CHAPTER 11
Colt
I give a quick honk of my truck’s horn as I pull up in front of the Farrington barn. I texted Darby about half an hour ago and asked her if I could stop by. She responded quickly with a, “Sure. I’ll be in the barn.”
The rolling doors are both open, and I can see Darby stacking bags in the corner. Hopping out of my truck, I grab the two containers Mama loaded me up with before I walked out the door to come over here.
Darby meets me just outside the barn, dusting her hands off on her jeans, which are smudged with dirt and grass stains on her knees.
“What have you got there?” she asks as she eyes the plastic Tupperware.
“A thank-you gift,” I tell her as I hand over containers. “Mama made some pound cake and cut up some strawberries for you to have shortcake.”
“Why is your mama thanking me?” she says with a laugh. She takes the containers and holds them up to look through the opaque side.
“Well, actually I’m the one who’s thanking you for the help you gave me the other day after lunch. I didn’t realize I was so deficient in soil nutrient knowledge. I conned Mama into making that for you, but it’s my way of saying thank you.”
“I love strawberry shortcake,” Darby says with appreciation. “But this was totally not necessary. I was glad to help.”
Her eyes are bright and sparkling in the mid-afternoon sun. I wish she was more of a chore to look at because I could pretty much stand here for a long time and just stare at her. She’s prettier than any girl I’ve ever known.
After a moment, I realize both of us are just looking at each other and an awkward silence ensues. My true intent in coming over here was only to thank her for her time and knowledge she provided me for the vineyard. She’s more knowledgeable on crop sciences than anyone I’ve ever met before. But I can’t lie and say I wasn’t excited to actually see Darby.
Talk to her.
Spend a little bit of time with her.
I’m in this weird place where I have definite interest in her, but I really don’t know how or if I should even pursue it. She’s just come out of a bad marriage and is new to town. She’s trying to set up a peach orchard, which has got to be stressful in addition to the hours of hard work I know she’s putting in. She also has a daughter who is not quite happy to be here, and all of that adds up to a woman who probably couldn’t give a turtle’s butt about some hick farmer interested in her.
And just like that, I talk myself out of Darby McCulhane.
This is a bad idea.
With a nod of my head, I give her a smile. “Well, I better get out of your hair. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do and so do I.”
“Thanks again for the shortcake,” she says softly, and is that regret I’m not staying I hear in her voice?
No. Don’t think like that.
Turning to my truck, I toss my hand up in acknowledgment and call back, “See you later.”
Three paces is about all I take before Darby calls out, “Wait a minute… Colt… are you interested in seeing where I’m going to be placing the orchard?”
I spin around way too fast, and I’m sure the eager look at my face conveys just how lame I am. “If you have time, I’d love to see it.”
Swearing to God I will not make anything of the fact Darby looks both relieved and excited that I’ve agreed to stay, I follow her into the barn where she sets the shortcake and strawberries on a wooden counter built into the wall. We then load up on her Gator, which looks very similar to mine, and she drives us out of the barn. She hangs a left, and we head out directly over a soybean field that was harvested not all that long ago.
Farrington Farms isn’t quite as large as Mainer Farms, and most of their land is leased just like ours. The prior owner, Bob Farrington, unexpectedly sold this place, and Darby’s former brother-in-law, Jake McDaniel, had bought it. He bought it for a tax write-off and to give Darby a second chance in life but knowing Jake, I think the tax write-off isn’t really what he cares about.
We ride past the goat pasture, and I see MG kicking and bouncing around just inside the enclosure. MG is short for Ms. Goatikins, and she’s a baby goat that became unnaturally bonded to Jake after she was born. She’s only recently started taking a bottle from Carlos and drinking from her dam.
“I took some soil samples today to check the pH and nutrient levels. The pH was a little low.”
“That explains the bags of dolomite I saw you stacking in the barn. You should let me move all that for you.”
Darby looks at me briefly with a smile. “You’re sweet. But I got it. I’m going to put them out tomorrow.”
“By yourself?” I ask.
“Well, Carlos will help me.”
“You’re going to spread dolomite on thirty acres?” I ask incredulously.
Darby gives a husky laugh that sort of punches me in the gut and shakes her head. “I’m actually going to use a tractor to apply it. I was able to rent one from a guy Floyd turned me on to.”
“Bart Stephenson,” I say confidently. He’s got a ton of equipment he’s collected over his years of farming, and will often rent out tractors, backhoes, augers, and the like.
“That’s right. He gave me a good deal, too.”
We spend about half an hour driving over the portion of land Darby has sectioned off for the orchard. One of the great things about central North Carolina is it has an endless supply of rolling hills. She chose to set the orchard on an eastern-facing slope that would provide excellent drainage and sun exposure.
She tells me in addition to trying different applications of nutrients to alter yield and quality, she’s also going to space the trees out at varying lengths to see if the higher density would affect the yield. She speaks for quite a while but loses me about halfway through.
I guess she notices the blank look on my face because she gives me a light punch on my shoulder and exclaims, “I’ll have to pull out some graphs and charts and show you that way.”
I give an exaggerated yawn. “Boring.”
Her laughter is as bright and sunny as the day and is way more uplifting than any laugh should be.
Just as we are pulling the gator back into the barn, I see one of the county school buses stop out on the highway at the end of the gravel driveway. Linnie gets off the bus, and then waves to another little girl who’s hanging out one of the open windows. She’s smiling as she turns to trudge down the lane, hitching her backpack up higher on her shoulders.
Darby comes up to stand beside me as we watch her daughter walking our way. Her voice sounds somewhat relieved and hopeful when she murmurs, “She’s smiling. That’s a good sign. She must’ve had a good day today.”
“Doesn’t she like school?” I ask.
“She did back in Illinois. She’s very smart and was at the top of her class. I think she’s just trying to make friends and get her footing here, though.”
Sadly, I can’t relate to that. I’ve lived in Whynot my entire life. Even more constraining is the fact I’ve lived on Mainer Farms my entire life. I’m not sure if I could be any more lame if I tried.
Linnie looks up from her intense study of the gravel she walks upon, taking note of her mom and me standing just outside the barn. Her expression becomes guarded as she slows her walk.
“How was school today, honey?” Darby asks. Linnie comes to a dead stop about twenty feet from us.
Her gaze slides from her mother to me, and her eyes narrow just a little. I feel like a spotlight is on me, but I hold my stare on her until she’s forced to look back at her mom.
“It sucked,” she mutters and turns toward the house.
We watch in silence as Linnie trudges up the porch steps and disappears into the house.
Darby gives a deep sigh and winces with apology. “Sorry about that.”
“What do you have to be sorry about?” I ask her with my head tilted slightly. “She’s a kid. I’ve totally heard worse.”
Darby shakes her head in what I take to be frustration and puts her hands on her hips. She lets her gaze trail back to the house. “I’ve got to figure something out. We haven’t had much time together since we’ve moved down here. She started school right away, and I’ve been busy getting things set up at the farm.”
“Which is exactly why both of you need to come hang out with the Mancinkus clan on Sunday for dinner.”
Darby’s eyes crinkle and light up. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Does Linnie like to sing?” I ask.
She gives me back a confused look. “Sing?”
I nod. “I might just have to pull out my guitar and teach her some good old knee-slapping, foot-stomping country songs.”
“You play the guitar?” she asks, eyes twinkling even brighter.
“I’ve got layers you couldn’t even begin to imagine.” I start walking backward toward my truck, so I don’t have to take my eyes off Darby. I point my finger at her and say, “Two o’clock on Sunday. Both of you prepare to be entertained and well fed.”
Darby’s delighted chuckle follows me into my truck until I close the door.
I look through my rearview mirror as I drive down the lane of Farrington Farms. Darby doesn’t move from her spot, but watches me the entire way until I disappear.