My Kind of Christmas by Robyn Carr
They turned off 36 and drove down a road, through a gate that stood open and down a tree-lined lane. Nora became distracted by the sheer beauty. There was something so pure and homespun about row after row of perfectly spaced apple trees, the fruit in various stages of ripening hanging from the boughs, some still small-apple-green while others wore a slight blush of red. And at the end of what seemed a long driveway through the orchard stood a big house—a white fairy-tale house with red shutters and a red front door and a wonderful wraparound porch with chairs separated by small tables. She couldn’t even imagine the luxury of relaxing on such a porch at the end of a long day. At wide spaces in the road there were large bins, probably for collecting apples. They passed by a forklift tucked into a row of trees and a bit farther down the road, a tractor.
As the house grew closer Nora noticed that there were two large buildings behind it—either barns or very large storage sheds or… Ah, the housing for machinery and farm equipment, she realized, looking into some large open doors. One of the buildings bore the sign Cavanaugh Apples.
For a girl who grew up in a small house on a busy street in Berkeley, she looked at this house, land and operation in both fascination and envy. A person would be very lucky to grow up in such a place.
There was a collection of pickup trucks and four men standing outside a door at the end of one of the buildings.
“Nora?”
She turned toward Reverend Kincaid’s voice.
“You probably should get going. While you go talk to Tom Cavanaugh, I’m going to pay a visit to Maxie, the lady of the house. She’s almost always in the kitchen or on the porch.”
“Where should I go?” she asked, suddenly far less sure of herself.
He pointed toward the short line of men. “Looks like that’s the place.”
“Right,” she said. She got out of the truck, jumped down, but before she closed the door she peered back inside. “Reverend Kincaid, if I need a recommendation, will you give me one?”
She saw him frown again; she knew he was worried about how in the world she’d manage a job like this. Then his frown melted into a smile and he said, “Of course, Nora.”
Noah pulled away from her to park on the drive near the house and she went to stand with the men. “Are you applying for the picking job?” she asked.
All four turned toward her. Only one nodded. Feeling a sense of competition, she assessed them. One was an old guy, and old was relative—he was balding, what was left of his hair was wispy and thin, but he stood straight and tall and appeared to have wide, strong shoulders. One was a teenager, around sixteen years old, good-looking and buff. One was a short Mexican man in his twenties, healthy and hearty, and the fourth looked as if he could be his father. “Am I in the right place to apply?”
The older man frowned, the teenager grinned, the older Mexican man looked her up and down and gave her the impression he was merely judging her ability by her size, which was small. And the man who could be his son said, “This is the place. You ever pick before?”
She shook her head.
“Want some advice? Maybe you should tell him you have.”
“Why? Is it hard to learn?”
The men chuckled together. “Hard to do,” the teenager said. “I’ll show you the ropes if you get hired.” Then he looked her over from her head to her feet, but his appraisal was a little more personal. “You sure you’re up to it?”
She sucked in a breath. She’d do anything to take care of her girls. Mel Sheridan and Reverend Kincaid had helped her get some county assistance—food stamps and Medicaid—but that wasn’t enough to live on. She’d been getting by on that plus part-time jobs at the clinic and the new school’s summer program, but it was very part-time, given her small children.
She wanted to earn her own money. There just hadn’t been much opportunity.
“I’m stronger than I look,” she informed him. “I am. I can’t lie about my experience, though. I have this…” This deal I made with God, she thought dismally. Nora was trying so hard to rectify past mistakes, she wasn’t about to make more along the way. “When I make a commitment, I’m good for it. I’ll take any advice I can get, though. Did you guys see the notice in the church?”
“We pick every year,” the teenager said. “I’ve been picking since junior high. Jerome has been picking for a hundred years,” he said, indicating the older man. “Eduardo and Juan live down in the valley and the apples here pay better than the vegetables. Juan’s wife has her own little business—they’re doing pretty good these days, right, Juan?”
The older Mexican gentleman nodded solemnly. Proudly.
“Tom usually works around the grove—it’s usually Mrs. Cavanaugh and her foreman, Junior, who handle the hiring.” The boy put out his hand. “I’m Buddy Holson, by the way.”
She took the hand with a smile. “Nora,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
The latch to the door finally unlocked; the door opened a crack. Jerome went in first. He came out just a moment later and then Eduardo and Juan entered together. They were out in a second.
“We’ve all worked here before,” Buddy explained. “Everything is on file for the regulars. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Hope to see you around.”
“You bet. Me, too,” he said, giving his hat a little touch. And Nora realized, he probably thought she was much younger than she was. It would never occur to him she was actually a single mother. “You must live around here.”
“Virgin River,” she said.
“I’m in Clear River. I better go in—see you around.” And he disappeared inside, but was back out in just seconds, slipping a piece of paper into his pocket. With a handsome parting smile and another touch to his hat, he headed for the last pickup parked there.
Nora took a deep breath and pulled open the door. The man behind the desk looked up at her and she froze momentarily. For no particular reason, she’d been expecting a much older man—the husband of the Mrs. Cavanaugh who usually managed the hiring. But this was a young man. And so handsome that he almost took her breath away. He had wide shoulders, a tanned face, brown hair, expressive brows and the kind of dark brown eyes that would glitter in the sun. His features might be ordinary, but put together so perfectly, he was hot. A hunk with that dangerous wholesome look about him—the look that had trapped her in the past. Her face probably flushed before going completely pale. She had had bad luck with such men and had no reason to assume her luck had changed.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m here about the job. The apple-picking job.”
“You have experience with apple harvesting?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m a very fast learner and I’m strong. I have tons of energy. And I need a job like this.”
“Really? What about this job seems right for you?”
“Reverend Kincaid says it pays pretty well and is kind of short. I’m a single mother and I can probably get help with the kids for a while, then I have two part-time jobs in Virgin River to fall back on when the harvest is over. Sounds perfect for someone like me.”
“Well, it might be longer than you think. The end of August to almost December, most years. So I guess it wouldn’t be right for—”
“I might be able to do it—there’s a new day care and preschool in town, if I can afford it.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-three.”
He shook his head. “Already a divorced mother at twenty-three?” he asked.
The surprise showed on her face for less than a moment. She stood as straight as possible. “There are some questions you’re not allowed to ask me,” she informed him. “It’s the law. If they don’t pertain to the job…”
“It’s irrelevant. I’m afraid I’ve already hired my max—all people with experience. I’m sorry.”
That took the starch out of her. Her chin dropped and she briefly looked at the ground. Then she lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any chance something might become available? Because there aren’t many job openings around here.”
“Listen… Your name?” he asked, standing from behind his messy desk and proving that he was taller than she even guessed.
“I’m Nora Crane.”
“Listen, Nora, it can be back-breaking labor and I mean no offense when I say, you don’t appear to be strong enough for a job like this. We generally hire very muscled men and women. We haven’t ever hired kids or slight women—it’s just too frustrating for them.”
“Buddy’s been working here since junior high….”
“He’s a great big kid. Sometimes you have to carry fifty pounds of apples down a tripod ladder. Our harvesting season is grueling.”
“I can do that,” she said. “I’ve carried my nine-month-old in a backpack and my two-year-old in my arms.” She flexed a muscle in her upper arm. “Motherhood isn’t for sissies. Neither is being broke. I can do the work. I want to do the work.”
He stared at her in shock for a moment. “Nine months and two years?”
“Berry will be three before long. They’re beautiful, brilliant and they have a terrible addiction to eating.”
“I’m sorry, Nora. I have all the people I need. Do you want to leave a number in case something comes open?”
“The church,” she said with disappointment. “You can leave a message with anyone at the Virgin River Presbyterian Church. I’ll check in with them every day. Twice a day.”
He gave her a very small smile. “I don’t expect anything to come up, but I know the number if something does.” He wrote down her name and referenced the church phone number beside it. “Thanks for coming out here.”
“Sure. I had to try. And if you hear of anything at all, anywhere at all…”
“Of course,” he said, but she knew he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t going to help her get a job.
She left that little office and went to wait by Noah’s truck, leaning against it. She hoped he had a nice visit with Mrs. Cavanaugh since she had inconvenienced him for no reason. No matter what Tom Cavanaugh had said, she knew he had rejected her as not strong or dependable enough for apple picking.
Life hadn’t always been like this for Nora. Well, it had been difficult, but not like now. She hadn’t grown up poor, for one thing. She’d never been what one could call financially comfortable, but she’d always had enough to eat, a roof over her head, decent if inexpensive clothes to wear. She’d gone to college briefly and during that time had had a part-time job, no different from most students. She’d had an unhappy family life, the only child of a bitter single mother. Then she’d found herself to be very susceptible to the flirtations of a hot and sexy minor league baseball player with no earthly clue he’d turn into a hard-core drug addict who would dump her and their two children in a tiny mountain town with no money, their possessions having been sold for his, um, hobby.
Even though times were about as tough as they could get as income went, she’d been lucky to find herself in Virgin River where she had made a few good friends and had the support of people like Noah Kincaid, Mel Sheridan and her neighbors. It might take a while and a little more luck, but eventually she’d manage to pull it together and give her girls a decent place to grow up.
She heard the slamming of a door—it had the distinct sound of a wooden screen door. There was laughter. When she looked up she saw Noah with an attractive woman with thick white hair cut in a modern, short, blown-out style. She was a bit roundish with a generous bosom and just slightly plump hips; her cheeks were rosy from either makeup or sun and her eyebrows shaped and drawn on with a dark brown pencil. She wore lipstick and laughed, showing a very young, attractive smile. Nora couldn’t guess her age. Fifty-eight? Sixty-four? She looked like she should be hosting a country kitchen cooking show. And then she let go a big laugh, leaning into Noah’s arm as she did so.
Nora straightened, since they were walking toward her. She smiled somewhat timidly, feeling so unsure of herself after being rejected from the job.
“Nora, this is Maxie Cavanaugh. This is her orchard and cider operation.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nora,” Maxie said, putting out her hand. Nora noticed that she had a bit of arthritis that bent her fingers at the knuckles, but her nails were still manicured in bright red. “So you’re going to pick apples for us?”
“Well, no, ma’am,” she said. “Your son said he had enough pickers already and couldn’t use me.”
“Son?” Maxie asked. “Girl, that’s my grandson, Tom, and I raised him. Now what is it Reverend Kincaid told me? You have a couple of little daughters and only part-time work at the moment?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I think I’ll get more hours in the fall when they need almost full-time help at the new school. I’ll get a discount on day care, too. Thing is, it’s a brand-new school and still needs all kinds of certification so we won’t get help from the county for a while and I got all excited about a job that could pay pretty well for a couple of… But if there are already enough pickers…”
“I bet there’s room for one more,” she said, smiling. “Wait right here a minute.” And she strode off across the yard to the big barn and its small office.
Nora turned her eyes up to Noah’s. “Grandmother?” she asked. “How old is she?”
“I have no idea,” he said with a shrug. “She’s full of life, isn’t she? It keeps her young. She’s been a fantastic supporter of the church, though she doesn’t go to services very often. She says Sundays are usually her busiest days and when they’re not, she reserves them for sleep. Maxie works hard all week.”
“And that’s her grandson?” Nora asked.
“Yep. She must’ve gotten started early. I think Jack put Tom at about thirty.”
“What’s she going to say to him? Because he doesn’t want to hire me. He took one look at me and pronounced me not strong enough, which is bull, but… But for that matter, you don’t want me to get the job because even you think it’s too much for me.”
“It’s between Maxie and Tom now. And I might’ve been wrong about this idea. Let’s see what happens.”
* * *
Tom Cavanaugh sat at the old desk in the cider press office for a while after Nora left, completely stunned and disappointed. When she first walked in, he thought she was a fresh-faced teenager and his immediate prediction was that Buddy would be after her. She was so damn cute with her ponytail, sweet face and petite body. When she admitted to being twenty-three with two children, he couldn’t hide his shock. But worse than the shock—if she’d told him she was twenty-three and not a single mother, he’d have followed up with some kind of advance that would lead to a date. He wouldn’t have hired her because that could have been problematic, hiring someone who sent little sparks shooting through his body. It would eventually lead to love among the trees, something that was strictly prohibited
Tom had spent a lifetime on this orchard and he was aware of certain employees falling in love among the apple blossoms and harvest bins, but Maxie had always warned him about the foolishness of that sort of thing. She said it could be pure bliss, unless it went wrong and turned into pure lawsuit. But lectures or not, Tom’s first intimate experience with a girl had happened in this orchard on a sultry summer night right before he went off to college. The memory could still make him smile.
And the smile turned to heat as he replaced the young girl of his past with Nora in his mind.
Damn, that little Nora was lust at first sight. Her bright eyes, soft, full lips, splatter of freckles across her nose… Just his type, if she weren’t married, mothering a couple of kids and divorced by the age of twenty-three. He was looking for a different kind of woman, a woman more like his grandmother—settled, smart, a strong moral code. Maxie had been married exactly once, to his grandfather. She’d been widowed since Tom was in college and had never remarried, never shown an interest in men after her husband passed. Not that there were many eligible men in Virgin River…. Maxie had long been dedicated to the business, the town and her many friends.
The office door opened and speak of the devil herself, there stood his grandmother, who he had always called Maxie rather than Grandma. She tilted her head and twisted her glossed lips. “You didn’t hire that girl, though she desperately needs a job. She has children to feed.”
“She probably weighs a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet.”