CHAPTER THREE
PEPPER
“Ugh, the fucking nerve of that guy.”
Bonny trotted alongside me and made a snorting sound like she agreed.
I stomped angrily through the orchard back toward the house, casting a cautious glance toward the greenhouse hidden behind the trees. They had no idea it was there, thank god.
That arrogant fucking prick probably thought the whole world catered to him, I thought as my blood simmered. Just dropping in on a helicopter? Who does that?
I hated everything about him from the moment he stepped out of that thing, from his charming smile that made me blush against my will to the crisp, expensive suit that hugged a body that belonged on a Men’s Health cover. Even through his clothes, I could tell he was fit and I hated that. Even more, I hated that I noticed.
Doesn’t matter, I thought as I stomped through the barn to gather buckets and other harvesting supplies. Hours in the gym doesn’t mean a man is strong enough to do real work from sunup to sundown.
Reagan Sells looked like he never worked a day in his life. Everything came to him with just a snap of his fingers. The disbelief on his face when I refused to sell the land told me that.
With a quick glance at my phone, it looked like most of my seasonal workers would be flaking again. Only Maddy texted me that she and a few of her friends were on their way to help. How was it that freshly graduated high school students were better workers and more reliable than seasoned farm hands? Millennials were supposed to be entitled and lazy, not their parents’ generation.
As I got the supplies ready and spied Maddy’s car approaching in the distance, I forced myself to get my mind off of Reagan Sells’ smirking handsome face and chiseled body. I needed to have plenty of gorgeous organic produce for the downtown farmer’s market tomorrow. That money would decide if I could pay bills for the rest of the week.
“Hey, Pepper!” Maddy called cheerily with a bright smile as she parked her cute Volkswagen Jetta in the driveway next to my truck. That girl always had a sunny disposition, no matter what the weather was or what kind of work she had to do.
“Hey, good news!” she declared as she and three of her friends exited her car. “Dahlia said I don’t have to come into the flower shop until the afternoon, so I can help you out at the market tomorrow.”
“Really?” I said, relief lifting off my shoulders. “I mean, only if you’re sure. The market is over at noon, I’ll be okay if you don’t want to work the whole day.”
“Yeah, totally!” she insisted as she grabbed a bucket and lifted it over her shoulder. “I love both of these jobs. It’s gonna be a long-ass day for you too, getting up at like 3 am regardless.”
“Thanks, Maddy,” I mumbled. “I really appreciate it.”
Forget the flaky workers. Having someone like Maddy was worth at least ten of them.
“No problem!” she chirped. “So what are we picking today?”
“Um, strawberries and hot peppers,” I replied. “We can check the watermelons too, but they may not be ready yet.”
“Apricots and cherries should be ready now too, right?” she asked. “Want us to head to the orchard once we’re done up here?”
“No that’s okay,” I said quickly. “I already got a head start on the fruit tree harvest. I can do the rest.”
No one knew about the greenhouse in the orchard. And no one could, at least not yet.
As busy as we were, inspecting and picking each individual strawberry and habanero pepper was monotonous work. My mind drifted as my hands worked on autopilot to none other than Reagan Sells again.
Damn, why did he have to be just my type too? I was such a sucker for thick dark hair and catlike green eyes. As arrogant as it was, his smile was crooked and a bit quirky too. It wasn’t the fake, veneered Hollywood smile manufactured by cosmetic dentists.
Doesn’t matter. He’s still a rich asshole, I told myself. You can never trust anyone who gets by on nothing but good looks and the size of his bank account.
My mom left my father, left us, for just such a guy, minus the good looks part.
Dad rarely had a dollar to his name but he inherited this rich, fertile farmland, was as strong as an ox, and was an honest man who provided for his family to the best of his ability.
But mom eventually learned that being a farmer’s wife meant becoming a farmer yourself.
If someone didn’t work, that someone wasn’t getting fed. That’s the way it was.
Dad put a child-sized hoe in my hand when I was six years old. I planted, tended, and harvested my first tomato plants that summer.
It’s not like Mom was a spoiled princess like some of the Bay Area tourists we got. I mean, who would work their ass off if they were really given a choice? Mom was attractive for her age and when she had an opportunity, she took it.
I didn’t blame her, in a sense. If I didn’t have to worry about bills and basic necessities, I wouldn’t work from sunup to sundown either.
But she left us, her family, for the first guy who showered her with expensive jewelry and lavish vacations. How could I not be angry about that?
When Dad told me with watery eyes that she wasn’t coming home that night, I didn’t just cry.
I unleashed all my hurt, all my rage at her into his chest, pounding my little fists against his shoulders and making ugly sob sounds into his shirt.
“Let it out, Pepps,” he told me, his gruff voice calm despite being thick with emotion. “Listen to me. This is what’s really important. She’s gone and it hurts, I know. But we’ve got each other. I’m here for you and you’re here for me. Nothing can buy the true bond of a family, you hear me? Not a goddamn thing.
That was just over ten years ago. I was fourteen when she left.
Dad eventually forgave her but I never could.
I never voiced it to anyone, but I had a feeling his cancer diagnosis was one of the reasons she left.
We turned to 100% organic farming as soon as we found out, as his doctors suspected that the pesticides we used caused him to get sick.
Dad got better for a while, but the financial hit that the farm took was massive. Natural pest control methods on our crops were far more expensive and not always as effective. We learned to expect smaller yields and were forced to downsize our production.
But that was life, as Dad would say. Sometimes it was great, other times it took a shit on you for no particular reason. And Mom just couldn’t handle it anymore.
I wondered if she ever thought about us while going on her own stupid helicopter rides and drank champagne from a bottle that cost more than my monthly income-- if she ever regretted leaving her only daughter and the man who loved her to the moon and back.
Fuck, this Reagan Sells guy really drudged up all kinds of mental baggage for me. I really hoped that stunt with the shotgun scared his pompous ass away for good and he’d never come around to bother me again.