Nuts About You

Book 1: Midnight Bluff

by Susan E. Farris

Genres: Southern; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Contemporary Romance; Small-town Romance; Second Chance Romance; workplace romance; Second Chance Romance; clean romance; southern humor; small town romance series

Synopsis

Jake Walker just wants to be left alone to do his job in peace under the rustling pecan trees.

He's had enough of love and heart break to last him a lifetime. And he is not thrilled about his boss' announcement to call in an outsider to “help” restore the orchard.

 

Even if that outsider is whip-smart and comes with gorgeous green eyes.

Cress McBride knows she's running away.

From a broken heart and a fizzling career. But it turns out that her biggest task might not be healing the ailing trees of her grandfather's orchard.

 

It will be cracking the tough exterior of her new co-worker, the grumpy farm manager who makes her insides melt with just one glance.

Sometimes, love drives you just a little nuts...

The sweet, small-town romance that begins the Midnight Bluff series from Susan E. Farris.

Release date: October 15, 2021

Publisher: SF Consulting

Reader says this book is...: entertaining story (1) heartwarming (1) rich setting(s) (1) strong chemistry (1)

Sample

Chapter 1

Cress stared at the bubbles in her champagne as she held it up toward the chandelier. She slowly swirled the glass, watching the small sparks of light slide up the side. It might have been premature to order the bottle, but she knew what tonight meant for her and Grant. And Lord knew, she needed something to celebrate after today’s disaster at work.

Her engagement would thrill her mother. Well, she'd at least be pleased with the prospect of a wedding to plan. She had decidedly mixed feelings about Cress’ choice for her future son-in-law.

She took a big gulp and winced as the carbonation burned its way down her throat. Around her echoed the chatter of a full restaurant. Candles flickered on the white linen tablecloths, their light glimmering a thousand times over in the elegant cut-glass goblets.

The softly sobbing notes of a violinist floated from the corner. Uncomfortable in her stiff silk dress, she squirmed in the slick chair in the center of the room. As happy couples conversed in hushed tones around her, she sat alone at a table for two, fiddling with her silver cross necklace. Taking another gulp of her champagne, she rolled her shoulders and tried to relax and listen to the elegant music.

Well into her second glass and still alone, Cress eyed the roll on the plate across from her, considering nabbing it. The two glasses of champagne were going straight to her head, and she didn’t want to be drunk when Grant got here. Whenever that was. It should have been half an hour ago. She speared the roll and slathered butter on it.

Just as she shoved the last flaky bite in her mouth, Grant plopped into the seat opposite her, his dark blond hair falling into his hazel eyes. Cress eyed his work slacks and colorful Polo, but shrugged off his work-casual appearance. At least he was finally here.

She grinned and leaned forward, grasping his hands. Her nails looked perfect after her trip to the salon for those outrageous French tips he was always telling her to get, and she hoped he noticed. She would have to get them taken off in the next day or two; fake nails were wildly impractical out in the field, but she would do anything to make this night special for him.

He coughed and sat back, pulling away to wave down their waiter as he swiped at his nose. “Could we get some more bread, please?”

Belatedly, she realized there were crumbs scattered all over her plate, and she surreptitiously swept them away underneath the waiter’s bemused glance.

“How was your day?” she asked, trying to sound chipper, but she could already feel some of the bubbliness from the champagne wearing off beneath his abrupt manner.

“Decent. Finalized a proposal for a small town in Vermont––a revitalization project that’s going nowhere––but my supervisor’s happy and gave me the green light to put out a call for contractor bids on it.” With a loud sniff, he rubbed at his eyes. Always with the rubbing and swiping and sniffing around her. Was she made of ragweed or something?

Deciding to put her attitude aside and try again, she took his hand. “Sounds like you had a productive day.”

He shrugged. “Did you get that promotion to project lead you were gunning for?” He tilted his head and studied her. She swept her thumb across the back of his hand, wanting tonight to be just about them and their future. Not about her failure. Again.

“C’mon. Let’s toast to a beautiful evening.” She poured him a glass of champagne, bubbles fizzing over the back of her hand as she spilled a bit in her haste.

Grant took the glass from her before she could spill more. “Cress. We’ve talked about this. Did you at least put your application in?”

She drew back her hand, offended. “Of course.” Cress hunched her shoulders, not wanting to relive her humiliating day, but knowing if she didn’t offer some details, he’d pry them out of her bit by painful bit. She’d rather get a bikini wax.

“Dr. Gregory doesn’t think I have a ‘tough-enough personality’ to handle the whole team.” She bit her lip to keep from adding to the thought that maybe he was right.

Dr. Gregory had all but laughed at her application, despite having the endorsements of most of her senior teammates. He’d given the promotion to their new, and highly charismatic, teammate Jim without so much as even looking through her file.

She didn’t blame Jim for being well-liked, but she did blame Dr. Gregory for dismissing her out-of-hand. He’d refused to consider the depth of her knowledge of hickory decline, her reputation as a meticulous researcher, and her long-standing relationships with everyone not only on their research team but across their field in the Northwest. Her body flared hot and angry at the thought of his scoffing, the little hairs pricking up on the back of her neck.

Still, Cress knew she was not the most outgoing of the group. Even if she was laser-focused on their research, on the rare occasions she was in the office, she wasn’t one to join in for drinks after hours or gossip around the dented-up tables in the break room. When people wanted to talk, they sought her out, but she didn’t seek out others.

Maybe that was her weakness. She’d rather be in the forest than at a fundraising formal, but you needed both skill sets to be a good leader. Grant’s congested voice broke through her rabbit trailing thoughts.

“That’s such bull. You have the most field experience and have published more papers than anyone else on that blasted team. Heck, more than two or three of some of those guys combined. Who did they give it to, if not you?”

This night was quickly turning from the romantic evening she had envisioned to another grilling about her career decisions.

She hugged her arms to herself and whispered, “Jim.”

“Jim? The new grad. He’s been there, what, a year?”

The promotion going to Jim was an insult, and she knew it, but Dr. Gregory had announced without forewarning this afternoon. There was nothing she could do without looking petty. She dropped her eyes and didn’t respond, hoping he’d let the topic go. Sometimes, Grant would relent if they were out in public. But tonight, he persisted.

“Honey, did you even try to stand up for yourself?”

She looked up at Grant. Disappointment pinched the corners of his eyes. But it wasn’t disappointment for her; it was disappointment with her. An icy blast of air washed over her from the overzealous air conditioning, and her breathing hitched. What was happening to their romantic evening?

She shook her head and swallowed, trying to focus on what really mattered: them. “Let’s not worry about that. There will be other opportunities.” Picking up her glass, she held it toward him unsteadily. “Let’s just celebrate us tonight.”

But Grant was shaking his head, wiping at his nose with his white linen napkin. “Honey, I don’t think there is an ‘us’ anymore. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She set the glass down, spilling a few sticky drops onto the table and watching the moisture wick into the pristine cloth. Her ears rang.

“What are you saying?” She pressed her trembling lips together and stared down at her lap, willing herself not to cry, to not make a scene in the middle of this beautiful restaurant. Her mother’s words rang in her ears. A lady did not draw attention to herself by pitching a fit in public. But all the day’s rejections came crashing down on her in one thunderous heap and she felt her voice crack.

“You take me out to dinner—which you’re late to––at the most romantic place in Wisconsin just to break up with me? I thought you were proposing!” Her voice ticked up shrilly and a few tables near them glanced over sympathetically. “This is the most humiliating day of my life!” Grant shot a nervous look at the glowering maître d’, and she lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Come on, Cress. You can’t be surprised by this, can you?” Grant clasped her hand. She snatched it back, and he huffed. “Look, we’re both always working. But you’re not even trying to go anywhere with your career, not really, while I’ve steadily been climbing in mine. And you bring home all those plants. That you know I’m allergic to.”

“We don’t live together, Grant!”

“Yes, but I’d like to be able to come over to your apartment or even be around you without sneezing my head off. It’s like you purposefully roll around in pollen.”

“I’m a doctor of biology. I work with plants. I’m outside, in the forest seventy-five percent of the time.” She circled her hands exasperatedly. “You knew this when we started dating. I can’t exactly change my career because you don’t like taking Claritin.”

He sat back in his chair and gestured at her. “Where is that fire when it comes to your career? You’ll let me have it, but heaven forbid you stand up for yourself at work.”

“I don’t want to be known as a shrew at work!”

“And I don’t want to be shackled to someone with no ambition.”

Cress sat back, hands over her face. That wasn’t it at all; the politics—she couldn’t believe he understood her so little. She took a few deep, steadying breaths and looked up at him. “Well then, I guess there’s nothing more to say.”

“Come on, Cress. Don’t be like that. I just don’t think that we’re a good fit is all.”

Ice flowed through her, crackling through her stupidly expensive French tips clutching the table. Don’t be like that. Grant was the one dumping her. He didn’t get a say in how she reacted or felt.

She didn’t have to make a complete spectacle of herself, but, by the mighty Mississippi, she was going to have the last say this time.

She stood and grabbed the champagne from the ice bucket. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, then thank you for your time and I wish you the best.” She raised the bottle in a mock salute. “I hope you find your fit one day. Thank God it won’t be me.” She stalked out of the restaurant. Grant could have fun with the bill when he found out she’d ordered the most expensive bottle on the menu.

~~~

The empty bottle fell to the floorboard with a clink as Cress leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed, snot bubbling out of her nose. She swiped at her face and her fingers came away black with mascara and eyeliner. Disgusted with herself, she dug in her console for her stash of napkins and tried to mop up her face even as more tears threatened.

How could life have fallen apart so spectacularly in one day? The promotion she had worked years for handed to a newbie and now this . . .

A miasma of humiliation and rejection fogged her brain as she sniffled again. Her mind swirled with all the time she had spent with Grant. Seven years of brunch dates, late-night movie showings, strolling through the botanical gardens.

Her stomach roiled at her idiocy, thinking he could be the love of her life as they had laughed and argued together for so long. She was a doctor, for Dolly Parton’s sake. She shouldn’t be this foolish. Had she really just been a check box for him on his climb up the ladder? A smart girlfriend to show off at parties? A pleasant way to fill the time?

She cursed her stubborn heart for leading her down such a useless road. Her mother had been right: her career was a waste, her love life was meaningless, and it had been a mistake to move all the way from the lush fields of the Mississippi Delta out here to the backwoods of Wisconsin. All to save some stupid trees. Stupid, beautiful trees.

She leaned her head on the cool steering wheel, longing to be in the woods with just her sleeping bag and rucksack. The only place she ever felt at home was among trees. Trees were so much better than people. They didn’t tell you you were a weirdo or not ambitious enough or not girly enough. They just sank their roots into the homey soil and raised their branches to the sun and wind, happy to be completely, utterly themselves. A lone tear tracked its way down her chapped face, and she sat back up.

Trying to breathe deeply, she hiccupped and felt the acid creep of indigestion from champagne on an empty stomach—a decision she was already regretting. There was no way she could drive home to her depressingly empty apartment like this.

With a resigned sigh, she kicked off her heels and reached into the backseat for her spare hiking boots. Thankfully, she always kept a set of gear in the car. Tugging them on, she yanked the laces tight, then swung open the door. Standing was a struggle all on its own, but she’d done this to herself, so she would get herself the half dozen blocks to her apartment. Which was an easy stroll on a good day.

Today was not a good day. A few hundred yards from the restaurant parking lot, she found herself leaning up against the glowing plate glass of some late-night store, wind plastering her hair into her face, as she blinked at the absurdly spinning sky.

Her eyes watered against the lights and the tittering stars as the creeping hysteria of the pity party wound back up her throat. All she wanted was for someone to come and take her hand and lead her home—a champion in the dark.

A tippy tapping on the glass arrested her downward spiral. A tiny little paw was pressed to the window. That paw belonged to the sweetest little cocker spaniel puppy she had ever seen. Despite the wind, Cress melted into his warm, brown eyes underneath a quizzically cocked brow.

Who kept a pet store open this late at night? But the chipper face of the puppy spun before Cress, distracting her from rational thought.

He shook himself and sat down, tongue lolling out, and seemed to nod at the door, a command for her. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and he wagged his tail, patiently waiting. Standing up, she pressed a sweaty hand to the glass but hesitated. She’d never had a dog before, much less a puppy. But it was so tempting to have a little friend that would be loyal no matter what.

What if she screwed him up like she did everything else? Dogs didn’t care about perfection; they just wanted food and love. That she could do. He scratched at his shoulder and yapped at her, tongue still lolling. She laughed, hiccupped, and reached for the door.

~~~

Glaring morning light filtered through the blinds and hit Cress in the face with a smack. She groaned and rolled over. She tried to sit up, but yesterday body-slammed her back into the bed. With a pitiful gasp, she collapsed back into the pillow, ready to pretend the world didn’t exist. She just wanted to disappear into a little fantasy bubble where her granny hovered in the next room with sweet tea and biscuits, ready to hug her to her lavender-scented bosom and make it all better.

However, reality crept in with the light and a head that throbbed so badly her ears ached with a high-pitched whining that wouldn’t go away. She needed water. Badly.

As sunlight filtered through the leaves of the ferns hanging above her, she peeked through her fingers at the sink on the other side of her tiny studio apartment. It was only a couple dozen feet away. A few steps. She could make it if she moved slow. And didn’t trip over a plant.

Holding her forehead, she slid out of bed, easing around the monstera that had decided to go through a growth spurt that summer. Her feet landed in a frigid puddle. The whining inched up in pitch and tippy tapping echoed toward her. A tiny white and brown puppy appeared at her feet, his whole body vibrating from his wagging tail.

“Oh, no. Oh, no!” she croaked. She tiptoed to the bathroom for towels, trying not to spread what she was ninety-nine percent sure was pee all over her floor. The whining puppy followed her. The last thing she needed was a dog in the middle of the shambles of her life, chewing on her surely poisonous plants. From the tiny bathroom, she threw a towel onto the puddle. The puppy pawed at her feet, anxious whining continuing.

“What? What do you need?” she asked, exasperated, and he ran to the door, looking up at her with mournful eyes. Understanding clicked, and she yanked on her robe. A fuzzy memory hit her, and she dug through her purse. A leash fell from it, and she snatched it up and pocketed her cell phone and keys.

Feeling bedraggled and bewildered, she headed toward the sad little stretch of grass out front of her apartment building. Spotting the stretch of dusty green, the puppy drug her forward and squatted, relieved. Realizing she had nothing to take care of him except the leash, Cress hung her head and groaned. As wind whipped around her, she hugged the robe to herself, wondering if she had enough Crisco in the pantry to make Granny’s biscuits.

She could use a taste of home right about now, and, to her chagrin, they would suffice for a cheat breakfast for the bundle of energy yipping at her feet until she could get showered and make it back to the pet store for some puppy chow.

Her cell phone rang, and thinking it was Grant checking on her, she nearly hung up on it before she saw the caller ID.

“Hey, Gramps.” Her voice rasped out, and she coughed, trying to clear it.

“Well, you sound like you’ve seen better days.”

“Hello to you too.”

“Are you ok, sweetheart? I was calling to see how that big promotion went.”

A knot clenched in her throat. “It didn’t. They gave it to someone else.”

“You’re the brightest one in that place. If they can’t see it, do you want to be working for a bunch of goonies like that?”

Cress’ voice cracked as she chuckled, and she ended up hacking and coughing for a solid minute. She really should have brought a bottle of water with her.

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” Gramps asked when she finally managed to stop coughing.

She strolled down the strip of grass, letting the pup sniff at all the interesting smells. Champ, his name was Champ. That’s what she’d called him last night as she’d drunkenly toted him home. It was coming back to her now.

“No, Gramps. The only thing I have is the worst hangover of my life and a case of puppy-itis.”

“What the heck is that?”

She tittered as Champ snapped at a butterfly. “It’s what happens when you stumble into a pet store while you’re drunk.”

Over the line, he sucked in a breath. “Ooooh.” A pause followed. “What are you going to do with the little fellow?”

Champ rolled onto his back, wriggling back and forth in the grass. She grinned as his ears flopped back and forth. “I guess I’m a dog owner now. It helps that he’s awfully cute.”

“Sounds like a plan.” A long silence followed. Cress frowned. It wasn’t like her grandfather to linger on the phone. His check-ins were regular and brief and consisted mostly of chit-chatting about her job and the weather. Gramps wasn’t a big fan of Grant either, avoiding the topic unless Cress brought him up.

“What’s up, Gramps?” She pulled a hand through her oily hair, longing for a hot shower. She smelled like she’d slept in a bar’s dumpster last night instead of her bed.

He cleared his throat, the sound rasping over the bad connection. “Well, this is just awful timing, but I was calling with a favor to ask.”

Like she needed any more complications in her life. She sighed as she looked up at the scant clouds floating overhead. But it was her Gramps. She tried to keep her voice neutral. “What is it?”

“It’s sort of my own job offer for you.” The world froze at his words as she peered at the grass at her feet, shaved so close to the dirt that she could see its roots. Even the acrid scent of the asphalt parking lot seemed to fade as he spoke.

“I’m here by myself, running the orchard. And it’s just getting to be a bit much for me—I haven’t been able to keep things up the way they need to be kept. The harvests are getting to be a bit finicky. I was wondering, with you working with trees and all, if you’d want to come help me. Maybe one day take over the family business? I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have. And well, if you don’t, I’d have to sell.”

She sucked in a breath. “I don’t know, Gramps. That’s a lot to take on. I have my career. . . . ” A career that had just tilted toward fizzling out. “And pecans are a little different from hickory.” She knew she had her dad’s old reference books somewhere, but they would be outdated by now. She’d need to find new ones.

“Same family of trees, though. You wouldn’t be too far outside of your specialty.”

“Still a lot to take on. And I’d be giving up my career.” Her objection sounded weak even to her, but Gramps was a big believer in letting people decide things for themselves. An image of the old farmhouse, her entire family around the dinner table, wavered in front of her, but she pushed it aside. She needed to think logically.

“Look, I don’t need you to make a decision right now. I have a potential buyer, and even though I don’t like the guy, it’s a generous offer. I have to let him know by the end of the season, so you have a little time. Talk to Grant, but promise me, you’ll think on it.”

Something clicked in her mind. Her career hadn’t grown the way she’d planned. And her relationship . . . “Grant won’t be a problem. We . . . We’re not together anymore.”

He whistled. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure you’re not happy.”

She sniffled. “Not really, no.” Champ wound himself in a circle around her feet, wrapping her legs with the leash. She sighed, pinned to the spot but without a free hand to unravel herself.

“You’ve got deep roots, baby girl. You’ll weather this storm.” His words warmed and encouraged her. Gingerly, she lifted one foot free from the entangling leash.

“I hope you’re right, Gramps. Right now, it seems pretty bleak.” There wasn’t much left for her here anymore. If she stayed, she’d be stuck in a dead-end research role for an untold number of years before another promotion opportunity came back open. If it opened. At that point, would she still have enough fire to go for it, or would she be long burned out? Shaking the other leg loose, she picked up Champ and tucked him under her arm.

Gramps’ voice crackled over the line. “That’s just because you’re in the thick of it. You’ve got no distance from it. No perspective.”

No distance. Everything was just heaped on top of her right now. She frowned as she studied a Bradford pear at the entrance of her apartment building. Earlier that summer, she’d warned the building manager they were planting the sapling in the wrong place; there wasn’t enough rich soil to sustain it and the heat radiating from the side of the building would scorch the tender leaves. He’d scoffed at her and planted it there, anyway. Now the tree languished, stunted, one side brown and dead. It wouldn’t last another season in that spot.

As much as she loved her career and her colleagues, she’d felt herself languishing here. Dr. Gregory and the board had passed over her again and again for promotions and grant recommendations. Maybe it was time for a transplant.

Maybe it was time to return to native soil.

“Hey, Gramps?” Her voice whispered over the line.

“Yes, darling.”

“I’m coming home.”

Chapter 2

Jake threw the stack of fence posts over his shoulder and slammed the tailgate of the truck. Rusty paint flaked off and showered down into the bed, and he turned with a scowl. One of these days, he would sandblast the old truck down and paint it properly, but that would have to wait for the off-season. If they ever had an off-season.

He headed for the corrugated tin barn that rose ahead. Rounding the corner, he nearly collided with Bo. The old man clucked at him as he dodged under the posts.

“You know, Vada could have one of the guys deliver a whole passel of those out here for you. Just keep a bunch stocked up.” Bo followed him into the barn, his voice ringing off the walls.

“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to run into Midnight Bluff and stop by the bakery.” Jake patted his middle, which was getting a little pudgy from all of Willow’s danishes. It was also his only chance to check on Vada lately and keep his promise to his late wife to make sure her sister didn’t work herself to death.

Bo chuckled. “If you’re not careful, Ruffin is going to have you running extra drills on the weekends.”

“Eh, I’m not afraid of him. Besides, with me doing the heavy lifting for two around here, I can still run circles around him.”

Bo coughed and looked away as Jake ducked into a storage corral. His chest tightened, knowing he’s said something wrong. Leave it to Jake to go insulting the man who’d saved him over and over again. It’s not like Bo had asked to be hit with a bad case of rheumatism.

Clearing his throat, Bo rubbed his hands together. “Listen, Jake, about that. I’m hoping you’ll have help here soon.”

He finished stacking the posts against the wall of the corral, taking his time arranging them so they wouldn’t slide and fall. He bit the inside of his cheek as heat spread through his chest.

“I have help. Mac and Franklin are great guys. Hard workers. And they know this place almost as well as I do.”

“You know I’m not talking about Mac and Franklin.”

Jake’s shoulders pinched at his tone. He really didn’t want to have this discussion again. The orchard was his home now, his only home, and he didn’t want some stranger coming in and messing with how he ran things. Trying to sound lighter than he felt, he grabbed a diamond sharpening stone and a pair of shears.

“Well, we could always use another pair of hands around harvest.”

Bo huffed and took the tools from him, setting them back on the shelf. Jake turned to another and began pulling down chemicals to mix for spraying in the next couple of days.

“Jake. Hold still for a second.”

His hands already on the containers, Jake paused, looking over his shoulder.

“I called my grandchild, the biologist, the one who works with trees. And she’s agreed to come out here and help me run the orchard.”

Jake set them back down and turned to face Bo. It looked like he would have to face this sooner rather than later. “I thought we had talked about this? And we’d left it at you would teach me so I could take over the orchard, and I’d bring on a couple more guys in a few years and you’d retire.”

Bo shook his head. “That’s where you left it, but I had objections. The main one being that my joints can’t take more than one or two more seasons. We don’t have the time. And honestly, the orchard needs a lot more help than you or I can give it.” Shoving his hands in his back pockets, Bo stared up at the rafters. “I haven’t been able to maintain it since Hank died and it needs a heck of a lot of work that I just don’t know how to do.” His eyes darted to the ground. “And my grandchild works with hickory decline––got a Ph.D. in it—she can get us back on our feet.”

Jake pinched his lip as he studied Bo’s evasive looks. Something more was weighing on him, and he wasn’t saying it. It wasn’t like Bo to withhold on Jake. With a sinking feeling, Jake asked the question that had been bugging him since their first conversation, and the one Vada had just echoed in town.

“Are you sure it’s just that? It doesn’t have more to do with trying to keep the farm in the family?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. He and Bo were tight, that was for sure, but they weren’t blood, and at the end of the day, that was what seemed to matter most around these backwater Mississippi Delta towns.

“Jake, you know I don’t care two figs about that kind of thing!” Bo’s face flushed. Raising an eyebrow, Jake waited in silence. “Oh, all right. It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t try to pass the orchard along to family first. Lord knows, Leora would tan my hide me if I didn’t—not after everything Hank did for me and Elena, God rest her soul.” He held up his hands. “But it’s not only that. I meant what I said about needing help getting the orchard producing a good yield again.”

Jake leaned against a stall. “The last few years have been pretty dismal. But it’s just weather.”

“It’s more than weather, Jake.” Scuffling his feet across the concrete, Bo shook his head. “We’ve done all we can between watering and fertilizing. I’ve just got this feeling that the trees themselves ain’t right. If we don’t get someone in here who can pinpoint what’s going on, there won’t be an orchard left for anyone.” He clapped Jake on the back and headed for the door. “And I might as well go ahead and sell to Mr. Glower.”

With an ugh, Jake straightened and followed, “Pretty sure that bastard is waiting with bated breath for us to go belly up so he can buy the land at auction for a penny.”

Bo shot him a sharp look. “Mr. Glower is a decent man. He wouldn’t do that. If we had to sell, he’d stick to his original offer.”

Jake crossed his arms and snorted. “Jessayin’, he seems pretty intent on becoming the next land tycoon around here, and he’s none too gentle about how he does it. Jumping in right when farmers are down on their luck.”

“He is a bit forceful. I’ll grant you that.” Bo rubbed at his chin. “Still, we could do worse than selling to someone we know.” He clapped Jake on the shoulder. “But I don’t think we’ll have to with Cress coming.”

Jake nodded, wanting to avoid talking about Cress. “Van’s turned into a nasty piece of work these last few years. Vada told me he made an offer to Tate Sessums the other day. If he takes it, that’s ‘bout half the small-time farms in the county Van’s bought out already.”

“Oh, come off it! Mr. Glower drives a hard bargain, but he’s no action movie villain.” Bo strolled through the rear entrance of the barn. Jake followed him.

“I’m just saying, it’s mighty convenient that Van always seems to make a ‘generous’ offer right when a farm is struggling with a run of bad luck.”

Bo clucked his tongue. “I’ve known Mr. Glower since he was in diapers. He wouldn’t be a good businessman if he didn’t take advantage of an opportunity when he saw it.” With a sigh, Bo looked out over the orchard. “Still, with the catfish processing plant gone, there soon won’t be much left of Midnight Bluff without the family farmers. If we can’t hold out, I don’t know who can.”

Beside him, Jake surveyed the rustling trees, lined up in orderly aisles stretching as far as the eye could see across the gently rolling fields. Peace spread through him in a soft wave, as it always did underneath their boughs. This place was worth saving. Even if it meant putting up with a snobby city person. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to get Bo to see things his way first.

They settled onto a couple of old hay bales. Taking in a deep breath of the clear air, Jake let the silence linger for a moment as he enjoyed the last few rays of the late afternoon sunshine. He didn’t want to disturb the stillness with arguing.

As the last ray of the sunset filtered through the leaves, sliding from gold to coral to pink to dusky blue, cricket song filled the air and meadowlarks dipped and dived overhead, whistling and trilling.

Finally, Jake turned, knowing Bo would go in for supper soon and needing to say his piece. “Look, Bo. I know you’re worried about the orchard. But I can handle it. I mean, I already take care of all the equipment and I help you manage the fertilizing and spraying. There is a reason you made me your farm manager this past year.”

Bo nodded slightly and Jake charged ahead, having saved his best point for last. “I trust your instinct—let’s call an arborist in for a look. But I just don’t think having some city-slick academic getting underfoot is the best idea if we have as much work as you say we do to get this place back in shape.”

Bo burst out laughing, doubling over and resting his hands on his knees. “Ooh, Jake, you always say the darndest things. A city-slicker!” He stood, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked off to the house still whooping with laughter. Jake sat there, gaping after him, wondering what in the world he’d said that was so funny.

He could handle the orchard on his own and he didn’t need some prissy academic to help. He’d show Bo that when his grandchild got here, whoever she was. She was probably pale and stooped and wore glasses from reading too much. No way she’d be able to keep up in the orchard. She’d most likely poke about a bit and make a few whiney suggestions, then disappear inside to make declarations from the air conditioning like some annoying but ignorable oracle. He nodded to himself. He could wait this out. Patience was all he needed.

Jake stood and stretched, his back crackling after a long day spraying fungicide up into the branches of the trees in the west lot. His shoulders ached from another day spent on the tractor keeping the air blast sprayer going as quickly as possible. There was just so much ground to cover by himself. As he wearily trudged toward his cabin, the baying of his hounds in their kennel resounded across the twilit fields. He took a deep breath and opened the door to a cabin empty and still.

Chapter 3

The early afternoon sun glinted off the pond behind Gramps’ house. The deep blue water rippled gently in the breeze, the long cattails bobbing and swaying. Cress drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as she soaked up the golden light and the glorious twittering of blackbirds in the distance. The pecan trees shimmied and shifted in a light afternoon breeze, the warm smell of greenery and earth rising to her in a heady wave through the open window.

Eagerly, she slung the door of her truck open. After days pulling the U-Haul down lonesome stretches of highway with nothing but her thoughts and bursts of static from the radio to keep her company, no amount of RedBull or coffee could touch the exhaustion weighing down her eyelids. As she stepped from the truck, her knees crackled and threatened to lock up. Gingerly, she straightened her legs and then bent to touch her toes.

With a groan, Cress reached toward the clouds, flexing her stiff fingers. She eased her head side to side, relieved to feel a small pop in her sore neck after hours on the road. Kneading at her shoulder, she gazed at the trees before her, their trunks thick and dark and stretching forward in inviting, shady rows. Behind her, Champ whined and pawed at the window, anxious to be released.

Pulling his leash from her pocket, she reluctantly turned and reached for the handle. She supposed the poor little guy needed a potty break before she found somewhere to stash him while she unloaded. Before she could snap the leash to his collar, he wriggled from her grasp and bolted in a silky streak of white and brown for the trees.

“Champ, no!” With a gasp, she dashed after him, desperate to not lose sight of his furry little butt among the unmowed rows of trees. On a four hundred-acre farm, it would be nearly impossible to find such a small puppy.

Delighted to be running free, he wound among the trees, Cress sprinting to keep up. She rounded a large trunk, panting, and skidded to a stop. Champ lapped at the chin of a chuckling farmhand, safely captured in his arms.

As the man turned to Cress with the squirming and dancing puppy tucked under his elbow, her jaw dropped. He had that farm-boy physique with lean hips and built shoulders, a tan line ending at his shirt sleeves––and a bleached white T-shirt that had seen better days. His dark hair was in desperate need of a cut and flipped out from the back of his John Deere baseball cap. He seemed to be mid- to late-thirties and had a bit of scruff on his chiseled jaw. He would have been just an average good looker. Except for his eyes. Those meltingly soft brown eyes. They made her want to sag against a tree and fan herself with one glance. He caught her staring and scowled.

Cress shook herself. What the hay? She didn’t even know his name. How could this Adonis be mad at her already? He cleared his throat.

“Looks like you lost this,” he growled and shoved Champ to her. Mutely, she accepted the now-whining puppy. “You should keep up with your pets better. With all the equipment and pesticides we use around here, he could get hurt.”

She clipped Champ’s leash on and set him down, where he proceeded to wrap himself around her legs. As usual. With a sigh, she looked up. Eventually, he’d untangle himself. The farmhand was watching her wordlessly, the scowl still branded between his eyes. What bee was stuck in his bonnet?

Still didn’t stop her from being a decent human being––or “heaping coals” as Mom said. Holding out a hand, she smiled broadly, being sure it crinkled the corners of her eyes––her best “let’s make friends” smile. It worked every time. “Thank you for catching Champ. He’s a handful. I’m Doctor Cress McBride, Bo’s granddaughter.” The Adonis’ scowl only deepened.

He reached out and shook her hand, giving it one swift pump up and down, squeezing so hard she swore the bones crackled.

“Jake Wilder. Bo’s farm manager.” He ground the words out between his teeth. Cress decided immediately he must have had spoiled milk with his cheerios this morning because he was just being a sourpuss at this point.

She widened her eyes, going for excitement. “Oh, that’s great! We’ll be working together a lot then. You must know everything about the current state of the orchard.” His posture stiffened, and he gave a brief nod. “Once I get settled in, I’d love to pick your brain about what’s going on. It’s always best to start with the current practices and history. And you would know best.”

He shrugged and turned away. As he began walking toward the barn in the distance, he said over his shoulder, “That’s easy. We’ve had a bad run of luck with the weather the past couple of years. I’ve adjusted the water flow from the wells and upped our zinc fertilizer to compensate.”

Cress stepped out of the leash and hustled to keep up with his long strides. “So, you don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be done?”

His voice floated back to her. “Not really.”

She stopped and looked around. The trees in this section were at least twenty years old and about thirty-five feet apart, which meant they’d only been thinned once. By now, they should have been thinned twice and be roughly eighty feet apart. She studied the branches for the tell-tale signs . . . yep. Branches from adjacent trees overlapped and knocked into each other, cutting down on air flow, causing poor pollination and making mildew much more likely. That probably meant any spraying was way less effective, too.

Absorbed in studying the trees, she squinted to get a better look. The leaves looked a bit funky. She stepped closer and stretched up onto her tiptoes, snatching a handful. They were sticky and spotted black and brown. It was just a matter of time before they started falling.

She looked around incredulously. This wasn’t just a case of a couple years of bad weather. What this orchard needed was a complete overhaul, from spacing and pruning to its spraying and fertilizer protocols. Possibly some replanting as well. Her heart sank. She hadn’t known it had gotten as bad as this. Her dad had loved this orchard; he’d put all his time and energy into it.

Jake had halted as well and stood studying her. He scratched at his chin and shifted his weight.

“So, what’s the verdict, Doc?” He smirked at her. So that’s how it was going to be. He thought she was all flash and no substance because of some academic title. Wasn’t the first time she’d run into this, working with loggers and forest rangers on research projects. They took one look at her petite frame and name badge, and the jokes started rolling in.

But this was her home.

An angry flush licked its way up her chest. She stalked toward him and slapped the leaves into his hand. “You can’t tell me you think that this looks like healthy growth! Bad weather. Bull shit.” His face went blank as he looked from the leaves to her face and back.

“It’s just some spots.”

“Healthy leaves don’t have spots! They’re not sticky and curling either! You have pecan scab and mites at the very least.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly as she rubbed at her temples, Champ’s leash dangling from her arm. For once, the puppy sat obediently by her feet. “Who monitors the orchard?”

“I do the maintenance work, mowing, and harvesting, along with two other guys. Bo does the marketing and accounting. Every once in a while, he comes out and stares at them for a bit.”

“But no one monitors?”

He crossed his arms. “They’re trees. They grow. They put out nuts. They shed their leaves and they do it all over again. We trim any broken or galled limbs. Why should we need to ‘monitor’ them more than that?”

Cress groaned and tapped the leaves in his palm. “Because of stuff like this.” She looked around, wondering what else she would find. “We’ve got to stay ahead of this stuff, or it can get so entrenched that yields go down to almost nothing.”

Jake twitched his head to the side, rubbing his ear against his shoulder. He remained silent, lips stubbornly pressed together. Cress rubbed at her forehead. “I take it yields are already going down?”

He gave a curt nod. “Still could be just the weather.”

She wanted to smack his stupidly handsome face. But she needed to play nice. They would be working together, after all. Swallowing down her frustration, she pinched the bridge of her nose, then set her hands on her hips, willing herself to be calm. It would be disastrous to get into a shouting match with the farm manager on the first day.

Just then, a light dripping sounded at their feet. Champ had hiked up his leg and, with a relieved look, peed on Jake’s left boot.

“Champ, no!” Cress tugged him away as Jake hopped awkwardly, shaking the moisture off with a disgusted grunt.

“Doc, you’ve got to control your dog!” He rubbed his boot across the grass, staring daggers at her.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Cress snatched up a now dancing and yapping Champ, determined there would be no more antics.

Jake scrunched his nose before he rubbed at it and shoved his hands in his pockets, along with the wad of leaves. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “C’mon. Let’s go find Bo. I’m sure he wants to see you.” It looked like he was trying to play nice, too. At least for the moment.

Cress looked at the wriggling puppy in her arms. “You’re going to get me in trouble one of these days, aren’t you?” Champ yipped and licked her chin. With a groan, she followed Jake.