“What?” Tom said.
She looked at him in shock. “What? Tom, red boots are like the top of the mountain, the epitome.”
“They are?”
She turned slightly toward him. “If you can actually afford beautiful high-heeled leather boots, you get black, to go with everything. You only get red because you already have black and you want something indulgent, magnificent. Astonishing.”
“Really?” he asked. “And you know this how?”
“Tom,” she said with some impatience. “Red is special. You only have red for important things, because red doesn’t go with everything. Black goes with everything so to be practical, you buy black.”
He just shook his head. “Amazing, the stuff a guy can live without understanding… And did you have red boots?”
“Like those? Oh, please! I think a handful of women on earth have boots like those. I don’t know who the designer is, but the soles were shiny black. They were like art. But hey, I had red patent leather pumps once, when I was fifteen, for a special high school dance…”
“There you go…”
“That I went to with my girlfriend,” she finished, laughing. “Trust me, I’ve never been in the red leather boot league!”
When he pulled into Virgin River he became a bit more solemn. “Listen, there’s another reason I drove you besides my devoted friendship. We’ve been having some wildlife issues.”
“I saw you fixing the fence again.”
“Three times in a month. Seriously, we don’t usually get the fence broken down. No one has seen our pest, but I suspect a bear that was pestering one of our neighbors. I caught sight of her in the orchard earlier in summer—eating green apples. She has triplets, and by now they’re getting pretty big. She must be coming in early morning or evening. At least she isn’t bothering the orchard while we’re working. But I’m getting mighty sick of repairing the goddamn fence.”
“How can you be sure it’s a bear?”
“Deer won’t break down a fence—they’ll try to reach over it for the fruit. Mountain lions are carnivores—they’re not interested in apples. They’re interested in meat—the flesh of any animal they can catch.”
“Oh,” she said. “Feeling so much better now that I know that.”
“They almost never attack a human that doesn’t have them cornered.”
“Way to comfort, Tom,” she said.
“I think the bear and her cubs are climbing the fence to get over and breaking it down in the process and I’ll be damned if I’ll build a brick wall to keep them out. I’ll sit up in a tree and shoot her first.”
“Hey, I’m not going to lobby for her safety. I’m just thinking—are we talking lost apples or lost lives here?”
“I’m thinking broken fences,” he said. “But there’s a danger of running into her or the cubs and being attacked because you posed a threat.”
“How could someone like me pose a threat to anything?” she asked.
He scraped off his cap and ran a hand over his head. “It’s not logical, Nora. It’s wildlife, trying to protect their young and their turf. She recently took a swipe at a guy who was too close and he was laying facedown, playing dead. Hurt him pretty bad.”
She gave her chin a resolute drop and said, “Yep, the bear has to go. Good luck with that.”
“I’ll be here Monday morning. Don’t walk. Are we on the same page here?”
“Of course,” she said. He pulled up to her house and she grabbed the door. As she was exiting, she grinned devilishly. “Have fun with those boots.”
“Get out, you little hussy.”
“Hey! I think it’s against the law for a boss to call an employee a hussy!”
He leaned toward her. “Sue me.”
* * *
Tom went home, showered and shaved and, for once, put on clothes that did not wear the Cavanaugh logo. When he went downstairs, he found Darla sitting at the table while Maxie puttered around the kitchen, cooking and talking. Darla nursed a glass of white wine and Tom helped himself to a beer. “Junior coming to dinner?” he asked his grandmother.
“Not tonight. It’s just the three of us tonight. I want a chance to get to know Darla a little bit.”
“There’s not too much to know. I grew up in Colorado, went to college there, got the only job I’ve had since with a local drug company, met my husband there. We hadn’t been married long when he deployed.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Darla,” Maxie said.
“Thank you. I’ve moved on—that’s what Bob would’ve wanted. I’m very close to my family and they’ve been a huge support.”
“You live near your family?” Maxie asked.
“We all live within five miles of each other,” she said. “My brother, his wife and their two kids, my mom and dad, an aunt and uncle, a couple of cousins. We watch each other’s pets when we travel.”
“You have a pet?” Maxie asked. She looked down at Duke who was sprawled under the table and at her look, he lifted his head. Then dropped it again in boredom.
“A little white poodle named Precious,” she said. “He doesn’t shed.”
Tom choked on his beer. Maxie slapped him on the back. “Wrong pipe,” she said. “Is your dog with you at UC Davis?”
“No, that wouldn’t have worked. I didn’t have friends there. He’s at my parents’ house where he has a close relationship with their Scottish Terrier. I travel in my job so Precious is often with my parents.”
“Anything I can do to help you, Maxie?” Tom asked.
“Yes, thanks. Go to the basement and pull a pound cake and some strawberries out of the freezer. We’ll have that with our coffee later.”
“Oh, not for me, Maxie,” Darla said. “I’m not much of a dessert person.”
“No sweet tooth?” Tom heard his grandmother ask as he took the stairs to the basement.
“Not too much. It seems I’m always watching my weight.”
“Pity. I guess Tom will take care of yours.”
When he came back upstairs, he noticed that Darla was wearing a different pair of boots for dinner—brown suede flat boots that went over her jeans, jeans that were delightfully tight. She wore a long-sleeved fuzzy sweater that had a fairly deep V-neck and it was red. Tom was beginning to understand what Nora meant when she said red was special. There was a lovely cleavage visible.
Maxie began putting one of her best meals on the table—a standing rib roast that Tom would have the honor of carving. Twice-baked potatoes, asparagus from her own garden, fresh rolls that had risen earlier and were warm and plump with sweet cream butter from a neighboring farmer. She added salt and pepper, glasses of ice water and a small bowl of horseradish, Tom’s preference.
“What a feast!” Darla said. And Maxie smiled proudly. When they were seated and Tom was cutting the meat Darla said, “A very small piece for me, please.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “You had a long drive.”
“I’m not a big eater of red meat. Not a vegetarian or anything—I just eat more fish than beef.”
“You’ll do fine in this part of the world,” he said, serving her up a small slice. “The Virgin River supplies some of the most amazing trout and salmon around here. What fish do you like?”
She was delicately cutting up her beef and asparagus into very small pieces. “Hmm, I think ahi tuna is my favorite. I’m partial to sushi. Do you like sushi?” she asked Tom.
“Sure,” he said. “Did a lot of that in San Diego.”
“Any good sushi bars around here?”
“On the coast, maybe…” he said. “I think this part of the state is more known for beef, wild game, hearty, meaty meals.”
“Wild game?” she asked, lifting a very tiny portion of meat to her mouth.
“Duck, pheasant, goose, venison, that sort of thing. Big hunting area. Lots of hunters pass this way.”
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“Hunting? Ew.”
He leaned toward her. “Hunting is fishing on dry land.”
“I suppose,” she said, sampling the asparagus. “Maxie, this is fabulous. You said you grew this?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have a small vegetable garden, and it’s almost plucked clean by now, but the broccoli and asparagus come in late.”
Tom watched Darla take a little bitty bite of potatoes, then go back to the vegetable.
“So, what are your plans for the weekend?” Maxie asked.
“Well, boring as this sounds, I thought I’d take Darla for a walk through the orchard tonight, then tomorrow, if you can spare me, I’d like to take her through the redwoods and over to the coast. We could have dinner in Arcata, so you’re on your own, Maxie.”
“Wonderful. And what happens Sunday?”
“I have to be on the road by around noon,” Darla said. “My class begins Monday morning.”
“Here, sweetheart,” Maxie said, lifting the bread basket toward her.
“Oh, thank you, but no—bread is not really part of my diet. I can’t stay in these jeans if I eat bread. And butter is out of the question.” Then she put her fork on the table and leaned back, her plate still quite full. “Maxie, that was fabulous.”
“How do you know?” Maxie asked, looking at the plate.
Darla laughed. “I don’t have a big appetite. And I’m careful about things like starches, fats, red meat.”
“I’ll remember that,” Maxie said. “Can I fix you a PB and J to hold you over?”
“A what?”
“Peanut butter and jelly,” Tom supplied. And he unremorsefully kept shoveling food into his mouth, jealously eyeing Darla’s still-full plate.
Darla laughed as if it were a joke. “I’m fine, really.”
“What’s for breakfast?” Maxie asked.
Darla tilted her head, lifted a pretty blond brow and asked, “A little granola? Plain yogurt?”
“How do you feel about All-Bran?” Maxie asked.
Darla made a face.
“We’re going out for breakfast,” Tom announced. “I have eggs, potatoes, sausage, bacon and toast. I’ll be sure you have granola and yogurt.”
“Tom,” she said sincerely, “aren’t you worried about your cholesterol?”
He forked a big mouthful of potatoes, full of butter, cheese and sour cream into his mouth and after swallowing he said, “I lift a couple thousand pounds of apples a day. I dare my cholesterol to keep up with that.”
“I guess you have a point,” she said. “I work out every morning, but the rest of my day isn’t so physical. I’m in sales. I have a lot of meetings. Many of them in restaurants. If I ate everything that was put in front of me, I’d weigh two hundred pounds!”
“You look just lovely, dear,” Maxie said. “You’ll be fine. Now tell us about the sales job and who you sell your products to.”
And cleverly, Maxie turned the table over to Darla, who was not eating and could talk while Tom and Maxie finished their dinner. And it was interesting—her work with doctors and hospitals and drug trials that might actually cure diseases and conditions that to this point rarely were successfully cured. She traveled for three to four days every other week and enjoyed her travels. She had long-term clients who had become friends because they depended on her. And there were benefits—bonus gifts she could give to her clients, and to herself, like good seats at concerts and sporting events. There were greatly discounted resort destinations—the Caribbean, Hawaii, Mexico. She had the best vacations and bonuses in the world.
During her explanation of her work, Tom and Maxie rose from the table and began to clean up dishes, careful not to ignore her. Since Maxie was letting the broiler pan soak, it didn’t take long to wash up, put things in the dishwasher, wipe off the table. Maxie didn’t even bother with the pound cake yet.
“Come on,” Tom said, holding out his hand. “Let’s find your jacket and walk off some of those calories you stuffed away at dinner.”
Hopefully only Tom noticed Maxie roll her eyes.
Chapter Eight
To Tom’s great pleasure, it was a clear night. Cold, clear and the sky was peppered with a million stars. He walked with Darla down the lane between the two big groves, hands tucked into their jacket pockets.
“I can see why you love it here,” she said. “It’s so quaint and peaceful.”
“I guess I never think of it as quaint. It’s so much work. We move tons and tons of apples and gallons of cider.”
“But you have employees,” she said.
“Several. And now that I’m home I can manage the business end of things—accounts, payroll, shipping—all stuff Maxie did with Junior’s help while I was gone. I think she’s entitled to a slower pace. It was either run the orchard or think about selling it in the not-too-distant future.”
“Sell it?” she asked.
“It’s been in the Cavanaugh family since the first trees were planted—a very long time ago. I think it was my great-grandfather. I think Maxie would grieve it. I’m pretty sure I would. I can’t think of anything I could do but this.”
“And this is a good business?” she asked.
“Good enough to take care of all our needs year round. And in the winter when we’re not planting or picking, it keeps us very well.”
“Is it lucrative?” she asked.
“I guess so,” he said with a shrug. The fact was, Tom didn’t think like that. He wasn’t comparing his orchard to anyone else’s. They did very well and when there was profit left over, they always put it into the land, crop, equipment and the house. There were some savings of course, but mainly their money went back into the business. They were continually enlarging their crop. And of course they paid employees and provided benefits for all but the seasonal help.
“But what a great place to come on weekends, to get out of the rat race,” she said.
“Better than Jamaica?” he asked teasingly. “Better than front-row seats at a Lakers game?”
She gave him a playful slug in the arm.
“You come up here any weekend you feel like it,” he invited.
“Will you come to Davis?” she asked.
“Probably not during the harvest,” he said. “I rarely take a whole weekend off between the end of August and Thanksgiving. I can wrangle a day sometimes. Or an evening.”
“But you were gone for seven years and they did fine,” she pointed out.
“But I’m home now and they don’t have to make do.”
“Am I keeping you from something important now?” she asked him.
He stopped walking and looked down at her. “This is a treat. After spending all day in the orchard, I don’t usually do this. Walking through the trees at night, under a clear sky, it gives me a whole new appreciation for the place.” He took a deep breath and put his hands on her waist. “So, how are you doing, really, since Bob’s been gone?”
“Very well,” she said. “I had my time of grief, which was so hard, but I’m better. I’ve even had a few dates. Nothing very promising, but hey…”
“You know, I kissed my first girl in the orchard,” he said.
“I bet you’ve kissed a lot of them since.”
“Not in the orchard.” And he slowly closed in on her, cautiously meeting her lips. Her hands rested on his forearms and she tilted her chin up, offering her mouth. He moved over her lips softly, then slid his arms around her waist, pulled her against him and got serious about the kiss, deepening, demanding a bit.
Darla went along with this for a moment and then gently pulled away with a nervous laugh. He didn’t let go, but watched her smile, her eyes. “Let’s take this nice and slow, Tom,” she said.
“Sure.” Then he took her hand in his much larger one and walked with her down the lane. “I’m surprised that you got in touch, Darla.”
“Really? Because I though
t you could tell when you visited—I was hoping we’d see each other again.” She looked up at him. “I asked for this class, Tom. I thought it might give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
“No kidding?” he replied, stunned. Then he grinned and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be damned.”
“You shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re a desirable man—handsome, accomplished, successful.”
“I am?”
She laughed and leaned against him. “We’re going to have a good time this weekend.”
* * *
Tom enjoyed watching Darla gasp in awe at the redwoods, at the rocky coast, aiming her cell phone at scenic views for pictures and short movies. He was surprised by the amount of pleasure it gave him to answer her many questions about the area, the business of operating an orchard, how he grew up with his grandmother. He assumed she had very few questions about his time in the Corps because, after all, that was how she lost her husband.
She did say she was comfortable around him because she felt as though he knew her, having served with her husband. Tom nodded, but in fact he didn’t feel like he knew her at all. Bob hadn’t talked about her much, just to say things like he couldn’t wait to get home, that his wife was gorgeous—no argument there. But Tom hadn’t known anything more about her. Tom was a captain, Bob was first sergeant. They weren’t exactly old friends, but Tom served with him in the sandbox and had a lot of respect for the guy. Bob was looking at a military career while Tom had been pretty sure he was heading out after that deployment.
Twenty-four hours into Darla’s first visit to the orchard, Tom already had a very hard time picturing her as a marine sergeant’s wife, especially a career marine. She was very proud of her job, loved what she did. She was passionate about her career.
He asked her if she and Bob had hoped to have children and she said they had barely talked about it. But over dinner on Saturday night, they managed to talk about more personal things. He told her about growing up an orphaned only child and she told him about growing up with one older sibling and devoted parents. It sounded like she had led a charmed life until choosing to marry a marine and being suddenly widowed. He felt bad about that; everyone had tough stuff to carry, but this pretty and successful girl shouldn’t have had to go through that trauma. It made him think about how many happy, pretty young women lost their men and how many fine young men had buried their wives because of the same war.