Robyn Carr - Sunrise Point

“Well, it might be longer than you think. The end of August to almost December, most years. So I guess it wouldn’t be right for—”

“I might be able to do it—there’s a new day care and preschool in town, if I can afford it.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-three.”

He shook his head. “Already a divorced mother at twenty-three?” he asked.

The surprise showed on her face for less than a moment. She stood as straight as possible. “There are some questions you’re not allowed to ask me,” she informed him. “It’s the law. If they don’t pertain to the job…”

“It’s irrelevant. I’m afraid I’ve already hired my max—all people with experience. I’m sorry.”

That took the starch out of her. Her chin dropped and she briefly looked at the ground. Then she lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any chance something might become available? Because there aren’t many job openings around here.”

“Listen… Your name?” he asked, standing from behind his messy desk and proving that he was taller than she even guessed.

“I’m Nora Crane.”

“Listen, Nora, it can be back-breaking labor and I mean no offense when I say, you don’t appear to be strong enough for a job like this. We generally hire very muscled men and women. We haven’t ever hired kids or slight women—it’s just too frustrating for them.”

“Buddy’s been working here since junior high… .”

“He’s a great big kid. Sometimes you have to carry fifty pounds of apples down a tripod ladder. Our harvesting season is grueling.”

“I can do that,” she said. “I’ve carried my nine-month-old in a backpack and my two-year-old in my arms.” She flexed a muscle in her upper arm. “Motherhood isn’t for sissies. Neither is being broke. I can do the work. I want to do the work.”

He stared at her in shock for a moment. “Nine months and two years?”

“Berry will be three before long. They’re beautiful, brilliant and they have a terrible addiction to eating.”

“I’m sorry, Nora. I have all the people I need. Do you want to leave a number in case something comes open?”

“The church,” she said with disappointment. “You can leave a message with anyone at the Virgin River Presbyterian Church. I’ll check in with them every day. Twice a day.”

He gave her a very small smile. “I don’t expect anything to come up, but I know the number if something does.” He wrote down her name and referenced the church phone number beside it. “Thanks for coming out here.”

“Sure. I had to try. And if you hear of anything at all, anywhere at all…”

“Of course,” he said, but she knew he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t going to help her get a job.

She left that little office and went to wait by Noah’s truck, leaning against it. She hoped he had a nice visit with Mrs. Cavanaugh since she had inconvenienced him for no reason. No matter what Tom Cavanaugh had said, she knew he had rejected her as not strong or dependable enough for apple picking.

Life hadn’t always been like this for Nora. Well, it had been difficult, but not like now. She hadn’t grown up poor, for one thing. She’d never been what one could call financially comfortable, but she’d always had enough to eat, a roof over her head, decent if inexpensive clothes to wear. She’d gone to college briefly and during that time had had a part-time job, no different from most students. She’d had an unhappy family life, the only child of a bitter single mother. Then she’d found herself to be very susceptible to the flirtations of a hot and sexy minor league baseball player with no earthly clue he’d turn into a hard-core drug addict who would dump her and their two children in a tiny mountain town with no money, their possessions having been sold for his, um, hobby.

Even though times were about as tough as they could get as income went, she’d been lucky to find herself in Virgin River where she had made a few good friends and had the support of people like Noah Kincaid, Mel Sheridan and her neighbors. It might take a while and a little more luck, but eventually she’d manage to pull it together and give her girls a decent place to grow up.

She heard the slamming of a door—it had the distinct sound of a wooden screen door. There was laughter. When she looked up she saw Noah with an attractive woman with thick white hair cut in a modern, short, blown-out style. She was a bit roundish with a generous bosom and just slightly plump hips; her cheeks were rosy from either makeup or sun and her eyebrows shaped and drawn on with a dark brown pencil. She wore lipstick and laughed, showing a very young, attractive smile. Nora couldn’t guess her age. Fifty-eight? Sixty-four? She looked like she should be hosting a country kitchen cooking show. And then she let go a big laugh, leaning into Noah’s arm as she did so.

Nora straightened, since they were walking toward her. She smiled somewhat timidly, feeling so unsure of herself after being rejected from the job.

“Nora, this is Maxie Cavanaugh. This is her orchard and cider operation.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nora,” Maxie said, putting out her hand. Nora noticed that she had a bit of arthritis that bent her fingers at the knuckles, but her nails were still manicured in bright red. “So you’re going to pick apples for us?”

“Well, no, ma’am,” she said. “Your son said he had enough pickers already and couldn’t use me.”

“Son?” Maxie asked. “Girl, that’s my grandson, Tom, and I raised him. Now what is it Reverend Kincaid told me? You have a couple of little daughters and only part-time work at the moment?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I think I’ll get more hours in the fall when they need almost full-time help at the new school. I’ll get a discount on day care, too. Thing is, it’s a brand-new school and still needs all kinds of certification so we won’t get help from the county for a while and I got all excited about a job that could pay pretty well for a couple of… But if there are already enough pickers…”

“I bet there’s room for one more,” she said, smiling. “Wait right here a minute.” And she strode off across the yard to the big barn and its small office.

Nora turned her eyes up to Noah’s. “Grandmother?” she asked. “How old is she?”

“I have no idea,” he said with a shrug. “She’s full of life, isn’t she? It keeps her young. She’s been a fantastic supporter of the church, though she doesn’t go to services very often. She says Sundays are usually her busiest days and when they’re not, she reserves them for sleep. Maxie works hard all week.”

“And that’s her grandson?” Nora asked.

“Yep. She must’ve gotten started early. I think Jack put Tom at about thirty.”

“What’s she going to say to him? Because he doesn’t want to hire me. He took one look at me and pronounced me not strong enough, which is bull, but… But for that matter, you don’t want me to get the job because even you think it’s too much for me.”

“It’s between Maxie and Tom now. And I might’ve been wrong about this idea. Let’s see what happens.”

* * *

Tom Cavanaugh sat at the old desk in the cider press office for a while after Nora left, completely stunned and disappointed. When she first walked in, he thought she was a fresh-faced teenager and his immediate prediction was that Buddy would be after her. She was so damn cute with her ponytail, sweet face and petite body. When she admitted to being twenty-three with two children, he couldn’t hide his shock. But worse than the shock—if she’d told him she was twenty-three and not a single mother, he’d have followed up with some kind of advance that would lead to a date. He wouldn’t have hired her because that could have been problematic, hiring someone who sent little sparks shooting through his body. It would eventually lead to love among the trees, something that was strictly prohibited. Mostly.