When You Fall... (22 page)

“I can do that,” she said.

“It’s okay. I can talk and work.”

“I’d like to help,” she said. He looked at her for a moment and again, she couldn’t read him.

“Okay then. Here, take these,” he said, handing the pair of shears he held in his hands over to her, then removing his bag from his shoulder and placed it around hers. “I’ll go get another pair,” he said.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said. It took another five minutes before he returned and then showed her what to look for and how to clip them at the stem.

“Where are these going?” she asked.

“To the farmer’s market in Buda. I also deliver them to this new-age restaurant called The Fusion. Have you ever heard of it?”

“No.”

“It’s new. It’s five-star, small, and pricey. I supply them with vegetables and organic chickens.”

“Oh.”

“What did you think I did?” he asked, smiling, starting to work again.

“I didn’t think, really,” she said, stopping to looking over his fields. “Why farming?” she asked.

“Love it. I worked as a migrant worker in California mostly. Here some too. Actually, I mostly trailed behind my grandfather. I was very young and my parents were always busy, making a life here for my brothers and me. I grew to love being outside, working in dirt, working with plants,” he said.

“I’ve heard that it’s hard to make a living at farming,” she said.

“That’s true. Unlike you, I’m not looking to get rich. It’s the kind of life I want—the pace, the ownership.”

“That’s enough for you, and I’m not looking to get rich either. I want to work with horses, remember?” she said.

“I remember. Believe it or not, it’s more than enough for me. I love it here,” he said, smiling at her look of disbelief. “I am working to make this farm self-sustaining, at least to generate enough income to cover the expenses. Hopefully that will increase as we grow.”

“How?”

“I’m organically certified. I sell my vegetables and fruit at the local farmer’s markets. Some I sell to the larger grocery chains those that are starting to purchase locally. I have chickens for laying and some for their organic meat. I sell to a few small restaurants and I sell my organic eggs to another restaurant in Austin—Omelets Inc.”

“I’ve heard of them. I’ve never eaten there, though,” she said.

“Yep, well the last year or so they’ve been using my eggs exclusively.”

“That must make you proud,” she said.

“It does,” he said, and his head dipped a little at her praise.

“No way are you shy,” she said.

He laughed. “It’s the life I want, Carter. The life that I’ve dreamed of.”

She stood and looked around, taking in his farm seriously for the first time; the rows of plants, the barn, the people working in it.

“The chickens are behind the house and I’ve even gotten some goats,” he said, smiling, it giving way to a grin.

“Goats,” she repeated.

He laughed. “See why I have a list of things I look for in a woman? It will take a special woman to forego all the riches of town life and live on a farm with Rafael, the Latino owner of chickens and goats.”

She laughed too, and went back to picking, telling him about her trip to town and how expensive her animals were becoming.

Two hours later, she’d had enough.

“I’m out of here. I’m hungry. I can’t keep up with you. How much more ‘til you’re done?”

“Not much longer. It’s manageable. Don’t worry,” he said, walking over to stand close to her. He kissed her, moved his hands to her breast, glided softly over them and then around her back, pulling her tightly into him and kissing her again. “Thanks for helping.”

She laughed, looked around, and laughed again. “Not a problem. It was fun talking to you. And thanks for listening to me again,” she said.

His eyes were twinkling. He hadn’t let her go, and was still holding her tightly to him with that look in his eyes.

“I’m not making out in a field of okra,” she said.

“I bet I could talk you into it,” he said, kissing her again, moving his mouth to her ear. “You can have your dreams, too.—the ones you spoke of the other night. I can tell what this place means to you. Tell your father, your sisters. Ask them not to sell it,” he whispered into her ear, serious now.

“It won’t happen,” she said.

“How do you know if you don’t try?” he asked.

She shrugged, wiggling to set herself free from his arms. “It’s no use. You think my stepsisters don’t like me now. They would kill me then.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“My stepsisters hate I could take, but not my dad’s. That would be a hard one for me. We are all that’s left of the original crew, original family. I’d better let you finish up here. I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she said, as she leaned up and kissed him again.

“So you’re going to give up without a fight?”

“I just told you there is no fighting with my father. Talk to you soon,” she said, walking back the way she’d come.

He watched her leave, and was still watching her when she turned back one final time and waved before she’d climbed back over the fence.

He’d watched her all the time now when she hadn’t known he’d been around. He saw her outside in the pastures, talking to her horses, working with Grey and that new horse. He’d known about the new horses and donkeys before she’d even told him.

There was starting to be something about her, something to this churning that had started to grow larger in his chest. He wanted her near him now, whenever he could. Hell, he was even kissing her in his okra patch. He hadn’t put a name to this feeling, but whatever this was, it was a first for him.

You could love this one,
he said to himself, giving a tentative name to the feeling in his chest, the source of all his churning that wouldn’t leave. He’d gotten pulled into the vulnerable woman that had cried into his shoulder and the one that worked so hard on the ranch. He’d gotten caught up with the woman that jumped into this with barrels blazing and the panther that had joined him in bed.

He knew he wasn’t what she was sought in a mate. Skin color had the potential to be an obstacle, if not from her, then from her family, and for the first time in his life, that bothered him. Go figure. He chuckled to himself. Usually he didn’t care. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten the brush-off because of his race. It bothered him like an insect hovering around your head bothers you; makes you irritated, but you either kill it or swipe it away. There were still plenty of women around who didn’t mind his skin tone.

But Carter was similar to him in her love of the land. He felt like they were on the same path somehow, finding something that was important to them; the outdoors—she with her horses, and he with his farming. They appreciated the hard work that her great-grandfather had put into the land, to leave an important inheritance, a long-lasting legacy.

He didn’t want to see her give up on her dream so easily. Some things were worth fighting for. He just had to make her see the need to fight for what she wanted. And if he could keep her close, then that was good, too.

#

Saturday evening.

Knock. Knock. A ring of the front doorbell followed. It was evening, and Carter was in the kitchen, watching some fireworks display on TV. She had one more chore, feeding her boys, before she went to bed. She walked toward the front to answer.

Two older women, African American, both round and short, reaching to her chest in height, were standing on her doorstep. One was completely bald, the other had her hair pulled back into a bun. Both stood staring at her with huge grins on their faces. They must be twins, they looked so much alike. One held something covered in tin foil and the other had her hands in the pockets of those athletic shorts the coaches of old used to wear.

“Welcome. Happy Fourth of July,” the one with the bun said. “I’m Ernie and this is my sister, Al. We live across the street from you. We would have come sooner, but we thought that worthless property manager your folks hired was finally getting some work done around here,” Ernie said, pushing past Carter to enter her home.

“We brought you a good old-fashioned apple pie in honor of the Fourth of July,” Ernie said, heading now toward Carter’s kitchen.

“Don’t mind Ernie. She was a principal for 30 years, and used to giving orders and taking over. She… we don’t mean any harm. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood now that we know you’re here,” Al said, smiling.

“No problem. Thank you. Come on in,” Carter said.

“You sure we’re not imposing?” Al asked.

“No, not at all. I’m tired of my own company anyway,” she said, closing the door and following Al to the kitchen.

“Rafael stopped by this afternoon and told us you were here. We would have come sooner had we known,” Al said.

“You have any coffee?” Ernie shouted from the kitchen as she made herself at home.

“Yes,” Carter said, a little surprised at Ernie’s temerity, but she’d been without female company for so long she was going with it.

‘It’s really nice in here. I’ve never been over,” Al said, looking around the house.

“I wouldn’t call it nice. It used to be nice, when I was a little girl, but it’s in better shape than when I found it,” Carter said, standing at the door of the kitchen, looking at Ernie as she searched for cups and plates in her cupboards.

“Carter, come in here and work this coffee machine,” Ernie said, standing by the counter and looking at the coffee machine with wonder.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s a small espresso machine. I brought it from the city. I have this fondness for cappuccino,” Carter said.

“Is that those little drinks in those cute little cups?” Ernie asked.

“Nope, that’s an espresso.”

“How about some old fashioned coffee? Can this cute little machine make that for us? Plain coffee goes well with the apple pie I made,” she said.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Carter said.

“It is so nice to have another female in the neighborhood,” Al said.

“It’s mostly men. Rafael is nice, but he works so. He rarely has time to talk, and he’s never still enough for us to serve him tea. He’s told us about your dreams of making this place into a bed and breakfast or maybe a dude ranch,” Ernie said. They were all seated around the kitchen table now, with slices of pie and cups of coffee in front of them.

“We could use some dudes around here,” Al said.

“I was just day-dreaming,” Carter explained. “I can’t, not really.”

“Why not?” Ernie asked.

“My family is going to sell it soon,” Carter said.

“It would be popular, your dude ranch. I’ve been to one. Used to date the owner,” Ernie said.

Al rolled her eyes.

“I dated the owner. Don’t pay her any attention. I still have his number. We are still friends. I bet he’d be willing to talk to you,” Al said.

Carter just smiled. “Did Rafael put you up to this?”

“No, of course not. We wanted to meet our new neighbor, that’s all. Do you like him?” Al asked. Carter smiled, but didn’t believe them. “Who, Rafael?” she asked.

Ernie and Al exchanged glances.

“Yes, he’s a very nice man,” Carter said.

The two of them exchanged looks again.

“He’s looking to get married. Did you know that?” Al asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Carter said.

“You interested? A woman could do worse,” Ernie said.

Carter laughed. “I’ve given up on men,” she said.

“What you say!” Ernie said, hitting the table with her hand. “Why would anyone want to give up on men? Aren’t you too young for that?” Ernie asked.

“No, and it’s a long story,” Carter said.

“Is it because Rafe is a Mexican? Is that why you’re not interested?” Ernie asked.

“He’s not Mexican. Mexicans are from Mexico. His people are from Guatemala. That’s a whole separate country from Mexico,” Al said.

“Well, is that why you aren’t interested, ‘cause he’s from Guatemala? If it were me, that man would be tied up in my house so fast,” Ernie said, and raised her left arm in the air like she was starting to preach.

“You don’t have to answer her,” Al said, pulling her sister’s arm down and pushing her coffee closer to her.

“He’s a nice young man. You could do worse. Give me a man that works that hard all day and looks like he does. I’d have him working all night, too. You hear me?” Ernie said, slapping the table again, causing their coffees to jump.

“He looks like he could be up for both,” Al said.

“What you say,” Ernie said, her arm back in the air.

“What you say,” Al said, smiling at Carter, who laughed at them both. What a pair these two were.

#

Saturday night

“So, how is she?” Frank asked, sipping from his glass of Coke, sitting next to Rafael at the only bar in town, taking a short break. He didn’t drink on duty. He was keeping an eye out; folks were known to drink too much and get rowdy after the Fourth of July fireworks ended. He needed to be alert.

“She’s fine.”

“I thought you would have asked her to the Fourth of July picnic,” he said, his smile threaded with teasing.

“Nope.”

“If I were you, I’d see if she could meet those requirements of yours,” Frank said, grinning.

If there were one thing Rafael wished he could take back, it would have been confiding in Frank regarding his wife list. Frank hadn’t let go of it. Called him all kinds of crazy for thinking to reduce choosing a life partner to a list of six qualities, like some mail-order bride one from the Sears catalog. Was Sears even around anymore?

Rafael ignored him, taking a sip of his beer. It was good—nice and cold—with little bits of ice floating around in it.

“You should get to know her. See if she measures up to your list,” Frank said, humor again in his comment.

“Nope, it would be a waste of my time. One. She’s not sticking around. Two. She’s not looking to get married, and if she were, three, she prefers African American men,” Rafael said.

“What difference does that make? The way I see it, you both are in the same brown family.”

“Shut up and drink your Coke,” Rafael said, finishing off his beer. He pulled out his wallet and placed enough money on the bar to cover his drink.