CHAPTER SIX
Henry couldn’t remember the last time he’d unpacked his own bag. Well, there was always a first time. He unzipped the bag to find Cynthia had stuffed items inside without using packing cubes or any logic to what went in first or last.
He attempted to fold a white T-shirt the way his housekeeper folded them at home.
On the third try, he gave up and shoved it into the drawer as best as he could.
Reaching for another T-shirt, he felt as if he were being watched.
He turned and saw three pairs of blue eyes fixated on him.
Sam’s gaze was intense. Abby’s inquisitive. Caitlin’s playful.
Attention had always been a good thing. He loved being in the spotlight and the center of attention. Until now.
Henry was used to little kids Caitlin’s age and younger.
Babies like Brecken, not big kids. He’d never met a female he couldn’t charm, so the two girls wouldn’t be problems, but the boy, a brooding tween, would be another story.
Maybe this would be good practice for when his godson got older, but he couldn’t imagine Dash and Iris letting one of their kids act like Sam.
Henry would get involved before he let that happen with Brecken.
He picked up the forest-green T-shirt and took a shot at being friendly anyway. “Do you guys go to the movies?”
Sam tossed a small rubber ball against the wall. “Nope.”
“What’s going to the movies?” Caitlin asked.
“You pay for a ticket and watch it on a big screen in a theater and eat popcorn,” Abby explained.
Caitlin grinned. “I like popcorn.”
“So do I,” Henry said. “But you don’t go?”
“There aren’t any theaters in Berry Patch,” Abby answered.
Sam frowned. “There’s nothing in Berry Patch.”
Thump, thump, thump.
The sound of Sam’s tennis ball against the hardwood floor reminded Henry of a metronome.
The bouncing continued, as did the staring.
He didn’t attempt to fold the next shirt and tossed it into the drawer.
The sooner he finished unpacking, the better.
Next out of the duffel bag was a pair of white briefs.
“Wearing boxers is better for your sperm count,” Abby said.
The thumping of Sam’s ball stopped.
Henry glanced at the young girl. “Excuse me?”
She adjusted her gold wire-rimmed glasses. “Wearing briefs can have an adverse effect on a man’s sperm count, as does riding a bike. The temperature increases and—”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m shopping.
” Even though his top button was undone, his collar felt two sizes too tight.
No man wanted to discuss his sperm count, especially not with an eight-year-old.
He grabbed the rest of the clothes from the duffel bag and dumped them into the drawer. “All done.”
“At least he’s not a neat freak,” Sam muttered.
Another throw and the ball bounced across the floor to Henry’s feet.
He grabbed it. “Anyone want to go downstairs?”
No one said anything, so he tossed the ball back to Sam and headed to the staircase. Halfway down, Henry realized he was being followed. He continued into the living room. The sofa was clean, so he sat. Abby settled on one side of him, and Caitlin plopped down on the other. Sam stood, glaring.
Elisabeth entered from the kitchen. “It’s time to feed the animals.”
Sam groaned. “Do we have to?”
“No chores, no dessert.”
As she stepped aside, the kids stampeded into the kitchen. The slamming of a door told Henry they were gone. Thank goodness. A moment of peace and no one watching him except Elisabeth.
“I hope they didn’t bother you too much,” she said.
A police interrogation would have been easier. Henry wondered if he should mention Abby’s comment about briefs and sperm count but thought better of it. He didn’t want to worry Elisabeth. “I’ll get used to it.”
“I’m sure you will.” She wiped her hands on her pants. She’d changed out of her uniform and into a pair of worn-in-all-the-right-places jeans and a white T-shirt. Simple, yet stylish.
“Would you like to see the crops?” she asked.
Over the years, women had asked him to see a variety of things, but crops had never been one of them. Until today, he’d never thought about what a crop would look like. Now he would be working in them. Or was that with them? “Seeing the crops would be great.”
She led him through the kitchen. Mismatched pots and pans covered the stove, but the counter was now clean. He noticed a black-and-white cow cookie jar in the corner.
“We don’t have much time before dinner,” she said. “But you can see a little before it gets too dark.”
He stepped out the back door. A grassy area surrounded the house, and a rusted swing set took up one side.
It looked more like a death trap than play equipment, making him wonder if the kids had had tetanus shots.
A garden lay to the right, and beyond that, row after row of crops.
The knee-high bushes were tied together.
Berries, he assumed. They might be beans. It definitely wasn’t corn. He knew what corn plants looked like.
“These are marionberries,” Elisabeth explained. “We harvest half our berry acres each year. The others are cut down to the ground to strengthen the roots as they grow back. You’ll be helping me train them.”
“Train them?” Henry asked. “Do they do tricks?”
She stared at him without a hint of a smile on her face.
He didn’t get it. He was being his adorable, charming self, but he wasn’t impressing her one bit.
Elisabeth pulled back the leaves to show him the inside of the bush. “Cane berries are trained to grow on trellises.”
“Like grapes,” he said.
“Exactly.”
See, he wasn’t without farming knowledge. Wine and champagne he knew something about. “There’s a…” He was about to tell her about the chateau and vineyard where he stayed in France last year. Instead, he pointed at the stack of white boxes amid the berry plants. “What’s that?”
“Beehives. We usually don’t have them this late in the year, but the beekeeper hasn’t picked up the remaining ones. We rent hives each spring for the fields to help with pollination, so the blooms turn into berries. It’s extra insurance for harvest time.”
“You don’t take any chances.”
“We can’t afford to.”
As their gazes met, he felt a tug on his heart. It must be her eyes. He was a sucker for baby blues.
“I hope you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, Henry. We must be prepared for winter. When the weather is good, we put in long hours. It’s hard work.”
“I can handle it.” Henry could handle anything for a month.
So what if he got a little dirty. He’d think of it as a poor man’s mud bath.
Nothing like the ones he’d taken in Calistoga, but he would survive.
The manual work would be good for him. With no access to a gym, he needed some type of workout.
And he liked being outside. Not a bad gig, after all.
Elisabeth raised a brow. He didn’t blame her for having doubts. She knew nothing about him. He looked forward to surprising her with his innate abilities.
“Besides training the canes, you’ll be moving the irrigation equipment. We also need to keep the grass short between the rows of berries, so you’ll be mowing. We use a tractor to pull the mower. Will that be a problem?”
His mouth nearly gaped. “I get to drive a tractor?”
She nodded. “Do you like to drive?”
Henry pictured himself behind the wheel of a large shiny brand-spanking-new John Deere with a baseball cap on and grinned. He wouldn’t have to worry about missing his Lamborghini and Porsche while he was here. Though he rarely drove since that was Frank’s job. “I love to drive.”
“Good. We have lots of vehicles to drive around here—trucks, tractors. We also use four-wheelers to get around. Saves a lot of time since there’s so much land to cover.
” Elisabeth stopped at a dirt path dividing the marionberries from another type of berry.
“We also use the dirt roads to get equipment in and out.”
He couldn’t imagine what the equipment might be, but he didn’t care. Talk about getting lucky. He was getting paid to drive farm machinery and ATVs. Maybe he should have gotten a job before. This wasn’t going to be work; this was going to be fun.
“You’ll also be spraying. Timing is critical during blooming time, but not so much now. We spray before the rain hits to keep the berries from molding.”
“I can’t wait.”
And Henry couldn’t. This was sounding better by the minute. Working heavy machinery was a dream come true. Now if he could just get a little chummier with Elisabeth.
Sam chased a screaming Caitlin out of the barn.
Strike that. No chumming allowed.
“We should head back inside,” she said. “I need to finish cooking.”
“Anything I can do to help?” He never did his own cooking, but the least he could do was offer. No one would ever accuse him of not having proper manners.
“Thanks, but I have it under control.”
Just like everything else in her life. His respect for her increased a notch.
He wouldn’t want her job for anything. The responsibility and commitment.
Talk about overwhelming. Just the thought made him shudder.
He’d stick to planning birthday parties and adventures and matchmaking his friends. Things he knew how to do and did well.
He followed her into the kitchen. The aroma made his stomach take notice. “Smells good.”
“Tastes even better.”
Henry’s eyes locked on her mouth, on her full lips. They were unpainted and more beautiful than those of a supermodel. And he’d kissed many a supermodel in his days. He couldn’t help but wonder what kissing Elisabeth would feel like. He shouldn’t want a taste, but he did.
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