and the bone-dry air resonated with the click-click of a million grasshoppers.
Three consecutive years of drought, Sally thought sadly. Three years and not one drop of moisture to quench the valley’s usually rich, fertile earth. The region’s farmers and fruit growers were hurting. The small businesses that depended on tourism were all but bankrupt. One more summer of this appalling heat, Cora Brown had told her just yesterday, and she would have to close the café.
Sally knew she’d been a bit zealous lately, but so what? The Darvilles were among the oldest families in the valley. Peachtown was her birthplace, her home. If it wasn’t up to her to realize its full potential, then whose job was it?
The thing was, if Peachtown had once been famous for fruit and wine, why couldn’t it become famous for something else? Thanks to last month’s front-page article in the Post, folks from all over the valley were talking about Peach Paradise ice cream. With a little help from Jack Gold, the word would soon be out across the province.
In one swift motion Trish nabbed her briefcase and looked at her watch. “Well, Sal, I’ve enjoyed this little interlude, but I have to run. I’m meeting with Jed Miltown and Evan Pratford in Kelowna.”
“On Saturday? Why?”
“In May, Jed lobbed a bucket of golf balls at Evan’s barn. Unfortunately, his prized cow ate them and died. There was a hearing, but the judge couldn’t decide if bovine-death-by-golf-ball was murder or suicide, so he dismissed the charge. Now it looks like there’ll be a civil suit.”
Sally frowned. For twenty-five years, the neighboring farmers had been feuding over one thing or another. Trish, she knew, wasn’t crazy about representing either of them, but Peachtown didn’t have many lawyers. In fact, it had only Trish.
Between the trees a bright red car lurched into sight. Sally gasped. “He’s here!”
“And I’m out of here.”
“Not so fast.” Sally reached out and seized Trish by the wrist. “Stick around a minute. I lied. I’m very nervous.”
“You’ll do just fine,” Trish said. Even so she lingered, her hazel eyes getting bigger and bigger as the vehicle neared. “Oh my, get a load of the car.” She whistled softly.
Oh my, Sally thought as Jack Gold climbed out of the flashy convertible and looked straight at her. Get a load of the man. Tall. Tawny hair. Tight jeans. White T-shirt. Black shades. Black jacket. Black boots. For some reason she’d pictured someone rumpled and tweedy, like Charlie. Suddenly her mouth was as dry as the valley air.
“Sally Darville?” Jack Gold was coming her way. Saliva. She needed saliva. Hand signals wouldn’t suffice for the interview. He stopped just short of where she and Trish were standing and glanced between them. Up close he was drop-dead intimidating.
When Sally’s tongue refused to work, Trish cast her a what’s-your-problem? look and shook the man’s hand. “How do you do? I’m Trish Thomas.”
“Jack Gold. Pleasure. I guess that would make you Sally.” He thrust his hand toward her, at the same time whipping off the shades and dropping them into his jacket pocket. His eyes were porcelain blue, like hers.
She gulped. “I see you had no trouble finding us.”
He smiled, but it was a cold smile that didn’t reach those baby blues. “No trouble at all. Shall we get started?”
“Um, get started?”
“Yes. On the interview. I’m a little pressed for time.”
Pressed for time? On Saturday? “Gee, that’s too bad. I thought you might enjoy a tour of the dairy barn first.”
“The dairy barn?” His expression suggested he couldn’t imagine setting foot in such a place.
“Yes.” Sally indicated behind her, which was dumb, of course. He couldn’t possibly see the dairy operation and her parents’ house through the trees. No matter—he didn’t bother to look anyway.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I just have a few questions for you. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Is there someplace we could sit?” His gaze went to the patio table, then back to her.
Sally couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A couple of hours? But you have to stay longer than that! I’ve planned all sorts of things for us.”
A frown etched the smooth, symmetrical lines of Jack Gold’s face. Sally recognized the look from her three years away at university in Vancouver. It said, I’m an important person. Don’t even dream of wasting my time.
“Really?” His frown deepened. “What sort of things?”
“Ahem,” Trish cut in. “I’d love to stick around, but duty calls.” A smile frozen on her lips, she said how nice it had been to meet Jack and how wonderful it was that he’d come here all the way from Vancouver to get this important story. Turning to leave, she locked eyes with Sally and mouthed the words I told you so.
As Trish’s SUV vanished in the dust, Jack went to the rail and looked out over the valley. “Beautiful place. Is it always this hot?”
“Not always. And see, that’s part of…”
“So, you said something about plans?”
Sally flinched. She wasn’t used to conversation without eye contact, she wasn’t used to being interrupted and she wasn’t used to being addressed in such a curt manner. “Would you excuse me for just a minute?”
Cracker Jack Gold deigned to glance over his shoulder. “Sure.”
Despite her growing frustration with his attitude, Sally’s gaze was glued to his cute backside as she picked up her cellphone and requested a thermos of lemonade from the dairy kitchen. Her guest looked as though he could use a cold drink. Actually, he looked as though he could use a hot one, to thaw him out.
They sat down together, and she marveled as he pulled a pen and a coil-bound steno pad from inside his snug-fitting jacket. How did he have room in there for such things? He clicked the pen into action and treated her to another frigid smile.
“I thought for sure you’d want to see the barn,” she said. “There’s the dairy bar, too. I thought we might go there at some point. I’ve got some photos to show you. Um, if you’re interested, that is. And then, Tilly—she’s our cook—is making dinner for us tonight. We’re having Peach Paradise for dessert.”
Jack hesitated and Sally figured she’d scored a hit with something in there. But he said, “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that seeing the barn will help the story, and I’ve already seen the dairy bar. As for dinner, I’ve got a long drive back to Vancouver.”
“Oh.” Disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone in mud. Trish was right. Her story wasn’t important to this jerk. So why had he come all this way?
His pen was poised, apparently ready to scribble. “What’s your position with Darville Dairy?”
What? He was kidding, right? “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know what I do here?”
The
