No nothing.
Nothing at all.
Was this God’s message to her? To tuck Gramps in a safe spot and walk quietly away with CeeCee? Because it was coming through loud and clear.
“You okay?” Jax was coming her way and his question brought her up short.
She wasn’t all right. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be all right. But Libby Creighton was a survivor, so she wiped moisture from her cheeks and turned.
Sympathetic gray eyes met hers beneath his military-cut brown hair. Ocean-gray eyes, they were. Not a hint of blue, but not storm gray like yesterday’s clouds. Softer. Gentler. She pulled in a deep breath and paused.
Then she blew out the breath and nodded. “Fine. As fine as I can be now that I see the tractor under thousands of pounds of roof and wall debris.”
“You didn’t know the tractor was in there?” Surprise furrowed his brow.
“Nope.” She made a face. “I parked it here when I realized I had to run to CeeCee’s school. Right here. There’s no way the wind could have pushed it into the barn, is there?”
“Not feasibly.”
“Then how?” She paused when she spotted Gramps talking enthusiastically with a very patient dump truck driver. “He must have moved it. After he woke up. Every now and again he’ll hop on it as if ready to work. Sometimes it’s a chore that needs to be done. Sometimes it’s a memory of what he used to do. He must have come out here and moved the tractor before you found him.”
“Into the barn. During the windstorm?” Jax looked disbelieving. “Do you know how close he came to being killed?”
His tone stung. She folded her arms, then unfolded them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cower again. Not now. Not ever. “I do now. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”
Jax stared at her, and she read his gaze because no one knew what Gramps was thinking. Or what he might do from moment to moment. It was obvious that Gramps couldn’t be left alone anymore. Not even for short periods of time. How was she going to manage that with everything else on her plate?
Libby didn’t have a clue.
She turned back toward the cleanup. “We’ll make sure someone’s with him from now on. We’ve been seizing the good moments as if they were the norm, but they’re not. Not anymore. It’s time we faced the fact that now they’re the exception.”
“I like to see them as a gift.”
His words surprised her.
“When we get those moments of lucidity. Of recognition. An hour here or there.” A slight wrinkle formed between his eyes. “Like opening a curtain on the past.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like.” She faced him more squarely. “He wasn’t this bad when I got here last year to see my grandmother through her hospice time. She loved him so much. When she saw what was happening, she made me promise to keep him on the farm as long as possible. To let him find peace among his apples. And then Central Valley Fruit stepped in to buy the farm, Gramps had a mighty row with their sales rep, and Grandma died while they were arguing the merits of small versus big at the top of their lungs. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for not being at her side when she died. When he remembers, that is.”
Central Valley Fruit.
The business his family began when irrigation was approved for the arid valley soil a hundred years ago. Central Valley Fruit was a megaproducer that had helped put Washington State on the map as a premier source of fruits, not just for American stores, but internationally. With European fruit production decreasing, Central Valley Fruit was happy to fill the void. His father had filled him in on their need for more land a few weeks ago, and available land wasn’t an easy find. So they’d put in a bid on this farm? Probably so.
“They contacted us again a few weeks ago. They said that our specific location would be especially good for certain apples because of the microclimate of a slope facing southeast.”
“And what did you tell them?” He didn’t mention that he understood the ins and outs of selective orcharding.
“I didn’t say anything. I left it to Gramps because the farm is still in his name, and he was adamant as he told the fruit rep to leave.”
“So he left?”
“He did. And he didn’t seem insulted. He said…” She paused a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Or maybe her emotions. “He’d give us time to think about it because he understood what a big decision it was. And he left the contract with Gramps, just in case.”
That would be Kenneth, his older brother. Kenneth had a heart. But he also had a goal, and if they needed more land, Ken would find it.
“Total world domination of the world’s fruit market.” That was a tongue-in-cheek corporate goal.
They used to laugh about it but Libby’s expression showed this was not a laughing matter.
The acquisition of land near the Yakima and Wenatchee Rivers was important to the development of new apple types. Not all apples were created equal and microclimates were crucial for production. The microclimate in Golden Grove was ideal for newer cultivars. “Are they 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
