“Been through those young peaches you kids planted in the spring,” he grumbled, and packed his pipe. And packed his pipe.
“We’ve been worried about how they’d do with this heat.” Bett resisted the urge to gnaw her fingernails, waiting for her neighbor’s judgment. Was there something wrong, some bug in the peaches they hadn’t known to look for? But she knew better than to hurry Grady. When they’d moved here, Grady was the first to hustle over and tell them that nobody with the brain of a flea would take on a business without knowing a blessed thing about it… but then, Grady was the one who helped turn that around. Without his advice and lectures, they probably would have gotten nowhere. Bett could still remember how the three of them walked every inch of the land and even tasted the dirt from spot to spot-an experience she valued, and never intended to repeat.
“Looks fine,” Grady said finally, totally bored. “Must be a good moisture base in the soil, just like Zach said. Taken on growth even this last week in the heat. Probably make a fortune on the damn things.”
Bett relaxed. “It was nice of you to take the time, Grady. I have to admit that for the entire last month both of us have barely set foot in the orchard.”
“’Course you haven’t. You two are too busy taking on too much; wouldn’t kill you to hire a little extra help, you know. Useless talking to you,” Grady said disgustedly.
Bett interpreted that as high praise. Working oneself to death rated respect from Grady. “We’re doing okay.”
“You don’t know where I could catch up with Zach?”
From the cloud of dust coming from the hill beyond the barn, she could make a shrewd guess. “Could I help you in the meantime?” she asked.
“Got a tractor needs an O-ring, and Brown’s is out.”
“Out of my bailiwick,” Bett admitted.
Grady gave her a sidelong glance. “I’ve seen lots worse with a tractor than you.”
Bett stuffed her hands in her back pockets. The cloud of dust came closer; Zach was driving the old 350 tractor. She didn’t try to continue the conversation with Grady. At first she’d been offended by his brusque attitude, until she’d caught on. Grady was basically terrified of women. Such casual compliments as the one he’d just handed her made him turn beet-red. Lobsterish at the moment. And one of these days she was going to give him a big hug and probably scare the pipe right out of his hand.
Zach sprang down from the tractor with a welcoming smile for his neighbor. He did not, Bett noticed, even glance her way. As he strode forward, she couldn’t help but notice that his shirt had dried in a disastrously wrinkled fashion since his dunking some three hours before. She was about to inquire innocently about his disgraceful appearance when she felt a solid slap on her backside, followed by the welcome weight of his arm around her shoulders. She returned the hug. Grady, as usual, ignored any hint of a personal exchange between them.
“What’s up?” Zach asked him.
“O-rings. Damn Brown can’t get his till tomorrow, and I got a field needs spraying tonight. And the only tractor I got free-”
“Your John Deere or the Massey?” Zach questioned.
“The John Deere.” Grady paused, jutting a wiry leg forward. “And I wanted to tell you those young peaches look good. You keep a fresh mow like I told you. Don’t want weeds leaching any moisture in this weather.”
Bett only half listened to the farmer talk, more interested in the feel of Zach’s arm on her shoulders, the graze of his shirt against hers. Her husband radiated warmth, strength and the exhaustion of a man who took too few ten-minute breaks-plus a purely virile message that raised her blood pressure. He still hadn’t looked her in the eye.
“Can you give me some idea of what time you want dinner, Zach?” she interrupted them finally.
“I’ll be in as soon as we’ve fixed up Grady’s tractor.
She was about to make for the house when he hooked an arm around her waist and turned her. He was definitely looking her in the eye this time, from about four inches away. Those eyes of his were promising endless retribution for her mischief at the pond.
“You go in, take a shower and relax with an iced tea,” he ordered. “You were up before I was this morning. I’ll worry about dinner.”
“Sure,” Bett agreed, and added demurely, “sir.” She did like a dominating man. And in the meantime, knowing that Grady had a penchant for long-winded conversations, she figured she could at least get the bills opened and the house in livable order before Zach came in.
“I mean it,” Zach said roughly.
She kissed him on the cheek. Grady packed his pipe a mile a minute. After a moment, the two men strode off toward the shop in the barn. Bett stood for just a minute longer in the yard, surrounded by fading sunlight and the dust of an impossibly hot day.
The huge old barn cast gray shadows on the yellow farmyard. Every muscle in her body ached from weariness, yet Bett’s mind was on the semi due in after dinner to load up their peaches from the morning’s pick. Only Zach looked tired. Overtired.
Scolding him would do no good at all. Seducing him directly after dinner might-yes, a nice, totally degenerate, wanton, explosive interlude of lovemaking should do the trick. She could guarantee that Zach would fall asleep afterward. Then she could load the truck by herself and finish up the rest of the next day’s work preparations. He’d never even know.
The plan was excellent. Bett nodded approvingly and headed for the house. She was hotter than an iron, her feet were killing her, and the nape of her neck was prickly under the weight of her shoulder-length hair. But handling her difficult-to-manage husband took priority over her own physical discomforts.
They took care of each other. They had that kind of marriage. Zach was her strength, her laughter, her entire definition of love. There were times when it took every ounce of imagination she had to subtly keep him in his place. Next to her.
Chapter 2
Bett slipped out of her work boots and her socks at the door, wiggled her toes and padded barefoot on the cool terra-cotta floor toward the kitchen. Ignoring a disgraceful layer of dust and casual clutter, her eyes swept over the rest of the downstairs en route, loving it. Their underground house was in the shape of a half-moon, and except for the structural dome and the glass, she and Zach had built it all themselves last winter.
The main floor sprawled around a central double-opening fieldstone fireplace. Sunlight poured into both the living room and kitchen from their shared southern exposure; hidden in the rear of the house were the pantry, the bath, the laundry and Zach’s study. Gently curving walls on the main floor climbed to a vaulted ceiling above, where huge semicircular windows encouraged sunlight to pour into the bedrooms. An open stairway led upward.
There was a mood of space and openness to the entire house. Plants in carved crockery brought the outside in; two leaf-green couches formed a conversation cluster; an old deacon’s bench leaned against the curved wall of the living room. The bookcases were generous; Zach and Bett were both insatiable readers, at least in the winter. Generally, there was a splash of fresh flowers somewhere.
The place wasn’t overcrowded with furniture. Neither wanted to burden their space with excess furnishings, even if they’d had the money to do so. Truthfully, the last thing they’d needed was the expense of a new house, but Uncle John’s derelict old farmhouse had forced the decision. Not only had that ancient structure been crumbling from the foundations, but the furnace worked only from June until August; lights gratuitously went on in the middle of the night; and the plumbing only made a tired effort. It would have taken more money to fix up Uncle John’s house than to build their own. This one, at least, hadn’t been outrageously costly, both because they’d done most of the work themselves and because Zach was a maniac about energy conservation.
And to Bett, their place was distinctly
