Читать книгу Molly's Garden - Roz Fox Denny - Страница 11
Оглавление“I DIDN’T SEE any kids working in your fields today,” Adam later said casually, trying to hide that he was relieved. Seeing them had been like plunging a knife in his heart. Until then he hadn’t realized how he’d painstakingly avoided going places where he might run into moms and their kids.
“They’ll be back Thursdays until their planting is ready to harvest. I sprouted their seeds in my greenhouse so they won’t have to wait so long to see results. Hopefully the plants they set out will all be edible before school ends.”
“I don’t get it. Are you teaching a class in gardening or is it a class kids take in school?”
The two of them were moving crates from the ends of rows where pickers had steadily filled them. Molly carried crates to the truck and Adam lifted them onto the flatbed in the order she dictated—the order on the chart she’d given him.
“It’s not a formal class,” she said, and jumped up onto the truck to arrange the crates. “I consider it a hands-on learning experience that leads to good eating habits. Kids gain an appreciation for healthy foods because they like to eat what they help grow. Don’t you agree?”
Adam sort of bobbed his head as he stacked two crates of tomatoes in the spot where she pointed. “I’m impressed by how you have all of this committed to memory. I’m sorry, but you’re getting ahead of me.”
Molly smiled. “If you stick around long enough, remembering which color crate goes to which market becomes a habit.”
“You mean markets receive the same color crate on set days even if the contents change? Today we have lettuce, tomatoes, peas, carrots and radishes. But in looking over your fields, the harvest will change. I notice your corn has good-size ears.”
“Right. See, you’re getting the hang of my process already, and you didn’t start out working with the earth like my previous two drivers.”
“Do you mind if I ask why they left?” Pausing, Adam leaned on a stack of crates and gazed up at Molly.
“I would’ve thought Henry had told you.” Molly sighed. “Last fall my first driver claimed he was hassled by some men he said followed him to a market and shoved him around. He was known to complain a lot, so I ignored him. He quit and left the area.” She frowned. “My second driver’s reliable. He used to work cattle for my dad. A couple of weeks ago he was run off the road and beaten up. Maybe by the same men. They frightened him into quitting driving. He still works for me, but behind the scenes. Listen, I’ll understand if you don’t want the job. I can rerun the ad.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Looking down on him, standing tall and loose-limbed, wearing a crooked little smile, Molly debated with herself about how to answer. She settled on muttering, “No, no, of course not. I hate driving the truck in freeway traffic. During my time with the Peace Corps I only drove a beat-up Jeep on what would be considered here as cow paths. Pass me more crates, please. Markets open before the sun gets too high.”
“Sure.” Adam quickly set half a dozen full crates at her feet. “So you served in the Peace Corps?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She gave a noncommittal shrug.
He jogged past the truck to other rows and returned with more crates of ripe tomatoes. “Getting back to your former drivers. What do you think they did to make enemies?”
“Funny, the sheriff I spoke to seemed to think the enemies are mine.”
“Really?” Adam shaded his eyes and gave her a thorough once-over. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d irritate men.”
His close scrutiny sent a hot flush to Molly’s cheeks. Recovering, she shot back, “Don’t count on that. May I ask what gives you such insight into how someone makes enemies? Might it correlate to jobs you did for Mr. Cole?”
Adam fumbled and almost dropped the crate he’d picked up. “Uh, you talked to Kevin?”
“Henry did.”
“What did Kev have to say? I haven’t seen him in a while. I only spoke to his secretary.”
Molly tossed her head. “Henry said he was vague. He guessed you handled some kind of government job. Mr. Cole told Henry you did some work out of the country. Were you a mercenary?” she asked abruptly.
Adam laughed. “Nothing so exciting. Try engineering.” He dropped three crates at her feet and left to retrieve a new batch.
“Oh.” It wasn’t until he glanced back over one wide shoulder, his eyes curious, that Molly realized she may have sounded disappointed.
And maybe she was.
The rough-and-tumble life she’d made up for him meant he could handle whatever guys wanted to disrupt her business. Also, soldier of fortune fit him. At least it fit his looks.
Adam squinted up at her again. “I have another question. Since you send certain produce to specific markets each day, do buyers always go there looking for those foods? I’m trying to understand this business.”
“Dedicated shoppers may travel to more than one market a week. Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, but what does your sales staff do, say, if more people show up in a morning than they can accommodate? Are there food fights? I’m thinking of a tool sale I attended once where guys came to blows over a limited number of drills.”
She laughed. “Food fights? Farmers’ markets...aren’t like that. Have you never been to one?” When he shook his head, she took a deep breath and explained. “Regulars know to go early. They buy what’s available. Occasionally we have a few vegetables left over. People who can’t afford to buy wander back at the end of the day to see if vendors have produce to give away.”
Adam straightened. “Is that a racket? I mean, couldn’t someone who can afford to buy food game the system?”
“Why would they? People are proud. No one wants a handout.”
He might have made another remark, but Henry drove up, parked and climbed from his aged pickup.
She still had questions about Adam. For instance, he’d said he’d been an engineer for Mr. Cole, but on his application under education, he’d written “some college.” The engineers she’d met in the Peace Corps had had a lot of years of university and bragged about it. So had this man quit college?
Nitro jumped up from his shady spot between the bean rows. He remained on alert until he recognized Henry, then he sank down again in the cool dirt.
“Good morning, you two. Glad to see you showed up early, Adam.” The older man plucked a couple of pea pods out of a crate and ate the peas. Dropping the pods, he smiled. “Sweet. Way better than in the supermarkets.”
Molly stopped shifting crates on the truck bed. “Why would you buy peas at the supermarket when you can walk out in the field and pick all you want?”
“Shouldn’t we check out the competition? Just kidding. I tagged along while Alma did our grocery shopping last night. You aren’t charging enough for peas or string beans.”
Henry and Molly discussed pricing while Adam collected more crates he then set at Molly’s feet.
Henry turned his attention back to Adam. “You wearing a back support belt?”
Molly paused in lashing down a row to stare at the man who’d just shed his long-sleeved shirt. A white undershirt molded to bands of rippling muscles, making Henry’s question seem silly. Adam Hollister had back muscle and every other kind of muscle to spare.
“We have back belts in the barn for the taking. I know, I know...” Henry waved a hand as if to erase Adam’s anticipated objection. “At your age, I scoffed, too. Now I have a bad back. Miss Molly’s daddy grumped because she never wears one.”
She realized that comment brought Adam’s scrutiny to her again. “I should set a good example,” she said. “But they’re hot.”
“How much do you suppose one of these full crates weighs?” Adam asked.
“They vary.” Molly scooted crates filled with eggplant into four separate lines.
Henry answered. “According to OSHA rules those cucumbers are heavy enough to do some muscle damage.”
Molly made a face. “Okay, okay. Point taken. This is the last of this load. We’ll stop at the barn and get back support belts, and use them when we unload. The last thing I need is a squabble with the government’s Occupational Safety and Health Administration.” She lashed down the last two rows of crates and jumped off the truck.
“Adam, if you’ll drive up to the barn, I’ll get Nitro and meet you and Henry there.”
Nodding, he retrieved his shirt from a bean pole and climbed into the cab.
Henry got into his pickup and, after a sputter or two of the ancient motor, drove off.
Molly stopped to thank the pickers whose day was done. “Come to the office for your pay. Anyone who can return tomorrow will pick summer squash, carrots and radishes. Some of you will cut romaine lettuce. If you’ve done lettuce, you know it goes slower since we twist Organically Grown marketing bands around each head.” She repeated what she’d said in Spanish. When no one asked questions, she got Nitro and set off for the barn.
The men stood talking inside the open double doors.
“Henry, would you mind giving Adam the back belts to put in the truck? I’ll open the safe and pay the workers.”
“Are they finished?” Adam said in clear surprise. “They can’t have earned very much in such a short day.” He followed Molly to the office, but took the belts Henry handed him.
“You maybe didn’t notice. They are all women. Most have school-age children at home caring for younger siblings until Mom gets back. They start here at dawn. The short work day suits them.” She spun the dial on a big floor safe, opened the heavy door and took out a stack of clipboards and a money sack.
Adam disappeared with the belts. He came straight back and watched Molly spread clipboards across a big oak desk. She opened a money bag and pulled out stacks of bills and smaller sacks of coin. Taking a seat behind the desk, she glanced past Adam and smiled at a petite woman in a worn cotton housedress. “Luisa, bring me your crate slips.”
The woman made herself smaller to slip past the big man in the doorway. “Excuse me,” he said, scrambling to step aside.
Molly took the woman’s colored slips, counted them out and recorded numbers on pages clipped to the boards. “You picked like a whirlwind today,” she said. Wasting no time, she counted out money and handed it to the woman, who tucked it in a pocket of her dress. In a soft voice she said she’d be back the next day.
One at a time the others filed in to be paid. The entire exercise took only fifteen minutes.
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Adam asked, “Why do you pay people every day?”
“I don’t pay everyone. Only the pickers. The farm crew get checks each Friday because they make a set wage. As you will, too. I trust that works for you.”
“Sure. Whatever,” he said.
“Henry,” Molly called. “Could you put this away and lock the safe? We need to hit the road. I’ll post to the computer when we finish. Since you volunteered me to ride along with Adam, I’ll collect the market receipts and do the banking. It’s only a few blocks out of the way of our last stop.”
Henry bustled into the office. “I figured you’d show him the ropes. I’d do it, but when I finish here I’m needed in the east pasture—sorry, old habits die hard. I mean the east garden. Rick phoned. Someone stole our irrigation heads.”
Molly stopped short of the door.
“Good thing you bought extra when you upgraded the filtration system,” Henry added. “I’ll take him new ones and help install them. I think we need to get water on the onions.”
“Who on earth would steal irrigation heads?” she asked.
Henry shrugged as he stacked her paperwork back in the safe. “Dunno. Maybe migrants who think they’re worth selling for junk.”
“Are they copper?” Adam asked. He’d moved into the conversation and now stood directly behind Molly. “It’s been all over the news lately that thieves are stripping every possible shred of copper wire and fixtures. Apparently that’s a lucrative black market.”
“I think our fixtures are brass,” Molly said, her brow furrowed. “Do we even have a dozen new heads, Henry?”
“I checked. We have exactly twelve. I’ll pull the paperwork so you can reorder. With the weather turning warmer, you’ll lose crops aplenty without regular irrigation.”
Molly’s frown deepened. “Who would steal sprinkler heads?”
“You already asked that.” Adam shifted his gaze from Henry to her.
“Yes, and I may ask it again. Let’s go.” She whistled for Nitro and he bounded out of the shadowy barn.
Lengthening her stride, she reached the truck before Adam, and she had the passenger door open with the dog inside by the time she felt his big hands close around her waist. She jerked away in shock. “What are you doing?”
His expression turned puzzled. “Helping you into the cab.”
“I’m capable of climbing into a truck. Get in your own seat and start this beast.” She tried to prove her agility, but her right boot slipped off the high step. Had Adam not still been in a position to steady her, she probably would have fallen on her backside.
To the man’s credit, he didn’t say a word. He gave her a boost and put his sunglasses on as he rounded the white cab of the Ford F-650.
“Uh, thanks,” she muttered. “That’s what comes from being too cocky,” she added, nudging Nitro over so she had room to sit and buckle in. Still, she glanced at Adam out of the corner of her eye. He seemed fully engaged with starting the truck, shifting it into gear and driving toward the gate.
Point in his favor. No matter that she’d like to think, under similar circumstances, likely she would’ve rubbed it in. Or laughed at least.
He pulled out a cell phone, set it where he could see it on the dash, and tapped it a few times. “I took the liberty of loading the market addresses into my GPS.”
Downshifting, Adam passed through the gate and pulled onto the county road.
“Ramon always ground the gears. Have you driven commercial big rigs?”
Adam spared her a glance that fell away when Nitro flopped down and used his thigh as a head pillow.
“I’ll move him if he’s bothering you,” Molly said. “It’s really odd. We took classes so he’d be my guard dog. He growled at Henry for months. Yet you’re his instant buddy.”
“I haven’t got an explanation. I haven’t had a dog since I was a kid. But he doesn’t bother me. And to answer your previous question, I’ve driven more kinds of vehicles than I can name, including some with the steering wheel on the right.”
Molly studied him. “You didn’t give me any references from abroad. I assume the company you worked for was based in Dallas.”
“Yes.” Slowing, Adam swung onto the freeway on-ramp.
“According to Henry, your boss in Dallas was light on specifics. His guess was that you did government work.”
His eyes on the side-view mirror as he merged with traffic, Adam mumbled, “Some. Yeah.”
“Sounds like that job would be way more exciting than bartending in rural Texas. Why did you leave?”
Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Long enough for Molly to look directly at him and see his jaw tighten and throat muscles working. She thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“I left Dallas for personal reasons,” he said with a ragged edge to his voice. As if to put a defined period at that end of his statement, he stabbed a finger at his phone. “My GPS indicates I should exit at the next ramp. What’s the procedure at the first market?”
“Oh, uh...” Molly felt she’d crossed some line she hadn’t meant to. Quickly she gathered herself. “There’s a road of sorts that runs behind the stalls. Vendor vehicles enter at the north end. You can stop behind our booth. Pull up as close as possible to give other trucks room to pass. Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”
This time he didn’t remark but concentrated on driving, navigating the poorly marked streets that led to the outdoor market.
By then the sun had burned through the morning smog that hung over Laredo. Molly directed Adam down an alley and told him where to stop.
Her two helpers were already at the booth. “Eva, Inarosa, meet Adam, my new driver.”
He left off unhooking bungee cords and touched two fingers to his head by way of a greeting. The women knew Ramon had quit. Still, they gaped at him a moment, said, “¡Hola!” in unison and took the crates he handed down.
“Adam doesn’t speak much Spanish,” Molly told them. “Be patient. Look at it as a great chance to practice your English.” The pair nodded. Then, because people had begun to gather at the booth, they worked to unload, and Eva went to help customers.
Adam loaded the empty crates stacked at the back of the booth without being told. Inarosa handed Molly the bank bag. She exchanged it for an empty one and they were ready to head to the next market.
“That’s a well-oiled operation,” Adam said. “It puts me in mind of—” He broke off and checked his phone GPS. Clearing his throat, plainly he changed what he’d started to say. “I assumed everyone shopped in grocery stores like me.”
Molly wondered what he’d held back. He was obviously a man who kept his private life and thoughts close. She could respect that. Even as it made her more curious about his past. When someone claimed to have left a job and a city for personal reasons, it smacked of something like a bad romance. Or was that a woman thing? Maybe men weren’t so sentimental or vulnerable. Men were more likely to pack up and leave over a disagreement with a boss. Except Adam had given his old boss as a reference. And Henry had said the guy had given Adam a glowing one.
Deep in thought, she missed his next comment until he poked her arm. “I asked if my GPS is correct. Is our next stop Laredo?”
“Sorry. We’re going into the heart of the city. This market caters to foot traffic. Border day-crossers. Have you been to Old Town? A lot of pushcart vendors operate on both sides of the Rio Grande.”
When Adam shook his head, she pointed out glimpses of the river.
He braked to a crawl because the narrow street had become congested with people on three-wheeled bicycle carts.
“Some of those riders will be our customers. Most of them fill their carts and pedal over to Nuevo Laredo where they resell the food for a profit.”
“Does it bother you? I mean, if you know you could drive over there and make more money yourself?”
“It’s not worth it to me to have to deal with customs. They need to scrutinize every crate going and coming. My lettuce could wilt in the time it’d take to wend my way through border officials.”
“Gotcha. Oh, I see the market. It’s a lot more colorful than the last one.”
“This market doesn’t cater to the American trade. Stop right in front of our booth and let’s unload as fast as we can to keep from getting ticketed for holding up traffic. ”
Adam parked in front of the stall Molly pointed to. It resembled a small circus tent. A red banner, stretched between the posts, read Fresco Producer in yellow.
Molly let Nitro out and made short work of introductions than at the last site. The younger of the two women set out a bowl of water for the dog. He nosed around inside the booth and found a meat bone.
“Marisol, you spoil him.” Laughing, Molly paused in handling crates to hug the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman.
Luz, though, teased Molly about hanging on to her hermoso new driver. She seemed freer with her jokes once she learned Adam didn’t speak much Spanish.
Feeling her cheeks burn, Molly rolled her eyes at the laughing women. She collected the receipt bag and hoped Adam was too busy to hear what was said. Anyone who knew a few words of Spanish could figure out Luz had pronounced him a handsome catch. Fortunately, he acted oblivious.
“Phew, this place is crazy,” Adam exclaimed as he inched the truck to the end of the street.
“I love Old Town. It’s teeming with color and life. The old and the new in this part of town blend really well. It’s something I imagined would work in African villages,” she mused. “The difference here is that big chain stores recognize they can make a profit and invest. People in rural Africa are so poor investors won’t risk capital.”
Adam listened attentively but she noticed he didn’t venture his thoughts, so she was surprised when he eventually said, “So, your Peace Corps work was partly in Africa?”
Molly nodded. “All nine years,” she admitted. “I’d still be there if not for my father being diagnosed with prostate cancer that he did nothing about until it got too bad to treat.” She smudged away a tear.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shrugged and they were silent for a moment.
“Dad raised me,” she finally said. “My mom died when I was a toddler. I wanted to think he’d live forever.”
Adam faced the front, gripped the steering wheel and then, one at a time wiped his hands down his thighs. “Uh. So our last stop of the day is still in Laredo?”
“Yes, but on the way out of town. You’ll see the next market serves a very different clientele. Instead of the colorful tiered skirts Luz and her daughter wear, my next managers wear jeans and T-shirts like what I have on.” She grimaced and wished she hadn’t brought his inspection back to her. His eyes had a way of not missing any flaw, and she had her share. “Be careful what you say around them,” she warned him. “These women understand English, but aren’t above pretending they don’t so people gossip in front of them.”
