A Man's Heart Page 9

  Joe Fraker shook his head when Jules told him their system had broken down in the west field.

  “we’ve got to replace that one, honey, or we’re not growing potatoes next season.”

  “I know,” Jules sighed. Her mind pictured the tubs of dirt in the shed. The new tubers were doing well, but it would be weeks before she knew if she’d hit on the right formula. If she had discovered the perfect spud, money would be flowing like wine.

  Ethan burst out of the house with Crystal on his heels. He raced for “Aunt Jube” wrapping his arms around her legs. “Ethan! Come back here!”

  Crystal stood in the doorway, hand on her hip. “You come back here, dirty boy!”

  Jules glanced at her sister. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s his bath time and he doesn’t want to cooperate.”

  Bending to meet the child’s eyes, Jules said sternly, “You have to mind Crystal.”

  “You hafta mind, Crystal,” Livvy parroted.

  Sighing, Jules realized that the kids were with her and Crystal more than their uncles.

  “That will be quite enough from you, young lady.” Jules shooed her into the house and turned back to the boy. “Ethan?”

  He shook his head and clutched her jeans tighter. “Don’t wanna take a bath.”

  Crystal approached, giving the ranch foreman a smile. “Hi, Joe.”

  He tipped his hat. “Miss Crystal.”

  Ethan stepped in back of Jules.

  “Honestly,” Crystal exclaimed. “He’s been in a rebellious mood lately.”

  “Want Mama!”

  Jules sighed and patted his head. “She’ll be home soon, sweetie.”

  Crystal focused on the trowel in Jules’s hand. “Working on your experiment?”

  Nodding, Jules hoped to avoid the subject in front of Joe. But Crystal blurted, “Joe, did you know she’s working on producing a perfect potato?”

  Joe frowned. “That a fact?”

  “Crystal!” Jules mentally groaned.

  “She is.” Crystal sounded proud as a newborn’s parent. “And she’s very close. So close you had it last month, didn’t you, Jules?”

  Jules shook her head. “Not even close.”

  “But the plant under the light —”

  “Rotted.”

  “But you’re close.”

  “I’ve … planted other versions. we’ll see.” She reached for Ethan’s hand and ushered him to the house. “Mind Crystal. Take your bath.” when she returned to the yard Joe was waiting.

  “Need something else, Joe?”

  “what’s this about a perfect potato?”

  “Nothing. Really. I’m doing my thesis on potatoes and I thought I’d try to grow a perfect one.”

  “And you came close?”

  “I thought I’d found one that showed real promise. It grew quickly, had beautiful spotless skin, needed little water and fertilizer, but overnight the thing turned a strange gray purple and put off this noxious smell.” It had taken days to rid the shed of the last experimental stench. “I’ve planted another mix.”

  Removing his hat, Joe scratched his head. “Now ain’t that something. Don’t know of anyone around here that’s ever tried anything like that.”

  “Probably because everyone but me has better sense.”

  “Well.” Joe settled his hat on his head. “I need to see if I can get that irrigation system going again. Need anything from the store?”

  “No, don’t believe we do.”

  “I need to get some chaw before I go back to work.”

  “You know that’s a nasty habit.”

  “I do.”

  It was hard to argue with someone who wouldn’t.

  Late afternoon, the phone started to ring. Three calls in less than an hour. Two from guys Jules dated in college who were now divorced and on the prowl. One from a widow man who lived three counties away.

  At first the friendly chats puzzled Jules until the dinner invitations followed—and they mentioned that they’d heard she was working on some kind of “experimental” plant?

  Jules had closed her eyes and wished a pox upon her sister. News about her project had gotten out. Apparently Joe had innocently shared Jules’s experiment when he bought his chaw. By now the whole county had to know what she was working on.

  She smacked the plaster board beside the wall phone. Suddenly she was the most sought after single female in Franklin County.

  Cruz studied the dry field, hands on hips, surveying the crop. Beside him lay the old irrigation pump, dead as a doornail.

  Adan arrived in a cloud of dust. Climbing out of the truck, he said, “Can you fix it?”

  “Not this time. The thing’s gone for good.”

  “Man!” Adan jerked off his hat and slapped the felt on his thigh. “And we’re only a few weeks from harvest.”

  “What harvest?” Cruz glared at the crop. “If this field doesn’t get water soon, there’ll be nothing to harvest.”

  “Two years in a row, Cruz. We can’t hold out if the crop fails this year.”

  “What do you suggest that we do?”

  “Get a bigger loan at the bank.”

  “Can’t. We’re over extended as it is.”

  “Can we rent a system?”

  Cruz turned to give him a cynical look.

  “I know — we don’t have the money. What about borrow one?”

  “How many farmers do you know that have a spare irrigation system lying around?”

  “Martindale put in a new system last year. What’d he do with his old one?”

  “Haven’t heard, but if I were guessing, he got rid of it. If it worked, why would he have bought a new one?”

  “Updated? A lot are doing that.”

  “I’ll call him, but don’t get your hopes up. You talked to Sophie today?”

  “This morning.” Adan shook his head. “She’s so weak, Cruz.”

  “Keep praying. She’s going to make it.”

  Adan’s eyes scanned the field. “Lord’s going to think I’ve got a lot of favors on my list. Sophie’s health, new irrigation. Might as well throw in a new Diesel and a turkey dinner.”

  “He’s a big God.”

  “Yeah.” Adan studied the dry soil, and then turned on his heel. “I’ll drive over and talk to Martindale. If we’re lucky, he’s still got his old system.”

  “Right,” Cruz grunted. “Just lying around for the taking.”

  Adan tooled down the road, jacking up the truck radio. Hank Martindale’s place sat about a mile from the Matias spread: a modest spread but a good producer. Hank raised half the french fries eaten in the Northwest.

  Adan spotted a streak, and swerved to the right to avoid hitting it. Heifer? Had to be a small one. He slammed on his brakes, got out of the car, and watched Crystal running down the lane.

  “Ethan! Have you seen him? He’s wearing nothing but boots. I’ve lost Ethan!”

  Turning, Adan wasn’t sure if he had. “I saw something. Had to throw on my brakes. What’s going on?”

  “Ethan won’t take a bath.” She swiped blonde hair out of her eyes. His gaze focused on her short shorts and a T-shirt and he found it hard to concentrate on her problem. She sighed. “We go through this every day. He hates baths.”

  “I think I saw him.” He turned and pointed to a bunch of weeds gracing the riverbank. “He went that-a-way, ma’am.”

  She struck off and he followed. It only took a minute to locate the naked boy huddled behind a tree. Adan scooped him up and carried the boy to the truck and draped his shirt around him. “Climb in!” he told Crystal. “I’ll run you back to the house.”

  Stepping into the truck, she eyed the child. “Ethan. What am I going to do with you?”

  “Ever try swatting his fanny?”

  He met horrified eyes. “I would never strike a child.”

  “You’d rather him run off and be hit by a truck?”

  He drove up the rutted lane and into the farm yard. His gaze fixed on
a stream of water pouring out of the kitchen doorway. “Were you drawing him a bath?”

  Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh goodness!”

  Adan climbed out of the truck carrying Ethan. He handed him to Crystal before wading into the kitchen. Water stood on the kitchen and den floor. He sloshed his way to the bathroom, switched off the faucets, then stood for a moment to catch his breath. He wouldn’t want to be Crystal at this moment.

  “Is it bad?” Crystal’s voice drifted from the back door.

  “Define bad.”

  “Is everything soaked?”

  “Not everything. The stool and sink aren’t overflowing.” Wading through two inches of liquid back to the kitchen door, he took pity on the now tearful woman. “Grab some mops. I’ll help you clean up before Jules gets home.”

  Relief lit Crystal’s eyes. “Thank you. It seems everything I do back fires.”

  He knew the feeling. If they lost this year’s crop, they couldn’t stay in business. He needed water, and Crystal had more than she could handle.

  “I’ll put Ethan down for a nap, and then get the mops.”

  “Where’s Cricket?”

  Her voice came from the front part of the house. “Mrs. Fielder stopped by and wanted her to come over for an hour or so.”

  Great. His hands came to his hips and he studied the flood. It would take all afternoon to clean up this mess.

  Crystal swung back through the kitchen. As she passed, she paused to kiss his cheek. “Thanks so much. After we clean up, can you stick around awhile? I’ll fix a pitcher of lemonade.”

  He glanced at his watch and decided he could spare a few minutes. “Sure.”

  They spent the next hour mopping up water. Finally Crystal said, “That’s it. Why don’t you wait on the porch and I’ll make the lemonade.”

  “Sure.” He meandered to the wide concrete porch where roses trailed the banisters. As a kid, he’d spent many an evening in the farm yard with Jules and Crystal. When Crystal left with her mom, the place never seemed the same. He’d stopped coming around, but Cruz had it bad for Jules. Back then he was over here every day.

  Adan located a wicker chair near the steps, lifted a longhaired tabby off the cushion, and sat down. Propping his booted feet on the railing, he relaxed.

  Crystal appeared carrying a large tray with a pitcher and two glasses on it. Smiling, she balanced the load, her pretty features red from exertion. “Hope you like it extra sweet.”

  “The sweeter the better.”

  She started across the porch, caught her sandal on the corner of the welcome mat and pitched forward. Lemonade hit him full in the face. Gasping, he sprang to his feet, swiping at lemon chunks dotting the front of his shirt. He heard her squeal about the same time he heard the tray hit the porch and glass shatter. Reaching out, he pulled her back from the sticky mess.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  “Hey, no problem. Are you hurt?”

  “No—look at you. Let me get you a towel.”

  “Thanks.”

  She left and returned with the item. “I’m so sorry! That’s the second time I’ve done that. You’d think I’d have enough sense to move that mat.”

  “No — really. It’s okay.” He mopped the front of his shirt.

  “I’ll make another pitcher—”

  “That’s not necessary, Crystal. I can’t stay long. I’m on my way over to the Martindales.”

  “Oh? Well.” She surveyed the mess. “I’ll clean up later.”

  He took a chair away from the broken glass, near the end of the opposite end of the porch where the railing ended and open space allowed for a breeze. He grinned. “So. How does it feel to be home?”

  She paused, and then said quietly, “I’m enjoying it. I thought I wouldn’t, but I realize now that I missed the solitude here.” Leaning back in her chair, she drew a deep breath. “Do you remember Heaven’s Rise?”

  “Sure, drive by the rise two-three times a week.”

  “I often wake early and go there to watch the sunrise.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “It’s the most peaceful place on earth.”

  “Yeah, it’s one of Sophie’s favorites.” He studied her. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  A blush touched her cheeks. “You’ve become even more handsome.” She glanced away and breathed deeply of the fresh air. “I do love the air here.”

  “You didn’t think so at one time. I remember how you always wanted to live by the ocean.”

  Nodding, she smiled. “That’s why Mom took us to Florida. I love the ocean, but after all these years, I’ve discovered there’s no place like home.”

  “I believe I’ve seen that on a pillow or two.” He grinned.

  “Have you heard about Jules’s experiment?”

  “The perfect potato? Yeah, I’ve heard the rumor.”

  “She thought she had it, but then the plant proved disappointing.”

  Her gaze fixed on something above his head. Tilting his head, he glanced up to see a hanging fern.

  “Honestly.” She sighed. “Another dead frond.” Getting out of her chair, she approached him. “I don’t think the plant is getting enough sun.” Reaching out, she tried to latch onto the dead leaf. After a couple of failed attempts, she eased closer, fingers probing the air. Adan leaned back as far as possible to give her access. With a lunge, she secured the leaf, but in the process knocked him off balance. Arms flailed when the chair toppled over the edge of the concrete porch, landing him in a petunia bed.

  She bound off the porch to assist. “I am so sorry.”

  He sat up, head reeling. “No — no problem. Did you get it?”

  Setting back on her heels, she grinned and displayed the dead frond. “Got it.”

  Later he limped to the truck in a lemonade soaked shirt, wondering what hit him.

  No doubt, the woman was a charmer but she was a little on the dangerous side.

  Chapter 20

  Lunch business at The Grille slowed to a trickle by one o’clock. Jules pulled up in front of the local hang-out and got out of the Tracker.

  Inside, bamboo blades lazily turned the air. The corner jukebox played a version of Linda Ronstadt’s 1977 hit, Blue Bayou. Jules’s stomach lurched when she heard the familiar lyrics … I feel so bad I got a worried mind…

  Her and Cruz’s song. They had spent hours in this room swaying to the singer’s voice. Not only was it their song, it brought back sweet memories of Pop. He’d named the farm after this hit.

  Proprietor Nick Olsen noticed her. “Jules. What can I get you?”

  “A tall ice tea, plenty of ice.”

  Music stirred old memories, painful but sweet ones.

  She dropped on a stool and sank in the cool air.

  “The perfect potato, huh?” The crack of a pool ball hitting a pocket caught her attention. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she swiveled the stool to see Cruz shooting pool in the back corner.

  He’d heard the rumors. She decided to ignore the jibe. Turning back to face the counter, she concentrated on the Willy Nelson autographed picture hanging over the bar.

  To Nick: Best chicken-fried-steak sandwich I’ve ever tasted. Willy.

  Balls hitting pockets. Jukebox singing its heart out. Jules shifted. She should have gone home and eaten a baloney sandwich.

  “I’m in sort of a hurry, Nick.”

  “Cold tea coming right up.”

  She closed her eyes to the achingly sweet steel guitar strains that now held her captive.

  Nick set a tall paper cup in front of her and she reached to pay. Handing back her change, the owner then disappeared into the back kitchen.

  Grabbing her keys, she headed for the doorway as the singer promised to come back someday.

  Halfway out the doorway, the song got to her. Closing the screen, she turned around and walked to the back of the room and confronted the man who occupied her every waking thought.

  “I almost had it.”

  “Yeah.” He sh
ot an eight ball. “So I hear.”

  “I’m close, Cruz.” He might not believe her, but he would when he saw the proof of her potato experiment. The newest plant was looking more promising every day. A few more weeks, and she would be able to announce her success. The thought was still bizarre. She, Jules Matias, creating the perfect potato.

  Cruz lined up for a pocket shot. “Why don’t you invent an infallible irrigation system?”

  She’d heard the talk. Cruz and Adan were in bad shape. Their old equipment had broken down, and there weren’t enough funds to fix it. Nobody had an extra system, so Cruz’s crop was dying in the fields. Her heart ached. In addition to a failed crop, he had to be worrying about Sophie and mounting hospital bills.

  “No luck finding a workable system?”

  He pocketed a ball. “Not on my budget.” He straightened. “How about you? Any luck choosing a new husband? I hear with that potato experiment that you could have your pick of any eligible man around.”

  “Not any.” She lifted her chin to meet his eyes with a challenge. For a moment their gazes locked and the music swept them back. Steel guitars, promises of some sweet day they’d be taken away … The feel of his arms around her, holding her as they moved as one to the music …

  He broke contact and made another shot. “You know what those men are after.”

  “No. Clue me in.” Did he think she’d lost her mind? Of course she knew the sudden overwhelming interest was in her magic potato, not her. If the experiment worked, she’d be wealthy beyond words. Their gazes held again and she felt herself falling, falling …

  “Be careful, Jules.” His eyes held more than a warning. They mirrored real concern.

  “Of what? You know me. I couldn’t make a commitment if my life depended on it.” Breaking eye contact, she turned, picked up her drink and left.

  As the door closed behind her, she heard the song start over. Gritting her teeth, she blocked out the refrain.

  She glanced back. Cruz stood at the jukebox, dark eyes centered on her.