A Hopeful Harvest. Ruth Logan Herne

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.”