Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Daisy Wylde
Despite a slight headache, I woke my sisters early to start picking.
I needed to keep busy too, because I’d rather forget that I’d practically thrown myself at Knox last night.
Blame the alcohol, blame him for playing the hero, but, sober today, a man in my life was the last thing I needed—no matter how much I enjoyed looking at him.
Ivy called me a slave driver. Sage and Poppy complained of hunger.
But somehow, by mid-morning, we’d gotten down one row of trees.
My shoulders screamed for attention. I took off my straw hat and wiped my brow on my forearm.
The warm fall day had me sweating something awful, but there was work to be done.
The apples filled the trees more than before Mom and Dad died. None of us imagined things could turn around, not after a few lean seasons of learning what the hell we were doing. The orchard had been Dad’s dream, and if not for his harvest journals as our bible, we would have been screwed.
Honeycrisp was my favorite, but we had two other varieties as well, hearty enough that they withstood the Montana winters—Zelstar and McIntosh.
I’d deciphered Dad’s careful notes in that cramped handwriting of his, dated and cross-referenced with what worked and what didn’t, like the field was his lab and he was a scientist. We’d followed those notes to the letter, a roadmap back to something we’d almost lost, and now the apple trees were alive and well, telling us it had worked.
Couldn’t be more grateful, while also staring at two acres of trees and more apples than four women and two hired hands could get off the branches before they started softening and dropping.
As loyal as the season, Henry and Carl had worked this orchard every fall for our father since before I could remember.
They showed up today, the steadiest help we could have ever asked for.
But they were both in their sixties now, and with the warm harvest conditions this year, I could already tell it was going to get the better of us all.
We needed to move faster, work longer, and get as much fruit picked as we could before it turned.
“I’m going to fall and break a rib,” Poppy announced from atop the ladder in the tree where I was working below.
“You’re so dramatic,” Sage called back from the tree beside us. “I took time off both my jobs to be here. We’re all pitching in.”
“Just be careful,” I warned.
“I’m always careful, except when I’m not.” Poppy would be the first and only of us to graduate college. I was so proud of her. Would’ve pleased our parents to see her get that diploma.
“You have a test you were supposed to be studying for,” I said. “Wish you hadn’t skipped class.”
“I’m not studying while you’re all out here killing yourselves for this.
Besides, I’m acing my classes. Nothing to worry about.
” She climbed down the ladder and appeared beside me, strawberry-blonde hair escaping in every direction from her braid.
A smear of apple pulp appeared across her cheek, and she wore one of Dad’s old blue bandanas around her neck, soaked with sweat.
Ivy straightened from emptying her bag in the bin the next tree over and pressed her fists into the small of her back.
“I should head back to town soon. I just hired Avery last week, but she’s still a teenager.
She can handle the morning, but not a full day alone yet.
” She cast me a glance with an apology in it.
“We all have time backing up. I’ve got five farrier calls I rescheduled for later this week already. We’ll do what we can today. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to get more help here to pick,” I said.
Nobody argued. That was just the shape of us—four sisters running at capacity in different directions, always circling back to this orchard, to our family home, like it was the center of everything, whether or not we liked it.
There were migrant workers in the area, and plenty of out-of-work cowboys drifting through we could hire, but with just the four of us on this property, I was careful about who I trusted.
I kept a mental note of unfamiliar vehicles I notice passing by on the county road. Had done it for years, longer than I'd consciously realized. I'd inherited the habit from Dad without meaning to. He loved keeping meticulous records of cars coming and doing.
This season, though… I might have to face reality and let some strangers in.
We worked in comfortable silence until we reached the end of the row closest to the house.
“Let’s take a break.” Sage held up her water jug, and we all stopped gratefully and gathered at the fence. I perched on the top rail and tipped my head back, drinking deeply.
“Remember the year Dad made us pick through that storm?” Poppy doused her bandana and wrung it around her neck again. “How cold it was?”
“Yep. That harvest was late. Snow was coming early. ‘Have to pick ’em all before the frost,’” Ivy mocked Dad, laughing. “And Mom brought hot chocolate out at six in the morning. He’d been at it all night.”
“She was furious,” I added. “Not at him. At Mother Nature.” Something Montana families have always had to be aware of.
“This is our best harvest yet,” Sage observed quietly. “Dad would have loved it.”
We let that sit for a moment or two.
I swallowed it down with water and pushed off the fence. “Guess I’ll fix us some sandwiches before we hit the next row.”
Before I could take another step, trucks came up our gravel drive. As three parked in front of the house, I recognized them and their occupants from the Off-Duty Rescue Ranch.
We met them at the fence. Colt stepped out first, and Ivy ran into his arms. Anson and Eldon exited the cab, and several of the ranch hands jumped down from the back. Ash climbed out of the second truck, Willow behind him, Ro trailing, both carrying baskets overflowing with food.
From the last truck, Knox appeared out of the driver’s seat, with a few more men hopping out of the back.
I allowed myself one glance at him under his cowboy hat.
That was enough to take my breath away. His smile was there, tucked under a thick, dark beard, reaching all the way to his eyes.
Never had I been attracted to a man with such long hair and a beard and tattoos; clean-cut men were usually more my style.
So why him and why now when I had no need of male distraction in my life?
“Hello,” Ash called. “Heard you had a harvest. We’re here to help.”
My throat tightened. “You don’t have to—”
“You’re right, we don’t,” he said easily. “But when we see people who need a hand, we show up.”
“You ladies look hungry,” Willow added, setting down the basket. “Ro and I made sandwiches.”
“I packed the pickles,” Ro said. “But if you don’t like them, I’ll eat them later.”
“I put fresh biscuits and honey inside, too,” Eldon called.
I refused to cry, blinking away tears before anyone noticed. “I don’t know what to say. Thanks, I guess?”
“Thank Knox,” Ash added. “He’s the one who told us you needed help.”
My eyes snapped to the man who drove me home last night, and he tipped his hat at me. Speechless, I stood there and gaped at him.
“Well, you might regret it,” Sage teased. “Daisy can be a tough manager. And your hands will absolutely ache by sundown.”
“Most of us have been through tougher times. We can take it.” Knox nodded, smile still in place. He held back near the truck at first, arms crossed, watching me like he always did—too aware and focused, like I was the only other person on earth.
“Begin from the back. Work toward the house. Carl and Henry will show you how to pick.” I found my voice and pointed in the general direction they should go.
All the men moved without hesitation, falling into line like obedient soldiers.
We sat down on a blanket to eat the sandwiches Willow offered, and the guys got started. My sisters ate and chatted with Willow and Ro. I was too stunned to eat much, apart from a few nibbles. I wasn’t used to asking for help, much less receiving it.
By mid-afternoon the harvest had shifted completely, thanks to the dozen extra sets of hands, a much different outlook from when we woke up this morning. Even Ro was helpful, plucking the low-hanging fruit with incredible efficiency for a fourth grader.
There was movement everywhere. Laughter and chatter, too. It made the orchard feel alive instead of overwhelming as we picked as fast as we could.
I rounded the end of a row and nearly walked straight into Knox.
He had a half-eaten Honeycrisp in his hand.
I stopped and cocked my head. “Are you eating the inventory?”
“Quality control.” He took another bite, completely unbothered, smiling with his mouth full. “Thought I should make sure the goods were ripe.”
“If we don’t hurry and pick this harvest, everything will be overripe.”
“Well, help is here. And once this harvest is over, I thought maybe you and I could go out.”
“We are out. Smell that fresh air?” I quipped and moved past him under the tree, picking a few and planting them into the bag strapped around my neck.
He leaned closer, his forearm resting on the limb above my head.
I glanced up right into his kind, brown eyes, which could easily sway a woman into doing just about anything.
“You know what I mean.” He searched my face. “Someone’s got to make sure the boss takes a break once in a while.”
“I took a break. Ate a lovely sandwich, even a pickle.” I inhaled the scent of him surrounding me, competing with the fruit. “Now. No more apples for you today. Get back to work.”
“Did I ever mention how cute I find bossy women?” He grinned and turned away.
I chortled, and my eyes fell to his backside as he retreated to the row across from me.
Like a tree, his strong, round glutes and solid legs held up his tall frame.
What would it be like to climb him—aw, shoot.
I didn’t have time for these thoughts. I quickly wiped the goofy grin off my face before anyone witnessed it.