A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(87)

There were two Dysart semi trailers parked on the property behind the barn and house. Richard Dysart had driven them over himself, one at a time. Matt, Paco and Richard took cups of coffee on the porch. Richard asked after Ginger. “I spent Sunday with her in Thunder Point, a good day. The weather was excellent and she’s in happy spirits,” Matt said. “She’s planning to come up on Saturday. The rest of the family will be here tomorrow sometime and she’s anxious to witness this harvest business that will take every second of my time for weeks. And she’s more than a little anxious to experience the food the women will put together.” What he didn’t share with Richard was that it had been three nights without Ginger beside him and it felt like an eternity.

“You make a good argument for the Dysart clan to show up to pick pears,” Richard said.

“You are always welcome,” Paco said. “I warn you, you might never be the same.”

“Nah,” Matt said. “The pears won’t take too much of a toll on you, but if you really want an experience, come up in the spring for the sheep shearing and lambing. It’s exhausting. And not just a little dirty.”

Also parked on the property, on the north side of the house, was an RV. From that spot Matt could see the mountains to the north, the orchard to the east and the plot he’d chosen for his house. After the harvest was complete, he’d work with the architect to finalize the plans. At the first blush of spring, they could pour a slab, grade a road for construction access that would be followed by a better road for his personal access to his new home. His and Ginger’s home, he prayed.

He’d gone to an RV lot in Portland to look at a couple of rentals, picked the best one and had it driven here. The owners made it available through Thanksgiving. If this worked out, he thought it might be time to buy one of his own. Half the Lacoumette clan had some form of trailer—fifth wheel, camper shell, RV or toy hauler. They moved around to each other’s properties for family events, from weddings to funerals, planting or harvesting, reunions, whatever the call. Paco, not one to spend a dime that hadn’t been pried out of his tight fingers, had a fifth wheel that could sleep six, on top of each other at that. It was not comfortable, showering and cooking very limited, but it got them to the vineyard, other family farms or the coast where cousins’ fishing boats docked. Corinne was not fond of it, to say the least.

Before noon tomorrow the trucks, RVs and other vehicles would begin to arrive.

He was at the far north end of the orchard, checking trees and fruit for the hundredth time when his phone, turned to walkie-talkie mode, sounded off. He heard his mother’s voice. “Matt. Natalie is here to see you.”

Ah! So she’s heard. He had begun to think he was going to have to seek her out. “On my way,” he said. He jumped in the Rhino and headed for the house.

His mother had left Natalie alone in the yard to wait for him. She had not been happy about the way things had gone with his ex-wife.

Natalie had a new car and new hair. A BMW? It was a few years old, but still. Things must be going well in the secretarial trade. Or maybe some modeling had kicked in for her. He found himself hoping it had. The new hair was no surprise—it was her signature diversity—always different. Dark auburn this time—that had been one of his favorites. Very sexy, very classy look on her. But what was very new for her, she wore jeans, rolled up at the ankle, and tennis shoes. Usually when she wore jeans they were very tight with boots or heels. She also wore a light windbreaker. This was Natalie at her most practical and casual. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. She’d never bothered to dress for the farm before.

He approached her and it was instantly apparent that her eyes were glassy.

“Can we talk?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he said. And he noted her surprise. He hadn’t been mean or sarcastic or threatened to call security. “Come with me.”

He reached out and took her hand and led her around the house to the RV. He pulled a couple of canvas lawn chairs from where they were stored beneath the RV and opened them. “Have a seat.”

“What’s this?” she asked.

“This is where I live now,” he said.

“You weren’t at the apartment,” she said.

“How did you know to find me here?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me? It’s the harvest! Tomorrow the rest of the family will be here.”

“You were smart to come today,” he said, chuckling. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I heard you’re getting married.”

“Yes,” he said.

“When?” she asked.

“No date yet, but I’m hoping we can do it before Christmas.”

“A nice Basque girl?” she asked.

He grinned and it was wholly genuine. “No, a pale, freckly, green-eyed girl. I suspect some Irish lingering back there.”

Natalie looked down into her lap. “I wish you the best,” she said.

“Thank you. What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about...it.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

“Why did you?” he asked. He’d asked a hundred times. Well, at least ten.

“I was afraid. Terrified.”