Molly's Garden

But other things ran through Molly’s mind. For one, she pictured running into Tess, to whom she’d vehemently denied that Adam was hot. Today he totally fit the description.

After waging a fierce internal debate she conceded Henry had a point about her staff’s anxiety. “All right. Here’s the ignition key.” She dug the fob out of her pocket. “Drive down to the lower road. Park between the tomatoes and kale and we’ll load up.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_9c46ba5f-b729-524c-9506-53595500a1b3)

“I DIDN’T SEE any kids working in your fields today,” Adam later said casually, trying to hide that he was relieved. Seeing them had been like plunging a knife in his heart. Until then he hadn’t realized how he’d painstakingly avoided going places where he might run into moms and their kids.

“They’ll be back Thursdays until their planting is ready to harvest. I sprouted their seeds in my greenhouse so they won’t have to wait so long to see results. Hopefully the plants they set out will all be edible before school ends.”

“I don’t get it. Are you teaching a class in gardening or is it a class kids take in school?”

The two of them were moving crates from the ends of rows where pickers had steadily filled them. Molly carried crates to the truck and Adam lifted them onto the flatbed in the order she dictated—the order on the chart she’d given him.

“It’s not a formal class,” she said, and jumped up onto the truck to arrange the crates. “I consider it a hands-on learning experience that leads to good eating habits. Kids gain an appreciation for healthy foods because they like to eat what they help grow. Don’t you agree?”

Adam sort of bobbed his head as he stacked two crates of tomatoes in the spot where she pointed. “I’m impressed by how you have all of this committed to memory. I’m sorry, but you’re getting ahead of me.”

Molly smiled. “If you stick around long enough, remembering which color crate goes to which market becomes a habit.”

“You mean markets receive the same color crate on set days even if the contents change? Today we have lettuce, tomatoes, peas, carrots and radishes. But in looking over your fields, the harvest will change. I notice your corn has good-size ears.”

“Right. See, you’re getting the hang of my process already, and you didn’t start out working with the earth like my previous two drivers.”

“Do you mind if I ask why they left?” Pausing, Adam leaned on a stack of crates and gazed up at Molly.

“I would’ve thought Henry had told you.” Molly sighed. “Last fall my first driver claimed he was hassled by some men he said followed him to a market and shoved him around. He was known to complain a lot, so I ignored him. He quit and left the area.” She frowned. “My second driver’s reliable. He used to work cattle for my dad. A couple of weeks ago he was run off the road and beaten up. Maybe by the same men. They frightened him into quitting driving. He still works for me, but behind the scenes. Listen, I’ll understand if you don’t want the job. I can rerun the ad.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Looking down on him, standing tall and loose-limbed, wearing a crooked little smile, Molly debated with herself about how to answer. She settled on muttering, “No, no, of course not. I hate driving the truck in freeway traffic. During my time with the Peace Corps I only drove a beat-up Jeep on what would be considered here as cow paths. Pass me more crates, please. Markets open before the sun gets too high.”

“Sure.” Adam quickly set half a dozen full crates at her feet. “So you served in the Peace Corps?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She gave a noncommittal shrug.

He jogged past the truck to other rows and returned with more crates of ripe tomatoes. “Getting back to your former drivers. What do you think they did to make enemies?”

“Funny, the sheriff I spoke to seemed to think the enemies are mine.”

“Really?” Adam shaded his eyes and gave her a thorough once-over. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d irritate men.”

His close scrutiny sent a hot flush to Molly’s cheeks. Recovering, she shot back, “Don’t count on that. May I ask what gives you such insight into how someone makes enemies? Might it correlate to jobs you did for Mr. Cole?”

Adam fumbled and almost dropped the crate he’d picked up. “Uh, you talked to Kevin?”

“Henry did.”

“What did Kev have to say? I haven’t seen him in a while. I only spoke to his secretary.”

Molly tossed her head. “Henry said he was vague. He guessed you handled some kind of government job. Mr. Cole told Henry you did some work out of the country. Were you a mercenary?” she asked abruptly.

Adam laughed. “Nothing so exciting. Try engineering.” He dropped three crates at her feet and left to retrieve a new batch.

“Oh.” It wasn’t until he glanced back over one wide shoulder, his eyes curious, that Molly realized she may have sounded disappointed.

And maybe she was.

The rough-and-tumble life she’d made up for him meant he could handle whatever guys wanted to disrupt her business. Also, soldier of fortune fit him. At least it fit his looks.

Adam squinted up at her again. “I have another question. Since you send certain produce to specific markets each day, do buyers always go there looking for those foods? I’m trying to understand this business.”

“Dedicated shoppers may travel to more than one market a week. Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, but what does your sales staff do, say, if more people show up in a morning than they can accommodate? Are there food fights? I’m thinking of a tool sale I attended once where guys came to blows over a limited number of drills.”

She laughed. “Food fights? Farmers’ markets...aren’t like that. Have you never been to one?” When he shook his head, she took a deep breath and explained. “Regulars know to go early. They buy what’s available. Occasionally we have a few vegetables left over. People who can’t afford to buy wander back at the end of the day to see if vendors have produce to give away.”

Adam straightened. “Is that a racket? I mean, couldn’t someone who can afford to buy food game the system?”

“Why would they? People are proud. No one wants a handout.”

He might have made another remark, but Henry drove up, parked and climbed from his aged pickup.

She still had questions about Adam. For instance, he’d said he’d been an engineer for Mr. Cole, but on his application under education, he’d written “some college.” The engineers she’d met in the Peace Corps had had a lot of years of university and bragged about it. So had this man quit college?

Nitro jumped up from his shady spot between the bean rows. He remained on alert until he recognized Henry, then he sank down again in the cool dirt.

“Good morning, you two. Glad to see you showed up early, Adam.” The older man plucked a couple of pea pods out of a crate and ate the peas. Dropping the pods, he smiled. “Sweet. Way better than in the supermarkets.”

Molly stopped shifting crates on the truck bed. “Why would you buy peas at the supermarket when you can walk out in the field and pick all you want?”

“Shouldn’t we check out the competition? Just kidding. I tagged along while Alma did our grocery shopping last night. You aren’t charging enough for peas or string beans.”

Henry and Molly discussed pricing while Adam collected more crates he then set at Molly’s feet.

Henry turned his attention back to Adam. “You wearing a back support belt?”

Molly paused in lashing down a row to stare at the man who’d just shed his long-sleeved shirt. A white undershirt molded to bands of rippling muscles, making Henry’s question seem silly. Adam Hollister had back muscle and every other kind of muscle to spare.

“We have back belts in the barn for the taking. I know, I know...” Henry waved a hand as if to erase Adam’s anticipated objection. “At your age, I scoffed, too. Now I have a bad back. Miss Molly’s daddy grumped because she never wears one.”

She realized that comment brought Adam’s scrutiny to her again. “I should set a good example,” she said. “But they’re hot.”

“How much do you suppose one of these full crates weighs?” Adam asked.

“They vary.” Molly scooted crates filled with eggplant into four separate lines.

Henry answered. “According to OSHA rules those cucumbers are heavy enough to do some muscle damage.”