petite woman in a worn cotton housedress. “Luisa, bring me your crate slips.”

      The woman made herself smaller to slip past the big man in the doorway. “Excuse me,” he said, scrambling to step aside.

      Molly took the woman’s colored