AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re so cute.” He shakes his head, and I swear, I want to knee him in the groin.
“Puppies are cute.” My voice is thinly veiled annoyance.
“LaFonda’s is the nicest steak restaurant in Harristown. It’s a place your momma would’ve been accustomed to patronizing.”
That pulls me up short. “My parents never had any money to go to a place like that.”
“I’m talking about your momma’s people, about you being Harristown royalty. You’re not a shop owner.”
“I’m not Harristown royalty. We weren’t raised like that.”
He leans close enough that his breath skates over my eyebrows. “Maybe it’s time for a change. I’d like to bring you back to what you are. I’d like to bring this whole orchard into the Hayes fold, and re-establish what it once was.”
I take a step back, my brow furrowed. “Have you been drinking today, Digger?”
“Noel…” He chuckles. “You’re so adorable. All I’m saying is think about it. Open your mind and let your imagination roam. We could be the king and queen of this town.”
“Oh, look.” I point over to the counter. “The coffee’s ready. Let me pour you a cup.”
He crosses his arms and watches me in a way I don’t like. I quickly pour him a cup and grab the cream from the refrigerator. I’m not looking to spend any more time in this kitchen, and where the hell is Sawyer?
“There you go. I made some peach muffins.” Reaching into the microwave, I pull out the plate of rose-gold cakes. “Help yourself. I’ll just be out at the shed.”
I’m about to go when my upper arm is caught in an uncomfortable grip. “Don’t forget who you are, Noel. I’ve known you your whole life. We have history.”
Jerking my arm away, I smile, but there’s steel behind my eyes. “I might have known you my whole life, Digger Hayes, but that doesn’t mean we have history.”
“Just keep in mind who’ll be here when everyone else is gone.”
My insides feel like wooden shutters when a strong wind blows through. I’m rattled and uneasy, and who the hell is Digger Hayes to make me feel this way?
I head down the back steps, but instead of going to the peach shed, I take a turn and head up the hill into the rows. Whenever life gets too much, I’ve always walked in these trees. They belong to us. They’re part of our family, and they keep us alive. A heavy breath and light bark, and Akela’s with me.
“Hey, girl.” I give her head a scrub. She’s five years old, which in dog years is older than me.
Same as these trees, she lifts me up when I’m feeling down. I put my hand on her head and walk until the tension eases in my chest. I’ve worked hard to avoid complications, to keep my life simple. Maybe Digger is right, and I shouldn’t let a guy who’s only going to be here a few weeks distract me. But it sure as hell won’t be because I’m looking to be the queen of anything.
Turning, I head back toward the house. Whatever happens, it’ll be suppertime soon, and I’ve got hungry men to feed. If I’ve learned anything about this life, it’s that it does what it wants, and the best we can do is buckle up and hold on.
5
Taron
“Legend is they got their name because farmers would fry the cakes on the back of their hoes.” My hands are wrist-deep in cornmeal, self-rising flour, eggs, sugar, buttermilk, and I’m mixing it all together in a bowl.
“We’re not bringing a shovel in the house.” Noel is beside me cracking a dozen eggs into a large white bowl. “You’re not using a spoon to mix it?”
Today she’s wearing another pair of cutoffs and a beige tank top. Her hair is in a high ponytail on her head, and the ends dance in large curls around her shoulders. I want to wrap one around my finger and pull.
“Spoons are for suckers. You’re not using a spoon.”
She holds up a fork. “I’m making scrambled eggs. I have to scramble the eggs.”
“Anyway, as I was saying…” I cut my eyes, she rolls hers, and I want to pull her close. “We’ll use a cast iron skillet.”
Leaving the mixture in the bowl, I wash my hands and dry them, tossing a drop of water on the black skillet to see if it bounces. When it does, I start opening drawers.
“What do you need?” Noel is holding a large block of cheese and a knife over the bowl of eggs.
