Sunrise Point (Virgin River #19)(36)

During her explanation of her work, Tom and Maxie rose from the table and began to clean up dishes, careful not to ignore her. Since Maxie was letting the broiler pan soak, it didn’t take long to wash up, put things in the dishwasher, wipe off the table. Maxie didn’t even bother with the pound cake yet.

“Come on,” Tom said, holding out his hand. “Let’s find your jacket and walk off some of those calories you stuffed away at dinner.”

Hopefully only Tom noticed Maxie roll her eyes.

Chapter Eight

To Tom’s great pleasure, it was a clear night. Cold, clear and the sky was peppered with a million stars. He walked with Darla down the lane between the two big groves, hands tucked into their jacket pockets.

“I can see why you love it here,” she said. “It’s so quaint and peaceful.”

“I guess I never think of it as quaint. It’s so much work. We move tons and tons of apples and gallons of cider.”

“But you have employees,” she said.

“Several. And now that I’m home I can manage the business end of things—accounts, payroll, shipping—all stuff Maxie did with Junior’s help while I was gone. I think she’s entitled to a slower pace. It was either run the orchard or think about selling it in the not-too-distant future.”

“Sell it?” she asked.

“It’s been in the Cavanaugh family since the first trees were planted—a very long time ago. I think it was my great-grandfather. I think Maxie would grieve it. I’m pretty sure I would. I can’t think of anything I could do but this.”

“And this is a good business?” she asked.

“Good enough to take care of all our needs year round. And in the winter when we’re not planting or picking, it keeps us very well.”

“Is it lucrative?” she asked.

“I guess so,” he said with a shrug. The fact was, Tom didn’t think like that. He wasn’t comparing his orchard to anyone else’s. They did very well and when there was profit left over, they always put it into the land, crop, equipment and the house. There were some savings of course, but mainly their money went back into the business. They were continually enlarging their crop. And of course they paid employees and provided benefits for all but the seasonal help.

“But what a great place to come on weekends, to get out of the rat race,” she said.

“Better than Jamaica?” he asked teasingly. “Better than front-row seats at a Lakers game?”

She gave him a playful slug in the arm.

“You come up here any weekend you feel like it,” he invited.

“Will you come to Davis?” she asked.

“Probably not during the harvest,” he said. “I rarely take a whole weekend off between the end of August and Thanksgiving. I can wrangle a day sometimes. Or an evening.”

“But you were gone for seven years and they did fine,” she pointed out.

“But I’m home now and they don’t have to make do.”

“Am I keeping you from something important now?” she asked him.

He stopped walking and looked down at her. “This is a treat. After spending all day in the orchard, I don’t usually do this. Walking through the trees at night, under a clear sky, it gives me a whole new appreciation for the place.” He took a deep breath and put his hands on her waist. “So, how are you doing, really, since Bob’s been gone?”

“Very well,” she said. “I had my time of grief, which was so hard, but I’m better. I’ve even had a few dates. Nothing very promising, but hey…”

“You know, I kissed my first girl in the orchard,” he said.

“I bet you’ve kissed a lot of them since.”

“Not in the orchard.” And he slowly closed in on her, cautiously meeting her lips. Her hands rested on his forearms and she tilted her chin up, offering her mouth. He moved over her lips softly, then slid his arms around her waist, pulled her against him and got serious about the kiss, deepening, demanding a bit.

Darla went along with this for a moment and then gently pulled away with a nervous laugh. He didn’t let go, but watched her smile, her eyes. “Let’s take this nice and slow, Tom,” she said.

“Sure.” Then he took her hand in his much larger one and walked with her down the lane. “I’m surprised that you got in touch, Darla.”

“Really? Because I thought you could tell when you visited—I was hoping we’d see each other again.” She looked up at him. “I asked for this class, Tom. I thought it might give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

“No kidding?” he replied, stunned. Then he grinned and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be damned.”

“You shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re a desirable man—handsome, accomplished, successful.”

“I am?”

She laughed and leaned against him. “We’re going to have a good time this weekend.”

* * *

Tom enjoyed watching Darla gasp in awe at the redwoods, at the rocky coast, aiming her cell phone at scenic views for pictures and short movies. He was surprised by the amount of pleasure it gave him to answer her many questions about the area, the business of operating an orchard, how he grew up with his grandmother. He assumed she had very few questions about his time in the Corps because, after all, that was how she lost her husband.