Chapter 2
TRIPP
Tripp Lawrence parked his truck and stood on Maple Street for a moment, enjoying the cold fall air, and watching the trees that flanked the elementary school sway in the breeze.
It was early for snow, but he could practically taste it already. How many times had he stood outside this same school as a boy, willing the snow to fall so he could go home again and play on the farm?
Tripp had never really liked being indoors unless it was to eat or sleep. And he certainly hadn’t liked being at school back then.
Now he was here on a voluntary basis.
Shaking his head, he strode across the lawn to be buzzed in.
“Hey there,” he said into the intercom. “Tripp Lawrence, here to help out with the greenhouse.”
“Tripp Lawrence,” echoed a quavery voice that could only be Miss Wiggins. “Come on in, sweetheart.”
Tripp tended to get that kind of response from women, young and old. And he always leaned into it, which had earned him a reputation around town as a bit of a flirt.
His family gave him a hard time about it.
But he figured his way with women must be his gift.
After all, he didn’t have book smarts like his doctor brother, West, or musical talent like his rock star brother, Cash.
His brothers Tag and Zane were both steady and dependable, qualities no one would attribute to Tripp.
Only his baby sister, Allie, had ever possessed anything like his own wild streak, but she was settled now, a patient teacher and a loving stepmom to little Maya, who he suspected would be getting a sibling one day in the not-so-distant future.
All of which meant that however much the ladies liked Tripp, he was now the only Lawrence left of six kids not to have a family of his own.
The thought prompted a familiar restless feeling in his chest.
Doesn’t matter, he told himself firmly. With all my siblings and nieces and nephews, I’ve got enough family to keep me busy whenever I want company.
He supposed there were more than a few women in town who might be willing to settle down with someone like him. But there was really only one woman who had ever captured Tripp’s imagination, and she had been far too sensible to waste her time with him.
The door buzzed and he pushed it open, releasing a wave of warm, heated air.
Stepping inside, he was transported instantly back to his own childhood days spent here.
Student artwork covered the walls, and the glass door to the main office revealed the array of wooden mail cubbies and a Formica covered counter that had been there ever since he could remember.
He even picked up a whiff of the citrus-scented floor wax that made him think of the squeak of his sneaker-clad feet as he flew past whichever teacher happened to be reprimanding him for running in the hall that day.
“There you are,” the secretary said happily as he stepped into the office and jotted his name on the clipboard.
“Morning, Miss Wiggins,” he said, giving her a smile. “How’s Tigger?”
She beamed and told him the latest news about her thirteen-year-old tabby cat and his many medications, all of which he had to be tricked into ingesting, and also about all the mischief he caused when he was feeling frisky.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Tripp told her when she was finished.
“No, I’m the lucky one,” Miss Wiggins said. “It’s a privilege to share your life with someone.”
Miss Wiggins had never been married, but her smile was perfectly content as she expressed her gratitude for her cat.
Tripp suddenly felt a little selfish for bemoaning his single state, even inwardly. At least he lived on the family farm with his parents and siblings all close by.
“Off you go,” she told him, winking and handing him a visitor sticker. “You know your way to the playground.”
Tripp certainly did. It was the only part of Sugarville Grove Elementary School where he’d ever felt like himself.
He headed down the hall and out the door by the cafeteria.
The wind outside had picked up and the trees shivered in the fresh breeze. He strode past the playground equipment and out to the greenhouse in the meadow.
For years, all Allie ever talked about was raising the funds to build the thing, and now she had actually managed it.
With the help of an army of volunteers she had recruited from local farms and the Sugarville Grove Horticultural Club, she and the kids could finally grow vegetables and flowers all year long.
More importantly, the kids got outside, got their hands dirty, and learned where their food came from.
“Tripp,” Allie yelled happily from where she stood by the hose bib, spraying off a child’s hands.
The little boy was cracking up, and getting a little wet all over because he wasn’t standing still.
Unlike all the stick-in-the-mud elementary school teachers Tripp had over the years, Allie wasn’t making a big thing out of it. She smiled indulgently and gave him an extra second to have fun before turning off the hose and tossing the boy a towel to dry his hands.
“Okay,” she said to him, as Tripp arrived. “Now you can run to the bathroom.”
“Be right back, Mrs. Tailor,” the boy said, heading for the school building with a volunteer by his side.
Mrs. Tailor. It was so weird to hear his baby sister called that.
“So, you just hose them down, huh?” he teased her, falling into his playful mode to forget his momentary discomfort.
“Oh yeah,” she said with her usual twinkly eyed smile. “It’s why I got into teaching.”
“Pays better than working a car wash,” he said.
“Barely,” she replied, arching one eyebrow.
He chuckled at that, even though it probably wasn’t too far off.
“Really though, we do have to get their hands clean,” she told him. “Otherwise, they get dirty handprints on the walls of the school. Ask me how I know.”
“Copy that,” he said. “So, what do we got going on here? How can I help?”
“Well, we actually have a new student today,” Allie said. “And she’d like to use the watering can. Think you can give her a hand?”
“I’d be glad to,” he said with a smile.
“We learned the hard way that they need one-on-one supervision in everything,” Allie said as she led him into the greenhouse. “At least the first couple of times. Posey.”
He looked around while Allie moved off to search for Posey.
It was bright and warm inside, and filled with the sound of children’s voices. A couple of kids were digging for potatoes with adults he recognized from town overseeing. Others were in the back of the greenhouse poking around in what looked like a bed with nothing in it.
“That’s just dirt,” Allie confided. “They all really like to dig, so we figured we’d keep a spot free for that.”
Tripp chuckled as he turned to her.
Beside her stood a small girl in a red coat. She looked up at Tripp with serious green eyes.
“This is Posey Price,” Allie told him. “And today is her first day at school. Posey, this is my big brother, Mr. Lawrence.”
“Hi, Mr. Lawrence,” Posey said politely.
All the formality made Tripp feel like he was in the principal’s office, but he decided to just go with it.
“Posey would like to use a watering can,” Allie explained. “She can show you where it is. You two can fill it with the hose and then take care of the beds at the front of the greenhouse, okay?”
“No problem, Al—uh, Miss Law—I mean, Mrs. Tailor,” Tripp said, earning him a smile from his sister. “Ready, Posey?”
Posey nodded. She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes were sparkling now. She was clearly into the idea of using a watering can.
These city kids were too much. And there were more of them in town every year, their families drawn up here by the promise of a simpler life.
Meanwhile, there was a steep learning curve for adjusting to country life for folks who didn’t even know where their food came from.
These new kids were half the reason Allie wanted a greenhouse in the first place.
The other half was probably just that she wanted to get outside more herself. She’d never been one to spend a lot of time sitting around indoors, either. It felt like only yesterday that she was following him along the creek, turning over rocks to look for crayfish.
“Let’s go,” Tripp said to Posey.
“Are you a farmer?” the little girl asked him suddenly in a bell-clear voice that was almost familiar.
“Uh, yeah,” he told her. “I sure am.”
“So you already know how to do all this stuff,” she said, waving vaguely at all the beds and plants.
“Not really,” he told her. “I’m a dairy farmer.”
“A dairy farmer?” she repeated.
“That means I take care of cows,” he explained. “It’s my job to keep them comfortable and make sure they have good food to eat and clean water to drink. Happy cows make sweeter cream.”
It was kind of funny to hear himself spouting the family motto to a little kid, just like it had been repeated to him so many times growing up.
“They do?” Posey asked.
“Well, my family has been saying it for generations,” he said, shrugging. “So it must be true.”
“Everyone in your family is a cow farmer?” she asked, looking surprised.
“Well, my great-great-great-grandpa, Stone Lawrence, was one of the founders of Sugarville Grove,” he explained. “And our family has kept cows on that same farm ever since he started it. But not all of us, just the ones who want to.”
“Can you ride them?” Posey asked, her eyes lighting up a little.
“I guess you could,” he told her, chuckling. “But I don’t think they would like it very much. Grab a watering can.”
She did as she was told and followed him outside.
He took a nice deep breath and felt grateful that Allie had asked him to do this instead of another indoor story time. He always indulged his sister, but being out in the fresh air was definitely more his style.
“Are you sniffing the wind?” Posey asked him suddenly.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m hoping to smell snow,” he told her.
“Do you smell snow?” she asked, looking more delighted than he’d hoped.