rocked back onto her heels. Cara always got on her when she caught her talking to herself. Or her vegetables. It was a habit. A habit of a lonely girl. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Dell was right. She has no backbone.
Mia scowled at that. She had a backbone. Being a nice person was not being backboneless. And if he thought her apologizing to him yesterday was lack of backbone...he obviously didn’t know what being a decent human being was all about.
But he was clearly going to beat her in profits again, decency or not.
Mia got to her feet. She needed advice, and she already knew what Anna had to say. Cara would no doubt take the cutthroat side. So her only hope at getting a little reassurance was Dad. If she could get a few words out of him.
She trudged across her fields, making a mental note to stake the east tomatoes a little better. Dad was in his barn, studying one of the cows Mia knew had been sick. Dad had his beat-up spiral notebook in one hand, thoughtfully scribbling a few notes down.
Surely Dad of all people would agree with her. He hated conflict more than he loved his cows.
“Carrots coming along?”
Mia nodded as she took a spot next to him. “Yup. Sassy doing better?”
“Looks like.”
Mia stared at the cow for a bit, trying to work out a way to ask without bringing Dell into the equation. There was no doubt her father would immediately bristle at the mention of a member of the male species, no matter how innocently.
“Do you think I have a backbone?” she asked, deciding the best route with Dad was to go for straightforward.
“Huh?”
“Like, if there’s a problem or a conflict, do I stand up for things?”
Dad continued to frown at her. “This one of those things where you and your sisters ask me a question and there’s no right answer except you all getting mad at me?”
“No, I’m serious. Do you think I have the backbone needed to be a businesswoman? To run my business successfully?”
“You’re an excellent farmer, daughter.”
Which was ignoring the question and made her feel sulky. But she didn’t back down because she wanted to know. She needed to know what to do. “I’m talking about the business side of things.”
Dad scratched a hand over his beard, then looked longingly at his cows outside the barn, but she wanted his opinion. She needed to know if even her father thought she was being the fool here.
“You keep an eye on your finances, and you make smart choices, and...”
“I’m a softie wimp.”
“Aw, now, Mia.” Dad clasped her shoulder, and if Dad was offering physical affection she was a sad case. Which meant she had to work harder to be...ruthless. Even if it felt kind of crappy.
The end justified the means and all that. That was what business—even farming business—was all about, maybe.
“You’ll be fine. You’re a good girl. It’ll all work out.”
But she didn’t want to be fine or good; she wanted to be successful. She wanted a business that could sustain her for the rest of her life. She wanted profits and the confidence she’d built over the past five years.
So with a goodbye to Dad, she headed for the house and Kenzie’s book of pictures.
* * *
“WHAT’SALLTHATABOUT?”
Dell frowned at the group of giggling women in front of Mia’s stand. This was definitely not the norm. Especially for a forty-degree drizzly Saturday morning. But there were at least ten women with umbrellas and rain boots surrounding Pruitt Farms’ stand, and the laughter kept building.
“Sneak over and check it out.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure there’s a lot of cutthroat sabotage at the farmers’ market. She stole the secret patent to grow broccoli. Oh. Wait.”
“Bite me.” Dell pushed Charlie away from the truck. “Stop being useless for once and find out what that’s all about.”
“I’m not useless. I only waste my Saturday mornings here to keep Mom off my back about karmic payment and family support and blah, blah, blah.”
“Yeah, well, do some supporting.” Dell shoved Charlie again. With a long, belabored sigh, Charlie walked over to the Pruitt side of the aisle.
A couple stopped by Dell’s booth, obviously new to the market. Dell chatted them up, trying to keep his head in the game instead of across the aisle.
The couple left with some radishes and Charlie meandered back to their stand. He looked as if he fit more in with the customers in his dark jeans, sweater and some kind of loafer shoes. His brother, the yuppie.
Didn’t make an ounce of sense to Dell, and probably never would. When Charlie didn’t offer anything, Dell nudged him. “So?”
Charlie shrugged. “She said check the market’s Facebook page.”
“Facebook page? That’s her grand plan? Give me your phone.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “You even know how to use my phone?”
No, but did it take a rocket scientist to figure out? When he held out his hand, Charlie slapped the phone into his palm. Dell swiped his thumb across the bottom of the screen then stared. Shit. He didn’t know how to use a damn smartphone. All he saw was a bunch of squares with stock or finance in the title. “How do I get to Facebook?”
“Give it back, moron.”
“Just because I don’t know how to use a smartphone doesn’t mean I’m a moron.” Dell handed the phone back to his brother and shoved his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t some dumb farmer. He had his ag degree from Mizzou.
But it was no MBA from Wash U in big brother’s eyes. Or Dad’s. No one seemed to want to let him live down the fact he’d been wait-listed, either, all because of his crap-ass standardized test scores. Who cared about those stupid tests anyway?
His family, that was who. Oh, and his girlfriend at the time, who’d dumped him for someone who could “intellectually stimulate” her.
He hadn’t had a clue what that meant at eighteen. He had even less of a clue what it meant now.
More giggling echoed across the aisle and Dell hunched his shoulders, glaring at Charlie. “Hurry up.”
Charlie waved him off. “Nothing on Mia’s page.”
“Well, what the hell are they laughing at, man?”
Charlie started laughing. Pretty soon he was laughing so hard he was slapping
