Molly's Garden. Roz Fox Denny

out to the spot where last night she’d seen an unclear motion. The area hadn’t been irrigated so the path had no distinct footprints. She didn’t see any sign to indicate someone had tried to pick in the dark. Peering down into the rows of the pole beans, she thought dirt may have been disturbed in a few places. Coyotes wouldn’t dig. They chased mice and squirrels. But if a migrant happened to be traveling with a dog...

      She met the first crew of pickers and directed them to the fields with the produce slated to be sold later that morning in a series of small towns that fell in a circle. The eastern sky banded with faint streaks of gold, and Molly’s crew had just fanned out to pick when she heard the rumbling of a motorcycle. Shading her eyes, she watched her new driver stop next to the silo. Glancing at her watch, she noted that he had showed up about two hours earlier than she’d expected him.

      Nitro left his favorite spot under the pecan tree and made a beeline for the newcomer. Molly ground her back teeth together. What was it about Hollister, she wondered, watching her guard dog act like a puppy chasing his tail?

      She stepped nearer, at once noticing the man’s broad grin as he removed his helmet. She took in the wrinkles around his eyes, which yesterday she’d termed stormy but altered her perception today. He seemed more approachable.

      “You’re early,” she said.

      He straightened, still smiling. “Henry said I’d need to fill out tax withholding forms. He suggested I might tour the farm to get an idea of what’s planted where.”

      “Oh, sure.” Taking off her gloves, Molly tucked them under her belt. She grew warm feeling the man’s gaze follow her movement. She wore a faded red tank top and jeans with a ripped knee.

      Today he was wearing a moss-green, long-sleeved, snap-buttoned shirt and jeans a few washings newer than hers.

      Striding past him, she twirled a dial lock and started to open one of the double barn doors. Feeling suddenly surrounded by bulky warmth, Molly froze and glanced back, only to find Adam reaching around her to help.

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “That door looks heavy. I thought I’d give you a hand. Do you want it all the way open?”

      “Uh, fine.” She let go and ducked out from under his solid arm. “Henry generally has them wide open. The office is there. Well, you’d know that from filling out the application—” she said, breaking off with a shrug. “I’ll get the W-4 forms and a map of how the gardens are laid out.” She stopped again, feeling as if she was running off at the mouth.

      “Would you have time to give me the fifty-cent tour?”

      It wasn’t a task she’d choose, but since he hadn’t listed farming on his application form, it said something that he was eager to see what she grew.

      “I’ll show you around the upper fields planted with produce you’ll be hauling to market this week. My land slopes a mile down to within fifty feet of the river. I have a few hundred acres stretching into McMullen County. The lower part is planted in cabbage and some cranberries. The adjacent section lies fallow now. I hope to add nut trees and citrus soon.”

      He finished filling out the two forms she’d handed him, and looked up in surprise. “I didn’t realize you owned so much land.”

      “My dad ran cattle until he got too sick. Some say my plan to plant it all so it produces year-round is too ambitious.”

      “Hmm.” Adam cleared his throat. “Does your husband do the plowing, harrowing and irrigating? You know...the heavy work.”

      Molly set his forms on Henry’s desk and scowled. “I’m single. This is all my bailiwick. I have degrees in agriculture and organic farming. Come on, we’ll start your tour.”

      Inclining his head, Adam fell in behind her.

      “I’m impressed,” he said some half hour later when they ended up at the truck he’d be driving.

      She reached inside the cab and removed a ring with several pages attached. Flipping a few, she selected one. “My crates are color-coded. This sheet shows the code and your stops for today. It lists addresses for the open-air markets. My booths have signs that read McNair Gardens. Your contact is listed above each address.” She turned the page. “This tells which colored crates you leave at which market. You’ll offload those, pick up empties and a money bag with the previous day’s receipts.”

      He took the binder, but pinned her with a serious look. “Henry said you’d be accompanying me today and tomorrow.”

      “What? No. Why? He didn’t leave a note telling me that.”

      “He said Spanish is the primary language of your sales staff. To say mine is rusty would be stretching my abilities. He also said they may hesitate to trust me because your last driver had some problems.”

      “My booth handlers are all studying English if they aren’t already fluent.”

      But other things ran through Molly’s mind. For one, she pictured running into Tess, to whom she’d vehemently denied that Adam was hot. Today he totally fit the description.

      After waging a fierce internal debate she conceded Henry had a point about her staff’s anxiety. “All right. Here’s the ignition key.” She dug the fob out of her pocket. “Drive down to the lower road. Park between the tomatoes and kale and we’ll load up.”

CHAPTER THREE

      “I DIDN’T SEE any kids working in your fields today,” Adam later said casually, trying to hide that he was relieved. Seeing them had been like plunging a knife in his heart. Until then he hadn’t realized how he’d painstakingly avoided going places where he might run into moms and their kids.

      “They’ll be back Thursdays until their planting is ready to harvest. I sprouted their seeds in my greenhouse so they won’t have to wait so long to see results. Hopefully the plants they set out will all be edible before school ends.”

      “I don’t get it. Are you teaching a class in gardening or is it a class kids take in school?”

      The two of them were moving crates from the ends of rows where pickers had steadily filled them. Molly carried crates to the truck and Adam lifted them onto the flatbed in the order she dictated—the order on the chart she’d given him.

      “It’s not a formal class,” she said, and jumped up onto the truck to arrange the crates. “I consider it a hands-on learning experience that leads to good eating habits. Kids gain an appreciation for healthy foods because they like to eat what they help grow. Don’t you agree?”

      Adam sort of bobbed his head as he stacked two crates of tomatoes in the spot where she pointed. “I’m impressed by how you have all of this committed to memory. I’m sorry, but you’re getting ahead of me.”

      Molly smiled. “If you stick around long enough, remembering which color crate goes to which market becomes a habit.”

      “You mean markets receive the same color crate on set days even if the contents change? Today we have lettuce, tomatoes, peas, carrots and radishes. But in looking over your fields, the harvest will change. I notice your corn has good-size ears.”

      “Right. See, you’re getting the hang of my process already, and you didn’t start out working with the earth like my previous two drivers.”

      “Do you mind if I ask why they left?” Pausing, Adam leaned on a stack of crates and gazed up at Molly.

      “I would’ve thought Henry had told you.” Molly sighed. “Last fall my first driver claimed he was hassled by some men he said followed him to a market and shoved him around. He was known to complain a lot, so I ignored him. He quit and left the area.” She frowned. “My second driver’s reliable. He used to work cattle for my dad. A couple of weeks ago he was run off the road and beaten up. Maybe by the same men. They frightened him into quitting driving.