Tom Cavanaugh may think he wants a traditional woman, but in Virgin River, the greatest tradition is falling in love unexpectedly…

Former marine Tom Cavanaugh’s come home to Virgin River, ready to take over his family’s apple orchard and settle down. He knows just what the perfect woman will be like: sweet, decent, maybe a little naive. The marrying kind.

Nothing like Nora Crane. So why can’t he keep his eyes off the striking single mother?

Nora may not have finished college, but she graduated with honors from the school of hard knocks. She’s been through tough times and she’ll do whatever it takes to support her family, including helping with harvest time at the Cavanaughs’ orchard. She’s always kept a single-minded focus on staying afloat…but suddenly her thoughts keep drifting back to rugged, opinionated Tom Cavanaugh.

Both Nora and Tom have their own ideas of what family means. But they’re about to prove each other completely wrong.…

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author and USA TODAY bestselling author

“This book is an utter delight.”

—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Road

“Strong conflict, humor and well-written characters are Carr’s calling cards, and they’re all present here.… You won’t want to put this one down.”

—RT Book Reviews on Angel’s Peak

“This story has everything: a courageous, outspoken heroine, a to-die-for hero and a plot that will touch readers’ hearts on several different levels. Truly excellent.”

—RT Book Reviews on Forbidden Falls

“An intensely satisfying read.

By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional, it won’t soon be forgotten.”

—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

“The Virgin River books are so compelling— I connected instantly with the characters and just wanted more and more and more.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author

Debbie Macomber

Sunrise Point
Robyn Carr

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Chapter One

There was a small note on the bulletin board at the Virgin River Presbyterian Church. Apple harvest to begin at Cavanaugh Orchard. Apply in person.

Virgin River newcomer Nora Crane studied the board regularly and, when she saw the notice, asked Reverend Kincaid what he knew about the job. “Very little,” he answered. “It’s a fairly long harvesting season and the Cavanaughs like to add a few full-time workers to their staff. Not many, though. I hear they pay pretty well, it’s very demanding work and it’s all over in a few months.”

Pay pretty well stuck. She was holding her two-year-old daughter’s hand and carried nine-month-old Fay in her backpack.

“Can you give me directions to the orchard?” she asked.

He wrinkled his brow. “Nora, it’s a few miles away. You don’t have a car.”

“I’ll have to go there, find out what the pay and hours are. If it’s a good job with good pay, I bet I can afford day care at the new school. That would be so good for Berry,” she said of her two-year-old. “She’s almost never with other children and needs socialization. She’s so shy. And I’m not afraid of walking. I’m not afraid to hitch a ride around here, either—people are generous. And a few miles—that’s really nothing. I’ll get some exercise.”

Noah Kincaid’s frown just deepened. “Walking home could be tough after a long day of physical labor. Picking apples is hard work.”

“So is being broke,” she said with a smile. “I bet Adie would love a little babysitting money to add to her budget. She barely squeaks by. And she’s so wonderful with the girls.” Adie Clemens was Nora’s neighbor and friend. Although Adie was elderly, she managed the girls very well because two-year-old Berry was so well behaved and Fay didn’t get around much yet. Fay had just started crawling. Adie loved taking care of them, even though she couldn’t take them on full-time.

“What about your job at the clinic?” Noah asked.

“I think Mel gave me that job more out of kindness than necessity, but of course I’ll talk to her. Noah, there isn’t that much work available. I have to try anything that comes along. Are you going to tell me how to get there?”

“I’m going to drive you,” he said. “We’re going to log the miles and get an accurate distance reading. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“How long has that notice been up?” Nora asked.

“Tom Cavanaugh put it up this morning.”

“Good! That means not too many people have seen it.”

“Nora, think of the little girls,” he said. “You don’t want to be too tired to take care of them.”

“Oh, Noah. It’s nice of you to be concerned. I’ll go ask Adie if she can watch them for a little while so I can go to the orchard to apply. She always says yes, she loves them so much. I’ll be back in ten minutes. If you’re sure you don’t mind giving me a lift… I don’t want to take advantage.”

He just shook his head and chuckled. “Bound and determined, aren’t you? You remind me of someone… .”

“Oh?”

“Someone just as unstoppable as you. I fell in love with her on the spot, I think.”

“Ellie?” she asked. “Mrs. Kincaid?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kincaid,” he said with a laugh. “You have no idea how much you two have in common. But we’ll save that for another time. Hurry up and check in with Adie and I’ll take you to the Cavanaugh orchard.”

“Thanks!” she said with a wide smile, dashing out of the church and down the street as quickly as she could.

It would never occur to Nora that she had anything in common with the pastor’s wife. Ellie Kincaid was so beautiful, so confident and the kindest person she’d ever known. And by the way Noah looked at his wife, he adored her. It was kind of fun to see the preacher was a regular man; he gazed at his wife with hunger in his eyes, as if he couldn’t wait to get her alone. They weren’t just a handsome couple, but also obviously a man and woman very deeply in love.

Nora went straight to Adie Clemens’s door.

“Just bring me some diapers and formula,” Adie said. “And good luck.”

“If I get the job and have to work full-time, do you think you can help me out a little bit?”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Adie said. “Maybe between me, Martha Hutchkins and other neighbors, we can get you covered.”

“I hate to ask everyone around here to take care of me… .” But, hate it or not, she didn’t have many choices. She’d landed here with the girls and hardly any belongings right before last Christmas—just one old couch, a mattress that sat on the floor and the clothes on their backs. It was Adie who alerted Reverend Kincaid that Nora and her family were in need, and the first gesture of help came in the form of a Christmas food basket. Through the generosity of her neighbors and the town, a few necessary items had been added to their household—an old refrigerator, a rug for the floor, sheets and towels, clothes for the children. The church had regular rummage sales and Mrs. Kincaid skimmed the used clothing to help dress Nora, as well. Her neighbor three doors down, Leslie, invited Nora to use her washer and dryer while she was at work and Martha offered her laundry, as well. She’d never be able to repay all these kindnesses, but at least she could work to make her own way.

Picking apples? Well, as she’d told Noah, she’d do just about anything.

Noah drove a beat-up old pickup truck that Nora thought might be older than she was, and it definitely didn’t have much in the way of shocks. As they bounced along the road out to highway 36, Nora had the thought that walking probably wouldn’t be as hard on her spine. But as they trundled along, she became increasingly intimidated by the distance, farther than she expected. She wasn’t sure how long it might take to walk it. She’d have to get the mile count from Noah once they arrived. If the odometer actually worked in this old heap of tin.

They turned off 36 and drove down a road, through a gate that stood open and down a tree-lined lane. Nora became distracted by the sheer beauty. There was something so pure and homespun about row after row of perfectly spaced apple trees, the fruit in various stages of ripening hanging from the boughs, some still small-apple-green while others wore a slight blush of red. And at the end of what seemed a long driveway through the orchard stood a big house—a white fairy-tale house with red shutters and a red front door and a wonderful wraparound porch with chairs separated by small tables. She couldn’t even imagine the luxury of relaxing on such a porch at the end of a long day. At wide spaces in the road there were large bins, probably for collecting apples. They passed by a forklift tucked into a row of trees and a bit farther down the road, a tractor.

As the house grew closer Nora noticed that there were two large buildings behind it—either barns or very large storage sheds or… Ah, the housing for machinery and farm equipment, she realized, looking into some large open doors. One of the buildings bore the sign Cavanaugh Apples.

For a girl who grew up in a small house on a busy street in Berkeley, she looked at this house, land and operation in both fascination and envy. A person would be very lucky to grow up in such a place.

There was a collection of pickup trucks and four men standing outside a door at the end of one of the buildings.

“Nora?”

She turned toward Reverend Kincaid’s voice.

“You probably should get going. While you go talk to Tom Cavanaugh, I’m going to pay a visit to Maxie, the lady of the house. She’s almost always in the kitchen or on the porch.”

“Where should I go?” she asked, suddenly far less sure of herself.

He pointed toward the short line of men. “Looks like that’s the place.”

“Right,” she said. She got out of the truck, jumped down, but before she closed the door she peered back inside. “Reverend Kincaid, if I need a recommendation, will you give me one?”

She saw him frown again; she knew he was worried about how in the world she’d manage a job like this. Then his frown melted into a smile and he said, “Of course, Nora.”

Noah pulled away from her to park on the drive near the house and she went to stand with the men. “Are you applying for the picking job?” she asked.

All four turned toward her. Only one nodded. Feeling a sense of competition, she assessed them. One was an old guy, and old was relative—he was balding, what was left of his hair was wispy and thin, but he stood straight and tall and appeared to have wide, strong shoulders. One was a teenager, around sixteen years old, good-looking and buff. One was a short Mexican man in his twenties, healthy and hearty, and the fourth looked as if he could be his father. “Am I in the right place to apply?”

The older man frowned, the teenager grinned, the older Mexican man looked her up and down and gave her the impression he was merely judging her ability by her size, which was small. And the man who could be his son said, “This is the place. You ever pick before?”

She shook her head.

“Want some advice? Maybe you should tell him you have.”

“Why? Is it hard to learn?”

The men chuckled together. “Hard to do,” the teenager said. “I’ll show you the ropes if you get hired.” Then he looked her over from her head to her feet, but his appraisal was a little more personal. “You sure you’re up to it?”

She sucked in a breath. She’d do anything to take care of her girls. Mel Sheridan and Reverend Kincaid had helped her get some county assistance—food stamps and Medicaid—but that wasn’t enough to live on. She’d been getting by on that plus part-time jobs at the clinic and the new school’s summer program, but it was very part-time, given her small children.

She wanted to earn her own money. There just hadn’t been much opportunity.

“I’m stronger than I look,” she informed him. “I am. I can’t lie about my experience, though. I have this…” This deal I made with God, she thought dismally. Nora was trying so hard to rectify past mistakes, she wasn’t about to make more along the way. “When I make a commitment, I’m good for it. I’ll take any advice I can get, though. Did you guys see the notice in the church?”

“We pick every year,” the teenager said. “I’ve been picking since junior high. Jerome has been picking for a hundred years,” he said, indicating the older man. “Eduardo and Juan live down in the valley and the apples here pay better than the vegetables. Juan’s wife has her own little business—they’re doing pretty good these days, right, Juan?”

The older Mexican gentleman nodded solemnly. Proudly.

“Tom usually works around the grove—it’s usually Mrs. Cavanaugh and her foreman, Junior, who handle the hiring.” The boy put out his hand. “I’m Buddy Holson, by the way.”

She took the hand with a smile. “Nora,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

The latch to the door finally unlocked; the door opened a crack. Jerome went in first. He came out just a moment later and then Eduardo and Juan entered together. They were out in a second.

“We’ve all worked here before,” Buddy explained. “Everything is on file for the regulars. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Hope to see you around.”

“You bet. Me, too,” he said, giving his hat a little touch. And Nora realized, he probably thought she was much younger than she was. It would never occur to him she was actually a single mother. “You must live around here.”

“Virgin River,” she said.

“I’m in Clear River. I better go in—see you around.” And he disappeared inside, but was back out in just seconds, slipping a piece of paper into his pocket. With a handsome parting smile and another touch to his hat, he headed for the last pickup parked there.

Nora took a deep breath and pulled open the door. The man behind the desk looked up at her and she froze momentarily. For no particular reason, she’d been expecting a much older man—the husband of the Mrs. Cavanaugh who usually managed the hiring. But this was a young man. And so handsome that he almost took her breath away. He had wide shoulders, a tanned face, brown hair, expressive brows and the kind of dark brown eyes that would glitter in the sun. His features might be ordinary, but put together so perfectly, he was hot. A hunk with that dangerous wholesome look about him—the look that had trapped her in the past. Her face probably flushed before going completely pale. She had had bad luck with such men and had no reason to assume her luck had changed.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here about the job. The apple-picking job.”

“You have experience with apple harvesting?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m a very fast learner and I’m strong. I have tons of energy. And I need a job like this.”

“Really? What about this job seems right for you?”

“Reverend Kincaid says it pays pretty well and is kind of short. I’m a single mother and I can probably get help with the kids for a while, then I have two part-time jobs in Virgin River to fall back on when the harvest is over. Sounds perfect for someone like me.”

“Well, it might be longer than you think. The end of August to almost December, most years. So I guess it wouldn’t be right for—”

“I might be able to do it—there’s a new day care and preschool in town, if I can afford it.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-three.”

He shook his head. “Already a divorced mother at twenty-three?” he asked.

The surprise showed on her face for less than a moment. She stood as straight as possible. “There are some questions you’re not allowed to ask me,” she informed him. “It’s the law. If they don’t pertain to the job…”

“It’s irrelevant. I’m afraid I’ve already hired my max—all people with experience. I’m sorry.”

That took the starch out of her. Her chin dropped and she briefly looked at the ground. Then she lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any chance something might become available? Because there aren’t many job openings around here.”

“Listen… Your name?” he asked, standing from behind his messy desk and proving that he was taller than she even guessed.

“I’m Nora Crane.”

“Listen, Nora, it can be back-breaking labor and I mean no offense when I say, you don’t appear to be strong enough for a job like this. We generally hire very muscled men and women. We haven’t ever hired kids or slight women—it’s just too frustrating for them.”

“Buddy’s been working here since junior high… .”

“He’s a great big kid. Sometimes you have to carry fifty pounds of apples down a tripod ladder. Our harvesting season is grueling.”

“I can do that,” she said. “I’ve carried my nine-month-old in a backpack and my two-year-old in my arms.” She flexed a muscle in her upper arm. “Motherhood isn’t for sissies. Neither is being broke. I can do the work. I want to do the work.”

He stared at her in shock for a moment. “Nine months and two years?”

“Berry will be three before long. They’re beautiful, brilliant and they have a terrible addiction to eating.”

“I’m sorry, Nora. I have all the people I need. Do you want to leave a number in case something comes open?”

“The church,” she said with disappointment. “You can leave a message with anyone at the Virgin River Presbyterian Church. I’ll check in with them every day. Twice a day.”

He gave her a very small smile. “I don’t expect anything to come up, but I know the number if something does.” He wrote down her name and referenced the church phone number beside it. “Thanks for coming out here.”

“Sure. I had to try. And if you hear of anything at all, anywhere at all…”

“Of course,” he said, but she knew he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t going to help her get a job.

She left that little office and went to wait by Noah’s truck, leaning against it. She hoped he had a nice visit with Mrs. Cavanaugh since she had inconvenienced him for no reason. No matter what Tom Cavanaugh had said, she knew he had rejected her as not strong or dependable enough for apple picking.

Life hadn’t always been like this for Nora. Well, it had been difficult, but not like now. She hadn’t grown up poor, for one thing. She’d never been what one could call financially comfortable, but she’d always had enough to eat, a roof over her head, decent if inexpensive clothes to wear. She’d gone to college briefly and during that time had had a part-time job, no different from most students. She’d had an unhappy family life, the only child of a bitter single mother. Then she’d found herself to be very susceptible to the flirtations of a hot and sexy minor league baseball player with no earthly clue he’d turn into a hard-core drug addict who would dump her and their two children in a tiny mountain town with no money, their possessions having been sold for his, um, hobby.

Even though times were about as tough as they could get as income went, she’d been lucky to find herself in Virgin River where she had made a few good friends and had the support of people like Noah Kincaid, Mel Sheridan and her neighbors. It might take a while and a little more luck, but eventually she’d manage to pull it together and give her girls a decent place to grow up.

She heard the slamming of a door—it had the distinct sound of a wooden screen door. There was laughter. When she looked up she saw Noah with an attractive woman with thick white hair cut in a modern, short, blown-out style. She was a bit roundish with a generous bosom and just slightly plump hips; her cheeks were rosy from either makeup or sun and her eyebrows shaped and drawn on with a dark brown pencil. She wore lipstick and laughed, showing a very young, attractive smile. Nora couldn’t guess her age. Fifty-eight? Sixty-four? She looked like she should be hosting a country kitchen cooking show. And then she let go a big laugh, leaning into Noah’s arm as she did so.

Nora straightened, since they were walking toward her. She smiled somewhat timidly, feeling so unsure of herself after being rejected from the job.

“Nora, this is Maxie Cavanaugh. This is her orchard and cider operation.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nora,” Maxie said, putting out her hand. Nora noticed that she had a bit of arthritis that bent her fingers at the knuckles, but her nails were still manicured in bright red. “So you’re going to pick apples for us?”

“Well, no, ma’am,” she said. “Your son said he had enough pickers already and couldn’t use me.”

“Son?” Maxie asked. “Girl, that’s my grandson, Tom, and I raised him. Now what is it Reverend Kincaid told me? You have a couple of little daughters and only part-time work at the moment?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I think I’ll get more hours in the fall when they need almost full-time help at the new school. I’ll get a discount on day care, too. Thing is, it’s a brand-new school and still needs all kinds of certification so we won’t get help from the county for a while and I got all excited about a job that could pay pretty well for a couple of… But if there are already enough pickers…”

“I bet there’s room for one more,” she said, smiling. “Wait right here a minute.” And she strode off across the yard to the big barn and its small office.

Nora turned her eyes up to Noah’s. “Grandmother?” she asked. “How old is she?”

“I have no idea,” he said with a shrug. “She’s full of life, isn’t she? It keeps her young. She’s been a fantastic supporter of the church, though she doesn’t go to services very often. She says Sundays are usually her busiest days and when they’re not, she reserves them for sleep. Maxie works hard all week.”

“And that’s her grandson?” Nora asked.

“Yep. She must’ve gotten started early. I think Jack put Tom at about thirty.”

“What’s she going to say to him? Because he doesn’t want to hire me. He took one look at me and pronounced me not strong enough, which is bull, but… But for that matter, you don’t want me to get the job because even you think it’s too much for me.”

“It’s between Maxie and Tom now. And I might’ve been wrong about this idea. Let’s see what happens.”

* * *

Tom Cavanaugh sat at the old desk in the cider press office for a while after Nora left, completely stunned and disappointed. When she first walked in, he thought she was a fresh-faced teenager and his immediate prediction was that Buddy would be after her. She was so damn cute with her ponytail, sweet face and petite body. When she admitted to being twenty-three with two children, he couldn’t hide his shock. But worse than the shock—if she’d told him she was twenty-three and not a single mother, he’d have followed up with some kind of advance that would lead to a date. He wouldn’t have hired her because that could have been problematic, hiring someone who sent little sparks shooting through his body. It would eventually lead to love among the trees, something that was strictly prohibited. Mostly.

Tom had spent a lifetime on this orchard and he was aware of certain employees falling in love among the apple blossoms and harvest bins, but Maxie had always warned him about the foolishness of that sort of thing. She said it could be pure bliss, unless it went wrong and turned into pure lawsuit. But lectures or not, Tom’s first intimate experience with a girl had happened in this orchard on a sultry summer night right before he went off to college. The memory could still make him smile.

And the smile turned to heat as he replaced the young girl of his past with Nora in his mind.

Damn, that little Nora was lust at first sight. Her bright eyes, soft, full lips, splatter of freckles across her nose… Just his type, if she weren’t married, mothering a couple of kids and divorced by the age of twenty-three. He was looking for a different kind of woman, a woman more like his grandmother—settled, smart, a strong moral code. Maxie had been married exactly once, to his grandfather. She’d been widowed since Tom was in college and had never remarried, never shown an interest in men after her husband passed. Not that there were many eligible men in Virgin River… . Maxie had long been dedicated to the business, the town and her many friends.

The office door opened and speak of the devil herself, there stood his grandmother, who he had always called Maxie rather than Grandma. She tilted her head and twisted her glossed lips. “You didn’t hire that girl, though she desperately needs a job. She has children to feed.”

“She probably weighs a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet.”

“We don’t hire by weight. And we can afford to be charitable. I’m going to tell her she has a job. When are you starting the harvest?”

“Maxie…”

“When?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Maxie. She could distract the pickers. The men.”

Everything inside Maxie seemed to twinkle and Tom knew at once she was on to him, that she knew exactly who Tom was worried about. But she didn’t say anything. “Okay, we’ll dock her pay for being attractive. When?”

“I think August twenty-fourth. My best guess. But, Maxie—”

“It’s done. She’s a good girl, Reverend Kincaid vouches for her and I bet she works harder than anyone. Young mothers can be fierce. Hell, Tom, I still pick apples and I’m seventy-four! You can be a little more generous.”

And then she left his office.

Chapter Two

It was three-point-four miles to the Cavanaugh Orchard. Nora did a dry run, which was when she learned that some of what she thought were her best ideas were her worst. She had considered saving for a used bicycle. It was over three miles down to a lower elevation where the trees were happier, closer to the river. And then it was three-point-four up. She could make it to the orchard in just over an hour, but getting back to town, uphill, was another story. The idea of a bicycle wasn’t going to be that helpful on the way home, especially if her legs were tired.

Rather than a used bicycle, she spent what little money she could scrape together for some of the rubber boots Maxie suggested. She had a small, used umbrella stroller she could give to Adie for the baby. Adie Clemens wasn’t strong enough to carry Fay around in the backpack; Fay weighed eighteen pounds already.

They had worked out a system for babysitting—Adie would walk three houses down to Nora’s in the early morning and stay with her sleeping children, give them breakfast, dress them and walk them down to day care, pushing little Fay in the stroller. “This will help you commit to your walking everyday even if I’m not here to remind you and walk around town with you,” Nora said. “Your blood pressure and cholesterol is so much improved since we started walking.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Adie teased.

The early hour was no strain on Adie because she was an early riser; she’d come at 5:00 a.m. with her book or morning paper and her cup of tea. It was perfect as Nora wanted to be extra early at the orchard to prove a point—that she’d do everything possible to do a good job. By Nora’s calculations, she could afford day care, barely, plus give Adie twenty dollars a week for her help. Adie was just squeaking by on her Social Security income. She said she didn’t want any money, but Nora knew it would help. Adie could use a little more money each week for necessities.

Then came the real miracle. Reverend Kincaid told her he had arranged a partial “scholarship” for day care for Fay and preschool for Berry. It nearly brought tears to her eyes and she couldn’t believe it, but apparently the church had taken on the challenge of helping some of the local working mothers to afford help with the children so they could work. It was a healthy discount and made Nora’s challenges so much more manageable. “There’s no question in my mind, once you’re on your feet, you’ll be joining the cause and helping others,” Reverend Kincaid said.

“You can count on that,” she said. “I just can’t believe every break I get from this town. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“We’re going to work on that attitude. You deserve it as much as anyone,” he said.

That first morning of work, as she left Adie before dawn, she said, “I’ll get a phone number at the orchard that you can call if you have problems.” But she wasn’t sure what she’d do if a call came. Where would she be? Out in the trees somewhere, far away from the house and office? And if it was important, was she going to run home? Uphill? “Of course if you have an emergency, you’ll call Mel Sheridan at the clinic, right?”

“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” Adie said. “I’m not as wimpy as I look. I have phone numbers for people in town. I’ll take the girls to the school at 9:00 a.m. and Martha and I are going to pick them up at five and bring them home for a snack. You’ll be along about that time or soon after, I expect.” Then she smiled. Adie had the sweetest smile. “We’ll be fine.”

Sometimes Adie seemed so old and frail, unlike Maxie Cavanaugh who looked like she would probably live forever. Just the news that Martha was going to pitch in gave her a little more peace of mind.

It was her plan to arrive at the orchard before the sun was up, before any of the other workers, and it hadn’t been easy. It was scary descending the mountain in the darkness, the fog gathering around her as she got lower and lower. She heard lots of rustling, hooting, squeaking—the birds were just waking up and she wasn’t sure who else was out there, concealed in the trees, thinking about breakfast. She was terrified of being eaten by some wild animal, so she kept her head down and her feet moving rapidly.

Finally the gate and orchard came into sight and she relaxed for a moment. There were some lights on in the back of the big house when she got there, but no movement anywhere else. Nora went to the building that held the office and sat on the ground, leaning against the door. She wanted to make a point to Mr. Cavanaugh, that she’d go the extra mile. And she got her wish—he came tromping out of the back porch of his big house followed by a golden dog, appearing through the morning mist as he walked toward the barn. She stood up from the ground.

He stopped short when he saw her. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“Did you change the starting date?” she returned.

“It’s today. But we don’t pick apples in the dark unless there’s threat of a freeze.”

“I… I wanted you to know I was serious about the job.”

“Well, it looks like I can count on you to stand around doing nothing until the others get here, since you haven’t worked the harvest before and don’t know where anything is.”

Oh, he was so ornery, she thought. Very difficult to please. Well, thanks to her mother, she knew how to deal with that type. “Is there anything I can do to help out until they get here?”

“Do you know how to make coffee?” he asked.

“I do,” she said. But she wasn’t sure she could make good coffee. “Where’s the pot?”

“In the break room. Behind the office.”

And she immediately thought, I’m such an idiot. There was a break room, a lunchroom! And lunch had never even crossed her mind. Well, she’d sneak an apple or two and tomorrow she’d bring a sandwich. In the break room was a large thirty-cup pot and she tried to remember how many scoops per cup of water, hoping for the best.

“Holy crap!” Tom Cavanaugh exclaimed. “Think you got enough coffee in this brew? My spoon could stand up in it!”

“My dad used to like it strong,” she said, squaring her shoulders, though she had no idea if her father even drank coffee.

“Go to the house,” he ordered. “Maxie is in the kitchen. Ask her for cream and sugar.”

No please. No if you don’t mind. “Sure,” she said.

And rather than walk, she jogged. Then she knocked on the screen door. “Come on in, Nora,” Maxie said. She was still wearing her robe and slippers, sitting at the kitchen table with her own coffee and a paper folded open to a crossword puzzle. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been sent for cream and sugar for the coffee. So far today I’ve failed in arrival time and coffee that’s too strong.”

Maxie laughed. “Is that right? Drain a cup or two and add water. That should shut him up. What was wrong with your arrival time?”

“I guess I got here too early and since I don’t know where anything is, I’m useless. Except for destroying his coffee.”

Maxie got a weird look on her face. “Sounds like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. I’d be likely to admire that in an employee. The early arrival part, I mean. By tomorrow, you’ll know where things are. And he can make his own coffee.” She pointed to the counter. “There’s the cream and sugar. Which, by the way, Tom forgot to take with him.” Nora lifted the small pitcher and bowl and Maxi said, “I’m probably going deaf, but I didn’t hear a car or truck.”

Nora turned back. “I don’t have a car. Or truck.”

Maxie regarded her steadily. “I see. Quite a long walk, isn’t it?”

“Three-point-four,” Nora said. Then she smiled. “I made very good time. I won’t come so early tomorrow, since Mr. Cavanaugh isn’t in the mood for company first thing in the morning.”

Maxie grinned and said, “Fix the coffee like I told you. The first couple of days on a new job are always kind of sketchy. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll try. And thanks for the job—I know it was your doing. I can’t tell you how much I—”

“A long, long time ago, many years before you were born, when I didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, some old woman gave me a job picking apples and it was the best job I ever had. I hope it all works out for you.”

And that brought a very grateful smile out of Nora. “Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“I’m Maxie, and that’s final. You’re entirely welcome.”

* * *

The knee-high rubber boots were an excellent investment in keeping her feet dry. The ground beneath the trees was sometimes very soggy. She wore the boots over her tennis shoes. But it was cold on the wet ground, especially in the early morning, and rubber boots did little to keep her feet warm. Her toes were icy cold and when she took her lunch break, she pulled off the boots, the socks and tennis shoes she wore inside them and gave her feet a rubbing, trying to warm them.

The other pickers, all men, wore their rubber boots over expensive, steel-toed, lace-up boots. They didn’t need to rub the life back into their toes.

Nora ran into trouble with her hands, feet, arms and shoulders. She got blisters on her hands from toting the canvas bag she looped over her shoulders and after a few days of picking apples, the blisters popped, bled and hurt like the devil. She cut her hands on wooden crates and bins if she wasn’t careful. The men wore gloves most of the time; she didn’t have gloves and her hands took a beating. She had matching blisters on her heels, just from more walking than she’d done in her life. Although she was armed with Band-Aids, they rubbed off too quickly. Even though she was in good physical condition, carrying almost fifty pounds of apples up and down a ladder in a sack that strapped over her shoulders took its toll on her shoulders, back and legs. Her right shoulder was in agony from picking, but she didn’t dare let it slow her down. She was just plain sore all over.

She had to work hard to keep up with the men. She was no match, that much was obvious. But Buddy praised her efforts now and then, telling her she was doing great for a new picker. Of course, Buddy clearly wanted a date, but she tried to ignore that since it was never going to happen.

After the first day, she didn’t walk to work in the pitch dark anymore, but she did set out in early dawn and all the same suspicious animal noises haunted her. She managed to get to the orchard just as full morning was upon them so she could make the coffee, which she had perfected. She brought a sandwich everyday—apples were on the house. And she was always the last one to leave—home by six.

By the time she got home everyday, Adie had joined forces with Martha to get the little girls home from day care, bathed and fed, a contribution so monumental it nearly moved Nora to tears, she was so grateful.

“Adie, you must be exhausted,” she said. “They wear me out!”

“I’m doing very well,” the woman replied. “I feel useful. Needed. But I’ll be the first to admit, they’re quite a lot to manage in the tub. They like the tub.”

“Thank God for Martha!” Nora said. She tried not to let it show that she had a little trouble lifting the baby into her little stroller, but Adie wasn’t paying attention to that, thank goodness.

“You know what’s wonderful? How excited they are when I come to school to pick them up,” Adie said while Nora readied her children to go home. “The teachers say the girls do very well—they eat well and nap well and seem to love being there.”

Almost more important than the added income, her girls needed to be around loving adults and other children in a safe environment. “Is Ellie Kincaid there sometimes?” Nora asked.

“I see her every morning. I think she’s some kind of official sponsor of the day care and preschool,” Adie said. “She welcomes the children and makes a big fuss over them every day. I’m volunteering to help with milk and cookie time and watching over nap time.”

“Oh, Adie, you’re priceless.”

“Why not? I have the time. And I love the children.”

Nora didn’t see Tom Cavanaugh much that first week and when she did, they didn’t speak or make eye contact, not even when she arrived early enough to be sure his coffee was made. This suited her fine. She wasn’t prepared to have him judge her weakness by her wounded hands or her slow movements and winces due to muscle pain. She saw him talking to other harvesters from time to time, saw him using the forklift to move full bins, saw him in the cider press area. But they didn’t work together nor chitchat. Why would they?

He never complained about the coffee again. And he had remembered the cream and sugar every morning.

By the end of the week she was so tired she believed she could fall down and sleep for a month. Mr. Cavanaugh told the harvesters it was their choice whether to work or take time off on the weekend; they weren’t in a critical harvesting situation like over-ripening or an impending freeze. He paid overtime, so even though Nora could hardly bend her fingers from the tightness or lift her right arm, her picking arm, she signed on and hoped she could get a little help from Adie and Martha with the kids, or maybe Ellie Kincaid or one of the local teenage babysitters. Overtime, that was juicy.

On her walk home, alone on that long uphill trek on a Friday night, she allowed herself to fall apart a little bit. She hurt all over and faced another long seven days of work. It was hard for her to hold her little girls; she ached when she lifted them and there were a couple of spots on her hands that bled if she didn’t wrap them in bandages. If Adie and Martha hadn’t managed the bathing before she got home, Nora didn’t know how she would. For her own daily shower, soap and water stung so badly tears rolled down her cheeks. And she was going to have to beg the use of someone’s washer and dryer during an evening soon—the laundry was piling up and they didn’t have much wardrobe.

Because no one could see her, she did something she hadn’t done in so long—she let herself cry for the first time in months. She told herself this was good work and she was lucky to have it, her hands would heal and callus, her arms and legs would build muscle and get stronger—all she needed was courage and time. She hadn’t taken the job because it was easy.

She heard the engine of a vehicle and had no idea who it might be. She was always the last of her crew to leave so no one would notice she walked home. It was a matter of pride; she knew she was destitute and the charity she had to take for the sake of her girls was hard enough. Nora quickly wiped the tears off her cheeks and stuffed her sore hands into the center pocket of her hoodie. Looking at the ground, she stayed to the side of the road and made tracks. And the truck passed.

But then it slowed to a stop. And backed up. Tom. Because luck hadn’t exactly been her friend lately. Like in twenty-three years.

Of course it was a new, huge, expensive pickup. It probably cost more than the house she lived in. She’d seen it before, of course. It said Cavanaugh Apples on the side and had an extended cab with lots of apple crates in the bed. She kept her eyes cast down. She sniffed back her tears and hoped there were no tracks on her cheeks. She was far too self-conscious to be caught sniveling in self-pity, especially by him.

He lowered the window on the passenger side. “Nora?” he called.

She stopped walking and looked up. “Yes?”

“Um, sore?”

“A little,” she said with a shrug. Oh, the shrug hurt. “It’s my first time,” she added, as if an explanation were necessary. “I’ll develop muscle.”

He looked away just so briefly, then back quickly. “Let’s see your hands.”

“Why?”

“Let me see,” he commanded. “Come on.” She pulled her hands out of her pockets and splayed her fingers but kept them palms down. He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Flip ’em over, Nora,” he said.

“What for?”

“I bet you stuffed ’em in your pockets because you have cuts or blisters or something. Come on, flip ’em.”

She groaned in irritation and looked away as she turned her hands over.

Then the voice came a bit more softly. “Raise your right arm for me,” he said.

Driven purely by pride, she lifted it high.

“Come on,” he said. “Get in.”

Her eyes jerked back. “What?”

“Get in. I know what to do about that,” he said. “You think that’s the first time I’ve seen that? All you’ve been doing is changing diapers. Your hands and shoulders weren’t ready for the trees, the bins, the ladders and heavy sacks. Your rotator cuff is strained from picking and hauling. Get in, I’ll get you fixed up. You should’ve told me.”

She was reluctant, but just the suggestion that he could make this pain go away, that was enough for her. She opened the heavy truck door, which hurt like a demon, and hoisted herself up and in.

Tom Cavanaugh made a difficult U-turn on the narrow drive, heading back toward the house and office. He looked over at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She stared straight ahead. “You didn’t want to hire me. Your grandmother made you. And you weren’t all that friendly. I figured you’d just fire me.”

“For hurt hands and sore muscles? Jesus. Do I really seem like that kind of brute?”

“You said you didn’t think I was up to the job. I didn’t want to prove you right.”

“Listen to me—you got the job and I can see that you do your best.” She shot him a glare. “Okay, you do pretty well,” he added. “But it’s dangerous to walk around a farm or orchard with injuries that go untended. You have to pay attention to that. You’re a mother, right? You wouldn’t let your child walk around with a wound that could get infected if left untreated. Would you?”

“I know medical people in town,” she said. “If I thought there was an infection, I would have talked to someone.”

“At that point, you might’ve waited too long. That would be bad for both of us. Now let’s agree, you and I, that from now on you’ll let me know when you have a problem.”

That would be very hard to do, she acknowledged privately. But to him she said, “Okay.”

He pulled up to his back porch. “Come into the kitchen,” he said, not waiting for her to follow. He was up the porch steps and into the house before she was even out of the truck. By the time she joined him in the kitchen, he had opened a cupboard and was emptying supplies onto the counter. “Just sit at the table, right there.”

She took a seat and waited tensely.

Tom filled a silver mixing bowl with warm, soapy water. He spread a towel over her lap, put the basin on her knees and said, “I know it stings, but I want you to soak your hands for a minute, get them very clean. Just grit your teeth and do it, please.”

She’d be damned if she’d let an ounce of discomfort show on her face. She plunged her hands into the water and bit her lower lip against a wince. She couldn’t keep her eyes from filling with tears from the sting. He didn’t notice; his back was turned while he put out his first-aid supplies. Then he began transferring the stuff to the table. There was an old-fashioned-looking tin can, a tube of something or other, some gauze, another towel, a small bowl and spoon, latex gloves. He scrubbed and dried his hands as if he’d be performing surgery. And then he pulled a chair toward her, his long legs spread so that her knees were between his.

“We don’t know each other, so let me explain a couple of things. I don’t have much use for excuses, but hiding real issues from me isn’t good. If you’re going to work for me, you have to be honest about stuff like this. Got that?”

“I don’t make excuses, I’m always honest and I need the job,” she said, insulted and defensive. “I have just as much of a family to support as the men.”

“Fair enough. But the men have been working in lumber and agriculture for a long time. Their hands are rough and callused. Tough as leather. And their muscles are strong now.” He showed her his own calluses but thankfully didn’t flex anything. Then he picked up a towel and gestured to the bowl. “Let me see the right hand.”

“They’re just blisters,” she said, not mentioning that the joints in her fingers were so stiff she hated to bend them.

“Left untended, they won’t heal for a long time. I can help with that.” He held out the towel. She lifted it and he very gently patted it dry. It wasn’t too bad—a couple of blisters and two cuts from the rough wooden edge of an apple crate. Then he asked for the left and she put that one in the towel. The basin went away when he placed it on the table.

“Let your hands dry a little more, palms up on the towel,” he instructed. Then he went about the business of mixing up some goop from the tin can and the tube. “This is bag balm and an ointment that vets use sometimes…” She visibly withdrew and he chuckled. “Maxie swears by it, especially for arthritis, and I’ve seen it work wonders.”

When his concoction was mixed, he gently smoothed some of the salve over the sore places on her palms. He dipped his fingertips into the mixture and his touch was so gentle, it sent shivers through her. She had expected it to hurt, but it was sweet and light; she let her eyes fall closed and just enjoyed his ministrations. He didn’t talk, thank God. She stayed quiet also. She hadn’t been touched in this way in so long, she couldn’t remember the last time. And how bizarre, it should come from someone she hated.

Well, maybe she didn’t hate him, but she didn’t like him much. He’d been either hostile or completely ignored her.

He wrapped gauze around her hands, then slid them into the latex gloves. Right about that moment, Maxie walked into the kitchen, the yellow dog at her side. She smiled as she obviously recognized the procedure. “Want me to take over, Tom?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. He shook a couple of pills into his palm and handed them to Nora. “You need to take this for muscle pain,” he said. “It’s just over-the-counter anti-inflammatory and pain relief, but I’m giving you a bottle to take home. I’m afraid you’re going to have to skip the overtime this weekend, you have to heal or you’ll make things worse. I’ll give you balm, salve, gauze, ice pack, extra latex gloves, analgesic, everything you need. Sleep in the gloves. Wear them when you come back to work. Keep salve on your hands—change the gauze wrap and apply new salve mornings and evenings. Take the pills every four hours—your muscles will recover.”

Then he put a little cream from the tube on his fingertips and slid them under the back collar of her shirt. Without the least hint of embarrassment, he slid her thin bra strap down over her shoulder and began to massage the cream into her shoulder and scapula.

“Oh, that’s going to help you so much,” Maxie said. “When my hands get bad, I use that liniment—it’s miraculous.”

His big, callused hands on her shoulder and upper back were so firm, so gentle, so wonderful. Slow, circular strokes with the tips of his fingers—pure luxury. It only took him a few minutes to rub it in. After he pulled out his hand, he went to the freezer to withdraw a cold pack, placing it gently over her shoulder.

“And now ice. You’ll be good as new,” he said. “And when you come back to work on Monday, wear work gloves. I’ll give you a pair.” A glass of water appeared for her to take her pills. “How are your feet? Blisters?”

“My feet are fine.” They were sore and there were blisters, but she wasn’t going to have him touching her feet. Although the thought had merit—his roughened hands gently smoothing salve on her sore feet could be heaven.

When he had a small brown bag stocked with everything from salve to gloves, he handed it to her. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

She stood up. “I can walk just fine.”

He gave a smirk. “I’m headed for town, Nora. I’ll give you a lift. And it might be a good idea to ask around if anyone is going your way, hitch a ride. You could meet Buddy—he’d be more than happy to—”

“We shouldn’t encourage Buddy. And I don’t mind walking,” she insisted. “I make good time.”

He held the back door open for her. “If you run into a mountain lion, you’ll make even better time, too.”

She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him. “Funny.”

He just lifted one brow and smiled.

“See you Monday, Maxie,” she said.

“Have a nice weekend, Nora,” the woman returned.

Chapter Three

Nora hated to part with overtime pay by taking the weekend off. Overtime sounded delicious—her budget was beyond tight. But she took her girls to the gym set at the elementary school, pushed Fay in the baby swing while Berry played on the slide and rings. She consoled herself that there would be more overtime coming her way when she was healed enough to take it without crippling herself for life.

It was so early that she was surprised to see Noah Kincaid coming her way. “Hey,” she said. “Out for a morning walk?”

“Kind of,” he answered, flashing her that handsome grin. “I was looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Maxie called me this morning—she’s an early riser. She said they were picking this weekend and you’d been refused overtime because of job related injuries. She suggested I might check on you, see how you’re doing.”

She sat on a swing next to the baby swing. She stopped pushing the baby and gave a little laugh and held out her gloved hands. “It’s true. And as much as I hate to admit this, Tom Cavanaugh probably did the right thing. My hands are sore. I’m nursing some blisters from doing work I’ve never done before, not to mention sore muscles from picking for hours. My right shoulder was on fire. Don’t you dare tell him this, but the blisters on my feet were probably even worse than on my hands, but that stuff he gave me for my hands, that goop, wow. I’m almost as good as new.” She turned her hands over a couple of times so he could see the latex over gauze. “This is a pretty amazing cure.”

“The shoulder?”

“Better. Ice packs, anti-inflammatory and a little downtime does the trick.” She tsked. “It killed me to give up the money.”

Noah leaned against the side of the jungle gym next to Fay, belted in and safe between them. Berry ran around crazily, up the stairs on the slide, down the slide, a swing on the ropes, singing and talking to herself the whole time. But Berry was not the least bit interested in Noah. She was a little on the antisocial side, Nora feared.

“We started to talk about this a couple of times before,” Noah said. “Do you have family who would be available to help you get over this rough patch? I mean any family at all?”

“We didn’t get far on that subject because there were too many immediate issues, like the fact that a few months ago my drug-crazed ex-boyfriend showed up here looking for money, attacked me and everyone who was trying to protect me. And that was a situation I got myself into at the age of nineteen.”

“Well, he’s in jail and out of the picture, thankfully. Family?” Noah asked again.

“There’s no one,” she said.

“As in…no one? Or no one you’re not too proud to call on?”

“I told you—I got myself into this mess and—”

“I know, we don’t have to go over all that again—I’m up to speed on Chad and pregnancy and getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. You probably think you’re the first person to ever carry that load, but you’re not. I’m interested in knowing more about your family—parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, et cetera. Someone you trust who loves you or at least has enough sense of responsibility to lend a hand.”

She took a deep breath. “My father left us when I was six. My mother, who was abandoned and stuck with me, struggled for years to make it on her salary alone. We lived from paycheck to paycheck. Right there you have several reasons why she was angry and very bitter. The great irony is, she earned her living as a—are you ready? As a counselor. And when I went home from college to confess I was in trouble in a million ways and needed help—I was flunking out, pregnant, had played around with pot and beer with the boyfriend—she told me to get out and never come back. That’s where we left it. She threw everything that had my fingerprints on it out the front door onto the lawn, Chad drove me away and stuffed me into a flea-bag motel where he left me. I went to Student Services who sent me to the county welfare office and…” She gave her shoulder a little lift—half a shrug.

“But you stayed with him?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not really.”

“But there’s Fay,” he said.

She nodded but couldn’t meet his eyes. She finally looked up, but all she could muster was a hoarse whisper. “He came and went. And I was so lonely and vulnerable after Berry was born. Chad was manipulative. Sometimes he gave me money, for which I was so stupidly grateful, but I didn’t know until I was ready to have Fay that he’d been thrown off his professional baseball team over a year before.” She shook her head. Then she glanced at Fay and said, “But how can I regret her?” And on cue, the baby gave them a brilliant, toothless smile and Nora nearly cried.

Noah couldn’t resist touching Fay’s pudgy hand. “Where did the abuse begin in your life, Nora?”

“According to my mother, it began with my father, but I don’t remember anything about that. I was already six when he left, but my memory of life before that is pretty spotty, which my mother said is typical. She says I have buried memories.”

“And you were in therapy for this?”

She smiled. “Of course not. My mother is a therapist. I will tell you the truth, Noah—I went to talk with you on Mel Sheridan’s recommendation because you’re a minister. I have no experience with church and I had this idea you could somehow show me forgiveness for all the mistakes I’ve made. Although it was hard, I was open to the idea of charity. But I’ve learned to be wary of therapists. When you told me you were a licensed counselor before becoming a minister, I almost bolted.”

“What do you think of your mother’s decision to never put you in counseling for these so-called buried memories?” he asked her.

“I think she’s incompetent. And I’m not convinced I have buried memories, either. According to my mother, there’s no other family anywhere. No grandparents, aunts, uncles. But I think I have pretty screwed-up parents.”

He gave her a small smile. “Think we should explore this further?”

“Probably,” she said. “But the very thought makes me far more exhausted than picking apples for ten hours a day.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Nora. There won’t be that many hours of daylight before long—fall is here and winter is coming. The days are growing shorter.”

“Fortunately that leaves very little time for discussing my dysfunctional parents.”

“But would you like me to contact your mother?” he asked.

“God! Perish the thought. When we have several hours to chat, I’ll tell you all the details of my whole life’s story and all about my mother—she’s brutal. I spent my whole life being afraid of her, and surprised and so grateful during her brief affectionate or kind moments. I learned to step very lightly.”

“And your father? Would you like to know what’s become of him?”

She thought about that for a moment. “I’ve been curious, but not curious enough to look for him and certainly not enough to forgive him for leaving us the way he did. But there have been times I’ve wondered if he was dead… I have these snatches of memories of times with my father that aren’t scary or terrible. Not a lot, but a few. Like bowling—isn’t that a kick? A six-year-old, bowling? Learning to ride a bike with training wheels, doing dishes together with me standing on a stool at the sink, cutting the grass and planting flowers. My mother says none of those things ever happened—no bowling, et cetera. She claims I invented those memories just like children invent imaginary friends. But I have no dark or eerie or scary memories or dreams about him. I have warm memories. But if he was a good person, he wouldn’t have left me… .”

“I could do a little research,” Noah said.

“Could you find out if he’s dead? Without making me…”

“Vulnerable?” Noah finished for her. “You are always in control, Nora. If you tell me his name and last known address, I can probably find out if he’s alive or dead, where he is, if he’s remarried, if there are children, what he does for a living, that sort of thing. But there’s no reason he’d have to know you’re even involved.”

She thought about this for a minute. “Then okay,” she said. “I’d like to know if he’s alive. And maybe someday, I’d like to know why he ran out on me. I mean us.” She swallowed. “His name is Jed—Jedediah Crane. And he was a history teacher at UC Berkeley. My mother said he was fired and left us high and dry.”

“A professor?” Noah asked. “Did they divorce?”

“She always called him a teacher. Oh, of course they divorced—and it must have been bitter. As a girl, dangerously curious, I searched through files and stored boxes in the attic and even in my mother’s underwear drawer for some evidence of him, of them. Of us. Of anyone—even my mother with her family. There was not so much as a picture! If you’d known my mother as I had, you’d have expected at least a lot of photos with my father’s face cut out of them! And there were no documents of any kind—I don’t even have my own birth certificate.”

Noah smiled. “We’ll get that taken care of, as well. That’s a simple process and you don’t have to have the permission of your parents to get a copy.”

“Noah…” she said hesitatingly. “There’s something you should take into consideration before you walk down this path. My mother… Not everyone knows what she’s really like. She has friends. Not a lot, but some—she had things to do, although she mostly went to work and came home to spend the evening alone in front of the TV. She’s very funny. She could make people laugh. She fell out with the neighbors and they stopped talking years ago, which of course was their fault, but she had friends from work, from other places. People to talk to on the phone, that sort of thing. It used to amaze me how funny and charming she could be with some people and how completely insane she could act at other times. If you met her by some chance or investigated what kind of person she is, you’ll probably think I’m just a bratty, ungrateful kid. And I’ve admitted—I was trouble. Yes, I was—I made so many mistakes.”

“Where is she a counselor?”

“The community college in Berkeley. People Services. She helped students get through their crises, referred them, helped them get their lives together.” She laughed resentfully. “I wonder if she ever did it by throwing everything they owned on the front lawn. But then, I probably deserved it… .”

Noah smiled patiently. “I don’t think you need forgiveness, Nora.”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t have to be so nice. I know how many bad things I did.”

Noah ran a hand over Fay’s smooth, round head. The baby beamed at him. “I think you’ve redeemed yourself.”

* * *

One of the convenient things about living in a place that catered to hunters and fishermen from out of town, were the heavy-duty Band-Aids at the Corner Store for those sportsmen who were just breaking in their new boots. Armed with large canvas protection on her heels and palms, Nora lit out for work early Monday morning. She went down the road from Virgin River to 36, ready to take on another week.

The work was physically demanding, but it was refreshing to a city girl. If she hadn’t been distracted by soreness and the fear of not being able to keep up, she would have been thoroughly into the experience. The apples smelled heavenly. The breeze wafting through the trees was refreshing, the sound of the swaying branches and rustling leaves as calming as a lullaby. And the industry all around her, plus the weight of her bag filled her with a sense of accomplishment. She loved the sacks full of apples adding to the bins, the forklift taking the full bins away, the watering and aerating going on all around her while she stood on her ladder and picked, the trucks taking crates and boxes of apples to vendors. She caught sight of Tom and Junior repairing the tall fence that surrounded the orchard, not once but twice, right in the same place. And every now and again she could hear people talking or laughing off in the distance and the occasional bark of that yellow dog.

Nora wouldn’t trade her children for anything, not even for an easier life leading up to their births, but if she weren’t a single mother constantly worried about money, this job outdoors in the beauty of a northern California Indian summer would seem like a gift. It was September and the afternoons were still warm.

A couple of days into her second week, when she arrived at the juncture of the road from Virgin River and Highway 36, there sat a big white truck. And outside the cab, leaning against the driver’s door, was Mr. Tom Cavanaugh. His long legs were casually crossed in front of him and he was looking down; he appeared to be cleaning his nails with a pocketknife.

She looked at him for a moment. Appreciated him. It seemed such a distant memory when she’d gotten mixed up with Chad. Chad had seemed like such a catch, slated for the big time. Now, looking at Tom, she saw stability and success, not to mention power and beauty. Yes, he was a very beautiful man. And she wondered what it must feel like to be the kind of girl someone like him would want.

She shook it off. Then she put her head down and walked on by.

“Hey,” he called.

She turned back. She tried a small smile. “’Morning,” she said.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To work,” she said.

“Well, jump in. I’ll give you a lift. Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

“I have absolutely no idea. I don’t need a ride. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“I know, Nora. Humor me.”

“I don’t think it looks good,” she said. “Getting a ride with the boss. What will the others think?”

“There are no others yet,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re always the first one to get to the orchard. Come on. No strings.”

She thought about it for just a second, but there was really no way to refuse a kindness. Or whatever this was. She walked around the front and got in the passenger seat.

“How are the muscles and blisters?” Tom asked.

“Excellent,” she said, surprise lacing her response. “Nothing hurts. I’m keeping the protection on my hands and, as you can see, wearing the latex gloves, but I can’t believe how quickly I healed up. You should consider one of those late-night infomercials. Your magic goo and ginsu knives.”

He laughed at her. “Find yourself watching a lot of late-night TV, do you?”

“A long time ago,” she said. “I haven’t had a TV since before my children were born.”

“Ah, one of those fussy mothers—no TV to poison the little minds?”

“Not so virtuous. I can’t afford a TV—that’s a luxury way beyond me. But who can forget ginsu knives? I used to love those demonstrations. It wouldn’t have surprised me if fingers went flying. But who knows—maybe they did and the icky stuff was cut. No pun intended,” she added with a laugh.

He stared straight ahead as he drove for a few moments. Then he turned down the long drive into the orchard. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Nora. I’m going to wait for you where the road from town meets 36 and give you a lift. And I’ll drop you off there after work.”

“I told you, I don’t mind—”

“I know, you don’t mind walking. I give you a lot of credit for that—you have gumption. But I’d like you to reserve your energy for work. And it’s not one hundred percent safe out here at dawn and dusk. I’m not saying it’s dangerous, but there are wildlife issues.”

“I can run,” she said. “Seriously, I’m fast.”

He glanced over at her. “Seriously, you never want to try that. The only wildlife you can outrun is a turkey. Bobcats, mountain lions, bear—that’s just what they’re looking for—running marks you as prey and they’re way faster than you could dream of being. If you come across one of them, back away slowly, making some kind of noise. Bark like a seal or something. Clap your hands. And pray.” He took a breath. “I’m more than happy to give you a lift.”

She sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said. “But I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for your other employees to think I’m getting special treatment.”

“It’s Tom,” he said on a laugh. “Just Tom. If the idea doesn’t sit with you, we can see if Buddy will drive you after work—he shows up sometimes after school for a couple of hours.”

“Like I said, we probably shouldn’t encourage Buddy… .”

“You just tell him—you’re twenty-three. And if he thinks about a date with an older woman, maybe say you’re not over your ex-husband or something.”

“But that would be a lie,” she said.

He smiled. It was unmistakable—he smiled. “Well, then, you are over him.”

“There is no ex-husband.”

He shot her a look. “You’re married?”

She shook her head.

“Widowed? Already? At your young age?”

“Never married. Mr. Cavanaugh.” She took a steadying breath—he clearly wanted to know. “I have two children, have never had a husband, my boyfriend ran out on me and he is now in jail for assault and felony possession and I am on my own. He will not be allowed near my children again. I don’t use or deal, I’m trying to get it together for my girls and myself. And I won’t lie to anyone.”

The big white truck actually slowed a little bit while he absorbed this. Then Tom accelerated again, getting back up to speed. “Then just tell Buddy you’re twenty-three and a single mother. That should do it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sure,” she said softly. Of course that would discourage him. It would send any man running for his life.

“I’m going to ask him to take you to the turnoff after work and I’ll meet you there before work. A mile or so walk each way is more than enough for anyone and I don’t feel like having an employee mauled by a puma or bear. I’ve had to repair our fence a couple of times and while I haven’t seen any, I suspect bears. They’re usually shy and avoid people, but let’s just play it safe.”

She stared at his profile for a moment. “Mr. Cavanaugh, I don’t want to be pitied and I don’t need special treatment. I’m more than happy to do whatever it takes to work a job that pays well. I appreciate the gesture, I absolutely do, but—”

“Do you feel like fighting off a bear? Because a man was mauled not far from here. And you do have a family to think about.”

“Mr.—”

“Tom!” he barked. “It’s just Tom. The subject is closed.”

He pulled up to the barn that held his office, turned off the truck and got out, leaving her sitting there.

She wasn’t sure what it was about her that made him so angry. Alternately angry or kind or amused, that was more accurate. She tried to show him respect; she was honest with him even though it wasn’t easy.

She watched him tromp up the steps and across the porch, into the house. Stubborn. And just as quickly he was out the back door and walking toward his office. He stopped by his truck and peered in the open driver’s window at her. “Maxie said to tell you to come in for a cup of coffee with her.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t want to impose… .”

“She invited you, therefore it’s not an imposition.”

“But I don’t want to—”

“Nora! For God’s sake, don’t make everything so much harder than it needs to be! Just go have a cup of coffee with my grandmother.”

“Should I make your coffee first?” she asked.

“I’ll make it. I know how to make coffee.”

A smile tickled her lips. “Ah. I didn’t realize that.”

And he scowled at her.

She shook her head and couldn’t help it, she had to hold in a laugh. This man, who had no reason at all to be so ornery, was certainly a piece of work. As she walked across the wide yard, up the back steps and onto the porch, she found herself thinking that if she lived with this bounty, she would never have a cross day.

She gave the wooden screened door a couple of polite taps.

“Come in, Nora,” Maxie said.

When she opened the door, Maxie was sitting at her kitchen table with her coffee and crossword puzzle. The yellow dog stood to greet her with a wagging tail. “Good morning, Mrs… . Maxie.”

The older woman smiled and Nora was momentarily mesmerized. She was truly beautiful with her thick white hair, bright healthy teeth and rosy cheeks. “Grab a cup,” Maxie said. “Sit with me a minute. Tell me about your weekend, about your sore shoulder and roughed-up hands.”

Nora dressed her coffee with cream, real cream, and sugar. She didn’t drink coffee at home—she didn’t have a pot and it was expensive. And cream? Forget about it! Then she sat across from Maxie. “Everything feels great. I’m still wearing the gloves and using the goop—I don’t want any trouble. I want the next chance at overtime.”

Maxie laughed. “And the shoulder?”

“So much better,” she said, rotating it to demonstrate. “I’m kind of embarrassed that I didn’t know about something as simple as anti-inflammatory and ice. But I’ve never done this kind of work before.”

“What kind of work did you do?”

“I waitressed in high school and worked part-time in a college bookstore. And then I became a mother.”

“Yes, how are the little ones? And who’s watching them for you?”

“The girls are absolutely fine—smart, good-natured, energetic. And one of my neighbors, Adie Clemens, sits with them until day care opens, then she walks them down the street. Adie is an older lady and not a ball of fire, if you get my drift. But she and the girls get along beautifully. And she wants to do this.”

Maxie chuckled. “I know Adie. I’ve known her a long time—she’s always been a little on the fragile side. We’re about the same age, I think. She’s a lovely woman.”

Nora’s mouth dropped open. The same age? Maxie was vibrant, strong and energetic. Adie seemed frail. Health problems and old age must have taken their toll, not to mention the rigors of poverty. Yet another reason to get ahead of this rough patch, Nora thought. “She is lovely,” Nora finally said. “So sweet. She loves my little girls. I’m so lucky.”

“And how are you getting along here, at the orchard?” Maxie asked.

“I’m not as fast as the men, but I bet I’ll catch up. I’m very determined.”

“And is Tom treating you well?”

She glanced away briefly before she could stop herself. She looked back instantly. “He gave me a ride from the crossroad this morning,” she said.

“I know. I had an idea that’s what he was up to when he drove out of here so early. There’s no reason for him to go anywhere before dawn.”

“I told him it wasn’t necessary,” Nora said quickly. “I like walking. I do.”

“You should probably carry a weapon of some kind if you’re walking through the forest before dawn. It’s a rare thing that a human is attacked by a cat or bear, but it’s been known to happen. Sunrise and sunset are busy times for the wildlife—on their way to breakfast or off to bed, thinking they’re all alone… .”

Hah, she thought. She’d never spend money on a gun when she had children to feed and protect. “It was thoughtful of Tom,” she said instead.

“How do you get along with him? Is he giving you trouble?”

She thought about her answer before saying, “I think I annoy him. I think he sees me as a burden, someone he’s forced to look after.”

“It’s probably not so much that as Tom getting used to his new role here. He was raised on this orchard and knows the ropes, but he’s been away. He spent the past several years in the Marine Corps. Two of those years he was deployed, first to Iraq and then to Afghanistan. He separated from the military after his second deployment—there were a lot of casualties in his command, I gather. I’ve noticed a kind of impatience in him that wasn’t there before. Sometimes I catch him brooding and I wonder—has he lost good friends? Comrades? Taking and giving orders—that’s not really the way we’ve been running this business, but that’s what Tom was used to in the military. We’re all going to have to give him time to adjust, I think. I suppose he has issues. Combat issues.”

War? She hadn’t been watching television coverage, obviously, so was left to her imagination and what she’d heard. And what she’d heard people say was terrible! Even with all she’d been through, she couldn’t imagine the war in Afghanistan. She heard a couple of the apple pickers talking about how it had recently been the bloodiest month in Afghanistan so far with the loss of sixty-five soldiers.

And although life had held challenges, incredibly difficult challenges, she and the babies had enough to eat, were safe and warm, healthy. She vowed to never complain.

“Oh, of course,” she said softly. “I had no idea. What could possibly be worse than war? Well, don’t worry, Maxie. He seems perfectly normal to me. He’s been very kind to me. If he’s a little impatient sometimes, I suppose there’s very good reason.”

“One of these days, maybe on a weekend, I’d love to have you and the little girls come to the house. We could include Adie. I’d love to meet them. I hardly ever get to be around little girls. I had a son, then a grandson.”

“That’s so lovely, but I don’t have anything like car seats,” Nora said. “No car, no car seats.”

“I know. Don’t worry about that right now—I would never transport your children without them.”

“That’s very kind of you but you—”

“It’s completely selfish, Nora. I love children. Especially little girls. I hope that fool grandson of mine does something about that before I die.”

* * *

Nora had a great little chat with Maxie but she had to remind herself that they weren’t friends. Maxie owned the orchard; Maxie was her employer. Maxie and Tom. “Are there any other family members?” she asked Buddy when they were dumping their apples one afternoon.

“Nope, that’s it. I hear she raised Tom since he was a baby, but I don’t know anything about why and Maxie’s husband died around ten years ago or so. There’s Junior—the foreman. He’s been on this orchard as long as I can remember, since I was a little kid. He must be just about family.” Then Buddy laughed. “Anyone Maxie cares about is usually considered family. When you know her a little better, you’ll get that.”

“I think I already get that,” she said, thinking of this woman wanting to bring her girls and Adie out for an afternoon, though she hardly knew Nora at all.

This revelation about Tom Cavanaugh caused her to look at him a bit differently. Over the next week she found herself thinking about him and keeping an eye open to catch sight of him. While she was up in the branches of the taller apple trees, on top of her tripod ladder, she would occasionally see him and she could stare without being obvious. He spent a lot of time working with Junior, a big, muscled man of about fifty; they laughed together while they worked. And while Tom loaded large crates of apples into a delivery truck to take to grocers, straining his muscles, she couldn’t help but admire his physique. He dressed the same every day, jeans, boots, his work shirt with the Cavanaugh Apples logo over the left breast pocket, sleeves rolled up, a whisper of soft brown hair on his forearms. His hands were very big and as she could attest, rough with calluses. The muscles of his upper arms, shoulders, back and legs moved under the fabric; that perfect male butt in jeans that weren’t too loose or too tight drew her eyes. Sometimes he seemed to get a little worn out—the tendons in his neck stood out and after putting a crate in the truck, he’d stop to wipe his brow. Then he’d laugh with one of the guys.

She wondered what it must be like to be the kind of girl he’d smile and laugh with. What kind of girl would that be? A pretty and smart young teacher? A model or movie star who would be more than willing to leave the limelight for life on an orchard?

Now and then she’d be staring at him and imagine him in military fatigues rather than his work shirt, carrying a gun rather than a crate of apples and she’d wonder—had his losses been many? Had he been afraid, so far from home in a place of great danger? Did he miss the edge, the adrenaline rush of combat?

Or was coming home to the serene beauty of the orchard a relief? A comfort?

* * *

The following weekend Nora was able to take advantage of some overtime, and what made it even more desirable, it wasn’t a ten-hour day, but just a long morning that ended in early afternoon. Adie assured her she was definitely up to the task of watching the little girls. When Nora walked back into town after work on Sunday, she found Reverend Kincaid waiting for her at Adie’s house, chatting with her outside.

“Well, hello there,” she said to Noah.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Excellent. Put in a good day’s work and still have daylight to spend with my girls.”

“They’re still napping,” Noah said. “Let me walk you to your house—there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” she said. “Are you doing all right, Adie?”

“Fine, dear. I think the girls should be waking up in another half hour, maybe less.”

“I won’t keep you long,” Noah told her. They walked down the street to Nora’s little house and before they even went inside, Noah said, “I have information about your father. He’s alive, still teaching in the Bay Area and he’s been looking for you.”

She was stopped on a dime. “How do you know this?”

“It was pretty quick—I went searching for Jed Crane in the missing-persons registry—my very first stop on the internet. And what I found was that Nora Crane is the one missing.”

Chapter Four

“I responded to the online missing-persons registry with my name and phone number and when I received a call from Jed Crane, I told him that I had known a Nora Crane in Seattle, but I told him I doubted it was the Nora Crane he was looking for—I said I thought the woman I knew was around thirty years old. And I couldn’t provide an address. He was very forthcoming—he’s been looking for you for a couple of years. Nora, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this—he’s trying to find you because your mother passed away. I couldn’t ask for details without giving you away and there’s nothing on public record about the cause of her death.”

She went instantly pale. “Dead?”

He nodded gravely. “I think we should arrange a meeting with your father. Apparently he has lots of information about your mother and none about you. He said he lost custody of you when you were only four years old.”

“He wanted custody?” she asked, in a state of shock.

“So he says.”

“But I was six. I’m sure I was six—it was first grade. I remember exactly what I did at school that day—I came home and asked where Daddy was and my mother said she didn’t know. That he’d left us.” And so often over the years her mother, Therese, had added that he was no good, that they were better off. She said that getting involved with that man was the biggest mistake of her life, with no regard for how it might make Nora feel.

“I really think you have to look into this,” Noah said.

“But what if he’s a bad person? What if he abused me like my mother said?”

“I believe I can keep you safe. I know you’re not going to throw your trust into him before you have all the evidence you need that he deserves it. If you don’t want to see him on home turf, I’d be willing to take you to the Bay Area or somewhere in between to meet with him. If what he’s saying is true or even partially true, he must have some documentation—marriage license, divorce papers, photos, something. Obviously without documentation, you don’t necessarily have to believe him.”

“But…but is she really dead? My mother?”

“Therese Alice Sealy Crane, age sixty two years ago?”

She nodded numbly.

“There is a public record of her death. I’m so sorry, Nora.”

“She hated me,” Nora said in a whisper, as though it was a shameful secret.

Noah was shaking his head. “Maybe she had a difficult time showing affection or love. Maybe there were things you didn’t understand when you were a girl. Maybe her best effort at being a good mother was just not very good at all.”

“Or maybe she hated me,” Nora said.

“Right now you have more questions than answers. Consider looking for some of those answers. What’s the worst-case scenario? That everything you think you know about your parents is true? To verify that rather than wonder—that could help set you on a path of rebuilding your life.”

“I’m not that strong,” she said.

Noah actually gave a little laugh. “Oh, you’re by far one of the strongest women I know. And the most gentle. But I leave this entirely to you—just know that I’m here for you, willing to be your partner in this next step.”

“I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Go ahead and think about it. Your father didn’t hint at any urgency in contacting you… .”

“There you go—urgency! What if he’s only looking for me because he needs a kidney or something? What if he wants to make amends for doing terrible things to me that I was too young to remember? I’m better off not knowing, right? Because all those hard years with my mother were bad enough without adding more awful stuff… .”

“Just think it over and if you want to talk about it, we can talk it through before you make a decision. The good news is we can find him easily. And he wants to be found.”

* * *

Just think it over? Nora could think of nothing else the following week and picking apples was the perfect job—she could indulge in obsessive remembering while filling up her bag.

There were very few times while growing up that Nora braved her mother’s emotional outbursts to ask questions about her father or express her desire to know him. It was a dicey proposition; Nora was never sure whether Therese would rage, “How can you keep putting me through this? Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself?” Or she might cry, “I’ve done my best for you, rescued you from a horrible father, can’t you just be grateful for what you have and stop torturing me?” And there was always the chance she’d just slap her and scream, “I should’ve just let him take you, then you’d know what real abuse is!”

She had no idea the nature of this abuse her mother put on her father, but she knew exactly what kind of abuse she suffered at her mother’s hands. Her mother had dramatic mood swings and she was never sure which woman was coming home from work each day. It could be the Therese in an upbeat mood with plans for a treat, like pizza for dinner and an evening of watching all their favorite TV shows or it could be the woman in a foul temper who blamed the stress of her work, a long day of listening to screwed-up crazy people’s problems. Or, sadly, one of the best options was when her mother went out after work, meeting friends for dinner or a movie or shopping, friends that Nora rarely got to know because it was so seldom Therese brought them home.

She struggled to remember when she fully realized that Therese almost never had a girlfriend who lasted a whole year, and Nora understood why. Therese was difficult, selfish, short-tempered and completely unpredictable. She was also very funny at times—she could certainly make people laugh when she wasn’t in a snit. She was attractive and well turned out and had a great singing voice she exercised when in a happy state. When Therese laughed and sang, Nora held her breath, afraid to let herself enjoy it.

But Nora was probably all of seven or eight when she began saying I will not be like my mother over and over to herself. When she found herself pregnant with Berry she was terrified that something would happen to her and she’d wake up one morning finding she hated her child, discovering she couldn’t control her anger.

* * *

Noah turned up at her house after work three evenings during that week, just to give her an opportunity to talk. News of her mother’s death brought out all these issues she had with her mother, which she told Noah.

“But what about this father of mine?” Nora asked. “Right in the area and never a phone call? Never any contact, any help to deflect some of my mother’s more cruel moments?”

“Yet another thing to ask, to try to understand,” Noah said.

“He’s either a very bad man or a very negligent man,” Nora said. “He had a daughter! Shouldn’t he have done something? Was my mother right? That I was better off? Because it’s hard to imagine being better off alone with her.”

“When you’re ready, you can ask these questions,” Noah said.

“I have a full-time job, thank God,” she said. “I can’t leave the kids with Adie and leave town. And I’m not letting him anywhere near my children.”

“All these concerns are resolvable. Once you settle on a day—a day that I can take you—I’ll ask Ellie to help out with the girls. She’s wonderful with babies and was a huge help to Vanessa Haggerty when she adopted a nine-month-old before her eighteen-month-old was out of diapers.” Noah laughed and shook his head. “It was insane—and all turned out well. Remember Paul Haggerty? He plowed the roads in town last Christmas and sent one of his crews over to your house to seal the windows and doors.”

“Listen, I don’t need everyone in town knowing that Nora Crane has yet another crisis, that I’m from a crazier background than they even imagined.”

“I know it sometimes seems that way, Nora—that everyone else has a normal, average, functional life and only you have stuff to work out. Believe me, I know the feeling. But really, it’s not that way. I come from a pretty crazy family, and poor Ellie—she had such trials growing up, taking care of her kids alone before we met. When you get to know her better, you can ask—Ellie is very up-front about everything. For right now, let’s think about the challenge you’re facing. You need to see your father. Talk to him. Ask him questions. Ask for some documentation that he’s really your father, that your parents were divorced and he chose not to see you, et cetera. First find out what he has to say and then let’s work on understanding what happened.”

“I won’t put my girls at risk,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” Noah agreed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

Of course Nora told her closest girlfriends what was going on—Adie and Martha, both in their seventies, and Leslie, the much younger neighbor a few doors down. Those three women had included Nora in gab sessions on the porch and shared stories and it happened they agreed with Noah—that she should face her father with her questions.

Of course she hadn’t mentioned anything at the orchard. She didn’t feel close enough to anyone there to talk about her personal business. In fact she had been so preoccupied thinking about her mother’s death and her father’s reappearance, she did her job mechanically, the hours passing like minutes while her mind was in another place.

She showed up at the crossroad of 36 and the road to Virgin River and there sat that familiar big white truck. And there he was, leaning against it. Waiting.

“Wow,” she said, stopped in her tracks.

“Hop in,” Tom invited.

She went around the front of the truck and climbed up and in the cab. “I bet when your grandmother forced you to hire me, you didn’t foresee taxi service.”

“Is everything all right, Nora?” he asked before starting the truck.

She was startled by the question. No, things were not all right. But it was personal business. It had nothing to do with her job. “Fine,” she said. “Why?”

“You’ve been really quiet,” he said.

He’d noticed? she wondered. “I have?” she asked.

He nodded. “Your muscles okay? Back, shoulders, et cetera?”

“Yes. No problems. Why are you quizzing me?”

“I don’t mean to pry, but I thought I should ask because… Well, you had some injuries before and kept it to yourself.”

“I don’t have any injuries.”

“You probably don’t realize it—but the first couple of weeks at the orchard, you had a hard time keeping up, but you laughed. You also hummed a lot—I kept thinking you were going to break into song or something. We could hear you all over the place. Maxie could hear you from the back porch and she said things like, ‘That girl’s good to have around—she’s happy in her heart.’ I had no idea what you had to be so happy about, but we all got used to hearing you—and then you stopped. So I thought…wondered…”

Her mouth was hanging open. It took her a moment to recover from her shock. “Wait a minute,” she said. “When did you start to care if I was happy or not?”

“It’s not exactly like that,” he said. “I know you need the job to support your family because you told me you did and I know you go to a lot of trouble to prove yourself. And I know you’ve been quiet lately. I wanted to be sure you weren’t hurt or sick or maybe in trouble.”

“I didn’t even know I did that,” she said. “I was so damn relieved to have a job that actually put food on the table, I guess I was in a pretty good mood. I hum? Really? And you actually noticed?”

He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand in apparent frustration. “Excuse me for being sensitive,” he grumbled. “I’m not a bad guy, I’m just a guy and one of my employees is—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said. She ran her hands through her hair, removing and replacing the ponytail tie. “It’s been a very strange week. I’m estranged from my parents—my father left when I was little and I fell out with my mother when I was nineteen. I just found out my mother died two years ago, cause unknown. And my missing father has been looking for me. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’ll try to laugh more if it’ll make you feel better.”

And now it was his turn to be silent. Shocked. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. I don’t usually talk about all that personal stuff. And I’m kind of sorry I just did, to tell the truth. I’m pretty sure I have the most screwed-up family on the planet and really, I don’t advertise that.”

And he laughed.

“This is funny to you?” she asked.

“Not at all. Coincidental, that’s all. Who would think we’d share something so bizarre—like screwed-up family?”

“I know Maxie a little bit and she is amazing,” Nora said.

“You bet she is. When I was born my dad was a test pilot in the Air Force, out in the high desert, Edwards Air Force Base. He flew spooky new jets. My mother was at the end of her rope with the living conditions, the lifestyle, all that went with his job, plus she was really young and I guess I wasn’t exactly planned. So, when I was a month old she brought me to Maxie and said, ‘Here. You take care of him. This was all a mistake.’ And off she went. I might know more about her except my dad was killed in a crash a couple of months later. I have no memory of either of them. So, there you go—we both have some unusual family histories. I hear my dad was a normal guy, but who knows what’s in the other gene pool. I don’t know anything at all about my mother.” He took a pause. “But I’ll tell you this—if she showed up all of a sudden, I’d have some questions.”

She was speechless. Why was it that everyone else’s life always seemed so easy, so flawless?

He pulled onto the road, heading for the orchard. Nora watched his profile. He was smiling. This was a hard man to read—he could be so kind, so generous and thoughtful, but she had also seen him glower as if just seconds from an outburst. Perhaps, she thought, being raised by Therese left her fearful of a frown. Surely not everyone came apart at the seams if something displeased them—that certainly wasn’t the case with her.

Tom pulled up to the barn and parked. He jumped out and she followed more slowly. When he got to the door to his office, he turned and looked at her. “You okay?” he asked.

She took a breath. “That was nice of you, to tell me that. It made me feel a little less…I don’t know…a little less like a loser.”

He actually laughed. “How long have you lived here?”

“Eight months.”

“If I hadn’t told you, someone else would have. Everyone knows. And everyone talks.”

“Right,” she said.

He turned to walk away and she said to his back, “So what would you ask her? Your mother? If she turned up suddenly?”

He pivoted. “I guess I’d ask her if she had any regrets.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Makes sense.”

“How about you?” he fired at her.

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Any regrets? About finding yourself a single, twenty-three-year-old apple-picking mother?”

Remarkably, coming from him, she took no offense. After all, they shared some difficult history. And she was going to have to get used to that very thing he said—that everyone knew and everyone talked. “About having my daughters?” She shook her head. “I could never regret having them. They’re miracles. About not having them after being married to a handsome, rich investment banker for about six years? Yeah, that’s regrettable.”

That brought out his grin and she realized he had a very attractive dimple. Left cheek. “Investment banker, huh?”

“Okay, neurosurgeon. Astronaut. Computer genius. CEO of a Fortune 500 company.”

He laughed. In fact, he tilted his head back and guffawed, hands on his hips. “Damn, kid—an ordinary old apple grower wouldn’t stand a chance!”

She stared at him, watching him laugh at her for a long second. Then she headed for the office door. “I’ll make the coffee,” she said.

Well. If he’d been looking for something to take her mind off her current challenges, he’d certainly done it with that statement. He probably had no idea what a luxury it seemed to someone like her to raise a family in the healthy and pristine beauty of these mountains, in a great big house right in the middle of a delicious orchard. Or the fantasies it could inspire to think about being wanted by a man like Tom Cavanaugh.

He drove her back to the road to Virgin River after her shift. “You can’t do this every day,” she said. “It’s too much.”

“It’s two miles,” he replied. “And when you get a ride, you pick more fruit.”

“Well, I have to admire a man who knows what he wants,” she said. Then she jumped out of the truck and headed for home. Even though Adie was expecting her, she stopped at the church, looking for Reverend Kincaid.

She stood in his office doorway and waited until he looked up. “If that offer is still open, I’d like to set up a meeting with my father. If you’ll contact him and go with me.”

“Be happy to,” he said. “Any particular day?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. Weekend, if he’s available and if you’re available. Saturday? I could take a day off I think, but I don’t want to do that to the Cavanaughs—work weekend overtime and take off on a regular pay day. But if that’s the only option, I think Tom Cavanaugh would give me a break.”

“I’ll call him,” Noah said. “Jed Crane, not Tom.”

“Tell him I want some kind of evidence—that he’s my father, that my mother is dead, that he’s employed… . I don’t know what to ask. I just want to be sure he’s not a fraud. Or a creep who’s just after something. I’m not sure I can remember his face.”

Noah stood from behind his desk. “I’m glad you’re doing this. No matter where it goes from here, you deserve some answers. I’ll ask Ellie to help with your girls.”

* * *

They chose a public park in Santa Rosa as a meeting place and Nora was so stressed out, she barely spoke all the way there. She did say, “Please don’t leave me alone with him and don’t mention that I have children.” Once Noah had to pull over because she was afraid she was going to throw up. When they got to the park at noon, Nora knew Jed immediately. The memory of him came back instantly—he was the same, though older. He was very tall, his brown hair was thin over a shiny crown with a lumpy shape, his eyes kind of sad, crinkling and sagging at the corners. He had thick, graying brows, had a bit of a soft center—a paunch—and wore his pants too high. And he wore a very unfashionable short-sleeved plaid shirt with a button-down collar that she thought she recognized from the last time she saw him.

Apparently he knew her right away because he immediately took a few anxious steps toward her. And then he opened his arms to her and she instinctively stepped back, out of his reach. That just did him in—he almost broke down. A huff of air escaped him and she thought he teared up. “I’m sorry,” he said. He carried a large padded envelope which he held out toward her. He swiped at invisible tears, embarrassed by this display. “I apologize, Nora,” he said. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

And what were her first words to her long-lost father? “Did you ever take me bowling? When I was too little to even think about bowling?”

Sudden laughter joined his tears. “I had no idea what a weekend father was supposed to do—so yes, I took you bowling. It was a disaster, but you seemed to have a fun time. Your ball never once made it to the pins. Here,” he said, pressing the big envelope on her. “Copies of all the papers Reverend Kincaid said you’d like to have.” Then he stuck out his hand to Noah. “Thank you for helping with this. Thank you so much.”

But Nora said, “Weekend father?”

“Let’s sit down somewhere,” Jed suggested. “There’s so much to catch up on.”

As he turned in the direction of a picnic table, Nora put out a hand to his forearm and stopped him. “Do you…” She faltered, then took a deep breath and asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

“Nothing but regrets, Nora. I just don’t know how I could’ve made things better for you.”

They found a table in the shade of a tree and even though there were lots of people around, began to forage through the past. “My mother said the bowling never happened. I remembered bowling, planting a garden, you reading me stories, that kind of thing, but she said…”

“It’s going to be so hard to explain her,” Jed said, shaking his head dismally.

“What’s in here?” she asked, holding up the envelope.

“Reverend Kincaid said you had no documentation at all, that you weren’t even sure your mother and I divorced. It’s all there—copies of the marriage license, the divorce decree, the order from the court that Therese retain custody and that I would have visitation one day a week. Then I lost even that. I had a few pictures—you as a newborn, your first birthday, a day in the park, the first day of preschool. I didn’t get many.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why did you leave us?”

He seemed to take a moment to compose himself. “I’ve wanted to explain and yet dreaded this moment for years,” he said. “Therese and I were at terrible odds—lots of conflict. I suggested a separation, suggested we might’ve made a mistake and could work it out amicably, and that did it. Pushed her right over the edge. I could say she threw me out, except that I’d already suggested separation. Her anger with me was phenomenal and I left because I’d had all I could take.

“I was over forty when we met and though I was plenty mature, I wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man. I had so little experience with women. We weren’t a young couple. We met, dated and got married too quickly because we were getting older and wanted children—your mother was forty when you were born. The sad truth is, we weren’t happy for long. She was sick when she was pregnant and suffered terrible depression when you were a baby and it took about a year for her to recover. Maybe she never did—I’m not sure. Therese was a loose cannon. I never knew what might set her off. She lashed out at me constantly. I suggested maybe motherhood didn’t make her as happy as she thought it might and that…” He shook his head and looked down. “I always seemed to say the wrong things.”

“Were you ever happy?” Nora asked.

“I thought so,” Jed answered. “At the very beginning. Then there were issues I thought had to do with pregnancy and new parenthood. But by the time a few years had passed, I knew we were doomed.

“But I thought she loved you, Nora. As long as I wasn’t around, she seemed to take good care of you. When I came home after work, you sparkled. You were so happy and showed no signs of suffering. I was afraid of what a life with her might do to you in the long run, but there didn’t seem to be much I could do.” He shrugged. “The truth is I was afraid you could become like her—so over the years I watched from a safe distance. I checked on your school progress, went to school events to catch a glimpse, asked questions about you. When Therese got wind that I was around, she lashed out, lost her temper. I was very circumspect, but I was never far away.”

“And I never saw you?”

He leaned toward her, his brows scrunched. “You might remember when your mother stopped talking to the lady next door,” he said.

“They had a fight,” Nora said. “I was never sure what that was about. Mom said she’d been insulted and accused of something. They stopped talking and I was not allowed to go to their house. Sometimes after school I’d say hello or we’d talk in the yard, before Mom got home from work, but we had a pact—we’d keep it our secret.”

“The fight was about me calling the neighbor and asking how you were, how things were going in my home, with my daughter. She let it slip. So, it kept Therese from talking to her neighbor, but it didn’t keep the neighbor from watching, from talking to me.” He swallowed hard. “She moved when you were about to graduate from high school. I lost my best connection to you.”

“This isn’t happening,” she said. “This is my worst nightmare. She was a therapist!”

“I’ve never understood that,” he said, shaking his head. “That should have guaranteed a certain level of stability. Civility. Understanding. I think she was crazier than half the people she counseled. What I’ve learned since is that, sadly, she was hardly the only inept counselor—they are plentiful. So are competent, helpful, talented counselors. There were times she raged at me in a way that made me think she was truly insane. Nora, there was something wrong. It’s been suggested by professionals I’ve seen that maybe she was a borderline personality—not mentally ill, but narcissistic, hostile, perhaps a bit sociopathic. Very manipulative. Successfully manipulative. Quite functional. We were like oil and water. I wanted to take you with me but she wouldn’t have it. There was something about me that set her off.”

“There was something about everyone…” Nora mumbled. “You could have at least called me.”

“I should have, but I didn’t want to force you to lie or be secretive. There’s no other way to put it—she was vengeful when she didn’t have her way. That worried me.”

“But you said you lost even your visitation,” Nora said.

“I did, but not in a legal action. I went to pick you up for our day together and you weren’t there. Things like that happened very often. And Therese started screaming at me, accusing me of terrible things and I lost my temper. I punched a hole in the wall. I don’t think I ever punched anything in my life before that, or after. I’m just not that kind of person.”

“I remember that hole!” Nora said. “She never fixed it!”

“She called the police and there I stood with banged-up knuckles. While you played at a friend’s house, I was taken away in handcuffs.”

“And then?”

He shook his head. “I knew it was bad for you, that it was never going to get better. There were so many fights and standoffs when I came to get you, I stopped coming. I didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know how to protect you from that anger. I saw lawyers, but I wasn’t going to get custody of you and trying to see you only lit a fire in her. Therese had feuds with anyone who would talk to me. She was completely estranged from your aunts because they checked on you on my behalf. They haven’t spoken since you were seven or eight years old.”

“Aunts?” Nora said weakly.

“Therese was the youngest of three girls and a good many years separated them. Her eldest sister is deceased now, but Victoria is still alive, living in New Jersey. She was named in your mother’s will. And I didn’t know your mother had died until it came to my attention that checks I’d been sending for alimony and support weren’t being cashed. I don’t think there’s anything you can do about her will, I’m sorry.”

Nora put her head in her hands. “Checks? Will? Aunts? Oh, my God.” She looked pleadingly at Noah. “This is nuts. This can’t be true. She said there was no family, that there was never any support. I was on partial scholarship and I worked—my mother only paid for textbooks, nothing else.”

“You could’ve gone to Stanford for practically nothing,” Jed said. “I’m a professor there. Your mother said you had no interest.”

“I only went to college for a year.” She looked at Jed. “If this is true, she must have been completely insane.”

“I don’t think so,” Jed said. “At least not clinically. I’ve done a lot of reading and have talked to a few professionals—there are people who lie, manipulate, hold terrible grudges who are not mentally ill but have anger problems the rest of us just don’t understand. And what made her so angry? I have no idea.”

“And you couldn’t do anything?”

“Nora, she was completely functional. She held a full-time job, paid her bills, raised a child. You were clean and fed. You did all right in school. You seemed happy and had friends…unless I came around and the whole world went to hell…”

“She was a train wreck! She didn’t have friends, at least not for long. She lied about her family, about you. There was never a single picture of you in the house, not one. And why didn’t she get fired from her job? Explain that?”

“I don’t think she was well liked by everyone, but you have to understand that especially in a situation like hers, an educational institution, just being difficult and slightly dysfunctional on the job wasn’t going to get her fired. She knew how to do her job, and she had a great deal of seniority. I know she had problems from time to time, but for some reason there never seemed to be consequences. I can give you the names of a few coworkers—they might talk with you. In that envelope you’ll find a list of the books I read, trying to understand who she was. I can’t say I came to any conclusion—just a lot of guessing.”

“When did you get a divorce?” she asked.

“I moved out when you were four years old and we divorced quickly.”

“Why do I think I was six? That’s what I remember.”

“I stopped coming for you when you were six—those two years must have been the worst of your life—your mother and I fighting every time I came, hiding you from me, refusing to let you come with me. I never went to the house without a fierce battle. So I stopped.”

“I thought this might give me answers,” she said. And when she said that, Noah reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I’m so sorry,” Jed said. “You were used as a pawn and eventually I abandoned you, hoping that would set you free. I can’t imagine the trauma. Counseling might be in order. I’ve had a lot of it.”

“How could you trust a counselor? She was a counselor!”

“Listen, Nora—there are good and bad in every profession—doctors, lawyers, teachers—”

“Clergy,” Noah put in. “Jed’s right. And a lot of troubled people study counseling to try to figure out their own issues. I might’ve been guilty of that myself.”

Her eyes filled when she looked at Noah. “I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life.”

“Maybe you and your father should continue all the questions and answers over the phone or computer. Take it one swallow at a time. You can use my computer at the church—we’ll set up an email account for you.” Noah glanced at Jed.

“Absolutely,” Jed said. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’m just so relieved to find you alive. One thing—is there anything you need? Is your health all right?”

She gave a nod. “And you?”

“Blood pressure medicine, statins for cholesterol—everything under control.”

“And you’re teaching?”

“At Stanford—history. I’ve been there twenty years now. I’d like to hear more about what you’re doing. When you’re ready. Everything you need to find me is in the envelope.”

“Thank you,” she said, hugging it to her. And without touching him, she turned away from him, heading back toward Noah’s truck. Then she stopped, turned back and said, “How did she die?”

“Complications of pneumonia. She went to the emergency room, was hospitalized and slipped away very quickly. I’m sorry, Nora.”

She nodded and went to the truck.

Noah stood and spoke with Jed for a few minutes while Nora just escaped. They were under way for several miles before she spoke. “All that driving for a thirty-minute meeting. I hope you’re not angry about that.”

“We agreed, the meeting was to be on your terms. No one else would control it—only you. I think you accomplished a lot. What do you think?”

“I think it was surreal. And I am completely drained.”

Chapter Five

Noah Kincaid had become a passable detective over time and necessity—Nora wasn’t the first person he’d helped thusly. He knew how to verify an address and employment and with the help of Brie Valenzuela, court documents. He reported to Nora that Jed Crane checked out and provided information on her aunt Victoria with a phone number to call when she was ready. There were three cousins—the entire family back east. All the items in the envelope were legitimate. There was one surprise included—a check. It was more money than Nora had had at one time in her life—five thousand dollars.

“What is the money for?” she asked Jed in an email sent from Noah’s church office.

“I made alimony and support payments and after your mother died, checks weren’t cashed. I thought maybe you could use it,” he wrote back

“But I’m sure you’re not rich,” she fired back.

“Can you put it to good use?” he returned.

Could she! The first thing would be car seats, just in case anyone offered to take her with the girls anywhere. And they were in sore need of clothes, all of them. She’d have to get the girls outfitted for winter—secondhand was perfectly adequate, but still cost money and should be done soon. The church always threw a little something her way, but she would still have to buy things like underwear and shoes. Disposable diapers for the baby cost the earth and formula wasn’t cheap. And then there was preschool and day care.

And there was one other thing that gnawed at her. She went to Noah and said, “I have a confession to make. It’s about the house… .”

“What house?” he asked.

“The one I’m living in.” Her cheeks grew hot and rosy. “I have no idea who owns it. It was a broken-down hovel when Chad brought us here. Fay was a newborn. It didn’t look like it had been lived in for years and the door was unlocked. I asked a man who was walking by with his dog who lived there and he said different renters on and off. The gas and electric were running, so we just went in. Noah—I’m squatting.”

“Squatting?” he asked.

“No one knows this, but no one has collected rent. The gas and power—I don’t use much, but I’m behind on the bills. Bills come in the mail to someone none of my neighbors has ever heard of and I get a money order from the Corner Store and pay a little something and miraculously, it keeps running. No one questions me. And now I have some money so I should make it right. And I’m scared. What if…”

Noah laughed. “Nora, that house was abandoned years ago—that’s why it wasn’t kept up. There are at least a few of them in town. Utilities are on?”

She nodded and chewed her lower lip. “Oh, my God—what if I’m evicted?”

“It’s shelter,” he said. “I’ll try to figure out who owns it, but sometimes it’s better not to ask a question if you can’t stand the answer. It’s probably owned by the state or bank. One tiny house with one bedroom—it can’t cost much in utilities.”

“But someone could notice I’m behind one of these days and shut everything off,” she said. “And what if it happens in winter?”

“Call me if that happens, meanwhile use a little of this money to catch up on the utility bills as much as you can,” he said with a smile. “We’re there for you, Nora. We don’t have much, but we always have lights and heat. You can bring the apples.”

* * *

Tom had a lot of friends from high school still living in the area, many of them working on family ranches, vineyards or farms; most of them married and some already parents. He had missed his ten-year high school reunion; he’d been in Afghanistan. His Marine Corps friends were either still serving or separated and returned to homes all over the U.S. And, there were a few deceased—he kept in touch with some widows and parents of fallen marines.

As for a social life, he occasionally drove all the way to the coast for a beer where there might be datable girls. He hadn’t met any particularly tempting women, however. And there was always Jack’s, but Maxie was so intent on cooking up a good evening meal for him that he had to head her off before she even planned one in her head. “Friday night I think I’ll go out,” he’d say. “Maybe hook up with some of my old friends.” Maxie was always delighted to hear that. She wanted Tom to have some fun. But what she didn’t know was that he seldom hooked up with anyone.

One thing he did do was give his only female employee a ride each morning and afternoon. She had stopped protesting and he found himself looking forward to those few minutes coming and going, fascinated by the updates on her family situation. She had met her father and began either talking to him for a few minutes a day or emailing from Noah’s church office.

“There’s a lot to process,” she told him. “It’s shocking how much I have to learn about myself—how my experiences growing up influenced some of the choices I’ve made.”

“As in bad choices?”

“Sure, some. But Reverend Kincaid has been wonderful in helping me navigate this minefield and tries to prompt me to find some of the good choices I’ve made. Like the choice to be a loving mother. Now, I don’t know about you and your views of fatherhood, but I always thought I’d be stuck with the kind of mother I turned out to be and to tell the truth, I was afraid I’d stink at it. It never occurred to me I had a choice.”

“I think some people are naturals, though,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure. Your grandmother, for example. If I could be like her one day…” And then she smiled at him with a smile that so lit up her pretty face he thought it was a miracle he didn’t drive off the road.

He realized they were becoming friends, the most unlikely friends imaginable. If she were a little older and less encumbered, they might even be more than friends. That was out of the question, of course. Tom was not in the market for an instant family. He was especially unwilling to take on the kids of some unknown guy or guys.

It was too bad she had that baggage because there were things about her that really blew his whistle—like her undeniable beauty. She had rich mahogany hair—long, silky, thick. She usually kept it in a ponytail but had a habit of letting it loose, shaking it out, combing it with her fingers back into the tie that held it. And her eyes were smoky, a kind of odd brown shade that grew almost gray in the bright light. And those slim, dark brown brows—she could lift just one and it became provocative. Sexy and even suggestive. He loved that she took her breaks in the orchard rather than the break room in the barn—she said fall was her favorite season and it would be gone too soon. And it touched a place deep inside him when she said working in the orchard was like a fantasy she hadn’t even dared dream of—a luxury.

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