A Hopeful Harvest. Ruth Logan Herne

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