It was dim beneath the covered area without the lights on, but I could make out the back of the Apple House where they kept the equipment for pressing. We had a pretty similar setup over at Grandpappy’s. But when I peered beyond the tank and machinery and conveyors to the outside, I stopped in my tracks. The floodlights illuminated the space behind the Apple House nicely. It looked like part of the area had been sectioned off for new plantings, but positioned around them were three wacky waving inflatable tube men. In red, orange, and turquoise, the three arm-flailing vinyl figures were the source of the low hum. Air filled their cylindrical bodies as they waved and flopped and snapped to and fro.
“What is that about?” I asked, pointing in the distance.
“Oh,” Brady replied from my side. “That’s Brad, Chad, and Jeff. Candy’s idea. We started some raspberries and blackberries back there. They don’t have any fruit yet, but the deer love to eat the leaves. The inflatables scare them off. Plus, the kids love it.”
I smiled to myself as I watched the colorful men wobble and sway. “That’s funny.”
“Yeah, Candy is full of ideas. You want something to drink?”
“Diet Coke, if you have it.”
“Sure.” Brady slipped behind the counter and into Candace’s office. The overhead light briefly illuminated the space, and I could see the cash register and work area behind the counter a little better.
Brady emerged with a plastic shopping bag from Winn-Dixie in one hand and a bottle of Diet Coke in the other.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, rubbing my hands together. It was just after nine o’clock, and the late-October air was chilly and getting colder by the minute. “Are we just watching security monitors in the office or hanging out in our cars or what?”
My stomach did a weird little flip when I thought of conducting this farce of a stakeout from the front seat of Brady’s truck. I pushed aside memories of a warm cab and even warmer hands.
“Nah,” Brady replied easily, drawing my attention—thank God. “I’ve got us all set up.”
“Outside?” I whined.
“Yes, outside. How else are we supposed to keep watch?”
“I don’t know. This whole thing is a waste of time.”
“We don’t have a bank of security monitors,” he explained. “The cameras and monitoring app connect to my phone.” He gave me a challenging, superior look. “But if you really want to watch from the parking lot, my truck is right over there. After you.”
I glared. I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me, and I hated how predictable I was. I also hated that a little part of me—the horny, confused part—wanted to climb back inside with him and see what happened.
Brady grinned knowingly. “Let’s go, Macintosh.”
With my Diet Coke held hostage, he made his way down the front stairs of the Apple House. I sighed and followed.
When I reached the bottom step, my breath puffed visibly in the crisp autumn air. “I’m too Southern for this kind of cold. The sweet tea will freeze in my veins.”
Chuckling, Brady spun back to me. He thrust the plastic soda bottle my direction and used his free hands to pull off his camo winter hat. His light brown hair wasa mess, sticking up in all directions, and for a moment, I had no idea what he was doing. Possibly attempting to smother me in order to stop my complaining.
But then he leaned forward and popped the toboggan on my head, drawing the warm fabric down over my cold ears.
“You lose eighty percent of your body heat through your head and feet,” he said as he straightened the hat into place.
I forced a hard swallow and watched him. “Is that true?” My voice was embarrassing—rough and hushed at the same time. Brady was being sweet with me, and I didn’t know how to act. But I liked the feeling of him fussing over me. And I didn’t mind wearing something of his even if it smelled like ... I pulled in an unsteady breath and registered that now-familiar scent of sun and sand and salt water, the gesture warming me in more ways than one.
Brady’s smile widened. “Sure. I saw it on the internet.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning, too.
“Come on,” he said. “I promise you won’t freeze.”
And true to his word, I didn’t, because Brady had us set up on the temporary pumpkin patch. Most of the squash had been sold, only a few stragglers remained this close to Halloween. But the hay bales had been carefully arranged to form a wall that faced the entrance road. A few sections had been removed as covert peepholes for what I imagined Brady meant by “keep watch.” There were bales arranged on the back side for seating, covered by thick blankets. And positioned behind everything was an outdoor heater. It looked like one of the ones they’d used for the pumpkin-painting event.
I stared in surprise as Brady got settled on one of the covered hay bales.
“This will be the best stakeout you’ve ever been on,” he bragged.
As I made my way over to sit next to him, I thought he might just be right.
