Molly's Garden

Revisiting the impression the man had left brought him squarely back into focus.

At thirty-two she could count on one hand the men who’d stirred her. A fellow Ag student in college. He’d changed his major to computers, eloped with his high school sweetheart and gone on to make his mark at IBM.

The other had been a doctor volunteering in Kenya while he did advanced studies on jungle fevers. She’d thought they’d had a future until a female physician had showed up to work as part of Molly’s extended team. Mark Lane, MD, had broken her heart when he and Penelope Volker, having snagged twin fellowships at Johns Hopkins, had left without even a backward glance.

Worse, the couple’s dual departure had left only a nurse and a nurse practitioner to care for the desperately ill who showed up at their village Peace Corps compound.

Shaking off the memory, she entered the barn and strained to see in the dim light. Nitro loped over to drink water from a big bowl they kept filled for him.

Henry stepped out from the office. “Molly, I think we’ve found you a truck driver. I checked his references and the folks he listed all said you’d be lucky to get him.”

“Really?”

He handed her the double-sided application she’d put together after placing the ad.

“Where has he worked before? Why isn’t he working there now? Or, if he is, why is he looking to change jobs?”

“He’s currently working at a bar near Catarina. For a friend. The guy said Hollister has done everything from ordering to serving to cleaning up to being his bouncer in just short of two years. He pretty much ran the place, because the owner was renovating a house. Oh, and he also said when the bar was closed Hollister picked up housing materials and helped with construction.”

“Hmm.” Molly glanced over the form. On the line about education he’d written “some college.”

“His second reference, Kevin Cole, has a Dallas address and phone number. Did Hollister work in Dallas?”

“That’s Cole’s private cell number. He said Hollister handled a lot of different projects. I asked if he could drive a diesel truck. Cole laughed and said Hollister never met a job he couldn’t handle. I gathered he lived in Dallas but worked in different places—even doing contract jobs overseas. Cole was vague. I figured it must’ve been for the government. Government guys are hard to pin down.”

Molly chewed on that. Even working in remote Africa she’d met some black ops guys. Tough men. Shadowy figures. From her brief assessment of Adam Hollister, he fit the image.

Did she want someone like him on her payroll? Perhaps she should do more of a background check.

On the other hand, she needed someone now. It was worth giving him a trial, she supposed.

“You can always fire him if he doesn’t work out,” Henry said, making Molly wonder if her thoughts were that transparent.

“I can, but you know I’m better at hiring than firing.”

Her cell phone rang, cutting off Henry’s remark. Dragging it out of her pocket, Molly saw the call was from Tess Warner, an artisan bread maker she’d met at a farmers’ market near Cotulla.

“Hey,” Molly said as she answered, gesturing to Henry that the call was going to take a while. “I haven’t seen you out and about at any markets for a while. Is everything okay?”

“Great!” Tess replied. “Has it really been that long?”

“A few weeks at least. Where’ve you been?”

“Corpus, if that counts as going anywhere.” She laughed. “I guess we haven’t seen each other since I tracked down an old friend of my grandmother’s. The woman still lives in Sicily.

“Gabriella sent me a bunch of recipes in Italian. I needed my mom and my aunts to translate them, so I’ve been in Corpus trying out the recipes and transcribing them into English.”

“I miss you! I toasted my last slice of your cranberry-pecan bread this morning for breakfast.”

“Funny, I have loaves waiting to bake. I called to invite you over and to ask if you could bring some fresh dill. I’m home and baking up a storm. If you come over, we’ll have warm bread slathered with butter and some wine my mother made.”

“How can I refuse an offer like that? I have a lot to tell you, too, Tess. My truck driver got beaten up. He’s the second one—the other guy quit on me.”

“That’s horrible. I hope you’re okay.”

“I’ve been hauling loads to markets all week in my SUV and nobody seems to bother me.”

“Just the thought is bad enough. Hey, bring Nitro. Coco misses him.”

“Wait until you hear how my big scary dog totally caved over a guy I may hire as my next driver.”

“A new man? Wonderful, I can’t wait to hear.”

Molly said goodbye and turned to leave the barn.

Henry called out, “Tomorrow we’ll have a large load. A lot of buyers stock up midweek. Do you want me to call Hollister to see if he can be here and ready to hit the road by seven?”

Frowning, Molly again scanned the application she forgot she still held.

“Do you have time to run a check at the DMV on his license?”

“Sure. You’re doing too much on your own. If we hire Hollister, it’ll free you up to do what you like best—dig in the dirt.”

“You know me too well. Okay, if his license is current, offer him the job. Did you talk to him about salary?”

Henry plucked at his lower lip. “I don’t recall him asking about money. Not usual. But he didn’t strike me as a man with champagne tastes. Know what I mean?”

“Okay. Suggest the same rate I paid Ramon. If he wants more, go up fifty dollars a week. But that’s tops. If he’s good with that and can work tomorrow, no need to let me know. If he backs out and I have to juggle my workload again, put a note on my kitchen door. I don’t know how late I’ll be at Tess’s. She’s offering bread and wine.”

“Your papa would like seeing you get out with friends your age. But he would’ve liked it better if you were going out with a young man.”

Snorting, Molly handed back Adam Hollister’s application. “Don’t you be stepping into Dad’s shoes and giving me a hard time. Maybe I’ll choose to remain single.”

The old man, who’d been like a grandfather to Molly, raised an eyebrow but ducked back into the office without saying another word.

Molly went to the house with Nitro, stopping to cut and bag stalks of dill from the herbs lining her front porch. She added rosemary and thyme to the burlap bag. That barely left time for a speedy shower.

After dressing, she worked equally fast and tossed together ingredients for a summer salad. Placing the bowl on ice in a small cooler, she pocketed dog treats and left the house with twelve minutes to reach Tess’s.

The freeway made the drive easy. Still, she was a tad late. Because her windows were rolled down, she smelled the fresh bread when she turned onto her friend’s street. There weren’t a lot of homes nearby, but the people living closest must drool a lot, she thought. Few things set a person’s taste buds tingling as did warm, fresh bread.

She parked behind Tess’s car, collected everything and clipped a leash on Nitro.

Tess had already thrown open her front door, greeting Molly with a hug as she crested the top step. Her friend’s chubby three-year-old beagle barked and dashed out to rub noses with the much taller Doberman, who acted silly again, the way he had with Adam Hollister. The big dog scooched toward Coco on his belly, uttering what could only be described as crooning. “You ham,” she accused him as she and Tess laughed.

“I thought my last batch of bread would be out of the kiln out back before you got here,” Tess said. “I’ll pour us each a glass of Mom’s sangria and we can let the dogs run in the backyard while we wait. It feels like ages since we even talked.”

“It all sounds heavenly. I’ve scarcely sat down all day.” Molly handed Tess the burlap bag of herbs and followed her through the dimly lit living room into the bright, cheery kitchen. Molly had only been here once before.