CHAPTER TWELVE

Five Days to Deadline

 

 

I don’t wait to return Aunt Bink’s call. “Hey, darlin’—what’s up?”

“Jilly, thank goodness. We have a problem.”

Aunt Bink’s not prone to exaggeration. The sweat beginning to trickle inside my bra isn’t from the fast clip to the parking lot. “Tell me.”

“Our pickers are here.”

Good Lord. “A week early? Why? Did I get the dates wrong?”

“No, honey, it’s nothing we did. Florida harvest was smaller this year. The workers finished early over there, so the bus brought them here.”

Hurricanes must have really damaged the Florida groves this year, leaving little to harvest. “How many pickers are there?”

“Eighteen. And no kids this time. Mostly familiar faces.”

“Oh, that’s good. Well, all in all, things could be worse.”

“There’s still so much to do, though! The bunkhouses are ready, which is where I’ve put them for now, but the cottages for married workers aren’t. And we haven’t laid in nearly enough food.” Her voice is getting lower with every syllable. I know from experience it means she’s about to lose her shit.

I take a moment and focus on slowing down my racing heart. Need to keep things as calm for her as possible. “We’ve got this. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

A big sigh echoes over the phone. “Okay.”

“Have Xavier send somebody to the store for sandwich fixin’s to get us through lunch. He also needs to start side dishes going for dinner. Nothing fancy, just plentiful and filling. We kept notes from past years, remind him. Meantime, I’ll stop by the store and grab a dozen chickens and something for breakfast. That should buy us time to plan for the rest of the harvest. Anything else for now?”

“I’ll help Rosario get the cottages ready.”

“It’s still warm enough in the day they can use the pool.”

“Yes, they remembered from last year and have already asked.”

She sounds better, thank goodness. Arriving at my car, I fob the locks. “If Chaz is there, have him help. I’m jumping in my car now, so I’m just about 90 minutes and a grocery run away from you and the ranch.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I know you must be tired, so drive safely. We need you here in one piece.”

The call ends, and I roar out of the parking lot. My car is usually very comfortable, the seat cradling me. Right now, it feels like that cocooning seat is cutting off my circulation. The jumpiness in my legs heralds a very long drive until I can get home and deal with whatever’s going on.

Good thing I wasn’t planning on working at the construction site this weekend. And it’s also a good thing that I left a note for Jack on his desk telling him I wasn’t going to be there. Of course, though, I only meant it for the weekend.

I thought I’d be catching up on some sleep and conferring on the phone with Bink about the upcoming harvest. Instead, I’ll be jumping into it, feet first. I just hope the fruit’s ready for picking. Last time I checked, it was still green. That, in itself, isn’t a reliable indicator, but we can’t afford to pick early. In the first place, Texas has size and weight regulations for commercial citrus. Too small, and it can’t be shipped out for sale. And second, we’re slated to have a bumper crop this year, commanding top dollar, because of Florida’s problems. I can’t flub this. The future of our grove is at stake, as well as my standing in the family’s eyes.

In my eyes.

I want to be out in the world, trying to make my own way. Independent. Not relying on a man—any man—for my identity or path. Unless it’s my choice. Like Bink.

She was married. To the love of her life. For four months, until he went away to war and never came back. She chose not to remarry, but instead got herself a paralegal job at a Dallas law firm, a dream of a one-bedroom apartment, and lived by herself, on her own terms, for fifty years. It was only after my mother’s ordeal that Aunt Bink came to live with us in South Texas.

I want to be like that. This harvest is my opportunity. I’ll show those mama hens posin’ as my menfolk that I can do it.

Just wish I knew what to do about Jack. If the fruit is ripe, I’ll have to start the harvest. And that’ll mean staying on the ranch. Missing the end of the project. Maybe not ever seeing Jack again.

My heartbeat stutters.

Never feel the warmth and comfort of his body next to mine. Never again have his soft chocolate eyes chide me about what to eat.

Oh…

With everything coiled and aching inside me, I fight the urge to turn the car around so I can meet him for breakfast at the diner.

Hell, I don’t even have his phone number.

Worse, I never gave him mine, either. He could get it from personnel, but…

This won’t do.

Where’s Jilly?

I was expecting to see her here when I got back from the s-CO2 well. Instead, I’m holding a slip of paper telling me she’s taken off for the weekend.

Skipped out, has she? One look at my jealousy face and she bolted.

Dammit. It feels like a month of Sundays since I was rolling around in her bed. My body feels like I’ve been working two days straight, which I almost have.

But maybe it’s better that way, since whenever I’m not working, I’m thinking of her. It’s reaching epic proportions. When I was down in the well earlier, even the flame from the welding torch reminded me of her. I saw her eyes in the deep blue of the coolest flame near the nozzle, her hair in the bright reds and oranges a little farther along the stream of fire, and the sunshine of her smile in the brightness of the hottest flame.

Fuck me, when did I get so poetic? My brothers would bust a nut laughing, right before they pummeled me into the ground. And I’d deserve it.

Yet here I am, ready to call it a day and take her to breakfast. Argue with her over hash browns versus toast. Get us both so worked up we can’t see straight until we get naked in bed again.

I shift from one foot to the other, making a quick adjustment to the front of my jeans. “Danny?”

No answer. Shit. Of course not. He went home three hours ago.

“Whadya need?” Frank asks, stalking into the office we share on opposite shifts. “Get out of here.”

I smirk. “Hold your water, old man. I’m going.”

“Then why’re you hollerin’ for Danny?”

“I needed a phone number. It can wait. You got things here?”

His eyebrows scale up his forehead.

Grabbing my helmet, I push past him and his fake offended face. “Fucker.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “Back atcha, ace. Get some sleep.”

If he only knew. I’m planning on tracking Jilly down. She and I need to have some conversation, maybe some food, definitely some sex. I’d even try to keep it in that order. For her sake.

On my way to the parking lot, I stop at Security for my phone and then I dash away to the hotel.

Only she’s not there.

Well, fuck. I should have stopped at Personnel and gotten her number. But it didn’t occur to me she wouldn’t be here.

Where is she? I seem to be asking that a lot this morning.

While I’m waiting for my solitary breakfast, I call Personnel and get her number. I finish eating and go to my hotel room for a shower. When I lie on the bed, I give Jilly a call.

“Hello?” she asks, her voice tentative.

“You know, my employees usually ask me for time off before they take it.”

Her giggle revives my flagging energy. “Jack. How’d you get my number?”

I snort. “You, employee. Me, employer. You seem to have trouble digesting that concept.”

“Oh, you’re in fine fettle this morning.”

A thud sounds on her end of the phone. “What was that?”

“Dropped a chicken.”

“That’s one you don’t hear every day,” I chuckle. “I didn’t hear a squawk. Where are you?”

“At the grocery store, of course, boss man.”

“Why weren’t you here for breakfast?”

“Oh, breakfast. Yum. I’m so hungry.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Hold on. This one’s gonna take two hands.”

I hear her wrestling with something. She could be throttling the bird from what I’m hearing. “You got that under control, wildcat, or could you use some help?”

“This wasn’t the way I’d planned to spend my Saturday morning. But I’ll manage, thanks. Why aren’t you in bed?”

I gaze at the sheets foaming around me. “Actually—”

“Oh.” She giggles again.

“I think this is when I say something like ‘wish you were here.’”

She hums into my ear, and my body overheats. If she were here, I’d be sheltering inside her like a prairie jackrabbit in its burrow.

The moment’s shattered with another thud. “More chicken?”

“Yep. But that’s all of ‘em now.”

“Big party tonight?” My gut clenches at that idea. Of course Miss Socialite would have something going on a Saturday night.

“Sort of. My pickers arrived.”

It feels like I’ve missed the punchline to an obscure joke. “Your pickers?”

“For the harvest.”

“What are you harvesting?”

“Grapefruit.”

Yeah. My mind’s an egg, scrambling to picture what she’s telling me. “Start from the beginning.”

“My family has an organic grapefruit grove. We sell the fruit to a big outfit for distribution. Harvest season begins in late fall. We depend upon migrants for the picking, because there aren’t enough locals to do it.”

“I thought your family was into green energy.”

“That, too. We also have cattle. But my brothers handle that end of things.”

“Okay, so it’s the migrants who’ve arrived.”

“Now you’re firing on all cylinders.”

The smile in her voice makes something in my chest bloom. “I know how to deal with your sass, woman. Get over here.”

“Sorry, I got places to be, people to feed.”

Just as well. I need sleep. “Call you tonight before I go in.”

“Sounds good, boss man. Sleep well.”

“I could if you were here with me.”

She groans, and my cock, at half-mast since she said hello, readies for action it’s unfortunately not going to get. “Later, baby.”

Lord, am I wiped. Going from the night shift straight into a day of work in the grove, and I’m running on empty. Hope I can stay awake long enough to take Jack’s call. ‘Cause I can’t think of a better way to end the day. Unless it would be havin’ him, here, chatting in person.

I turn on the shower and let it heat while I strip. When I climb under the spray, my body almost melts down the drain, it feels so good. But I don’t tarry, rushing to get in bed and wait for his call.

My hand’s clutched around the phone, and I’m pulling up the covers when the ringtone sounds. “Hey.”

“Whatcha wearing, baby?”

“Tell me you’re not that guy.”

His chuckle is deep. It resonates inside me, sending tingles of anticipation through my veins like a shot of espresso. “I hate to tell you, girl, we’re all that guy.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Not my intention.”

Snuggling into a more comfortable position, I won’t be long for this world. Before I can reply, a big yawn hijacks me.

“Hard day?” he asks, grin in his tone.

“Long one. After I finished toiling for my slave-drivin’ boss, I shopped and fed eighteen foreigners, helped ready their accommodations, and scoped the grove.”

“Without a nap?”

“Right. I’m not used to working like that.”

“I’m ignoring the slave-drivin’ boss thing, by the way.”

“I noticed, thanks.”

“You need rest. And I need to get to work. Wanted to hear your voice first.”

The warm sweetness of his confession spirals through me like cream in coffee. “Me, too. I’m glad you called.”

“Coming back to the hotel tomorrow before work?”

That catches me, and I still, a deer in headlights. “Jack. No. The grapefruit’s ripe, and there’s a storm coming. We need to pick and pack before it hits.”

“You’re done with AI?”

Silence stretches, and suddenly, I’m not so sleepy anymore. “I’m in charge of harvest.”

“We need to talk. But I’m outside Security and have to hand over my phone. Things are going to be pretty hectic for the next days, until the project’s complete. But I’ll try to call you again.”

“Yes, do. Please.”

“Go to sleep now.”

Who knows when I’ll hear from him again? Or if I’ll hear from him again. I struggle to find something pithy and meaningful to say. My brain’s in a total fog. “Be safe.”

The phone goes dead. My gut feels empty and unsettled.