Roz Denny Fox - Molly's Garden

Setting her alarm for 5:00 a.m., she spent a moment drawing a rough map of Adam Hollister’s first-day route.

Since one person couldn’t sell at all farmers’ markets at once, she had local moms manage her booths. The women kept careful records and never cheated her out of a dime. She trusted them more than, say, for instance, men who ran oil companies.

Which reminded Molly she hadn’t looked up the company listed on the card that rep had given her. Maybe tomorrow. Now she was too tired.

* * *

IN THE MORNING, right after breakfast, Molly walked out to the spot where last night she’d seen an unclear motion. The area hadn’t been irrigated so the path had no distinct footprints. She didn’t see any sign to indicate someone had tried to pick in the dark. Peering down into the rows of the pole beans, she thought dirt may have been disturbed in a few places. Coyotes wouldn’t dig. They chased mice and squirrels. But if a migrant happened to be traveling with a dog...

She met the first crew of pickers and directed them to the fields with the produce slated to be sold later that morning in a series of small towns that fell in a circle. The eastern sky banded with faint streaks of gold, and Molly’s crew had just fanned out to pick when she heard the rumbling of a motorcycle. Shading her eyes, she watched her new driver stop next to the silo. Glancing at her watch, she noted that he had showed up about two hours earlier than she’d expected him.

Nitro left his favorite spot under the pecan tree and made a beeline for the newcomer. Molly ground her back teeth together. What was it about Hollister, she wondered, watching her guard dog act like a puppy chasing his tail?

She stepped nearer, at once noticing the man’s broad grin as he removed his helmet. She took in the wrinkles around his eyes, which yesterday she’d termed stormy but altered her perception today. He seemed more approachable.

“You’re early,” she said.

He straightened, still smiling. “Henry said I’d need to fill out tax withholding forms. He suggested I might tour the farm to get an idea of what’s planted where.”

“Oh, sure.” Taking off her gloves, Molly tucked them under her belt. She grew warm feeling the man’s gaze follow her movement. She wore a faded red tank top and jeans with a ripped knee.

Today he was wearing a moss-green, long-sleeved, snap-buttoned shirt and jeans a few washings newer than hers.

Striding past him, she twirled a dial lock and started to open one of the double barn doors. Feeling suddenly surrounded by bulky warmth, Molly froze and glanced back, only to find Adam reaching around her to help.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “That door looks heavy. I thought I’d give you a hand. Do you want it all the way open?”

“Uh, fine.” She let go and ducked out from under his solid arm. “Henry generally has them wide open. The office is there. Well, you’d know that from filling out the application—” she said, breaking off with a shrug. “I’ll get the W-4 forms and a map of how the gardens are laid out.” She stopped again, feeling as if she was running off at the mouth.

“Would you have time to give me the fifty-cent tour?”

It wasn’t a task she’d choose, but since he hadn’t listed farming on his application form, it said something that he was eager to see what she grew.

“I’ll show you around the upper fields planted with produce you’ll be hauling to market this week. My land slopes a mile down to within fifty feet of the river. I have a few hundred acres stretching into McMullen County. The lower part is planted in cabbage and some cranberries. The adjacent section lies fallow now. I hope to add nut trees and citrus soon.”

He finished filling out the two forms she’d handed him, and looked up in surprise. “I didn’t realize you owned so much land.”

“My dad ran cattle until he got too sick. Some say my plan to plant it all so it produces year-round is too ambitious.”

“Hmm.” Adam cleared his throat. “Does your husband do the plowing, harrowing and irrigating? You know...the heavy work.”

Molly set his forms on Henry’s desk and scowled. “I’m single. This is all my bailiwick. I have degrees in agriculture and organic farming. Come on, we’ll start your tour.”

Inclining his head, Adam fell in behind her.

“I’m impressed,” he said some half hour later when they ended up at the truck he’d be driving.

She reached inside the cab and removed a ring with several pages attached. Flipping a few, she selected one. “My crates are color-coded. This sheet shows the code and your stops for today. It lists addresses for the open-air markets. My booths have signs that read McNair Gardens. Your contact is listed above each address.” She turned the page. “This tells which colored crates you leave at which market. You’ll offload those, pick up empties and a money bag with the previous day’s receipts.”

He took the binder, but pinned her with a serious look. “Henry said you’d be accompanying me today and tomorrow.”

“What? No. Why? He didn’t leave a note telling me that.”

“He said Spanish is the primary language of your sales staff. To say mine is rusty would be stretching my abilities. He also said they may hesitate to trust me because your last driver had some problems.”

“My booth handlers are all studying English if they aren’t already fluent.”

But other things ran through Molly’s mind. For one, she pictured running into Tess, to whom she’d vehemently denied that Adam was hot. Today he totally fit the description.

After waging a fierce internal debate she conceded Henry had a point about her staff’s anxiety. “All right. Here’s the ignition key.” She dug the fob out of her pocket. “Drive down to the lower road. Park between the tomatoes and kale and we’ll load up.”

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