E die!”
At the sound of Grant’s voice, Edie smiled. She hoped he couldn’t see how widely her mouth stretched or the heat that entered her face as soon as she heard his voice. Instead, she pounded the hammer once more to give herself a chance to cool down.
When she straightened, he stood less than a yard away from her, and she knew he had seen every expression on her face, just as she could see a simmering excitement in him. Did she dare hope she was the reason?
He took another two steps forward, and she smelled the mixture of masculine cologne and sunshine that she had come to expect from him. “My name is Edith.” She said it more to put some emotional distance between them than because she disliked the nickname.
He shook his head. “Edith is the name of a schoolteacher or a heroine in a play or maybe a ticket taker at a theater.” He pointed a finger at her before continuing. “You are Edie, all sunshine and summer and happiness, no matter what the time of year is.”
That statement doubled the heat in her cheeks. “While Grant is the name of a United States president who won the Civil War, saved the Union, and freed the slaves. Very appropriate for a man who chose to join the service.”
“He led the army, not the navy.” Smiling, Grant shrugged. “But today I am the Grant whose ancestor received a land grant from King George.”
She giggled.
He opened his toolbox and checked the post she had hammered into the ground, ringed with stones wedged to keep it in place. He nodded as if to say “well done” before walking two feet farther down the property line.
Their silly exchange about their names reminded her of more carefree times when they were friends and he would laugh at her jokes, even though the girlish thoughts of a fifteen-year-old must have struck him as foolish. But he had never made her feel foolish. He took her seriously. Which is why she had expected him to understand her desire to succeed at the state fair.
His hammer pounded the wood, the muscles in his arm outlined under his skin as he drove it into the ground. He could finish the job in half the time without her and do it better. Did he want her company? Another short burst of heat tickled her neck.
While he worked, he began whistling a song she didn’t recognize. The melody and rhythm reminded her of the sea. She had only seen the Atlantic once, when they had taken a week’s trip to Old Orchard Beach in Maine. The rhythm of the waves pounding the sand, the white sails skimming across the water were imprinted on her mind.
She made a notch in her post and slid the thick twine into it before tying it in place and walking in a straight line to Grant. It wouldn’t hurt to treat Grant like a friend and not like an opponent. “I like that song. Is it one you learned in the navy?”
He flashed white teeth in a smile. “Life aboard a ship can get tedious, and music helps keep us focused. Although I’d rather not repeat the words in the presence of a lady.”
“Grant.” She laughed, slightly scandalized.
He shrugged. “I once heard that the melody to ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God’—you know, Martin Luther’s song?—was bar music.” He banged the post one last time. “This one’s ready for your rope.”
He watched as she cut a notch in the post and secured the rope. “I got a notice about the Rutland State Fair today.”
She tightened the rope. “I didn’t think you were interested in the fair. Do you plan on going?”
“I believe I will. I may even enter one of the contests.” He took the paper from his back pocket and handed it over. “Because it’s the fiftieth anniversary of the fair, they are offering fifty dollars for the best Vermont-based product. If my honey is as good as you say it is, maybe it could win.”
Talk about a surprise. “That’s a good idea.” But fifty dollars for the best Vermont-based product? The thought buzzed around Edith’s head as loudly as a bee. If she could win the baking contests and convince them of the seriousness of her business plan—if she won, she could open her business right away.
Grant had already moved to the next post. And now he intended to enter his honey. She pulled the rope tightly as she walked to him. “If we both entered honey from our side of the boundary line, I wonder if they would taste the same.”
The hammer came down on his thumb, and he bit back what might have been a curse word. “You wouldn’t.”
“Of course not. Even though they might taste different, depending on how the raw honey is processed.” She lifted her chin. “But I will enter baked goods from Edith Grace’s bakery, and they might win.”
He was holding his hand, and she felt bad for worrying about the fair. “Let me see that.”
When he held it out, she could see a large bruise forming on his thumb. “That’s nasty. You might lose your fingernail.”
“It’s happened before.” He pulled a canteen from his toolbox and took a swig. “Why do you want to open a bakery? Do you plan on leaving the farm?”
Because she didn’t plan to wait for some man to rescue her from spinsterhood, and she wanted to do something besides help her mother around the farm. “Because I’m a good baker, and I believe people will want to buy what I make. I’d like to start small, with a shop in town, perhaps, but I would like to see the day when my pastries are served in restaurants all throughout New England.” She sighed. “Fifty dollars would go a long way toward getting me started.”
Of course Edie wanted to win the money, to start a business. Sitting at home had never satisfied her. She needed a passel of little ones to keep her busy. Why hadn’t she married? Were the bachelors of Spruce Hill blind to her beauty and sweet nature? She didn’t just want a career like teaching; she wanted a business. And he couldn’t deny she made the best baked goods he had ever tasted.
Why did he ever think he could win? He couldn’t even pound in a post without ruining his thumb. He pressed on it. It didn’t hurt, much. He could finish the job.
Edie had already tied the rope and headed for the first spot where the boundary turned north. Kneeling down, she dug in the earth with a spade. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to win. He admired her for it. Of course, it was possible neither one of them would win.
She finished with the hole and stood. “It should be ready for you.” She looked at the ground, a light pink dusting her cheeks. “I decided it was foolish for me to pound in the posts when you do it so much better than I do.” She glanced at his hand, where his thumb had begun to swell. “Unless you’re injured.”
“I’m okay.” With that, he stuck the pointed end of the post in the ground and aimed the first blow on the top. Edie watched until he finished the job, then took over with tying the rope. “I’ve decided it’s okay if you call me Edie. What you said was so sweet.”
“It’s true.” His voice sounded gruff, and he cleared his throat. “You’re also graceful, so your name suits you marvelously.”
“If you keep saying things like that, people may think you are courting me.” She flickered eyelashes at him, the green in her eyes dancing like fireflies.
Would that be so terrible? The words trembled on his tongue, but he caught them in time. Sooner or later, she would learn about the perilous state of the farm and might think his primary interest was financial so they could join their farms. “As long as we remain friends, who cares what people say?”
The green light in her eyes died. “Your father was afraid you might come home with some foreigner for a bride.” Although she said it as a sentence, he could hear the implied question.
“I never met that one. Never had time to get to know anyone. I’m hoping I might find someone, now that I’m home.” Let her puzzle that out. Was he talking about her, or not?
Instead, she appeared to ignore that statement. She finished tying the knot and walked halfway to the next corner, which left her only a few feet away from the beehives. “Are you still planning on plowing your side of the meadow under?”
“I haven’t decided.” Which was the truth. “There’s a lot of things to fix around the farm. I’m starting to think I should get everything in working order before I decide what to do with the meadow.” No matter which way he put his mind around the problem, he couldn’t find a way to make quick money. He pounded his frustration about the situation into the post, and his thumb throbbed in protest.
“What does the doctor say about your father?” Edie tightened the strings of her hat and stepped a few feet farther away from the bees. “I’m the one who found him after his stroke. I was scared you would be coming home to a funeral.”
Grant shook his head. “It’s day to day. I should spend more time with him, working with him each day.”
“You’re doing so much. Don’t blame yourself.”
“I should be able to do more. I have to do more.” He didn’t want her pity. Platitudes designed to make him feel better boomeranged, heaping an extra helping of guilt on his back.
As soon as he finished the post, she claimed it with her busy hands. “You can’t do it all yourself—run the farm, make improvements, help your father. We haven’t been over there since you came home, in case you’d think we were interfering, and we heard you let Mrs. Phillips go. You know if you ever need help—”
“I only need to ask. I know.” The problem was, what they needed most was cold, hard cash. And Grant Oscar wasn’t a beggar. Neither one of them was.
They turned their backs on the hive and headed for the corner, the bees leaving them alone. “Are you scared that the bees will want a second helping after what happened the last time?” One of the critters chose that moment to leave his stinger in Grant’s sore thumb.
He dropped the hammer, which landed between them, the wooden handle tapping the toe of his boot. The post tilted sideways, and he grabbed for it. It pushed against his thumb before it reached the ground. He wrapped his knuckles over the throbbing joint and stopped the pretense of working.
Edie had already moved away from the log gums, in the direction of his house. “Get away, before they bother you again.”
He picked up the hammer with his left hand and placed it in the toolbox without further mishaps. “I can’t even pound a few posts in the ground without making a mess of things.”
“When you were in the navy, you didn’t have to pound posts into the water.” Edie kept a straight face as she said the words.
His aching thumb cut his laughter short. “You’re right. Anchors drop through the sea, eager to reach the end of the rope.” He cast about for another topic to occupy his mind. “Would you mind showing me how to get the raw honey ready for human consumption?”
Green glowed like question marks in her eyes. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done out there.” They reached the lawn in front of the house. “But when we go to the fair, I intend to use every means at my disposal. I want that grand prize.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Grant grinned. “May the best man—”
“—or woman—” Edie said.
“—win.” Grant offered his right hand, his thumb still throbbing, for a handshake. Edie pressed back, strongly. She would be a formidable opponent.