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At the mailbox Sera turned left onto the berm of the main road but soon opted for a tight rutted two track that took them into a patch of woods.
The golf cart bounced over a fallen branch. At his grunt she gave him an appraising look. “How’s your head?”
“Not bad. Your great-aunt’s coffee helped quite a bit.” He glanced around. “Lots of trees.”
“We have twenty acres of timber. It might be ready to be logged. That’ll give me some extra cash.”
“Is money tight?” Alex didn’t look at her when he asked the question, just held on to the dash and scrutinized his surroundings as she motored through the woods.
At his question a tingle ran down her spine as she remembered who she was talking to. Cy’s cousin. Cy Carter, the neighbor who had indicated his interest in buying her family’s farm. “Just something we do periodically.”
Leaving the woods behind, she followed the narrow path uphill until they came out among the bare trees of the apple orchard. She shut off the golf cart and leaned back against the seat. “Your cousin has a flag—”
“Finally I have a signal. I have to make a call.” He jumped out of the cart and strode off.
“Okay.” But her reply was wasted. He was already walking away, talking rapidly and gesticulating in the air. Why exactly was this New York cousin visiting his country relative? Soon enough, he would be out of her hair.
His face was pensive as he walked back to the cart. He shoved the phone in his pocket, glanced briefly at the Saint Bernard and resumed his place next to her. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Does the quiet ever get on your nerves?”
“You get used to it.”
He gestured at the trees around them. “What kind of trees?”
“Apple.”
Alex’s brows raised in surprise. “All of them?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “These apples are eating apples. Crisp, sweet. They ripen early September. I sell them at the farmer’s market in town.” She pointed to the low cloud cover hanging over the creek. “Your cousin’s place is on the other side.”
“What about that place?” He pointed to a small log cabin at the base of the hill next to another grove of trees. Smoke coming out the stone chimney disappeared into the fog.
“That’s the oldest structure on the farm.” She followed his gaze, thinking of the older man inside recovering from pneumonia. With a stab of guilt, she remembered the flue should have been checked last year and she hadn’t had the money to hire someone. This year, for sure.
In the sudden silence a moan sounded from the cart bed. They both looked over their shoulders at the big dog.
Alex’s left eyebrow lifted so high it disappeared under a shock of hair. “Was that a growl or a groan?”
Sera shrugged and frowned, pretending to be concerned. “You just never know with him. Ready to head back?”
“Sure.” He pointed to the trees next to the small cabin. “Are they apple trees, as well?”
“Yes, but they’re not the best. Sometimes Aunt Hope makes apple crisp, but I don’t know what my mom was thinking when she planted them. She always said how great the soil up here was for apples, but I just don’t get it. I can’t give them away.” She turned the cart around and headed back toward the house.
“So you and your great-aunt own the farm.”
Sera peered at Alex, wondering why he was asking so many questions, but he was looking around at the orchard. “My brother and I do. Aunt Hope will live here as long as...as long as we do.”
“But your brother lives in Nashville.”
How did he know that? “True.” He had been alone in the kitchen with Aunt Hope, and Aunt Hope trusted everybody.
“So where do your parents live?”
As always, the question caused her heart to stutter. After ten years, she thought the response would get easier. But it never did. “They passed away.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex glance her way. She pulled up to the arch leading into the backyard, grateful he had waited until the tour was over to bring up the subject of her parents. “Here you are. You should go on in.” She waited until he stepped out, and without a backward glance, she and the Saint Bernard went for another ride. Being outside in the fog and the rain was still better than being inside with the inquisitive stranger.
* * *
ALEX AGAIN WOKE to silence Sunday morning. The thick fog had hovered over the area all day. Except for supper, Sera had kept out of sight. While Aunt Hope napped after lunch, he sat at the rolltop in the front room. The desk surface was covered with stacks of papers as was the floor between the chair and the bookcase. The amount of dust told him the stacks hadn’t been disturbed in years. He spent a few hours working on the theater mall complex planned for the local area, then found an old paperback and spent the rest of the day reading.
Now he lay still in the comfortable bed. No rain drumming on the roof, no water running through the drainpipe at the side of the house. He glanced at the window by the bed. Faint light shone through the gauze curtains.
He lay in the soft bed thinking about his cousin’s comment. After Sera’s tour the day before, he wasn’t surprised Cy wanted the farm. Though the house and barn both were in serious need of maintenance, the structures were solid. And the property was fine. If just Sera and her great-aunt lived here, no wonder they couldn’t keep up. He was surprised she hadn’t sold long ago. Alex wasn’t shocked that Cyrus wanted to expand his operation. One thing he and his cousin had in common was a desire to outdo their fathers. Of course Cy would be interested in Last Chance Farm.
The clothes he had worn on the flight in two days ago were pressed and folded neatly on top of the dresser. Aunt Hope could give his laundry service a run for its money. His loafers, placed near the cookstove the day before, had finally dried but would never be the same.
“But they’ll get me home.” Alex stretched. Despite the fog yesterday, he had enjoyed riding around the farm with Sera in the golf cart. After brushing his teeth and combing his hair, he dressed and grabbed his overnight bag.
He strolled down the stairs and cast a last glance over the pictures in the hallway before entering the kitchen. The room was empty, but the light on the coffee maker was lit. He opened the cupboard and removed the mug with the yellow script. He set his bag by the back door and helped himself to coffee.
The two dog pillows were empty, as was the rocking chair. He strolled over to the sink, where a beam of light lit the purple and pink blossoms of the African violets. Through the window he saw Sera’s truck parked next to the barn and wondered how she had recovered it. He walked outside, keeping an eye out for the dangerous Saint Bernard.
He approached the truck. The bed was filled with firewood. Seeing no signs of life other than a tiger-striped cat, presumably the culprit who had chosen this farm for a home for her and her kittens, skulking through the herb garden, he decided to walk up to the orchard and make a phone call.
From the top of the hill, he could see the stream below, winding its way between the fields of corn and grass. Beyond the bare trees he could make out the silver tops of Cyrus’s grain silos, an American flag at the top of the tallest was the only bit of color in the landscape.
After a quick call to the airport and some schedule changes, he punched a familiar number. “Good morning.”
“Alex?” The phone sounded as if it had been dropped.
He looked at the receiver to see if he had hit the right number and then hit the speaker button. “Carrie? Are you there?”
“Alex? Hold on.” Carrie Oliver must have gone outside because Alex heard the sound of a door closing. Daughter of the founder of Oliver and Associates, Carrie was one of his two closest friends from law school. She had been instrumental in bringing him into her father’s firm. “Hi. You’re up early.”
“So are you.” Alex looked at the surrounding trees, picturing the sidewalk and steps outside Carrie’s apartment. “Where are you?”
“Helping Will.” Through the phone, the sound of a siren whooped nearby, then faded.
“Helping Will do what?” Will was the other close friend from law school, except Will had lasted only a year before dropping out. With the chirping of the birds and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, Alex felt very far away from Manhattan. “Is he there? With you?”
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