welcome,” he said with a short salute, then strode off, leaving Emma to wonder what she’d gotten herself into. Not to mention what on earth had gotten into Cash. She went back inside to find Annie, dressed now, feeding cats in the kitchen. The old woman looked up from the writhing, furry mass meowing at her feet as she dumped something stinky into a large, flat bowl.
“I take it we’ve got us some help?”
“How do you know that?”
“Turned my ears on high,” Annie said, tapping one hearing aid as Emma lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “Heard everything clear as a bell. Especially through that pathetic excuse for a window. Wind leaked through my bedroom window so bad last night I thought I’d freeze.” Carefully she bent over to set the plate on the floor, dodging the feline swarm attacking it. Much hissing and swatting ensued. That, Annie ignored. Emma’s conflicted expression, however, she didn’t. “You havin’ second thoughts?”
“Heh. God knows we need the help, but I don’t need the complications. And trust me, Cash Cochran is the definition of complicated.”
Annie poured herself a cup of coffee, poured in a hefty helping of cream and three spoonfuls of sugar, then shuffled over to sit across from her. The Red One immediately jumped up into her lap, giving Emma a smug kitty grin.
“Honey,” Annie said, over the cat’s slit-eyed, Ohmigodyes! purring when she started scratching his head, “God made humans complicated to keep himself amused.” At Emma’s groan, the old woman leaned over to grasp her hand, her expression earnest. “That young man needs us, Emmaline. Probably a lot more than we need him.”
Yeah, Emma thought on a sigh. Exactly what she was afraid of.
Another few days, Cash thought, squinting at the fruit trees as he yanked on a pair of heavy-duty work gloves, and it would’ve been too late to prune them. Waiting until April was pushing it as it was; any farther south, they would’ve already bloomed by now. But the stubborn winter had actually worked in Emma’s favor, keeping the trees dormant.
Almost like they’d been waiting for him.
Oh, hell, no, Cash thought as he hefted the pole saw and trudged across the muddy field to the first tree. Destiny, fate, divine intervention, whatever you wanted to call it … nothing but people’s ways of trying to find purpose in coincidence.
“I could die a happy man,” he said to the giant dog, who’d tagged along—out of boredom, Cash supposed, “if I never heard ‘It was meant to be’ ever again.”
The dog seemed to shrug, then plunked down in the dirt where he could keep one eye on the goats. Or ear, maybe, since his eyes closed almost immediately.
The high, bright sun quickly burned off the morning’s chill; by ten Cash had shucked both his jacket and long-sleeved shirt. By noon sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back and chest, even though it was probably barely above sixty degrees. But at seven thousand feet there was a lot less atmosphere to buffer the sun’s rays.
And absolutely nothing to buffer his thoughts as he cut out the dead wood, opening up the trees to coax a better yield. It’d been ages since he’d worked this hard. No doubt he’d be paying for it tomorrow, he thought as he took a break for another swallow of now-warm water from a liter-size bottle, in time to see Emma headed his way with a towel-covered plate and a thermos.
“What’s that?”
“Food.” She stripped the towel from the plate to reveal a couple of sandwiches, an apple, another piece of pie. “One’s leftover ham from Sunday’s dinner, the other’s peanut-butter-and-jelly. Since I didn’t know what you liked.”
“I thought I said—”
“You said you didn’t want to eat with the family. Not that I couldn’t feed you. Oh, and that’s sweet tea. Annie insisted I bring you some.”
Cash’s stomach growled. He’d figured on going back into town to get something, but refusing her offering would be rude. Not to mention dumb.
“Thanks,” he said, removing the gloves to take the plate. “Appreciate it.”
“I used mustard on the ham, I hope that’s okay—”
“It’s fine. Picky, I’m not.”
One side of her mouth lifted. “You want me to leave?”
And, oh, he wrestled with that one for a good long while. Because God knew he really was in no position to be forming attachments. Especially with his best friend’s widow. But, damn, it’d been forever since he’d simply enjoyed the company of another human being. At least, not without there being a million strings attached.
“No, it’s okay, you can stay. I guess.”
Cash realized his mistake the instant humor sparkled in Emma’s eyes. She tried to wrap up more tightly in a long sweater that didn’t come anywhere near to covering her belly. “Should I feel honored?”
“Doubt it,” he said, and she laughed. A rich, from-the-belly laugh that took him by surprise. Still chuckling, she surveyed his work, nodding in what he took for approval. She’d combed her hair—it’d been a tangled mess before, probably because he’d shown up earlier than was socially acceptable—but instead of leaving it down she’d bunched it all up at the back of her head in a sloppy bun. If it hadn’t been for the freckles, or her eyebrows being nearly the same color, he wouldn’t’ve believed that color red really existed in nature. But somehow he didn’t see Emma as somebody who faked anything, least of all her hair color. He found it hard not to stare at it.
To stare at her.
He lowered himself onto a dry patch in the dirt underneath one of the bigger apple trees, chomping off a huge bite of ham sandwich. Even through the tart burst of mustard, he could taste the sweet-smoky, thickly sliced ham. Damned if that didn’t take him back, too. But not to the bad times, to a place before that. A place he’d missed.
Emma twisted around, a soft smile on her lips. A piece of hair had worked loose, curling lazily around her cheek. She shoved it behind her ear. “Looks good.”
“Thanks. Should be finished by the end of the day. Figured I’d get to those fences tomorrow, then start on the raised beds the day after, if that’s okay.”
“That’ll be fine. I’ve already started hardening off the greenhouse plants, so they’ll be ready to go in the ground in a few days.”
“What all you planting?”
“Bit of everything. Broccoli, beans, several kinds of squash. Melons. A lot of lettuces. Those sell really well, especially to a couple of local restaurants that buy from us. Our CSA clients really like ‘em, too.”
“CSA?”
“Community Supported Agriculture. Otherwise known as farmers’ angels.”
Emma moved to a small stone bench nearby, slowly easing herself onto it with a soft groan. The dog roused himself and trotted over, nudging her hand until she shoved her fingers into his thick fur.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. But … as much
