Miss Boyd was silent on the ride to the orchard. At the cabin, Emmett switched off the engine. He leaped out and hurried around to open her door.
“Thank you,” she said.
He helped her out of the car. “You’re welcome.”
“Have you made a decision? About the apples?”
“I have. But I would prefer to share the terms of my offer after dinner.”
Her lips compressed into a flat, thin line.
“I’m going to eat what your mother sent along.” He plucked the basket out of the car and flipped back the calico napkin. Inside he found two sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper, a mason jar full of lemonade, and two cookies. He handed one of the sandwiches to Miss Boyd.
“I don’t understand how my mother could forget about the pie and still remember to make sandwiches she didn’t know we’d need,” Miss Boyd muttered, unwrapping the sandwich. “Eat fast. I need to get back soon if we’re to have a pie today.”
“How many pies have you made to prepare for this contest, Miss Boyd?” Emmett unwrapped his own sandwich and took a bite. His brain went blank. Toasted slices of homemade bread wrapped around tangy egg salad. Maybe the best egg salad he’d ever had. He might be able to get Jimmy to buy Mrs. Boyd’s egg salad recipe, too.
Miss Boyd chewed and swallowed. “I’ve made a lot. I’ll make as many as it takes.” She took another bite then rewrapped the remainder and dropped it into the basket. “Let’s get to it. The best trees are on the other side of the orchard.”
He followed her through a pathetic excuse for a gate dangling on a single broken hinge. A brisk breeze cooled the air, warning of autumn’s impending arrival, reminding Emmett he intended to be gone before winter, off to California or Mexico or somewhere else warm and sunny.
The orchard was a less peaceful setting than he’d envisioned when he signed the paperwork. Hornets and yellow jackets gorged on fallen fruit. Flocks of starlings squawked their disapproval at being interrupted from their feasting. The sickly sweet smell of decaying fruit filled the air.
When she reached for the rickety ladder she’d been using the day before, he laid a hand on her arm.
“You can’t use this. It’s not safe.”
“I’ve been using this for months.”
“Isn’t there a better one around here?”
She laughed. “Have you looked at this place? Everything is at least thirty years old. I think the ladder is one of Otto’s newer purchases.”
“Then I’ll climb. You can direct me to the apples you want.”
She eyed him with unabashed skepticism. “You’re going to climb trees in your suit?”
He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over a branch. “There. I’m at least as ready to climb trees as I was when I was a boy.”
She laughed again. He liked the sound.
“I can’t picture you as a boy.”
“I was a terror.”
“I bet you were,” she murmured.
She stopped beneath a squat tree and craned her neck to inspect the fruit overhead. “These look good.” She stretched on tiptoe for one particular apple, but it was out of reach.
Emmett gripped her around the waist and boosted her into the air like a ballerina. The apple popped off its tether. He lowered her to the spongy ground.
She held out the fruit. “Perfect.”
Yes, she was. He inhaled sharply. She was also an unexpected complication.
Lorelei tried to keep her head from spinning off her shoulders and into the clouds. Her flesh tingled where he’d touched her, and her legs were weak. Was she coming down with something?
He plucked the apple from her palm and rubbed it against his shirt until the rosy-gold skin glistened. “Can I eat it?” he asked. “Or do they all have to be saved for pies?”
“Go ahead.” She gestured at the fruit-laden branches. “This is the best crop Otto ever had. He would have been proud.” Her eyes prickled with unshed tears.
Emmett bit into the apple with a satisfying crunch. A smile spread across his handsome face as he chewed. “Excellent,” he mumbled.
“I’ve forgotten a bag for the fruit. I’ll run back to the cabin. Otto kept a stash of old flour sacks on hand,” she said.
“I’ll do it.” He swiped a drop of juice off his chin with the back of his hand. “While I’m gone, you decide which apples you want.” He took another bite and strode toward the cabin on long legs that ate up the distance.
Envisioning the dapper gentleman as a wild little boy brought a smile to her mouth.
Don’t get used to having help, Lorelei. He’s a short-timer. Focus. There’s more at stake here than a handsome man who plans on leaving as soon as he can make a profit.
She sat on the ground, careful to avoid squishy apples and hornets—her toe still throbbed—to remove her shoes and stockings. With muscles honed by years of experience, she hauled herself into the arboreal realm where she’d spent much of her childhood. She was, in some ways, more comfortable in the branches of a tree than she was on terra firma.
She scooted from one branch to the next until she found one that gave her perfect access to a swath of fruit untouched by birds, insects, mule deer, or the voracious ground squirrels that inhabited the region. She straddled the branch, thankful for her overalls, and began plucking apples and tucking them into her pockets.
She’d expected to hear him return, so when he cleared his throat just below her, she shrieked, clutching the branch to keep from falling. Apples tumbled out of her pockets, pelting his head and shoulders.
“Ouch!” He jumped back, rubbing his scalp.
Lorelei sucked in air. “Stop sneaking up on me!”
He scowled at her. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. Maybe you need your hearing checked.”
She returned his glare. “My hearing is fine.” She glanced at the apples that had fallen. “Did you find a bag?”
He raised one arm, dangling not one but two grubby canvas sacks from his hand. “I told you I could do the climbing.”
“I saw no reason to wait for you, and”—she ignored his disapproving look—“I found a perfect branch to pick from. Can you hold one of those bags open?”
“As long as you promise not to bean me with any more apples.” He rubbed his head again.
She chuckled. “No guarantees. I climb trees well, but my aim is terrible.”
“I guess if I want more pie I’ll have to take the risk.”
He dropped one sack on the ground by her shoes and used both hands to hold the other one open. Lorelei pulled the remaining apples from her pockets and began loading the bag. When her pockets were empty, she reached for more fruit from the surrounding branches, using her legs for balance.
“This spot is cleared. I need to switch.” She scooted back to the trunk and shimmied to the ground. The full sack sat beside her boots, but Mr. Dewey was gone. She rotated. The man moved like a ghost.
“Up here,” called a deep voice.
A shiver rippled down her spine. She jerked her head up. He was perched on a branch in the next tree, exactly where she would have gone. She’d never met a grown man who could—or would—climb trees.
And he did it for her.
When they returned to the car, Mr. Dewey scooted the bags of apples to one side to make room for her feet. It was a sweet gesture.
He opened her door, waited for her to get in, then rounded the front of the car and slid behind the steering wheel.
“Have you considered what you’re going to do with the rest of the harvest this year? It’s a shame to let it go to waste,” she said.
The engine roared to life. “I hadn’t thought about it. Do you have any suggestions?”
Lorelei inhaled, surprised he would ask for her opinion. “A few families around here are really struggling right now. If they could come in as gleaners, it would help them.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Mr. Dewey replied. The car lurched forward, and the wind hit her face.