Her Country Heart (2 page)

The white two story traditional American farmhouse with its pointed gables and wraparound porch, so popular in the Sierra Foothills, glistened in the late afternoon. Her chest tightened at the sight.

Soon the sun would be setting. So many times she and Granny had sat on the porch peeling apples for applesauce as they watched the late afternoon sky turn orange.

Wyatt drove the truck into the driveway and turned off the engine. Anxious to get into the house, she reached into her pocket and felt for the key Granny had given her so many years earlier.

“If you’ll get my suitcase out of the truck, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’d like to get home.”

Wyatt’s eyebrows rose as he turned to face her. “I thought you knew—I live here.”

CHAPTER 2

“Your
grandmother’s will gives me the right to stay on the farm as long as I want to,” Wyatt said.

How stupid could Amy be? He owned half the farm. Of course he could live on it. Even so, she’d assumed he had a home somewhere else, anywhere but the farm. His taking half ownership of Granny’s place was bad enough, but the thought of him living there was unbearable.

The worn plank floor creaked when she walked into her childhood home. The familiar smell of lilac and pine still permeated the old place. She ran a shaking hand over the familiar pastel flowered sofa and touched the blue and white granny square blanket her grandmother had knitted. It lay tossed on the corner of Grandpa’s leather club chair just as it had when she’d first seen it as a scared six year old kid who’d come to live with her grandparents.

In a few days Bobby would arrive on the farm. Slightly younger than she’d been when she came to live there, he also needed a haven from the problems in his young life just as she had when her mother had sent her to live on the farm with Granny.

Would Wyatt let her stay now that he was the executor and half owner of the place? Could he turn her away even though she and Bobby had nowhere else to go? The question sent a jab of fear rushing through her.

She glanced around the room. Everything held a memory, a story of Granny, only deepening her sense of loss. Sorrow tightened her chest threatening to stifle her breathing. She forced herself to inhale deeply.

To protect Bobby, she hadn’t cried when she received the phone call that Granny was gone. She swallowed a sob. She wouldn’t let Wyatt see her cry.

He had the right to stay in her home. No matter how angry that made her, she couldn’t stop him. But she wouldn’t let him see her tears.

***

Without the sun, the evening cooled. In the great room of old house, Wyatt set a fire in the stone fireplace. She watched the muscles of his strong back flex as he lifted a huge oak log and placed it on the burning kindling. Her body reacted with a sudden shot of heat, but it was proximity to him not the fire’s warmth that caused it.

“That should keep the cold out tonight.” Wyatt brushed ash from his jeans and stretched his hands out to the fire, then turned and smiled.

Even though anger pulsed in her, his magnetism called to her. Damn her female response to his sex appeal. She moved toward him, stopped, moved back and gave her head a quick shake. Granny must have felt the pull of his charisma too. Was that how he got her to sign over half the farm to him?

“I obviously make you uncomfortable.”

“No. It’s not that.” She crossed her arm in a defensive motion and resisted moving further away from him. “I just thought I’d be here alone,” she said not wanting to admit the truth of his statement.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, not exactly a smile, but at least not a frown.

“I’m trying to remember what the judge said. I couldn’t seem to focus when I was in the his chambers,” she whispered.

“The will said I’m the executor of your grandmother’s estate and that I inherit half the property. I can live on the farm and use the barn for as long as I need it.”

“But I—” Unable to think how she could contradict what he said, she stopped.

“Amy, I slept in the house when your grandmother was alive. And after she was gone there didn’t seem to be a reason to move out.” He hesitated. “Tomorrow I‘ll make the old cottage in backyard livable. Tonight, if you want to be alone, I can sleep in my truck.”

The thought of him trying to rest, while tossing and turning, unable to fold his tall frame into a comfortable position in the truck’s cab sent a genuine smile to her lips. But she said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Of course you can sleep in the house. Uh—tonight.”

With a nod, he walked toward the door.

“Are you leaving?”

“Your grandmother gave me something for you. It’s in the truck.”

The front door slammed shut when he left.

With a sigh, she sank into the overstuffed sofa, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Pain throbbed in her temples. She rubbed them to release the tension.

As a handyman Wyatt Cameron hadn’t made much of a career for himself. Still, he’d helped Granny stay in her home until the end. That would have counted for a lot if he hadn’t ended up half owner of the place.

Handsome, self-confident, she had to admit there was rough charm about him. But what kind of man was he really?

Granny trusted him. What did that mean? Had he enchanted the frail old woman and forced her into giving him half her land and control of the estate? Was her grandmother so trusting, so elderly that she didn’t see a predator, a user? Had he been after control of the farm the whole time he helped her?

Images of Amy’s ex-husband Robert flashed. He’d been able to smile charmingly while lying to her face. Both he and Wyatt were tall, handsome, outwardly charming specimens of men, but besides that they were nothing alike. Or were they?

Gullible when she was young, she’d been easily duped by Robert’s charm and good looks, unaware that those traits could mask selfishness and cruelty. She’d never again mistake charm for love or good looks for the sign of a good man.

The miserable relationship with her ex shouldn’t color her view of Wyatt. Should it? Or could it make her wise enough to not let another charming liar fool her?

Feelings of guilt over her disastrous marriage hit her, she shook them away. After all, something wonderful had come out of it—Bobby.

She entered the kitchen with its worn hardwood floors, whitewashed walls, and white lace curtains. The plaque, she’d given Granny for Christmas years earlier ,still hung on the wall next to the window. “Grandma Cooks with Love,” she read the sign out loud.

Home.
Nothing said it like Granny’s kitchen. In this room she’d done chores, finished homework and spun daydreams. With Granny, she’d spent hours cooking while talking and laughing. She wiped a wayward tear from her cheek.

Her stomach growled. Although she didn’t feel hungry she had to eat. After dinnertime, the toast and coffee she’d had for breakfast wasn’t enough.

As she’d done a hundred times before, she opened the freezer, but this time she found it empty. Gone were the neatly labeled plastic boxes of soup, spaghetti, and lasagna meals that Granny always had there.

Amy opened a can of store bought Minestrone soup from the cupboard and put it in a pot to warm on the burner of the antique gas stove. A loaf of fresh sourdough bread sat on the kitchen table. Wyatt must have bought that.

While the soup warmed, she set the table.

“There’s soup if you want it,” she called to Wyatt.

They ate in silence.

The hot liquid trickled down her throat as she scanned the kitchen. She could almost see her grandmother cooking at the stove; the aroma of homemade bread in the air, her smile filling the room. Amy stifled a cry and pushed her full bowl of soup away.

Wyatt emptied his bowl and took it to the kitchen sink, rinsed it and set it on the drain board.

“Here’s a letter from your grandmother. She asked me to give it to you.” He handed over a sealed pink envelope pulled from his jacket pocket.

“Thank you.” Her hand trembled when she grabbed it.

“I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thanks.”

Not ready to read the letter, she yanked her cell phone from the leather shoulder bag that hung on the back of the kitchen chair and put in Nan’s number.

Worry sent a quiver through her. This would be Bobby’s first night without her, the first time she’d been away from him since his birth. The wooden floor creaked as she paced and counted the rings waiting for someone to an answer the cell.

“Hey,” Nan said sounding breathless.

“Hi Nan.”

“Amy, Bobby’s fine. I know it’s getting late, but we’re playing ball in the backyard. Let me catch my breath.” She paused. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t eaten anything that’s not on the list you gave me.”

“Thanks, Nan. I shouldn’t worry.” She sighed. “It’s just that with Celiac Disease he gets so sick if he eats anything with gluten in it.”

“No Gluten. Don’t sweat it. I’ll watch him.”

“I owe you big time.”

“You’ve done hella stuff for me.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Hey kid, want to talk to your Mom?” Nan shouted.

“Hi, I played ball with Nan and her neighbor. He has a dog.

“Who does?”

“The neighbor man. A big yellow dog. He licked me.” He laughed.

“The man?”

“The dog. Mommy, you’re silly.” He giggled. “You said I get a puppy when we move to the farm.”

“I said maybe.” Every kid should have a dog, an animal to play with and someone to hug when things got tough. But could she handle the extra cost and responsibility right now with their future up in the air? “We’ll see.”

“I catched the ball.”

She let her shoulders relax and grinned hearing her son so excited.

“I catched it more than once and the dog did too.” He yawned loudly.

“Honey, you better get ready for bed I can hear you’re tired. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Okay, but I’m not tired.”

“It’s still time for bed.” According to him, he was never tired. She grinned again. “Good night baby.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Then good night big guy.” She chuckled, but a twinge pinched her heart. Her baby was growing up so fast.

“Night.” He hung up.

Thanks to Nan, her son was enjoying his first night without her. But without him nearby, Amy couldn’t release her need to hug Bobby.

Suddenly cold, she rubbed her arms and put on the kettle for a cup of tea.

At the kitchen table, she took a sip of the orange
spiced liquid. Then she opened the envelope and held the pale pink stationary, covered with darker pink roses and read her grandmother’s unsteady penmanship.

Amy, my dearest grandbaby, when you read this I’ll be in a better place. Please don’t cry or be sad. Know that I was luckier than most people. I spent my life with the man I love living on the land we both were privileged to till.

My only regret is that I won’t
see Bobby grow up to be a man. But with you as his mama, I know he’s in good hands and he’ll grow into a man we can be proud of.

Amy sniffed and wiped a tear that threatened to run down her cheek.

Honey,
I know you love your life in the city. You never wanted to live on the farm. I understood that. But I leave the property to you with the hope it will not be a burden. Instead, it will be a gift that frees you from the financial struggle of raising a son alone.

I smile thinking of you. As a little girl you brought me and your Grandpa so much joy we beamed at the thought of you. From this day on, I pray you and Bobby are blessed with love and happiness.

I go from this earth willingly knowing I will soon be with Grandpa. Remember to smile. And even in hard times, look for the bright side of life and you’ll find it. With all my love, Granny

How could she smile without Granny? Careful not to tear it, she folded the letter and was about to place it back when she felt a lump in the envelope and turned it upside down. Something sparkled when it fell out onto the table. Her Grandmother’s sterling silver chain with the crystal heart on it glistened in the bright kitchen light. Grandpa had given it to Granny for a birthday present and afterward Granny had worn it every day. Whenever she thought of her grandmother she pictured her with the necklace. Amy picked it up and the sobs she’d held back all day gushed out.

“Are you okay?”

She glanced up to see Wyatt standing at the kitchen doorway a serious expression spreading across his face.

“Fine.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m okay.” She wrapped her fingers around the little crystal heart to give her strength.

“Good,” he said a little too quickly, clearly uncomfortable with her emotion. “I’ll be in the downstairs bedroom.”

She watched him disappear.

Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned Wyatt in the letter. Why the heck had Granny made him the executor of the estate and given half the property to him? Why?

CHAPTER 3

Damn
, it was going to be a scorcher.
Eight in the morning and I’m already sweating.
Wyatt wiped perspiration away with the back of his hand and squinted at his new home, the run-down cottage behind Granny’s farmhouse. He shook his head and wondered what made him agree to “babysit” Amy and her kid.

He grunted as he remembered the promise he’d made to Granny. He’d stay nearby and make sure Amy and Bobby were all right. He’d also agreed to make repairs and get the farm ready for sale. The sooner he kept his word, the quicker he could get the hell out of town and back where he belonged.

The judge’s words rang in his ears.
I leave half interest in my farm, including all buildings and land to Wyatt Cameron.

That sure as hell took him by surprise. Granny had cleverly tied him to the property until he kept his promise to her. Barely five feet tall and as old as Grandma Moses, the crafty old woman, even after death, had made sure she’d get her way to keep him there at the farm until it was sold.

Maybe he should just sign back his half to Amy and leave. He considered it. Then he remembered Granny on the day before she died. Frail and barely able to speak, her eyes were still strong and focused as she’d held his hand and thanked him, in advance, for the promise he’d vowed to keep.
Shit.

Even now in the blazing sun, he could still feel the cold despair he’d experienced after his mother died. A kid on his own, he’d rebelled against everything. He was heading for a bad end, but he didn’t care.

If Granny hadn’t stepped in and helped him get through the grief and anger he didn’t know where he’d be, probably dead or in jail.

Only one way to pay her back, stay and keep his pact, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable the situation. He’d remain on the property and get it ready for a quick sale. Amy had better be ready for that reality.

Yesterday he’d seen her long strawberry blonde hair blowing in the hot wind and noticed her nice ass. At that moment, he’d realized he’d been thinking of her the way Granny had as a little girl. But in the truck when Amy had adjusted her tank top he’d seen she was pure woman.

Years earlier, he’d laughed at the young red headed kid with the dark rimmed eye glasses who had a crush on him. But at the bus stop her hazel eyes were clear and bright, and unhidden by glasses. She’d looked disappointed when she thought he was Granny’s handyman. And when she’d heard he had inherited part of the estate, her eyes had blazed with not only hurt, but with anger.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to explain. He didn’t believe in explaining much to anyone and certainly not to a woman he hadn’t seen since high school and who meant nothing to him.
If Granny wanted her to understand the reason for leaving part of the farm to him it would be in the letter she wrote to Amy.

As he got closer to the neglected cottage he saw the graying walls in need of paint and the sagging front steps.

Maintenance on the farm was costly and Granny hadn’t been able to keep it going. He’d do a small number of restorations to freshen-up the place. Then it wouldn’t have to be sold as a “fixer” with a below market price. Before he left town and went back on the rodeo circuit, he’d set the property up to get the highest price possible.

He’d already approached a company who was in the market for property near their Sacramento cannery. Granny’s farm fit the bill. Selling to them could be the easy answer for Amy and Bobby.

Last night he’d wondered if he should describe the ins and outs of organic farming. Tell Amy what she’d be up against if she had even the minutest idea of staying, drought and voracious worms, not to mention fluctuating apple prices and tons of apples, from all over the world, being dumped on the US market. And tell her the old irrigation system needed up dating, but since the farm was going to be sold there was no need to bother.

With her white porcelain skin protected by the San Francisco fog and untouched by harsh sun of the California foothills, he could imagine her wearing high heels and a tight fitting business suit to a job in the financial district of the city. She wasn’t a country girl anymore. She was metropolitan all the way. Soon she’d be back in San Francisco where she belonged.

He yanked open the cottage door. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling of the living room. Old tack and a weathered saddle sat on a broken down sofa, the couch’s rusted springs stuck out, the stuffing gone. An aged oak floor peeked out from a thick layer of dust. Old cardboard boxes lined the yellowing wallpaper covered walls and the slight fragrance of mildew floated in the stale air.

Granny and Grandpa had started their life together in this cottage. The only people he’d known who stayed together through good and bad times to complete their journey until death parted them.

He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and started the job of moving out the clutter. He’d work his way through the living room to the bedroom. The kitchen didn’t matter at this point. He wasn’t going to cook much. There were always sandwiches or he could drive into town and eat at Dan’s Café.

Hours later, covered in dust and his truck bed half full of stuff ready for the dump, he surveyed the cottage. The living room and bedroom were clear.

Coughing, he went to the main house for a bandana to cover his mouth and nose before he tackled the dusty oak floors. He grabbed a kerchief from the dresser in the downstairs bedroom and headed for the back door.

In the kitchen, Amy, barefooted and dressed in white shorts and a pink sleeveless shirt, stood with her back to him. On her tiptoes she reached for something on the top shelf of the pantry. Her long curly hair wound its way down her back. His fingers itched to feel the silkiness of it.

He scanned her shapely legs from the slender ankles to her firm thighs and tight gluteus maximus. How would it feel to run his calloused hand up the soft creamy skin to her thigh and beyond?

He shook his head. If he were looking for woman to spend the night with she’d be first on the list, but the last thing he wanted was more problems in his life. With a kid, she was full of complications. He never knew a woman who wasn’t trouble and a single mother was double the aggravation.

With a grunt, he rushed outside. The back door slammed behind him.

***

Amy jumped when the door banged shut. She hadn’t heard Wyatt enter the house and he was gone before she could say anything. She glanced out of the window that framed a view of the backyard.

Wyatt opened the door to the cottage and entered. She was about to turn away when the cottage door opened again and he came out again carrying a huge cardboard box. He tossed it in his pick-up and she noticed the truck bed was full of old torn boxes.

Afterward, he stripped off his shirt and hung it on the porch railing. Sweat glistened on his broad chest. She watched him push his brown hair from his face and drink from the garden hose.

His pecks tightened as he doused his hair with water and then shook his head. The movement sent drops of water flying in the air and dripping down to his six-pack abs.

“Whoa”, she whispered, sucked in a breath of air and leaned forward for a better view.

He snatched his shirt from the porch rail and headed for the back door. Just then he looked up. She jumped back from the window. Had he seen her staring?

Look busy.
She grabbed a towel, dried a bowl and put it in the cupboard and dried a dish too. Why was she so nervous? Okay, so she’d had a crush on him in high school and had spent time daydreaming about his kiss. That was years ago. Now he was half owner of the farm, but still just a handyman.

A note she’d written listing the work Wyatt needed to complete lay on the kitchen table. She picked it up.

“It’s going to be a scorcher today. Even the water in the hose is hot,” he said as entered the room. He pulled opened the freezer, took out an ice tray, and filled a tall glass with ice and water.

“I’ve made a list of things that need to be done in the next few days before my son arrives.” She held the scrap of paper out to him. “So the sooner you get started, the better.”

He glanced at it, but didn’t take the list. Instead, a frown spread across his face.

She read the notes to herself and then said, “I’ve taken my old room upstairs and the guest room is going to be my son’s bedroom. It’s next to mine and I think he might feel safer if he’s close to me. Bobby thinks he’s a big man, but like I said, he’s only four.

Wyatt took a drink of water.

“He’s a delicate little boy, born premature. When he was a baby I thought I might lose him.” She swallowed hard as she thought of the night he almost died. A shiver ran up her spine and she shook it away.

“Anyway, his room is musty and I thought a fresh coat of paint would help. If you could paint it now. Let me see—” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Uh, the hall bathroom could use new floor tiles. Nothing fancy, just simple “stick-down” tiles. The old tiles are cracked and I almost tripped on them last night. I don’t want Bobby to fall. The sink faucet leaks. It drove me nuts last night, drip, drip, drip. That’s the just the beginning of the list. But I’d like the ones I mentioned repaired first.” She gulped for a breath. She was rambling, talking too fast and telling too much, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

Wyatt stood silent, his face devoid of emotion. The muscles of his bare chest flexed and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Why wouldn’t he put on his damn shirt?

“Please take a look at the list and tell me if you have any questions. I guess the general store still has paint. If I can get Granny’s old Volvo station wagon started, I’ll go into town and get the paint while you get the room ready. You’ll have to tell me what to buy to stop the drip in the sink. I don’t have a clue about plumbing. Or paint as far as that goes.” She shrugged and yanked her gaze away from his pecks and up to his eyes.

A bemused expression spread over his face. “You misunderstood.” He drank last of the ice water set the glass on the counter.

“Misunderstood what?”

“I’m not a handyman.”

“But yesterday you said you were Granny’s handyman.”

“I said
you
could call me that. If I didn’t you weren’t going to get in the damn truck. Everyone was waiting for you at the court house.”

“But you said and I thought…”

“I helped your grandmother because she didn’t have anyone else and she let me use her barn to store my equipment. That’s all.”

“Uh—I’m so embarrassed.”

“Look Amy, I’ll help you get the room ready for your kid and take care of the tile and the drip in the bathroom. And a few other things that need to be done around here. I promised Granny I’d help you. But you have to work too. Deal?”

“Uh, yeah. Deal.”

“Good.” He pulled his cotton shirt over his head and down his chest covering his physique.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She wanted to say for covering your distracting body, but instead she cleared her throat. “For promising to help me.”

“Besides getting your kid’s room ready, you better line up someone to harvest the apples. Granny usually called Manuel Gordon and his crew. They’re popular and get grabbed up fast. And they may not have time, but they’re the best. His phone number must be around here somewhere. It needs to be done before you sell the farm.”

“Uh—about that. I planned to put the place on the market, but now that I’m here—” Seeing his expression, she hesitated.

“This morning I walked in the apple orchards.” Eager to make him understand, she continued. “I felt the soil between my fingers, smelled the apples still on the trees. I picked one. I’d forgotten what it tastes like right off the branch. When I bit into it juice ran down my chin.” She grinned. “I was a kid again eating fruit for the first time. It was awesome. Suddenly, Granny was there, standing next to me, telling me to keep and run the farm.”

He rolled his eyes and she noted his Amy is-a-crazy-person expression.

She stepped closer. “Wyatt, I’m not insane. I know Granny wasn’t
really
there. But I’ve seen her walk the orchards so many times, it was as if her essence was next to me telling me this farm is my home. I haven’t felt like I belong anywhere since I left Sierra Creek. Can you understand that?”

Before he could answerer she said, “For the first time in my adult life I’m truly a part of something, the land. And for the first time I understand the meaning of the word “home”.

She crossed her arms and moved just steps from him. “The farm is Bobby’s heritage and I’ll do whatever I can to nurture and protect his legacy.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

She noted the skepticism in his features as his eyes narrowed.

“To honor my grandmother, I’m calling the company Granny’s Organic Apples.”

“It’s easy to name a business, but running a farm is hard, dirty work. I see your pale skin and perfectly manicured fingernails. What job did you have in San Francisco?”

She quickly put her hands behind her back.

“Well?”

“I was a bank teller until they closed the branch and replaced it with an ATM machine. Now I want a job that can’t be outsourced or off shored. I have a chance to do something that matters. Give people organic food. So they don’t have to worry about pesticides in the apples and juice they feed their kids. You can’t have any idea what that means to a mother to watch her baby eat and drink and know that the apples are poison free.”