The Autumn Fallout

Chapter 1

Charlotte Laurent sniffed back tears threatening to blur her vision. Which would be bad since she was driving along hilly, back country roads in Vermont with limited sight distance, vibrant trees close to the road, and zero cell reception. All day, she’d been driving from Toronto—taking a few stops to cry.

How dare he?

She couldn’t get her boyfriend’s—her ex-boyfriend’s—face out of her mind. Or their last conversation.

With the canopy down on her convertible BMW, under the tree-lined roads dotted with red barns and livestock, she drove, barely aware of her surroundings, still consumed with her last-minute change of direction. She needed a gap year to re-think, re-plan, and re-focus her life before law school.

With a lance of hot words, Westley Dirk had torn a hole straight through her heart and her well-laid plans for her future.

She passed through the small red brick and clapboard stores of downtown in Sugar Creek, complete with a colorful display of tree tunnels on either side. The leaves were showing off this year. Almost florescent hues of orange, red, and yellow vied for attention. Thankfully, she headed to the one place where she would feel at home: wherever Preston, her brother, was. And right now, that place was Laurent mansion.

A sign just after Sugar Creek caught her attention.

Happiness $5

Happiness for just five bucks? After what Westley said, she needed a little cheering up right now. A sign proclaiming happiness could be bought for a mere five dollars intrigued her. Could it deliver on its promise?

Turning her steering wheel, she maneuvered onto a dirt road leading to a small food truck. Cornstalks decorated each crossbeam of the fenceposts around the white truck. A red flatbed wagon near the road sold orange and yellow mums for a charity.

Parked off the road was a green pickup truck with a bumper sticker in the back window that read Vermont: Keep it Simple.

Cutting the engine, Charlotte wiped her eyes free of tears and took in the scenery. Signs for Sweet Milk Dairy framed the dirt road, lined with green open pastures. Jersey cows grazed across the hills, their heads down, walking slowly over the grass. She mentally refrained from snapping a photo on her phone.

Several customers queued in front of the small window.

She stepped from the car, inhaling the sweet smell of grass and a faint whiff of cattle. The smell of that alone, with a tinge of smoke from a nearby stack, almost healed her broken heart. As she breathed in cool air and took in the quiet of the countryside, the tension in the base of her neck relaxed. Such a change from Toronto! The city bustled with excitement, promise, and disappointment.

When it was her turn, she stepped up to a window. A handsome man in a Sweet Milk Dairy cap with his long-sleeved flannel rolled up, accentuating his forearms, greeted her. He scratched his close shaven beard of about a month’s growth. Touching his hat, he grinned. “Afternoon. Ready to try some world-famous apple cider donuts? Made right here.” He pointed behind him where a young woman stood beside a pot, dipping in a spider catch and turning donuts. Beside her were colorful caramel apples. “We buy our cider from our neighbor. Tara Leigh grows apples in the Twelve Oaks Orchard just right down the road.” He pointed with his chin. “Angie is taking the donuts out of the oil right now.”

Charlotte tried to keep her heartache out of her voice. “You can’t get any fresher than that! Can I get one cider donut and two caramel apples?”

“Two?” The guy winked, opening a brown paper bag. “You got a sweet tooth or sweetheart?”

Not anymore. Her heart squeezed at the thought. “It’s for my brother.”

If it were possible, his smile grew bigger. “That’s good. No complaining about that. Even if you wanted to eat both, we wouldn’t judge.” He pointed to Angie, who looked to be graduated from high school. As it was after Labor Day, most school-aged kids were occupied during the day. “My sister could eat a whole bushel of caramel apples.”

Angie, still keeping her spider catch in the oil, kicked out a leg, trying to get her brother. “Thanks, Eric.”

Eric? His name rang a bell.

Taking a quick step to maneuver away from Angie’s mock aggression, Eric wrapped a donut and two caramel apples in pastry paper and slipped them into a bag with Sweet Milk Dairy stamped on it, laughing all the while.

Eric faced Charlotte again, and grinned. “Not that I would blame her. These apples are the best in the county. The only place I trust other than our own farm.” He set the bag in front of Charlotte.

“You own this dairy?” She glanced around the rolling hills that abutted the Laurent Mansion up the hill a ways. She could see the tree-line fence from here.

He gave a short nod. “My mom does now. We run one of the last family-owned dairy farms in these parts.”

“We’re neighbors.” Before taking the white sack, Charlotte dug into her purse to grab her wallet.

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows, his dark eyes dancing with amusement.

“My brother and I live just down the road.” She pointed toward the hill where the tops of the gray slate roof of the Laurent Mansion poked out of the tops of the trees.

“Pleased to meet you, neighbor.” He stuck out his hand. “Eric Benton.”

She took it with a grin, her bad mood dissipating. His grin, his eyes—everything clicked into place. “Wait, I know you. We played hide-and-go seek when we were children.”

“You can’t be.” Blinking, he studied her, his eyes growing wide. “Little Charlie?” His shock melted into another smile. “You were just eight when you lived here. You back in town?”

At her childhood nickname, she felt a flush creep up her neck. He used to tease her and pull her hair.

His amused smile reached his eyes. Leaning closer, he rubbed a hand across his beard. “I remember you running around these hills in overalls, your hair in pigtails.”

“That was more than fifteen years ago.” She remembered chasing after him and Preston. When Preston shouted no girls allowed, Eric always insisted they make an exception for her. Preston rolled his eyes and sighed and let her come. Even as a kid, Eric had the warmest smile. He’d improved with age.

She held out bills.

He shook his head, pushing the cash back. “It’s on the house. The least I can do for my neighbor and former rival in childhood games.”

The summer between South America and moving to Jordan her mother brought them back here to live while her father was on an unaccompanied tour to the Congo. She thought at ten, Eric was big and strong, and he always carried a handy pocketknife. He still had the same boyish grin, a baseball cap with his family’s dairy logo, and a generous heart. Moving closer, Eric leaned on his elbows, speaking out the window. “What are you up to now?”

“I was accepted to law school, but my—” How could she tell him how Westley broke her heart? Just the mere thought of their breakup sent her stomach in a whirling—and not in a good way. Her eyes and heart ached with pain. “My plans changed. For the time being. I’ll be here for the next year.”

Eric flexed his sexy forearms. “I heard the Laurents moved back. I’m surprised Preston took the large house. It’s a lot to keep up with just one man.”

The property was extensive. Indoor and outdoor swimming pools, outdoor tennis courts, a lake, miles of walking trails, plus the grounds. “It’s a lot to take on. We’re hoping to open it as a venue and offer historical tours.”

“Hey!” Angie called from the fryer. “You’ve got a line clear to the road.”

Charlotte turned to see a trail of people stamping their feet and looking impatient. “I should go.” She held up the bag. “Thank you so much.”

Eric continued to hold eye contact. “Come by anytime for more. We have plenty where they came from.”

Angie coughed loudly.

Charlotte knew the cue. “Thank you, again.” She turned and walked along the long line. When she reached her car, she heard footsteps behind her.

Eric came up behind her, shirt flapping, and handed her a flyer. “I forgot to give you this. It’s an invite to the fall events here in Sugar Creek. We have hayrides, a fall festival with corn mazes, and a tractor pull contest. Hayrides every night at the tree lot by the pond. We’ll be there tonight, selling donuts and creemees—the last of the season.” He pointed to the calendar. “My favorite is the pumpkin contest. Old Don Hardwell wins every year. He has this patch. I don’t know what he feeds it. Giant food or something, because he always grows these monstrous pumpkins…”

He held out his arms to show how big the pumpkins were.

All Charlotte saw were his hulking biceps. She stared stupidly, trying not to be too obvious she was checking him out. And she completely missed what he said next.

He dropped his arms. “Well, I hope you can come. Our dairy sponsors it.”

“Sounds like fun.” It was the first time in a week that her heart didn’t squeeze at the thought of social interaction. “I’ll bring Preston.”

“Oh.” He glanced away.

Something was wrong. “What?”

He kicked the ground with his work boots. “Preston and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“Why not?”

He lifted off his hat and set it on his head again, focusing on the horizon behind her. His white Sweet Milk Dairy shirt hugged his slim waist all the way to his snug jeans. Why wouldn’t he be talking to Preston?

He lowered his brows and stuffed his hands into his back jean pockets. “We don’t exactly see eye to eye on a certain issue. You’ll find out soon enough.” With a slight smile, he walked backwards and then turned. “See you ’round, neighbor,” he said over his shoulder.

Puzzled, Charlotte started the car and pulled onto the main road again. After turning off to the driveway, she pulled up to the front of the Laurent mansion. She hadn’t been here since last Christmas when the whole family gathered for Papa Laurent’s seventieth birthday, almost a year ago. The wreaths and the lights on the windows were replaced with scads of pumpkins and mums crowding the brick steps up to the double doorway with a paladin window. Seeing Preston on the front porch returned all the earlier emotions about Westley. She burst into tears. At last she was home, and she had someone to help carry her broken heart.

Eric returned to the truck. But his mind didn’t. He kept mixing up orders from customers. He couldn’t concentrate on selling donuts. All he could think about was little Charlie. But she wasn’t little anymore. And her little pigtails had turned into golden honey down her back. Did he still have that ring she gave him?

Angie struggled frying enough donuts with the growing line, and his mind was too distracted to take orders. He suggested they switch tasks.

Swapping with Angie so she could work the front window—a task she was better suited for—Eric fished apple cider donuts out of the hot oil, a tedious and smelly job.

He couldn’t wait until the truck closed and he could shutter the little window and head back up to the big Victorian farmhouse—where he and his six siblings grew up—and search for that ring. No one in his family threw away anything, and he knew he’d kept it. But where was it?

He flipped donuts with a fury, keeping up with the demand outside. Although working in the hot, non-air-conditioned truck drained him, he had to do it to keep the farm open. He frowned. Every little bit helped.

Seeing Charlie today was like embracing an angel from heaven. Her curly hair and ready smile still made him sizzle inside. With a grin, he poked a donut bubbling in the grease.

But she lived at Laurent mansion. Their family had always been better than the rest of Sugar Creek. She came from money, old money, from people who were movers and shakers. What would she do with a small-town dairy farmer?

At sunset, when the leafpeepers couldn’t see the fantastic display of foliage, the line dried up. He turned off the stovetop propane gas and counted the donuts to wrap and take up to the house.

At the hayrides tonight, he’d sell them from the truck for half-price along with the last of the season’s creemee. He cooled the frying oil and carried the crate of apples and everything else that needed the heavy lifting to the back of his green pickup. Not that Angie couldn’t do this, but he did it out of respect for her and love for his mom, Laurie. “How did we do today?” he asked when he returned inside the truck, smelling grease and sugar.

Angie counted the money at the till, concentrating on the bills in her hand. Then she looked at the credit receipts. “Well, if you weren’t offering free donuts to everybody, we would’ve done better.”

“I only gave away the donut and two apples to Charlie. To be neighborly.”

“To be flirtatious, you mean. You can’t keep doing that or we won’t make money.”

He grabbed the food-grade buckets filled with donuts. “It was one person.”

“Our profits are super slim anyway. Do you want Mom to lose the dairy?”

“No.” The dairy was supposed to pay for Laurie to live a comfortable life as she got closer to retirement. If not, she had no other means of support.

“Dad wanted her to be taken care of.”

“I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” He stacked the empty plastic buckets that earlier held the cake donut dough on top of each other. “No matter what.” As the oldest boy at home, he knew his duty. “Let’s head back up. I hope Mom has dinner ready. I’m starved, and we need to be at the hayrides by seven.” He loaded the bins in the back of his pickup truck. He started the engine and drove Angie up to the glowing house filled with memories.

He was the second oldest of the seven. At twenty-four, he felt it his duty to make sure the farm persisted, but that meant long days at work and few hours of actual play. That left little room for any actual living.

“You’re a menace to society, Eric,” his mom had said when he turned twenty-four this year. He hadn’t so much as gone out with a girl in two years. Truth be told, he didn’t like Sugar Creek girls. He’d known them all his life. Seeing those girls would be like dating his sister.

After high school, he went to college for two years in Burlington, but when James, his oldest brother, left town, Eric dropped out to come home and help his mom run the dairy farm, or they’d lose it to taxes. All the flatlanders buying their vacation rentals raised the house prices and, in turn, raised the taxes. This year was even worse.

He stepped in the door, warmth filling him both physically and spiritually.

Lizzy, the youngest at ten, set plates on old, faded placemats on the blonde oak dining table.

Whatever Laurie was cooking, it smelled heavenly. She sure knew how to cook. The temperatures dropped from the afternoon, and a good stew sounded perfect after smelling grease and sugar all day.

“Charlotte’s a cute girl.” Angie dropped the donuts near the door ready for the hayride. They’d be leaving after they ate. “And living next door.”

Understanding what she was insinuating, Eric shook his head. “Ah, she’d never go for a country bumpkin like me. She’s traveled the world.” Everyone in town knew about the Laurents. They were one of the founding families of Sugar Creek. Their wealth was as old as they were. They owned the largest mansion in town—well, technically just outside of the town’s limits, but they never came here to visit. And then, just like that, they came back and decided to stay. Preston, who was a bit younger than Eric, now lived in the house and went to Physical Therapy school in Burlington. How he afforded to pay for that big thing, Eric would never know. Preston probably relied on a trust fund. Must be nice. He and his girlfriend, Coco Poverly—an old friend of Eric’s—looked pretty serious in their relationship. Preston spent most of his free time at the Sweet Suite Bakery.

Eric shook his head and mused as he washed his hands. Charlie wasn’t a little girl in braids and overalls anymore. She was a sophisticated woman. He could tell by the car she drove, the way she dressed, the way she talked. She was headed to law school, for apple crisp’s sake! “She’s going to be a lawyer.” He’d had just enough of all the lawyers sniffing around Sweet Milk Dairy. “Besides, with James gone, I’m married to this place.” He didn’t have time for relationships. Often, he woke in the wee early morning hours to work—attaching pumps to the cows’ sanitized udders, cleaning out stalls, washing basins. When James left, Eric had to oversee all the milk orders as well. Thankfully, Brad Thomas still drove the Sweet Milk Dairy van to deliver fresh milk to the locals—a tradition dating back to the beginning of the dairy. Eric also managed accounts, settled payroll, and trained new employees. But when he wasn’t doing that, he sold goods by the side of the road to make ends meet—maple creemee in the summer and apple cider donuts in the fall. They were one misstep away from losing the farm. And then where would his family go?

Settled around the table, they blessed the food and ate the stew and warm homemade bread. “You doing anything tonight?” Eric asked Laurie.

“I thought about going to the hayrides with the Sugar Mamas, but I think I’m too tired.”

She worked as hard as anyone since Pa died three years ago. But the music had gone out of her life. He could see it in her eyes.

After dinner, he headed up the old creaky stairs to his room.

“Where’re you going?” Angie was already loading the creemee mixture into the truck. “We’ll be late for the hayrides.”

“I just want to look for something.” He’d occupied the same room since he was a kid—small gabled window in the corner over a desk, a braided rug in the center of the wood floor, plenty of bookshelves lined with books and trophies from high school with the occasional medal. He went to those shelves and creaked open a black, shellacked box. With his forefinger he riffled through the contents.

Not there.

He hadn’t thrown it away. He knew he’d kept it. But where had he put it?

He opened another container, an old cigar box that had more ribbons from track and field and FFA. Not there. Where would he have kept a precious memento?

In a homemade ring holder from a pottery or art class years ago, he found it: a gold ring that sorely needed a polish. It barely fit on his pinky, but he still had it. A small hint of relief washed through him. He’d kept it all these years. Charlie had given it to him. At ten, he thought it was stupid for a girl to give him a ring, but now he was amused. He knew what giving a love token meant far clearer than his ten-year-old-self did. He slipped it onto a small chain and slid it into his pocket.

He thundered downstairs and helped carry stuff to the back of the pickup before rambling to the end of the drive and hooking up the food truck to his pickup.

Sitting in the front seat, he adjusted his mirrors then pulled out the ring on the chain and slipped it over the rearview mirror for luck.

No, Charlie wouldn’t go for a guy like him—poor, barely attended college, and struggling to keep the family dairy farm afloat. “And even worse. She’ll take Preston’s side of the issue,” he whispered. And that was that.