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Chapter Three

Nora hated to part with overtime pay by taking the weekend off. Overtime sounded delicious—her budget was beyond tight. But she took her girls to the gym set at the elementary school, pushed Fay in the baby swing while Berry played on the slide and rings. She consoled herself that there would be more overtime coming her way when she was healed enough to take it without crippling herself for life.

It was so early that she was surprised to see Noah Kincaid coming her way. “Hey,” she said. “Out for a morning walk?”

“Kind of,” he answered, flashing her that handsome grin. “I was looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Maxie called me this morning—she’s an early riser. She said they were picking this weekend and you’d been refused overtime because of job related injuries. She suggested I might check on you, see how you’re doing.”

She sat on a swing next to the baby swing. She stopped pushing the baby and gave a little laugh and held out her gloved hands. “It’s true. And as much as I hate to admit this, Tom Cavanaugh probably did the right thing. My hands are sore. I’m nursing some blisters from doing work I’ve never done before, not to mention sore muscles from picking for hours. My right shoulder was on fire. Don’t you dare tell him this, but the blisters on my feet were probably even worse than on my hands, but that stuff he gave me for my hands, that goop, wow. I’m almost as good as new.” She turned her hands over a couple of times so he could see the latex over gauze. “This is a pretty amazing cure.”

“The shoulder?”

“Better. Ice packs, anti-inflammatory and a little downtime does the trick.” She tsked. “It killed me to give up the money.”

Noah leaned against the side of the jungle gym next to Fay, belted in and safe between them. Berry ran around crazily, up the stairs on the slide, down the slide, a swing on the ropes, singing and talking to herself the whole time. But Berry was not the least bit interested in Noah. She was a little on the antisocial side, Nora feared.

“We started to talk about this a couple of times before,” Noah said. “Do you have family who would be available to help you get over this rough patch? I mean any family at all?”

“We didn’t get far on that subject because there were too many immediate issues, like the fact that a few months ago my drug-crazed ex-boyfriend showed up here looking for money, attacked me and everyone who was trying to protect me. And that was a situation I got myself into at the age of nineteen.”

“Well, he’s in jail and out of the picture, thankfully. Family?” Noah asked again.

“There’s no one,” she said.

“As in…no one? Or no one you’re not too proud to call on?”

“I told you—I got myself into this mess and—”

“I know, we don’t have to go over all that again—I’m up to speed on Chad and pregnancy and getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. You probably think you’re the first person to ever carry that load, but you’re not. I’m interested in knowing more about your family—parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, et cetera. Someone you trust who loves you or at least has enough sense of responsibility to lend a hand.”

She took a deep breath. “My father left us when I was six. My mother, who was abandoned and stuck with me, struggled for years to make it on her salary alone. We lived from paycheck to paycheck. Right there you have several reasons why she was angry and very bitter. The great irony is, she earned her living as a—are you ready? As a counselor. And when I went home from college to confess I was in trouble in a million ways and needed help—I was flunking out, pregnant, had played around with pot and beer with the boyfriend—she told me to get out and never come back. That’s where we left it. She threw everything that had my fingerprints on it out the front door onto the lawn, Chad drove me away and stuffed me into a flea-bag motel where he left me. I went to Student Services who sent me to the county welfare office and…” She gave her shoulder a little lift—half a shrug.

“But you stayed with him?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not really.”

“But there’s Fay,” he said.

She nodded but couldn’t meet his eyes. She finally looked up, but all she could muster was a hoarse whisper. “He came and went. And I was so lonely and vulnerable after Berry was born. Chad was manipulative. Sometimes he gave me money, for which I was so stupidly grateful, but I didn’t know until I was ready to have Fay that he’d been thrown off his professional baseball team over a year before.” She shook her head. Then she glanced at Fay and said, “But how can I regret her?” And on cue, the baby gave them a brilliant, toothless smile and Nora nearly cried.

Noah couldn’t resist touching Fay’s pudgy hand. “Where did the abuse begin in your life, Nora?”

“According to my mother, it began with my father, but I don’t remember anything about that. I was already six when he left, but my memory of life before that is pretty spotty, which my mother said is typical. She says I have buried memories.”

“And you were in therapy for this?”

She smiled. “Of course not. My mother is a therapist. I will tell you the truth, Noah—I went to talk with you on Mel Sheridan’s recommendation because you’re a minister. I have no experience with church and I had this idea you could somehow show me forgiveness for all the mistakes I’ve made. Although it was hard, I was open to the idea of charity. But I’ve learned to be wary of therapists. When you told me you were a licensed counselor before becoming a minister, I almost bolted.”

“What do you think of your mother’s decision to never put you in counseling for these so-called buried memories?” he asked her.

“I think she’s incompetent. And I’m not convinced I have buried memories, either. According to my mother, there’s no other family anywhere. No grandparents, aunts, uncles. But I think I have pretty screwed-up parents.”

He gave her a small smile. “Think we should explore this further?”

“Probably,” she said. “But the very thought makes me far more exhausted than picking apples for ten hours a day.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Nora. There won’t be that many hours of daylight before long—fall is here and winter is coming. The days are growing shorter.”

“Fortunately that leaves very little time for discussing my dysfunctional parents.”

“But would you like me to contact your mother?” he asked.

“God! Perish the thought. When we have several hours to chat, I’ll tell you all the details of my whole life’s story and all about my mother—she’s brutal. I spent my whole life being afraid of her, and surprised and so grateful during her brief affectionate or kind moments. I learned to step very lightly.”

“And your father? Would you like to know what’s become of him?”

She thought about that for a moment. “I’ve been curious, but not curious enough to look for him and certainly not enough to forgive him for leaving us the way he did. But there have been times I’ve wondered if he was dead… I have these snatches of memories of times with my father that aren’t scary or terrible. Not a lot, but a few. Like bowling—isn’t that a kick? A six-year-old, bowling? Learning to ride a bike with training wheels, doing dishes together with me standing on a stool at the sink, cutting the grass and planting flowers. My mother says none of those things ever happened—no bowling, et cetera. She claims I invented those memories just like children invent imaginary friends. But I have no dark or eerie or scary memories or dreams about him. I have warm memories. But if he was a good person, he wouldn’t have left me… .”

“I could do a little research,” Noah said.

“Could you find out if he’s dead? Without making me…”

“Vulnerable?” Noah finished for her. “You are always in control, Nora. If you tell me his name and last known address, I can probably find out if he’s alive or dead, where he is, if he’s remarried, if there are children, what he does for a living, that sort of thing. But there’s no reason he’d have to know you’re even involved.”

She thought about this for a minute. “Then okay,” she said. “I’d like to know if he’s alive. And maybe someday, I’d like to know why he ran out on me. I mean us.” She swallowed. “His name is Jed—Jedediah Crane. And he was a history teacher at UC Berkeley. My mother said he was fired and left us high and dry.”

“A professor?” Noah asked. “Did they divorce?”

“She always called him a teacher. Oh, of course they divorced—and it must have been bitter. As a girl, dangerously curious, I searched through files and stored boxes in the attic and even in my mother’s underwear drawer for some evidence of him, of them. Of us. Of anyone—even my mother with her family. There was not so much as a picture! If you’d known my mother as I had, you’d have expected at least a lot of photos with my father’s face cut out of them! And there were no documents of any kind—I don’t even have my own birth certificate.”

Noah smiled. “We’ll get that taken care of, as well. That’s a simple process and you don’t have to have the permission of your parents to get a copy.”

“Noah…” she said hesitatingly. “There’s something you should take into consideration before you walk down this path. My mother… Not everyone knows what she’s really like. She has friends. Not a lot, but some—she had things to do, although she mostly went to work and came home to spend the evening alone in front of the TV. She’s very funny. She could make people laugh. She fell out with the neighbors and they stopped talking years ago, which of course was their fault, but she had friends from work, from other places. People to talk to on the phone, that sort of thing. It used to amaze me how funny and charming she could be with some people and how completely insane she could act at other times. If you met her by some chance or investigated what kind of person she is, you’ll probably think I’m just a bratty, ungrateful kid. And I’ve admitted—I was trouble. Yes, I was—I made so many mistakes.”

“Where is she a counselor?”

“The community college in Berkeley. People Services. She helped students get through their crises, referred them, helped them get their lives together.” She laughed resentfully. “I wonder if she ever did it by throwing everything they owned on the front lawn. But then, I probably deserved it… .”

Noah smiled patiently. “I don’t think you need forgiveness, Nora.”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t have to be so nice. I know how many bad things I did.”

Noah ran a hand over Fay’s smooth, round head. The baby beamed at him. “I think you’ve redeemed yourself.”

* * *

One of the convenient things about living in a place that catered to hunters and fishermen from out of town, were the heavy-duty Band-Aids at the Corner Store for those sportsmen who were just breaking in their new boots. Armed with large canvas protection on her heels and palms, Nora lit out for work early Monday morning. She went down the road from Virgin River to 36, ready to take on another week.

The work was physically demanding, but it was refreshing to a city girl. If she hadn’t been distracted by soreness and the fear of not being able to keep up, she would have been thoroughly into the experience. The apples smelled heavenly. The breeze wafting through the trees was refreshing, the sound of the swaying branches and rustling leaves as calming as a lullaby. And the industry all around her, plus the weight of her bag filled her with a sense of accomplishment. She loved the sacks full of apples adding to the bins, the forklift taking the full bins away, the watering and aerating going on all around her while she stood on her ladder and picked, the trucks taking crates and boxes of apples to vendors. She caught sight of Tom and Junior repairing the tall fence that surrounded the orchard, not once but twice, right in the same place. And every now and again she could hear people talking or laughing off in the distance and the occasional bark of that yellow dog.

Nora wouldn’t trade her children for anything, not even for an easier life leading up to their births, but if she weren’t a single mother constantly worried about money, this job outdoors in the beauty of a northern California Indian summer would seem like a gift. It was September and the afternoons were still warm.

A couple of days into her second week, when she arrived at the juncture of the road from Virgin River and Highway 36, there sat a big white truck. And outside the cab, leaning against the driver’s door, was Mr. Tom Cavanaugh. His long legs were casually crossed in front of him and he was looking down; he appeared to be cleaning his nails with a pocketknife.

She looked at him for a moment. Appreciated him. It seemed such a distant memory when she’d gotten mixed up with Chad. Chad had seemed like such a catch, slated for the big time. Now, looking at Tom, she saw stability and success, not to mention power and beauty. Yes, he was a very beautiful man. And she wondered what it must feel like to be the kind of girl someone like him would want.

She shook it off. Then she put her head down and walked on by.

“Hey,” he called.

She turned back. She tried a small smile. “’Morning,” she said.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To work,” she said.

“Well, jump in. I’ll give you a lift. Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

“I have absolutely no idea. I don’t need a ride. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“I know, Nora. Humor me.”

“I don’t think it looks good,” she said. “Getting a ride with the boss. What will the others think?”

“There are no others yet,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re always the first one to get to the orchard. Come on. No strings.”

She thought about it for just a second, but there was really no way to refuse a kindness. Or whatever this was. She walked around the front and got in the passenger seat.

“How are the muscles and blisters?” Tom asked.

“Excellent,” she said, surprise lacing her response. “Nothing hurts. I’m keeping the protection on my hands and, as you can see, wearing the latex gloves, but I can’t believe how quickly I healed up. You should consider one of those late-night infomercials. Your magic goo and ginsu knives.”

He laughed at her. “Find yourself watching a lot of late-night TV, do you?”

“A long time ago,” she said. “I haven’t had a TV since before my children were born.”

“Ah, one of those fussy mothers—no TV to poison the little minds?”

“Not so virtuous. I can’t afford a TV—that’s a luxury way beyond me. But who can forget ginsu knives? I used to love those demonstrations. It wouldn’t have surprised me if fingers went flying. But who knows—maybe they did and the icky stuff was cut. No pun intended,” she added with a laugh.

He stared straight ahead as he drove for a few moments. Then he turned down the long drive into the orchard. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Nora. I’m going to wait for you where the road from town meets 36 and give you a lift. And I’ll drop you off there after work.”

“I told you, I don’t mind—”

“I know, you don’t mind walking. I give you a lot of credit for that—you have gumption. But I’d like you to reserve your energy for work. And it’s not one hundred percent safe out here at dawn and dusk. I’m not saying it’s dangerous, but there are wildlife issues.”

“I can run,” she said. “Seriously, I’m fast.”

He glanced over at her. “Seriously, you never want to try that. The only wildlife you can outrun is a turkey. Bobcats, mountain lions, bear—that’s just what they’re looking for—running marks you as prey and they’re way faster than you could dream of being. If you come across one of them, back away slowly, making some kind of noise. Bark like a seal or something. Clap your hands. And pray.” He took a breath. “I’m more than happy to give you a lift.”

She sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said. “But I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for your other employees to think I’m getting special treatment.”

“It’s Tom,” he said on a laugh. “Just Tom. If the idea doesn’t sit with you, we can see if Buddy will drive you after work—he shows up sometimes after school for a couple of hours.”

“Like I said, we probably shouldn’t encourage Buddy… .”

“You just tell him—you’re twenty-three. And if he thinks about a date with an older woman, maybe say you’re not over your ex-husband or something.”

“But that would be a lie,” she said.

He smiled. It was unmistakable—he smiled. “Well, then, you are over him.”

“There is no ex-husband.”

He shot her a look. “You’re married?”

She shook her head.

“Widowed? Already? At your young age?”

“Never married. Mr. Cavanaugh.” She took a steadying breath—he clearly wanted to know. “I have two children, have never had a husband, my boyfriend ran out on me and he is now in jail for assault and felony possession and I am on my own. He will not be allowed near my children again. I don’t use or deal, I’m trying to get it together for my girls and myself. And I won’t lie to anyone.”

The big white truck actually slowed a little bit while he absorbed this. Then Tom accelerated again, getting back up to speed. “Then just tell Buddy you’re twenty-three and a single mother. That should do it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sure,” she said softly. Of course that would discourage him. It would send any man running for his life.

“I’m going to ask him to take you to the turnoff after work and I’ll meet you there before work. A mile or so walk each way is more than enough for anyone and I don’t feel like having an employee mauled by a puma or bear. I’ve had to repair our fence a couple of times and while I haven’t seen any, I suspect bears. They’re usually shy and avoid people, but let’s just play it safe.”

She stared at his profile for a moment. “Mr. Cavanaugh, I don’t want to be pitied and I don’t need special treatment. I’m more than happy to do whatever it takes to work a job that pays well. I appreciate the gesture, I absolutely do, but—”

“Do you feel like fighting off a bear? Because a man was mauled not far from here. And you do have a family to think about.”

“Mr.—”

“Tom!” he barked. “It’s just Tom. The subject is closed.”

He pulled up to the barn that held his office, turned off the truck and got out, leaving her sitting there.

She wasn’t sure what it was about her that made him so angry. Alternately angry or kind or amused, that was more accurate. She tried to show him respect; she was honest with him even though it wasn’t easy.

She watched him tromp up the steps and across the porch, into the house. Stubborn. And just as quickly he was out the back door and walking toward his office. He stopped by his truck and peered in the open driver’s window at her. “Maxie said to tell you to come in for a cup of coffee with her.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t want to impose… .”

“She invited you, therefore it’s not an imposition.”

“But I don’t want to—”

“Nora! For God’s sake, don’t make everything so much harder than it needs to be! Just go have a cup of coffee with my grandmother.”

“Should I make your coffee first?” she asked.

“I’ll make it. I know how to make coffee.”

A smile tickled her lips. “Ah. I didn’t realize that.”

And he scowled at her.

She shook her head and couldn’t help it, she had to hold in a laugh. This man, who had no reason at all to be so ornery, was certainly a piece of work. As she walked across the wide yard, up the back steps and onto the porch, she found herself thinking that if she lived with this bounty, she would never have a cross day.

She gave the wooden screened door a couple of polite taps.

“Come in, Nora,” Maxie said.

When she opened the door, Maxie was sitting at her kitchen table with her coffee and crossword puzzle. The yellow dog stood to greet her with a wagging tail. “Good morning, Mrs… . Maxie.”

The older woman smiled and Nora was momentarily mesmerized. She was truly beautiful with her thick white hair, bright healthy teeth and rosy cheeks. “Grab a cup,” Maxie said. “Sit with me a minute. Tell me about your weekend, about your sore shoulder and roughed-up hands.”

Nora dressed her coffee with cream, real cream, and sugar. She didn’t drink coffee at home—she didn’t have a pot and it was expensive. And cream? Forget about it! Then she sat across from Maxie. “Everything feels great. I’m still wearing the gloves and using the goop—I don’t want any trouble. I want the next chance at overtime.”

Maxie laughed. “And the shoulder?”

“So much better,” she said, rotating it to demonstrate. “I’m kind of embarrassed that I didn’t know about something as simple as anti-inflammatory and ice. But I’ve never done this kind of work before.”

“What kind of work did you do?”

“I waitressed in high school and worked part-time in a college bookstore. And then I became a mother.”

“Yes, how are the little ones? And who’s watching them for you?”

“The girls are absolutely fine—smart, good-natured, energetic. And one of my neighbors, Adie Clemens, sits with them until day care opens, then she walks them down the street. Adie is an older lady and not a ball of fire, if you get my drift. But she and the girls get along beautifully. And she wants to do this.”

Maxie chuckled. “I know Adie. I’ve known her a long time—she’s always been a little on the fragile side. We’re about the same age, I think. She’s a lovely woman.”

Nora’s mouth dropped open. The same age? Maxie was vibrant, strong and energetic. Adie seemed frail. Health problems and old age must have taken their toll, not to mention the rigors of poverty. Yet another reason to get ahead of this rough patch, Nora thought. “She is lovely,” Nora finally said. “So sweet. She loves my little girls. I’m so lucky.”

“And how are you getting along here, at the orchard?” Maxie asked.

“I’m not as fast as the men, but I bet I’ll catch up. I’m very determined.”

“And is Tom treating you well?”

She glanced away briefly before she could stop herself. She looked back instantly. “He gave me a ride from the crossroad this morning,” she said.

“I know. I had an idea that’s what he was up to when he drove out of here so early. There’s no reason for him to go anywhere before dawn.”

“I told him it wasn’t necessary,” Nora said quickly. “I like walking. I do.”

“You should probably carry a weapon of some kind if you’re walking through the forest before dawn. It’s a rare thing that a human is attacked by a cat or bear, but it’s been known to happen. Sunrise and sunset are busy times for the wildlife—on their way to breakfast or off to bed, thinking they’re all alone… .”

Hah, she thought. She’d never spend money on a gun when she had children to feed and protect. “It was thoughtful of Tom,” she said instead.

“How do you get along with him? Is he giving you trouble?”

She thought about her answer before saying, “I think I annoy him. I think he sees me as a burden, someone he’s forced to look after.”

“It’s probably not so much that as Tom getting used to his new role here. He was raised on this orchard and knows the ropes, but he’s been away. He spent the past several years in the Marine Corps. Two of those years he was deployed, first to Iraq and then to Afghanistan. He separated from the military after his second deployment—there were a lot of casualties in his command, I gather. I’ve noticed a kind of impatience in him that wasn’t there before. Sometimes I catch him brooding and I wonder—has he lost good friends? Comrades? Taking and giving orders—that’s not really the way we’ve been running this business, but that’s what Tom was used to in the military. We’re all going to have to give him time to adjust, I think. I suppose he has issues. Combat issues.”

War? She hadn’t been watching television coverage, obviously, so was left to her imagination and what she’d heard. And what she’d heard people say was terrible! Even with all she’d been through, she couldn’t imagine the war in Afghanistan. She heard a couple of the apple pickers talking about how it had recently been the bloodiest month in Afghanistan so far with the loss of sixty-five soldiers.

And although life had held challenges, incredibly difficult challenges, she and the babies had enough to eat, were safe and warm, healthy. She vowed to never complain.

“Oh, of course,” she said softly. “I had no idea. What could possibly be worse than war? Well, don’t worry, Maxie. He seems perfectly normal to me. He’s been very kind to me. If he’s a little impatient sometimes, I suppose there’s very good reason.”

“One of these days, maybe on a weekend, I’d love to have you and the little girls come to the house. We could include Adie. I’d love to meet them. I hardly ever get to be around little girls. I had a son, then a grandson.”

“That’s so lovely, but I don’t have anything like car seats,” Nora said. “No car, no car seats.”

“I know. Don’t worry about that right now—I would never transport your children without them.”

“That’s very kind of you but you—”

“It’s completely selfish, Nora. I love children. Especially little girls. I hope that fool grandson of mine does something about that before I die.”

* * *

Nora had a great little chat with Maxie but she had to remind herself that they weren’t friends. Maxie owned the orchard; Maxie was her employer. Maxie and Tom. “Are there any other family members?” she asked Buddy when they were dumping their apples one afternoon.

“Nope, that’s it. I hear she raised Tom since he was a baby, but I don’t know anything about why and Maxie’s husband died around ten years ago or so. There’s Junior—the foreman. He’s been on this orchard as long as I can remember, since I was a little kid. He must be just about family.” Then Buddy laughed. “Anyone Maxie cares about is usually considered family. When you know her a little better, you’ll get that.”

“I think I already get that,” she said, thinking of this woman wanting to bring her girls and Adie out for an afternoon, though she hardly knew Nora at all.

This revelation about Tom Cavanaugh caused her to look at him a bit differently. Over the next week she found herself thinking about him and keeping an eye open to catch sight of him. While she was up in the branches of the taller apple trees, on top of her tripod ladder, she would occasionally see him and she could stare without being obvious. He spent a lot of time working with Junior, a big, muscled man of about fifty; they laughed together while they worked. And while Tom loaded large crates of apples into a delivery truck to take to grocers, straining his muscles, she couldn’t help but admire his physique. He dressed the same every day, jeans, boots, his work shirt with the Cavanaugh Apples logo over the left breast pocket, sleeves rolled up, a whisper of soft brown hair on his forearms. His hands were very big and as she could attest, rough with calluses. The muscles of his upper arms, shoulders, back and legs moved under the fabric; that perfect male butt in jeans that weren’t too loose or too tight drew her eyes. Sometimes he seemed to get a little worn out—the tendons in his neck stood out and after putting a crate in the truck, he’d stop to wipe his brow. Then he’d laugh with one of the guys.

She wondered what it must be like to be the kind of girl he’d smile and laugh with. What kind of girl would that be? A pretty and smart young teacher? A model or movie star who would be more than willing to leave the limelight for life on an orchard?

Now and then she’d be staring at him and imagine him in military fatigues rather than his work shirt, carrying a gun rather than a crate of apples and she’d wonder—had his losses been many? Had he been afraid, so far from home in a place of great danger? Did he miss the edge, the adrenaline rush of combat?

Or was coming home to the serene beauty of the orchard a relief? A comfort?

* * *

The following weekend Nora was able to take advantage of some overtime, and what made it even more desirable, it wasn’t a ten-hour day, but just a long morning that ended in early afternoon. Adie assured her she was definitely up to the task of watching the little girls. When Nora walked back into town after work on Sunday, she found Reverend Kincaid waiting for her at Adie’s house, chatting with her outside.

“Well, hello there,” she said to Noah.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Excellent. Put in a good day’s work and still have daylight to spend with my girls.”

“They’re still napping,” Noah said. “Let me walk you to your house—there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” she said. “Are you doing all right, Adie?”

“Fine, dear. I think the girls should be waking up in another half hour, maybe less.”

“I won’t keep you long,” Noah told her. They walked down the street to Nora’s little house and before they even went inside, Noah said, “I have information about your father. He’s alive, still teaching in the Bay Area and he’s been looking for you.”

She was stopped on a dime. “How do you know this?”

“It was pretty quick—I went searching for Jed Crane in the missing-persons registry—my very first stop on the internet. And what I found was that Nora Crane is the one missing.”

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