CHAPTER FIVE
In the short time Des had been in the theater, the sun reappeared to dry up the dampness and raise the temperature dramatically, causing her to squint as she walked along the shoulder of the two-lane road. Headed toward Hidden Falls’ farthest boundary, she chided herself with every step for not going home to change her clothes and grab her sunglasses before embarking on this trek, but she hadn’t wanted to get sidetracked or talk herself out of making the trip. Besides, it gave her time to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. She’d never been one to trip over an apology when she knew she owed one, but at the same time, she hadn’t often been in a situation where she felt she’d caused someone to feel . . .
What exactly did she think she’d caused Seth to feel?
She really wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that she’d done him, and possibly their friendship, harm, and for that alone she needed to make things right.
By the time she arrived at her destination, she was sweating from the long walk in the hot sun. She was relieved when she reached the end of a narrow dirt-and-gravel driveway and the mailbox confirmed she was in the right place. Ancient weeping willows lined the right side of the drive as she started up the lane to the old farmhouse that stood on the very edge of Hidden Falls.
The house itself exactly fit Des’s image of a late-nineteenth-century farmhouse, with one tall roof peak in the center of the top floor, a wide porch that ran straight across the front, and shutters at each of the windows. Of course, her imaginary farmhouse was freshly painted, there were flowers in pots by the front door and on the steps, and the wicker furniture on the porch was arranged to serve as an outdoor living room. Roses grew around the porch and hollyhocks grew tall at both ends to frame it with color.
So not like the real farmhouse before her, where the paint was peeling, the porch sagged a little on one side, and there wasn’t so much as a rocking chair to be seen. The shutters all needed new paint, and one hung slightly askew. Still, the bones were good, and with the right amount of paint, it could be lovely. Its saving grace came in the form of peonies planted side by side to surround the porch with color.
The front door opened, and Ripley flew out to greet her. The dog was followed by Seth, who stopped on the top step and watched Des approach. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans, and even though his eyes were covered by dark glasses, she could feel him watching her walk down that long driveway. The dog raced around her in happy circles as if celebrating her arrival (“You’re here! At my house!”), only stopping long enough for her to pat his head and tell him what a good boy he was for not jumping on her even though she could tell he desperately wanted to.
“I see you’ve been working with him,” Des called out as she drew closer.
“Yeah, some.” Seth came down the steps and slowly walked toward her. “I’ve been trying to remember everything you taught him. Taught us,” he corrected himself.
“He’s a smart dog. He’s catching on.”
“When it suits him.”
“I think he’s wondering where Buttons is,” she said as the dog’s circles grew smaller until he was sniffing wildly at her clothing.
They met up at the end of the brick walk that led from the bottom of the stairs to the edge of the drive.
“So what brings you all the way out here? On a hot afternoon? On foot?” He pointedly looked her over from head to toe. “Kinda warm for a sweater and long pants.”
“It was cool when I got dressed, and at the time, I didn’t know I’d be coming out here. I thought I’d pick up the copies of those photos you had for me.”
“I could have dropped them off.” She was unaccustomed to his slightly cool tone, and it made her just a little sad.
“I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
“No trouble, but come on in. Your pictures are ready.”
He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and she stepped around him to follow the path to the porch. At the bottom of the steps, he paused to whistle for Ripley, who’d taken off across the adjacent field. The dog raced back, dashed up the steps, and waited at the door for his master. Seth reached past Des to open the screened door.
She pushed open the inner wooden door and was greeted by a gush of cool air.
“Oh man, that feels good.” She lifted her hair from the back of her neck and looked around for a window unit. As soon as she found it, she was going to stand in front of it and let the air blow on her until the sweat that ran down her chest under her sweater formed icicles.
“I heard we were in for a hot summer. I had to replace the heater, so I figured I might as well do the heating and cooling at the same time.” Seth walked past her. “The photos are back here in the kitchen.”
“Wait, you have central air?” She followed him, trying to catch up.
“Seemed to be the best solution. I hate those window things. They’re noisy and inevitably turn the room they’re in into an ice box. Then you walk out of that room and bam! The heat smacks you in the face.” He started to go through a stack of papers on the kitchen table, then hesitated. “You’ve gotta be thirsty. What can I get you to drink?”
“Water. Water would be fine.”
He poured her a glass from a fat round pitcher he took from the refrigerator and handed it to her. While his back was turned, she glanced around the large square room. The wallpaper, a badly faded yellow-and-green plaid, covered three walls above beadboard painted a darker shade of yellow. The old faux-brick linoleum floor was cracked in places, missing in a few others, and she could see what looked like hardwood underneath. The one overhead light was woefully inadequate for the size of the room. But the windows were large and faced the fields behind the farmhouse, letting in not only light but peaceful views. The porcelain farm sink, chipped here and there, stood on wooden legs and was flush into a corner. She was certain it was original. Wooden cabinets were painted the same faded yellow as the wallpaper.
Talk about a fixer-upper. The room was in total need of a redo, but there was something homey and comfortable about it that she liked.
“Not so fast,” he cautioned her when she began to drink steadily. “You’re going to throw up.”
“And that would make this little visit even more awkward than it already is.” She took one last sip, then sighed. “I know you could have dropped off the photos. But I owe you an apology, and that means I should come to you.”
Seth leaned back against the wooden kitchen table, his eyes no longer shielded by those dark shades that looked so menacing when they were outside, and he waited. His expression turned soft, his mouth set in not quite a smile.
“I’m sorry I acted like such a brat. I should have remembered that anything you said to me you were saying as a friend, but I realized that too late. I came here to apologize.”
“Thank you. But maybe I did overstep the line a little. Said more than I should have.”
“You said what you thought. Which you’re entitled to do as my friend.”
He nodded.
“And yes, now thank me for walking all the way out here in the sweltering heat to apologize.”
“That, too.”
“I really am sorry, Seth. Your friendship means a lot to me. I don’t want to lose it.”
“You never will, Des.” He smiled, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good.” She smiled back at him, knowing their friendship was intact, then took another few sips of water.
“I appreciate the apology, but you didn’t have to get dressed up for the occasion.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her sweater and black pants, which now were dusty from the walk up the unpaved driveway. “I had a meeting at the theater and decided to come straight out here when I was finished.”
“Aren’t you dying in that . . .” He pointed to her sweater.
“I am, I’m not gonna lie.”
“How ’bout I get you something a little lighter to put on? T-shirt, maybe.”
“That’d be great, but I’m afraid one of your T-shirts would be down to about my ankles.”
“Wait here. I think there’s a . . . I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the hall, and she heard his footsteps on the stairs and the creaking of floorboards overhead. A few moments later he returned, a blue polo shirt over his arm.
“Try this. It’s clean. I couldn’t find a pair of shorts, though.” He handed her the shirt. “There’s a powder room right back there.” He pointed in the direction of the back door.
Des held it up. It was a woman’s shirt, without doubt. She wondered whom it had belonged to, and why a man would offer another woman’s shirt to—
Never mind. We’re just friends. It doesn’t matter who it belonged to, or why it’s here. It’s none of my business.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” She went into the bathroom and closed the door. The room itself was surprisingly well decorated. On one wall there was black wallpaper with white dots, and the other three walls were painted white. The fixtures were white, and an old mirror with a metal frame hung over the sink. The floor was black-and-white tile, the curtain at the lone window black and white checked. She suspected this was one of the first rooms to have gotten a makeover.
Des peeled off the sweater and sighed with pleasure as the cool air surrounded her. She stood almost motionless until goose bumps began to appear on her arms.
A black-and-white-striped washcloth and matching towel hung on a rack on the back of the door, and she used both before pulling the blue shirt over her head. The fact that it was two sizes too big and too long didn’t matter. It was dry and it was cool, and she welcomed the change from the stifling cashmere.
“I feel like a new person,” she announced as she came back into the kitchen, her sweater over her arm.
“Good.” He frowned. “I thought maybe you and Amy were about the same size, but I guess not.”
“It’s fine, really.” She heard herself ask, “Who’s Amy?”
“My sister. Haven’t you met her?”
Des shook her head. “Barney mentioned a Dr. MacLeod the other day.”
“That would be Amy. She’s the good MacLeod. The one my dad was proud of.” The lines around his mouth seemed to deepen, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Someone who didn’t know him might not have noticed.
“Because she followed in his footsteps and became a doctor, and you didn’t, you think he wasn’t proud of you? Even though you graduated from college with honors—oh, I already heard about that from Joe. He said you were the smartest of the three of you. Won all the math prizes at Althea.” Des leaned back against the counter, a teasing smile on her face. “He said he was the best athlete, Ben had the best people skills—my sister would of course argue that—and you were the smartest.”
“I did okay. And I’d challenge Joe Domanski to a shoot-out on the basketball court any day of the week. He just grew bigger earlier and faster than the rest of us. Made him a natural for football. He was fast, too.”
“Joe also said that in high school you won the state science fair every year.”
“We’ve digressed.”
“All the same, I’m sorry your father had that attitude toward you. I know a lot of people who’d have been delighted to have a son like you.”
“Thank you for saying that.” They stood looking at each other for a moment, Des remembering the zip she’d felt when his bare skin had touched hers.
“Come on outside.” Seth picked up his shades from the kitchen table where he’d tossed them and gestured toward the back door. On his way, he grabbed a baseball cap from a rack on the wall and pulled it onto his shaven head. “I want to show you something.”
There were four outbuildings behind the house. One was clearly a barn, but it was anyone’s guess what the others were used for.
“Here, walk around this way.” He took her elbow and directed her around the side of a small, low building with windows close to the ground.
“Chickens?” she asked when she saw the fenced area behind the building.
“Yup.”
They reached the edge of the fence and she looked through the wire to where twenty or so hens pecked at the grass. She was expecting all white chickens, but there were none. Seth’s hens ranged from buff to black to speckled to red.
“You must get a mess of eggs every day from all those chickens.”
“I supply a couple of restaurants.”
“What’s the overhead wire for?”
“It keeps the hawks out. And the owls. I had to reinforce it”—he reached overhead to show the double layer of chicken wire—“because an owl got into the henhouse one night and helped itself to a few of my chickens.”
“How did it get in through the wire? And don’t you close the door at night?”
“It ripped the wire next to the gate there and pulled the door right off with those big talons. I never heard of such a thing, but that’s what it did. I went in the next morning and there was blood and feathers everywhere.” He must have seen Des flinch. “Anyway, I doubled the amount of wire, top and sides, and got a new door, put a lock on it. Also put up a motion sensor.” He pointed to the roof of the chicken house. “When there’s movement around the perimeter or overhead, a light goes on and an alarm sounds in the house.”
“Has the alarm ever gone off?”
Seth nodded. “I’ve chased off a few foxes and another owl.” He took her arm again. “So the tour usually goes this way after the visit to the chicken coop.”
He led her through knee-high weeds to the back of the barn, where a field had been plowed into neat rows as far as the woods at the back of the property. The ground was soft from the recent rain, so her shoes—a favorite pair of ballet flats—sank slightly with every step. She really wished she’d gone home to change.
“What are you growing?” She nodded in the direction of the field.
“A bit of everything.” He pointed to a row of tall, thin, light green, wispy branches that stretched upward like bony arms. “Asparagus, which is seasonal, and the season has pretty much ended. That was here when I moved in, which is fortunate because it can take a few years to mature. Strawberries—the season is just starting to wind down now, but it was a good year. Mostly because I planted several varieties, early, midseason, and late.”
He took her arm and steered her across the rows.
“Tomatoes—more varieties than I care to admit to. I got a little carried away when it came time to ordering plants and I didn’t keep careful enough records of what I ordered. I’m hoping they all do well this year. There are several heirloom varieties there that have become very popular, so my restaurant friends are psyched at the prospect.” He smiled. “Now, the next couple of rows are cucumbers, a couple of kinds of squashes, several varieties of beans. Pumpkins. Then over here . . .” He took her arm again. “I have greens. Kale was big for a few years, but collards are coming into their own along with Swiss chard, so I’ve eased off the kale a little and planted more of the others. Lettuces—five varieties here.” He stopped as if admiring his work. “I have plans for an herb garden, but haven’t gotten beyond the basics—dill, basil, parsley, rosemary. On Saturday I’m picking up a bunch of blueberry bushes. They should have been in the ground by now, but a guy I know wanted to get rid of his extra stock and gave me an incredible price on them. Don’t know if they’ll fruit well this year or not, but we’ll see.”
Seth looked back over the fields he’d shown her. “These’re all mostly cash crops. I take a truckload of produce to a couple of restaurants in Clarks Summit and a few in Scranton twice a week right through till fall.”
“You never mentioned any of this to me before. I thought your job was being the mayor of Hidden Falls.”
“Well, I am, but that’s not a paying position.” He stood with his hands on his hips and looked out at his fields as if seeing them for the first time.
“Did you always want to be a farmer?” She was still somewhat astonished that he’d never told her about his farm, and she said so. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never came up.”
“That’s pretty lame, Seth. We spent a lot of time together working with your dog at Barney’s.”
“Well . . . a lot of people think farming’s something people do when they can’t do anything else.”
“What people are they? Farming’s tough. Anyone can see that.”
He smiled that half smile again, the one she was beginning to like a little too much. “Then let’s just say that most women aren’t interested in a guy who makes his living farming rather than working in a more respectable profession.”
“Farming is respectable. You mean a higher-paying profession.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“If women are turning you down because you’re a farmer, you’re meeting the wrong kind of women.”
“Maybe.” He slipped an arm over her shoulder, and though she sensed there was more he wanted to say, he fell silent.
“Well, I think your farm is great,” she said. “What made you buy this place?”
“When I came back from Afghanistan, I was in pretty bad shape.” He gave her some space but kept his arm around her shoulder.
“You were wounded?”
“Shot in the leg, but that’s a story mostly for another time. Suffice it to say I wanted to find a quiet place.” He smiled wryly. “It doesn’t get much quieter than right here. When I was a kid, I used to come out here and steal apples. Of course, eventually I got caught. The old guy who owned the place promised not to tell my folks as long as I worked off my crime.”
This time, Seth’s smile reached his eyes.
“He taught me a lot. Of course, he didn’t care about the apples. He just needed a hand here and there. This was the place I thought about all the time I was away, all the time I was rehabbing my leg. We kept in touch while I was gone, even when I was in the hospital. While I was recuperating, I got a letter from his son telling me his father had had a stroke, that his dad wanted me to come visit when I got home. Well, I did that, and it turned out that my old friend needed more than a little help by then, since he couldn’t do much on his own. I was still a bit shaky, but I took care of a couple of fields, kept up his brood of hens. After he passed away, I found out he’d left instructions that if the farm was to be sold, I should be given right of first refusal.”
“Obviously you exercised that right.” She thought for a minute. “Did his son mind? That you were so close to his father?”
“No. Jim—that’s the son—is a lawyer in Scranton now. He told me many times he had no desire to farm, but he was glad I did. He offered me the farm at a price far lower than he might have gotten from someone else, said he figured I’d worked off the difference by helping his father over the years.”
“That was really nice of him.”
“It was.” He gazed around at the fields surrounding them. “The thought of coming back here kept me motivated through some bad times. Once I knew I was needed here, I couldn’t get out of that hospital fast enough.” His steps led toward the apple orchard on the other side of the barn.
“Returning to the scene of the crime?” she teased.
“Something like that.”
A waist-high fence enclosed a small area between the barn and the first row of trees. As they drew nearer, she saw a dozen white headstones standing within the enclosure.
“Your friend is buried here?” Des asked.
Seth nodded. “Henry Paul Bisler and his wife, Nancy. That small stone marks their daughter, Ellen. The others are his parents, grandparents, a sister who died young.”
She tried to think of an appropriate thing to say, but she couldn’t come up with anything other than, “Well, I guess it’s good that he’s here.”
“Henry was the nicest man I ever met. Oh, I know we say that about everyone, but Henry really was the nicest person I ever met. Spending time with him was a gift. His friendship was a gift.” Seth swallowed what appeared to be a lump in his throat.
“So you wanted to be a farmer because of him?”
“I wanted to live on this farm because I wanted to be like him. He taught me to appreciate the changes in the seasons. Taught me about soil and how to be a good steward of the land. He taught me everything he knew about growing things.” Seth paused before adding, “And he taught me more about being a man than my father ever did. He never struck his wife or his kids, and he never bullied or insulted them or treated them disrespectfully. I loved to spend time here because it was such a happy, peaceful place. I didn’t have any plans to farm the way he did—he had all the fields in corn and soybeans—but I figured if I was going to spend my time growing things, I’d grow things that were interesting to me. I knew a few guys who were just getting into the restaurant business and were looking for reliable sources of organic produce, and they introduced me to a few others. I figured I could fill that need. I did okay last year, I’ll do better this year. I think Henry would have approved.”
Seth turned to Des somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry. More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.”
“No, no. Henry sounds like someone I would’ve liked. I wish I’d known him.”
“You would have liked him. He’d have liked you, too.” He stuck his hands back into his pockets. “Want to see the rest of the place?”
“Sure.”
The barn held an array of farm equipment, most Seth had bought with the property, other implements he’d purchased at auction, and a monster of a black motorcycle. The tractors and tillers were all mud splattered, but the bike was spotless. When Des commented on the fact, Seth grinned.
“Can’t be seen riding a dirty bike. It would be a serious violation.”
There were two other outbuildings, one of which had a long dog run attached to the front and a large fenced-in yard in the back.
“Henry used to raise hound dogs,” Seth explained. “He’d keep the ones he was selling out here before they went to their new homes. His wife liked dogs well enough, but she liked them best outside. I keep telling Ripley if he doesn’t mind his manners, he’s going to be spending a night in the kennel there.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“No, I wouldn’t. He’s an inside dog.” Seth ran his knuckles lightly over the top of the dog’s head. “But it’s a pretty nice space, all things considered. Henry had the building heated so if he had litters in the winter, they’d be nice and warm, and the building’s situated so the pen gets afternoon shade. It’s spacious and clean, so it wasn’t much of a hardship for the dogs and their pups.”
He started to walk away, Des and the dog following.
“Like everything else around here, it needs to be painted. I will get to it, but it’s tougher than I thought it would be to keep up with the crops and do everything the house needs.”
“The house looks fine.”
Seth raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so maybe a little paint on the outside.”
“And on the inside.”
Des nodded. “Yeah, that, too. But you’ll get it done. I was lucky that the place I bought in Cross Creek was totally done. All I had to do was move in.”
“You were lucky. Fixing a place up while you’re living in it is a pain in the tail.”
“The powder room looks great,” she said as they approached the house.
“I did that and a bathroom upstairs over last winter. I have a lot more spare time in winter. The year before that, I did two bedrooms. This winter, I’m planning on the kitchen. I was hoping to have it done before it was time to plant, but that time came and went. I had to leave a lot of things on hold. I just haven’t been at this long enough to get my routine down pat.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Just three years. The place needed some work before I could move in because it sat vacant for a while. I had enough saved up to take care of the mechanicals, but that was about it.”
“I can sympathize. I’m dealing with a monster that’s been vacant for a long, long time myself.”
Seth led the tour in the direction of the fields on the other side of the farmhouse. Des could see wooden structures rising from the ground, but it wasn’t until they drew closer that she realized what she was looking at.
“You’re growing grapes.” She looked up at Seth. “Rows and rows of grapes. I’m guessing you’re not going into the jam business.”
“And your guess would be correct. What you’re looking at here is the beginning of Willow Lane Vineyards. And hopefully, eventually, Willow Lane Wines.”
“I didn’t know you could grow wine grapes in Pennsylvania.”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. It’s a multibillion-dollar business in the state. There are wine tours, wine festivals, you name it. Some of the vineyards are B and Bs, and some are wedding venues.”
“Sorry. I grew up in California. I just wasn’t aware that other states were as into it,” she said sheepishly.
“Well, you’re excused, since you’re from California,” he teased. “I guess when most people think of U.S. wines, they think first of California, then maybe New York. Pennsylvania’s making strides in catching up.”
They walked along the rows, Seth stopping here and there to secure an errant vine to the trellis.
“Why wine?”
“I hadn’t set out to do this when I bought the farm. But I went on a vacation two years ago—my first real vacation since I was a kid, I think.” Again, that half smile. “Anyway, I went to Germany and northern France, Austria. I saw all these beautiful vineyards and I started to think how cool it would be to grow grapes and maybe have my own winery. As if it’s that simple.” He rolled his eyes. “But when I got back home, I visited a few vineyards in the area, talked to the owners, got a feel for what was involved. Then of course I had to decide if I wanted to commit to something that would require so much of my time and attention, not to mention the financial investment. But after thinking it over, I decided I wanted to give it a go. I had the land. I had the time. I just had to educate myself, which I did over that winter. Then last year, I built the trellises—”
“You built all those trellises?” Des’s jaw dropped as she looked over the field, at the rows and rows of white trellis.
Seth nodded. “I built them in the barn over the winter, and in the spring, I put them in the ground.”
“That must have been backbreaking.”
“Yeah, it got tense after a while. But all that work prepared me for actually planting the vines.”
“You did all this yourself?”
“With some help from Joe and Ben, yeah.”
“What are you, Superman?”
He laughed. “No, just determined. I had a schedule and I was going to stick to it, come hell or high water.”
“How many acres of vines do you have?”
“Right now, just the first three you see here. I will be putting in more this fall, but I haven’t finished the trellises yet.”
“Any chance you might consider something entirely revolutionary, like, oh, maybe buying the trellises already made?”
“If I could afford it, I would. But right now, I’m on a tight budget, since my income is mostly from the produce I sell to restaurants.”
“How ’bout taking investors?”
“Joe and Ben have both offered to buy in, but I don’t know . . .”
“I’d invest in your vineyard. Once the theater is finished and I get my inheritance, I’ll happily invest in you.”
“Ah, but once that happens, you’ll be on your way back to Montana.”
“Well, yes, but . . .” She hadn’t been thinking about leaving when she’d made the offer. “I’d still want to invest in the vineyard. It’ll give me an excuse to come back to Hidden Falls.”
“Is that the only thing that would bring you back, Des?” he asked.
“Well, no, there’s Barney. And the theater. I’d like to see that running again.” She paused. Was that disappointment she read in his eyes? She hastened to add, “And of course, I’d want to see you. And Joe, and Ben . . . and, well, you, of course.” Her voice trailed off as the moment began to feel more and more awkward.
“You’ll always be welcome here, Des,” he told her quietly. “Rip and I will always be happy to see you.”
She tried to think of a response, but Seth snapped his fingers and that quickly, the subject changed.
“You came out for the photos. Let’s go inside and I’ll get those for you.”
“Is there any way I could get a second set? Allie needs them for the Art Department at Althea.”
“Sure.”
Des had to hustle to keep up with Seth’s long strides as they covered the ground between the fledgling vineyard and the house. She waited in the kitchen while Seth went upstairs to his office. She sat on one of the kitchen chairs—an old oak armless straight-back without arms or a cushion that wasn’t a match for any of the other three. It took but a minute for Des to realize that none of the chairs matched, though they were roughly the same size and made from the same golden oak. It gave the room an even homier feeling, like the chairs had been found in an attic and brought down as they were needed.
“Here you go. Two sets.” Seth came back into the kitchen and handed her two envelopes.
“Thanks, Seth. I appreciate it.” She stood and took her sweater from the back of the chair where she’d earlier left it, and picked up her bag. “I need to be heading back. Everyone’s probably wondering what happened to me.”
“You’re not going to make that trek again in this heat. I’ll drive you.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“Nothing more important. Besides, I can pick up a few things in town. Ready to go?” he asked, and the dog’s ears perked up.
She glanced down at the shirt she’d borrowed. “Give me just a minute to change.”
“Nah. Keep the shirt. Amy’ll never miss it.”
“I’ll wash it and return it.”
“That implies you’ll be back.”
“I’d like to come back. I’d like to see your plants start to grow and learn a little about farming.”
“Crops. When you have a whole field, you call them crops.”
“Right. Crops.”
She tucked the envelopes into her bag, then left with Seth through the back door. Ripley raced between them as they walked to the blue pickup truck parked next to the barn. Seth opened the passenger door for her, and she hopped up.
“Sorry there’s no seat belt,” he told her. “This baby came off the assembly line before they were mandated.”
The first thing Des noticed was the half-smoked cigar in the open ashtray. She manually lowered the window, hoping to get the smell out.
There were few things she hated more than the smell of cigars.
I bet Greg doesn’t smoke cigars, she thought.
Seth walked around the cab, and when he opened his door, the dog jumped in first, then started to climb over Des.
“He’s used to riding shotgun,” Seth told her.
“Oh, well . . .” She scooted over about a foot closer to Seth to give the dog his place at the window, which put her leg next to the gearshift.
“Could you put that window up about halfway?” Seth pointed to the window she’d just opened. “I don’t want to take a chance of Rip lunging after a squirrel or falling out when I go around a corner.”
“Sure.” She reached around the dog to raise the window.
The truck started with a rumble and a little shimmy, but once it got moving, the engine settled down and the shimmy disappeared. Seth paused at the end of the driveway and looked both ways before pulling onto the road. When he shifted the gears, the heel of his hand hit Des’s leg.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. I’m in the way.” She tried to swing her legs a bit to the right, but the dog was there.
Seth shifted into third, then fourth, his hand almost on her knee.
“Sorry,” he said again. “I don’t mean to . . .”
“No, it’s okay. I’m in your way. I’d move, but Ripley’s right here.”
Every time his hand touched her leg, she felt that little jolt again.
Stop it, she silently instructed whatever was causing her to feel his touch so acutely.
She watched out the window as they passed another farm, then another, as they drove toward the center of town. They passed the police station and the Bullfrog Inn, the local watering hole on the left, and the library and the Sugarhouse on the right.
“Shifting into third, giving you a heads-up.” Seth rounded the corner onto Hudson Street and she swung her legs to the right. “And second,” as he pulled in front of the Hudsons’ house.
“And first into neutral,” she said.
“You drive stick?”
“Sure. Thanks for the ride. And the photos. Get back, Ripley.” She reached across the dog for the door handle. “Oh, and thanks for the shirt. I will get it back to you.”
“You’re welcome whenever. Bring Buttons next time.”
“I’ll do that. And I will invest in Willow Lane Vineyards, Seth. No matter where I am.”
Seth nodded, holding on to Ripley’s collar while Des let herself out. She stood on the sidewalk until he drove off.
Tossing her sweater over one shoulder, she walked across the lawn to the front porch and went inside. Voices drifted in through the open kitchen windows from the backyard. She peered through the window and saw Allie and Cara sitting on the patio talking to Barney. Des went upstairs and peeled off the dirty, hot black pants and pulled on a pair of white shorts. She slipped into a pair of sandals and grabbed the envelope from her bag, then went downstairs and outside to where her family sat chatting on the tree-shaded patio.
“There you are. I was getting ready to call Ben and ask him to put out an APB on you.” Barney sat on a rocking chair with green-and-white-striped webbing that formed the seat and the back. Buttons sat under a nearby chair and wagged her tail, but didn’t bother to get up.
Des related her walk to Seth’s farm to pick up the photos.
“That’s not your shirt.” Leave it to Allie to notice.
“It belongs to Seth’s sister.”
“Why are you wearing it?” Allie continued to prod, a little gleam in her eyes.
“Because by the time I got out there, I was dying from the heat.”
“So how’d he get you to take off your sweater?” Allie was still smirking.
“He took pity on me and gave me this shirt. I changed in the powder room.” She leaned toward Allie and said with a smile, “Seth has central air.”
“Oh my God, did he say go home at once and bring back your entire family to wait out this heat wave?” Allie clutched at Des’s hand.
“No, he did not. But I must say, it was lovely.” Des leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Now I’m exhausted. But that little bit of breeze from the woods feels good.”
“It’s why we’re out here. Honestly, if I thought for one minute that this week’s weather portended the entire summer, I would seriously think about air-conditioning this place.” Barney tilted her head to look up at the back of the house. “It’s such a monster, though. I don’t think it would be an easy or inexpensive job. I should ask Joe what he thinks.”
“He’ll be over after dinner,” Cara said. “You can ask him to take a look around before we go out.”
“Let me guess.” Allie turned to gaze at her. “You’re going to go to the movies in that new triplex ten miles down the road, then you’re going to go out to the lake and make out like a couple of sixteen-year-olds. After which time you’ll go back to his house and have hot monkey sex.”
“Jealous?” Cara raised an eyebrow.
“Pfft.” Allie pretended to dismiss the idea.
“I’m jealous,” Des said.
“I would be, too, if Joe wasn’t like a grandson to me,” Barney added. “When I was younger, he was exactly the sort of guy I went for.”
“Did Gil look like Joe?” Cara asked.
“He was built like him, but that’s the only similarity,” Barney replied.
“Well, that would make him pretty hot,” Cara said. “Joe’s pretty fine.”
“Speaking of hot guys . . .” Allie turned to Des. “How ’bout that cutie you were showing around the theater this morning?”
“What cutie?” Barney and Cara both said at the same time.
“Greg Weller.”
Allie turned to Cara and Barney. “He said he’d like to continue their conversation over dinner. And he’d call her.”
“Allie, you were eavesdropping?” Cara pretended to be shocked.
“He said it right in front of me.” Allie looked over at Des and said, “He really is cute, and he seemed very nice, and he was definitely interested. And very much your type. Not mine, of course, but yours, certainly.”
“Sophisticated?” Cara asked.
“From what I could tell, more so than not,” Des replied. “But in a good way.”
“Obviously academic,” Cara said.
Des nodded. “Obviously.”
“No ink?” Cara continued.
“None that I could see.” As opposed to the sleeves that spread up Seth’s forearms to his biceps. She’d taken a few peeks, but wasn’t able to discern exactly what those images were supposed to be.
“Cigars?”
“Didn’t get a whiff of one.” Unlike the cab of Seth’s car.
“Definitely, by definition, your type,” Cara concluded. “And Allie says he’s a cutie.”
“He’s very cute. Boyishly cute.”
“There you go. A match made in heaven.” Allie stood. “Or at the very least, in the Sugarhouse.” She started toward the house. “I’m getting something to drink. Anyone?”
They all opted for ice water. Cara went inside with Allie to help carry everyone’s drinks.
“So what else do we know about your cute professor?” Barney moved her chair farther into the shade.
“Other than the fact that he isn’t my professor and that his name is Greg Weller?” Des thought for a second. “I guess all I really know is that he seems like a really nice person. And smart. He’s interested in the history of the theater. Oh, and he asked me if I knew who the architect was who designed the building and who the artist was who did the decorative painting. Do you know?”
Barney shook her head. “There’s probably something in one of the file cabinets in the office, though. My grandfather never threw out anything. You’re welcome to look.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Barney fell silent, and for a moment, Des thought she might have dozed off. But then she asked, “What did Cara mean when she asked if your professor was ‘inked’?”
“She meant did he have tattoos.”
“And the reference to the cigar?”
Des shrugged. “I mentioned once that I don’t like the smell of them.”
“I see.”
I have the feeling you do, Des thought.
Her heart sank just a bit. Obviously Barney’d connected the dots and figured out who Cara was comparing Greg to. She was well aware that Seth was a favorite of Barney’s. Des felt just a little embarrassed at having been caught putting Seth in an unfavorable light.
“I’m going to go take a shower. I’m still dusty.” Des rose and started toward the house.
“Appearances are deceiving sometimes, Des.” Barney rested her head on the back of her chair, her eyes closed.
Des wanted to respond, but somehow the only retort that came to mind was the tired I know that. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
Why start something when you’re not going to be around to follow through? she thought as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. How uncomfortable might that be when she came back to visit Barney and ran into Seth?
Then again, if their relationship never went beyond friendship, she’d feel free to visit him at the farm without apology. She could take Buttons out to play with Ripley. She could watch him transform that run-down property into a beautiful oasis, and there was no doubt in her mind that he’d do exactly that. She could make that investment, and over the years watch his vineyard grow into a successful winery.
To Des’s mind, the bottom line was that a friend could be kept in your life forever, in ways an ex-lover never could. One very good reason to rethink her offer to buy into Seth’s vineyard.
One more reason, a little voice inside her whispered, reminding her that lately she’d been coming up with any number of reasons to keep Seth strictly in the friend zone. Maybe, the voice whispered, it’s time to figure out if they were reasons, or excuses.