Chapter 3
Charlotte had never eaten anything so creamy in all her life. “You make this at your dairy?”
“Yup.”
“It’s so good.” She took another lick, savoring the sweetness.
“The secret is our coddled cows. We take good care of them. Each has a name as well as a number. We let them out to pasture after a milking. Real hands-on stuff. Want a seat?” He took the camp chair and brought it closer to her.
“Sure.” She crossed the little area and was about to take the seat when her cone slipped from her hand. “Oh, no!” It landed cream-side down in the dirt. What a waste! Disappointment seemed to be the word of the day.
“Let’s see what we can do to fix it.” Eric stepped closer, bent over, and picked up the cone. One side of the creemee was covered in dirt, but the rest was still good.
He fished in his pocket, and with a flick of his wrist, opened a pocketknife. Without hesitation, he cut off the bit of the creemee that was dirty, letting the cream fall into the grass. He handed it back to her. “Good as new.”
Charlotte’s disappointment turned to joy! He’d rescued her ice cream! “Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure.” He wiped his blade on the bottom of his jeans and returned it to his pocket.
“You carried that knife around when we were kids.”
“Nope.”
“Huh?” Her face burned. She clearly remembered him carrying a knife.
“It wasn’t this knife.”
“It wasn’t?”
“I lost that one years ago. A painful lesson. That other knife, my grandpa made for me. I carried it everywhere, but I left it out one time because I was careless and thought it would always be there and didn’t think much of it. When I went back to find it, it was gone. Taken or stolen.” With his forearms resting on his thighs, he squatted near her, looking up into her gaze. “I learned that if I wanted to keep ahold of something, I had to treasure it, take care of it, never let it be used carelessly—hold it close. You do that with things you care about.”
A warmth filled Charlotte. The air around them sizzled. He was close enough to her, she could smell his scent—a mixture of outdoors and laundry soap. She swallowed hard. If only Westley had the same philosophy. He’d treated her like tissue—Use. Wad. Trash.
He grinned, crinkling his eyes. “Funny you should remember a detail like that knife.”
“Oh, I remember everything.” Did she just say that? Her face burned hot despite the cold cone in her hands. What must he think of her? She stared at her ice cream and stuffed it into her mouth at an alarming rate.
He bowed his head so she could only see the top of his baseball cap. “Those were good days back then.”
“Yes.” She started shivering. Between her nerves and the creemee, she shook. What was wrong with her? In her debate classes at university, they called her Nerves of Steel.
“You cold?” He unfolded a quilt from the back of the chair and draped it over her, ensconcing her in warmth.
She brushed her hands over the pattern. “This is really pretty.” If she had her way, she would stay there forever.
“My mom made it. She used to do all sorts of crafty things.”
“Used to?”
He leaned against the truck, tucking his hands into his pockets and cocking a leg up against the metal behind him. “Ever since my Pa passed three years ago, she’s been in a bit of a funk.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Try as she might, she didn’t have much of a memory of his dad.
“Thank you. She’s still mourning, I guess.”
Charlotte knew something of mourning. Her heart felt as if it had been beat by a meat tenderizer. “Grief is weird.” She’d nearly finished her cone.
He raised his head. “In my opinion, it’s hard to move on when you’re still holding onto the past.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked just as Preston and Coco walked up, holding hands. “You ready to go, Charlotte?”
The conversation was over. “I guess so.” Rising to her feet, she finished the last bite of her cone, savoring the crunch and the sweetness. She turned to Eric who rose to his full height. “Thank you so much for the creemee.”
He tipped his hat. “My pleasure. See you Friday?”
“Friday.” Greater warmth than the quilt flooded her. She couldn’t wait to see Eric again. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.
She followed Preston and Coco out to where they’d parked the car.
Preston held open the door for Coco. In the nine months, he’d gotten his driver’s license. While he and Charlotte were living overseas with their diplomat parents, he hadn’t needed one before. They’d always had drivers chauffeur them around. Now on his smaller budget, he had to drive himself. “I wouldn’t get too cozy with Eric.”
“Why not? Didn’t we used to play with him when we were kids? He seems like an honest hardworking young man.”
“Oh, he is. All of that. It’s just—” Preston cut himself off when he slammed the door. “Politics.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re on opposite sides.” He opened the door for Charlotte, too. “You’ll see what I mean at our rally tomorrow.”
Preston didn’t say anything else.
She slid inside the car, looking back to the food truck, all lit up. And then she saw it. How had she missed it before? On the side of the food truck was a large sign that read: Vote NO on Proposition 11.
“He doesn’t want to annex the south?”
Preston started the car. “He’s the driving force against the opposition. Right now, the polls say most of the townsfolk don’t see the point in annexing the southern part. But they don’t see how much it will help the city to make it bigger or how they can make more money off of businesses run down there.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons for not wanting the annexation.”
“Yes, but Charlotte.” Preston turned and faced her. “If we don’t annex the south in this election, we’ll lose the mansion.” He faced forward again and pulled out of their parking spot.
Charlotte’s stomach roiled with the implications. They couldn’t lose the Laurent house. It represented so many happy childhood memories. With her parents’ nomadic and overseas living, the mansion was the only family home Charlotte had known. No matter the cost, she must save it to preserve the family history. Inhaling with resolve, Charlotte raised her chin. “So, we fight back.”
He glanced to Coco, sitting in the passenger seat. “I don’t know what more we could do.”
Turning in the front passenger seat, Coco faced her. “We’ve tried everything—rallies, signs, petitions. We’ve talked to the locals, but they don’t want the town any bigger. We’re out of ideas. We don’t know what to do.”
Charlotte gripped the back of the seat. “I do. I do this sort of stuff all the time. Lawyers are good at fighting. And persuading people. I didn’t get a degree in communication at the University of Toronto for nothing. We’ll fight.” Again, she glanced over at the food truck where Eric removed the sign, readying to pack up.
Preston pulled away.
“Sorry,” she whispered to the window, watching Eric diminish behind her. “But I have to win this fight.”
Wiping sleep away from his eyes, Eric rose before dawn and headed toward the barns to attach the pumps to milk the cows. “Hey,” he greeted Keaten, who managed the team that helped with the feeding. He also led the cows into the stanchion barn in the morning.
Keaten wore a locally-made flannel, unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt, and a Sweet Milk Dairy T-shirt. The bottom of his pants were tucked inside his galoshes, which were untied. “You’re in a good mood today, my friend.”
Eric grabbed a hose from above the cow. “We just sold lots of food last night.” He patted the cow’s head, feeling the rough hairs through the warmth prickle against his skin.
Keaten shook his head. “Nah, man. That kind of a goofy smile isn’t about business. It’s about women.”
Was he grinning? Keaten was right. Eric hadn’t slept last night because of Charlie’s words. She’d admitted she remembered every detail! That confession must mean he stuck out in her memory. Sure, she was like eight at the time, but could he rekindle her childlike admiration? He squirt out a test of milk from each teat to make sure there was no infection. All good.
Keaten dipped each teat into the iodine to disinfect it and looked over at Eric. “Am I right?”
Through the strong salty smell of iodine, Eric attached the hose of the cluster pumps to the cow’s disinfected udders. He laughed. “Maybe.” For the first time, he thought, maybe, maybe he could have a chance with Charlie.
“I hate to be the one to take the edge off a good mood, but…” Keaten rubbed his neck.
Eric stood, setting his bucket of iodine on the floor near the feed. “What’s going on? You’re not quitting are you?” He and Eric had been holding his dairy together since before James left. Keaten was his right-hand man and worked for a fair wage. If he were to walk, he couldn’t afford to hire anyone else.
“No.” Keaten dragged in a long breath.
Eric sighed with relief.
“After the county inspector came the other day, he made a note that the pumping system was outdated. It works for now, but before the next inspection, we’ll need a new one. Even sooner if the farm gets annexed to Sugar Creek. They have tougher inspectors.”
The euphoria of last night evaporated. Cold hard reality splashed him in the face like he’d taken a dunk in the cow pond. A sinking feeling opened in Eric’s gut. “What’s that going to cost us?”
“With new cluster pumps, hoses, and updating the controllers, milk meters, and the vacuum system”—Keaten nodded at each of the items as he mentioned them—“I’d say about a hundred grand with install. Maybe more. Maybe less.”
Eric ran a sleeve over his face, looking over the parlor where his brown-haired beauties munched on hay. “A hundred grand?” Where would he get the cash? They’d already mortgaged the farm and the house, twice over. A dull ache started at the base of his skull. “All right. I’ll talk to Laurie about it.” He called his mom Laurie around all the farmhands and was used to addressing her by her first name.
After he led all the cows to the tie stalls and milked them for a short amount of time, he led them back out into the hills, all the while ruminating on where to get the money. Milking was just one of his duties for the day. With this heavy burden on his chest, he slogged through attending sick cows, checking on the pregnant ones, and caring for the heifers, those too young to milk just yet. He met up with Keaten around four before going in for dinner.
“You going to the rally tonight?” Eric had to make sure that proposition didn’t pass. If it did, he’d have to bring the pumps up to code in a matter of weeks instead of months for the city codes. That would ruin them financially.
Keaten shook his head. “I can’t, man. I’m sorry. My daughter has a thing at school. Spelling bee or something.”
Eric focused on removing his gloves.
“You know I would, if I could. I’m not too worried.” He slapped Eric with the gloves on his upper left shoulder. “It won’t pass. Most of the citizens here don’t see the need to enlarge Sugar Creek. You don’t need to worry.”
But he did. If they annexed their farm, in addition to the new pumps needed to be installed sooner, their taxes would double. All the selling he did from his truck would have to be permited, and he’d have to have city inspectors out at the farm once a quarter—more chances for them to find something wrong. Not that he didn’t keep his dairy in the most pristine shape. It was just a hassle to correct little things, things that still worked, but weren’t up to the city’s stricter ordinances. And, of course, it cost more money. Money was tight as it was.
His mom didn’t seem concerned about business. So that left Eric to fight the good fight on their behalf, but he still had to tell her about the pumping system.
“I’m with you in spirit, though.” Keaten slapped his gloves together. “You know how I’m voting.”
“Thank you. You wanna come up to the house for quick bite?”
“Nah, I’d better head home.” Keaten waved and trotted toward his truck.
Tossing his gloves back and forth across the palm of his hand, Eric trotted up the hill toward his house. From the hill he could see Twelves Oaks Orchards next door to his right, with rows and rows of trees laden with apples, and to the left, across the sprawling farmland and the vast verdant pasture, Laurent mansion. He inhaled. Charlotte Laurent. It would only be a matter of time before she’d realize they were on opposite sides of a battle. He didn’t want her to lose, but he also couldn’t lose the dairy. It was the only home he’d ever known. If only James hadn’t left. If he’d stayed and taken care of the farm, Eric wouldn’t feel like he had to make enemies with his neighbors. Preston would hardly speak to him, and Coco, a lifelong friend was suddenly more loyal to Preston than to Sugar Creek. All in the name of love! Bah!
He stuffed his gloves into his back pockets and opened the wooden screen door and stepped inside the warm house, wiping his shoes free of any mud.
“Mom?” He inhaled, smelling cooked butter and bread. Nothing better than a grilled cheese sandwich with apples. He dreaded telling Laurie the bad news.
“In here.”
He stepped into the formal dining room with twelve-foot ceilings—higher than the rest of the house.
Tara Leigh sat at the oak table with Laurie. The awkward silence at his arrival was obvious.
“What’s going on?”
His mother wiped away a tear. “Tara is giving us another couple of bushels of apples to make more cider to sell this fall.”
He stepped inside the room. “You don’t have to be so generous—”
Tara held up her hands, cutting him off. “You guys are my oldest and dearest friends. Besides, I owe you. All seven of you kids came over when you were younger and helped me pick apples. Now it’s my time to repay you.”
“Thank you.” Laurie stood. “Here, take a quart of milk home.”
“We all have to help each other through these tough times.” Tara wore a colorful sweater along with her grin.
Picking apples at the farm was one of his most treasured childhood memories. Tara had given them sticks with baskets on the ends, and told them to fill crates on wagons. As young energetic kids, it was a game. He’d had fun. Tara was generous to a fault. “As long as it doesn’t put your own business at risk.”
“Bah.” She swatted the air. “I’m not worried.”
Eric knew better than to wonder. Tara’s vigorous work ethic and a savvy business sense kept her orchards thriving. After she inherited a somewhat profitable orchard, using her connections, she sold apples miles around, turning it into an amazing empire. With her ability to make friends easily, she built up the store to sell cider, donuts, vinegars, seconds, and a whole host of baked apple treats. In the evenings, she opened her store and orchard house as a venue for live music, harder stuff, and dancing. It was popular all year round.
“You’re a great friend to her.” Eric meant it.
Laurie returned with the milk in a glass bottle adorned with a glass medallion of the Sweet Milk Dairy logo. “A small thank you.”
“Hey, we all hit rough bumps.” After taking the milk, Tara stood and brushed back her shoulder-length hair. She headed for the front entryway.
Laurie followed her, opening the door.
With her milk tucked into the crook of her elbow, Tara hugged Laurie with her other arm. “You’d do the same for me. Now don’t forget, this Friday, we have the men’s acappella group singing.”
Laurie smiled for the first time. “I’ll make it. I promise.”
“If you don’t, I’ll come pick you up.” Tara finished the hug. “See you Friday.” She opened the creaky screen door and stepped out onto the veranda.
“Good, you’re getting out.” Eric returned with Laurie to the kitchen to fix that grilled cheese he’d been dreaming about. “It’s about time.”
After making and eating a sandwich—gooey melted cheese, layered between tart apples encased in grilled, thick hearty bread—he found Laurie again, sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, wrapped in her long cardigan. He poked a thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, Ange and I are going to the rally for the pro-proposition and see if we can persuade people away from the annexation.” He grinned.
She flashed him a faint smile.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her about the pumps. Not tonight. He had months to find a way to make the money to pay for them as long as the proposition didn’t pass. Maybe he could just do it without her ever knowing.
He leaned over and gave her a kiss on her soft cheek. She smelled of caramel and apples. She’d been making them all afternoon to sell at the truck, where Ange was right now. “We won’t let them take the property. I promise.” The farm was all they had left from Dad. He couldn’t let them down.
He gathered his yard signs to hand out to the locals and tossed them in the back of his green pickup. At the end of the drive he waited for Angie to close the food truck and join him.
The line of hungry customers stretched out until the road. He glanced at his watch. They would be late. He thought about helping her, but she finished serving the customers quickly. Ange was a natural. After she finished helping the last customer, she stored the extras and closed up the truck. She jumped onto the seat just as the sun slid behind the trees.
On their way, Eric squinted into the last rays of sun peeking behind hills. “How much did we make tonight?”
She handed him an envelope with receipts and cash. “About the same as last night. We could’ve had more, but we closed early.”
“You ready for this?” he asked, his heartbeat quickening. Would Charlie be there?
“It’ll be fun to crash their rally.”
Fun? He hoped it would be fun and not too contentious.
When he saw a familiar convertible in the parking lot, his heart leaped into his throat. No one else in Sugar Creek had a car like Charlie’s. It had to be hers. Canadian license plate? Yup. He grinned, parking his truck in an empty spot near her car.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing.” Taking one of the yard signs from the back, he removed the metal wire H that stuck into both the sign and the ground and tossed it into the back bed. What if he just played a little prank on her?
Walking by her car, he leaned over and tucked the Vote NO on Proposition 11 sign in her front window so it showed through the windshield. He let lose a small chuckle, gathering up the other signs.
Angie opened her mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving her a little sign.” He walked on. “It’s her fault for leaving her top off. Anyone could leave anything in her car.”
Shaking her head, Angie followed him across the grass toward the white tent where Preston held a microphone and talked to a small audience near the fountain. “You know they’re here to talk about reasons to add the southern part, right? She’ll be mad when she sees it.”
“Maybe.” For a second, a flash of regret hit his stomach. Would she be so irate that it hurt their renewed friendship? He glanced over his shoulder to see her car advertising his side. Too late now.
“She’ll know it was you.”
His regret turned to delight. “You think so?”
“Of course! Who else has yard signs?” Ange nodded to the rest of the signs in his arms.
That would be a bonus!