Western Colorado, 1920
It was a perfect apple: round, smooth, undamaged by birds or insects. But it was just beyond her reach. Lorelei wedged one bare foot into the fork between two branches and stepped off the ladder. Leaning into the trunk, she reached into the fruit-studded limbs. The apple snapped loose with a twist of her wrist.
She rubbed the fruit against her sleeve, gratified by the shine that appeared. A smile curved her mouth. She tucked the apple into the voluminous front pocket on her black-and-white-checked overalls. Then grabbing the trunk with both hands, she inched her free foot toward the top rung of the battered ladder. When her toes found purchase, she shifted her weight back.
The sharp sting on the base of her big toe took her by surprise. She jerked her foot away. The hornet escaped unscathed. The ladder crashed to the ground behind her with a clatter. Lorelei scrabbled to find a secure grip. Rough bark bit into her fingers as the force of gravity overrode her attempt to save herself.
Emmett Dewey had himself an apple rustler. The idea spurred a crooked smile. Surely an apple rustler wasn’t too dangerous. He crept forward, spotting an ancient ladder and a small, bare foot poised on the top rung.
When the ladder crashed to the ground, Emmett leaped forward, arms out. He caught the falling figure. The impact took them both to the ground.
The creature stealing his apples came up punching and kicking like an Irish street brawler. Emmett scrambled to his feet. Fists raised for battle, he faced the thief. His red haze of fury cleared. He dropped his hands, along with his jaw.
Her strawberry-blond hair, cropped in a chin-length bob, was mussed, random tendrils tickling the sides of a heart-shaped face. Her baggy overalls failed to disguise her feminine attributes.
“You’re a girl. I’m sorry,” he blurted, appalled that he’d apprehended her.
“You’re sorry because I’m female?”
Emmett shook his head. “No, I’m not sorry about that….” He flushed. “I’m sorry for … for catching you the way I did.”
It was her turn to redden. “You broke my fall. Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome. Are you aware this is private property? You’re trespassing.”
She blinked cool gray eyes. “This property belongs to Otto Starkey.”
“I beg to differ. Mr. Starkey is the former owner. It was sold at auction. To me.”
Lorelei examined her rescuer. He was tall—at least six feet—and strong, judging from the way he’d caught her free fall. He was also well versed in self-defense. Even when she’d used most of the tricks her Welsh father had taught her, the man hadn’t flinched.
Then what he’d said registered. Her clenched fists dropped to her sides, horror and grief marching over her soul. She’d attended Otto’s funeral, offered her condolences to his relations. They’d said nothing about selling the property. Grief gripped her. The orchard had been Otto’s life, but his family wouldn’t have cared. They’d abandoned the old man years ago. With their ambivalence they’d stolen her last hope for the future.
“What about his will?”
The stranger shook his head. “Wasn’t one, as far as I know. The deed passed to his next of kin.”
Lorelei suppressed a groan. She’d urged Otto to draw up a will. He’d promised to do so, promised to leave word that she would always have access to the orchard. But his death had been sudden, and he hadn’t followed through.
“Why did you buy it?” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“It seemed like a good idea.”
“What do you know about apples?”
“I like to eat them,” he replied with a lazy drawl that made her think of warm summer afternoons and tall glasses of fresh-squeezed lemonade.
She stomped her foot to shake off the image. “What are your plans for the property?”
He grinned. Lorelei rocked back on her heels, struck dumb. No man should be graced with a cleft chin and dimples, in addition to sparkling blue eyes and a headful of wavy golden hair. It wasn’t fair.
“I’m leaning toward selling the place.”
Lorelei’s heart lurched. It was bad enough that Otto had shrugged off this mortal coil before the trees he’d planted with such care produced their best crop. It was worse that this stranger had no comprehension of the treasure he now owned.
“You can’t do that!”
He cocked his head. “Why not?”
Her eyes stung. “Otto was my friend.” She’d spent the last year and a half making sure he was getting enough to eat. She sought a distraction to stop the tears before they started. Her shoes. Where had she put her shoes?
He cleared his throat. Her serviceable black lace-ups—courtesy of the 1918 Sears catalog—dangled from his outstretched hand. She lunged toward them, but he held them out of reach.
“Why shouldn’t I have you arrested for trespassing?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t even know what you’ve bought.”
“I’m fairly sure it’s an orchard, with a very ramshackle cabin in one corner. That’s what the deed said, at least.”
She gasped again. “You bought the cabin, too?”
“I did, and for much more than it was worth, but that’s one of the risks of buying sight unseen.”
“He built that cabin with his own hands when he homesteaded this place,” Lorelei said.
“That explains the lack of amenities. Adding indoor plumbing and electricity is at the top of my list of things to do.”
The man was confusing. “So you intend to stay? I thought you were going to sell.”
“I can’t sell the place as it is and make a profit. I’ll be here for a time.”
“How long?”
“Isn’t that a rather personal question when we haven’t even officially met? Why don’t you tell me what’s so important to you about this orchard?”
The apple in her pocket banged against her breastbone. Without Otto, if she were to have any hope of winning the Apple Pie Days contest she would need this man’s cooperation. She shifted from side to side. Her toe was beginning to itch. She withdrew the apple from her pocket and balanced the golden fruit, kissed with a rosy hue on one side, on her palm.
“This is a Colorado Orange.”
The stranger narrowed his eyes. “That’s an apple.”
“The variety of the apple is called Colorado Orange. Otto grafted these trees years ago from cuttings he brought from Fremont County. They’re quite rare.”
“What does that mean, in layman’s terms?”
Lorelei cupped the apple in her palms, warming to her topic. “It means this variety of apple is unique and, I believe, particularly well suited for pies.”
“So that gives you a license to steal them?”
She stared him down. She was not a thief. “Mr. Starkey was my silent partner.”
A brisk breeze swirled through the orchard, sending dust and debris flying and making speech impossible. When the air settled around them, Lorelei tucked the apple back in her pocket.
“Partner in what?” Emmett asked.
“Mr. Starkey was helping me create a contest-winning pie.”
“What contest?”
She blinked. “It’s nothing.”
“Seems like it’s something to you.”
Good grief, were all her thoughts revealed on her face? All her hopes for the future were pinned on winning the contest, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Apple Pie Days is Rifle’s annual festival. Every lady in town bakes six pies. People come from all around to enjoy free pie and coffee. An Apple Pie Days queen will be crowned, based on who has the best pie. I think I can win if I use Otto’s apples.”
His scrutiny burned like a brand. She resisted the urge to squirm.
“What do you get if you win?”
Lorelei dug her fingernails into the fleshy pads of her palms. Did the man ever stop asking questions?
“A lovely blue ribbon and the Apple Pie Days Queen title.” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, unable to meet his straightforward blue gaze. How did you explain desperation to a stranger? He would think her real idea foolish, at best. An idea struck her. “It would increase the value of the orchard for you when you’re ready to sell.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “So you want to use my apples, and if you win this contest, it will benefit me when I sell the property?”
Could he not simply give her the apples and move along?
“Yes, I believe it would.” She raised her chin. If he refused to cooperate, she’d come up with another plan. Silence stretched between them until her nerves zinged with tension.
“I’ll think about letting you use my apples, if you’ll allow me to give you a ride home.”