The Farmer & The Belle (Baymoor Book 1) Page 5

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t come? Graham is on assignment, but I know he’ll be calling as soon as he gets the news. Eliza will be calling once she and Camille get settled in at their destination. You scared us something awful, but I’m so, so glad to see your wonderful smile.” She kissed his forehead just the way he used to kiss hers when she was little. Nate chuckled and then turned to look at his wife solemnly. He held out his hand for her, and Valerie rushed to his side to clasp it tightly in both of hers, tears filling her eyes.

  “Val you see this?! Our little princess is home. Don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m alright, ssshhh,” he soothingly whispered to her. Valerie’s shoulders shook as she struggled to control her emotions, and Nate felt his throat tighten as he tried to hide his feelings from his wife. They were each other’s world, and all he could think about when the first pain struck, was making sure she would be okay. With her anguished cries in his ears, he prayed to the good Lord not to call him home just yet. He had too much living to do and three wonderful kids to help get settled and find happiness. His prayers had been answered, and now he would fulfill his promise.

  The three of them stayed like that, quietly talking and getting caught up before Georgina reluctantly detracted herself.

  “Well, I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone now. I was going to stop by the restaurant and kill some time. Check-in time at the inn isn’t until 2 p.m.,” she said with a bright smile. Immediately there were protests to her plans.

  “You’re staying with us, young lady! I am staying with Nate for the next two days, and then we’ll see you at home,” Val said in a stern voice. “This is your first time home in forever, so the only place you can check yourself into is your old room,” Valerie said in a tone that brooked no further argument. She looked at Nate for support and found him scowling at their niece as well.

  “Georgina Marie Carlton. You are my flesh and blood. Our home is your home. Are you trying to disgrace us in this town with talk that we denied our kin her home?” he asked indignantly as Valerie pursed her lips and shook her head disapprovingly. “You still have your key, right?”

  She blinked back tears, as again the shame at having stayed away for so long, threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Okay, yes I do, sir. Thank you, guys.” Bending down she quickly kissed her uncle’s cheek and hugged her aunt, closing her eyes as she inhaled the familiar Dior perfume that had been Valerie’s signature scent forever.

  Outside of the hospital, the cool spring breeze gave her goose bumps, reminding her that she wasn’t in Las Vegas anymore. As she got into her rental car and started driving through town, Georgina noticed the changes since she’d been gone. The majority of four-way stops had been replaced with traffic lights. There was now a recreation center next to the senior center. The town park had expanded to include a skate park, basketball and tennis courts, and hiking trails. Along Main Street, new additions included Fluidity, a yoga and Pilates studio, Atlantis Spa, food trucks, and Serving Goddess, a hair and nail salon. But the majority of the buildings remained brick and designed in a mix of Federal, Victorian, and 20th century periods. As a matter of fact, sixty-five of the buildings were noted in the National Register of Historic Places. Georgina smiled fondly as she recalled her family going to movie night in the town square that was tree-lined with a mixture of magnolias, sycamores, bald cypress, and tulip poplars. That was certainly something she missed living in the dessert —all the gorgeous greenery.

  She found a parking spot in front of The Comfort Table restaurant and sat for a moment to take it all in. They had expanded the outside to include rustic-looking wooden picnic tables and benches with big white umbrellas shading them. The tables were filled with customers enjoying lunch. From the expressions on their faces, she knew the food was good. Suddenly Georgina was hungry, not just for food, but surprisingly for the familiarity of this place.

  She got out of her car and walked in. The place was packed, and she could feel curious glances being thrown her way by folks she did not recognize. Georgina took in the changes since she’d last been there. The décor was now modern rustic, the exposed brick walls held a mixture of framed black and white pictures of people and places in Baymoor and mirrors of varying sizes. Instead of individual tables, there were more long wooden picnic tables and benches covered with crisp white linen and geometric shaped wood candle holders. Customer service was also different. Before you waited to be seated and then your server took your order. Now you stood in line and placed your order and a member of the staff brought your food to you. The café was designed so that you had to share space next to whoever decided to sit at the table and get to know them if you didn’t already.

  Nate and Valerie believed in being neighborly and held strong ties to the community. On weekends, Valerie did storytelling at the library, and three times a month Nate hosted cooking classes in addition to working at Cinnamon Farms and planning events hosted there. Georgina took her place at the end of the line and searched the staff for a familiar face but didn’t recognize anyone from the group dressed identically in white short-sleeved button-down dress shirts and dark denim jeans. Their outfits were covered by long, khaki bib aprons and matching baseball caps. She noticed three young women standing together laughing and talking. They were not assisting any of the customers in the dining room, and Georgina knew her aunt and uncle would not approve of such idleness.

  “Welcome to The Comfort Table, ma’am. What would you like to order today?” the young brunette cashier whose badge read the name April printed on it asked with a smile, revealing a mouthful of braces. Behind her was a vintage mirror that took up the entire top half of the wall so you could see who was eating, coming or going from the café. On the left side of the cashier were dozens of different types of daily made pastries. The right side showcased various condiments locally made to compliment them.

  “April, it’s been a very long time since I’ve eaten here. What would you recommend?” Georgina replied, smiling back at her.

  “I would recommend our shrimp n’ grits. It never disappoints,” April smiled at her encouragingly. “Our chef swears that every time he makes it, he can feel his mama hugging him from Heaven.”

  “Ok, sounds good to me. I would also like to order a lemonade. What’s the damage?” Georgina asked, rummaging through her purse for her wallet.

  Suddenly the doors to the back room swung open, making the employees behind the counter jump back as a tall, bald black man appeared. The ferocious scowl on his face had been there since the day he was born, folks liked to say. A thick salt and pepper mustache decorated his top lip. Unlike the staff, his uniform was a white chef’s coat with the name Raymond stitched on the left chest pocket. Black pants and orange crocs completed his outfit. He spoke to the employees in a thick Cajun accent, “What in the hell are y’all doin’?! Get back to work, if you plan on eatin’ at family meal!”

  They scurried to do his bidding under his watchful eye; satisfied that they were working, he turned his hawk-eyed gaze to the patrons, who studiously avoided making eye contact with him. Then Raymond looked over to where Georgina was standing, and his mouth broke into a huge smile. He headed her way with his arms outstretched. She smiled tearfully at him and eagerly went into his arms. For the third time today, she was overcome by emotion at seeing a familiar face. All the special meals he had created just for her. It had been Raymond’s idea to let her make the kids menu when she had come out of her “phase”. He’d regaled her with so many tales of growing up in Louisiana’s bayou, that Georgina felt that if she was ever dropped in the middle of the swamp she would know exactly how to navigate it.

  Raymond engulfed her in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground, making her squeal with delight while other patrons looked on in awe at her bravery.

  “Cherie! When you get back to town? You a sore sight for old Raymond’s eyes! It’s been what twelve years, ma petite amie? You like to give old Raymond an attack of the heart too,”’ he
scolded, tears in his eyes. Keeping her close to him, he faced the restaurant. “Everybody! Everybody! This here is Nate and Valerie’s niece. She’s their baby, all grown up, come back to see us!! Let’s give her a warm Baymoor welcome!”

  Immediately people rushed forward to swarm her as they welcomed her and inquired about her plans while in town. Georgina who was an intensely private person tried not to feel overwhelmed by the claustrophobic feeling of small-town nosiness. She was attempting to politely extract herself from the group when the bell chimed overhead, announcing the arrival of a newcomer.

  Chapter Four

  After leaving the preservation kitchen, Max headed for the main office to speak to Donna Courtland, Cinnamon Farms’ office manager. Max waved to his second-in- command, a large burly Scotsman named Tavish McBain who happened to be pulling into a parking spot as Max reached the office door.

  “Isn’t it a beautiful day, boss?” Tavish asked jovially as he stepped out of an old, paint- peeled, two-seater Toyota truck. The battered vehicle had definitely seen better days and had been around for at least twenty years. Although it looked like shit on the outside, it ran smooth as butter, thanks to Uncle Walter ensuring that it was serviced like clockwork. It was now used in the orchards and vegetable gardens.

  Max grinned as he watched the other man pull his shockingly red shoulder-length curls into a ponytail. “Definitely can’t complain about it, Tavish. How did it go in the orchards today? New hires getting the hang of the routine?”

  “Aye, took to it like ducks to water, they did,” Tavish replied enthusiastically with a big grin. “Nothing like seeing folks appreciate the land and all the good that can come from it. I sent them to the dining hall for breakfast. I’m headed that way as soon as I pop in to say hi to a certain bonnie lass.”

  Max narrowed his eyes at him, “Remind me to make sure you are enrolled in the mandatory sexual harassment class the new hires will be taking shortly.”

  Tavish’s mischievous blue eyes widened innocently, “Ach, and why would I be taking that class again? You’ve made me take it six times already, not that I’m keeping track or anything.”

  “Because I keep hoping that the information in it will stick, and you’ll get your hound dog ass under control, McBain,” Max explained sarcastically, causing Tavish to throw his head back and howl with laughter.

  “I hear you, boss, just giving you some shit. Donna asked me to stop by and grab Marla’s W-2 as she canna leave the hall until later and the office closes early,” he explained referring to Marla Davis, head chef of the dining hall.

  “All right, sounds good. I’m going to have a few words with Donna, and then I’m heading out. Think I’ll use this truck since mine is back at the main house,” Max informed him as they walked into the building and the Scotsman handed him the keys. Secretly he was relieved that Tavish had no designs on Donna. Younger than Max by two years, the Scotsman was a ladies’ man for sure; in the year he’d been working for Max, the farm had seen more than its fair share of local female visitors eager to take one of Tavish’s tours. Unlike Max who followed Nancy Regan’s advice to just say no, Tavish always said yes to their outrageous offers.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Donna chirped, smiling at them. Max smiled warmly at her. Donna Courtland held a special place in his heart. Before leaving his previous profession, she was his personal assistant and was so efficient it was scary. Twenty years older than Max, she’d taken him under her wing and was his eyes and ears as he navigated the shark-infested waters of the law firm on his way to the top. When Max informed her that he was giving his notice, all she’d said was, “Oh goody. Where are we going?”

  As a result, Max spoke to his uncle about her, and Walter agreed that he could use someone with her skills in the main office. Donna was hired on as a receptionist, and when her predecessor retired four years ago, she smoothly transitioned into the role of office manager.

  “Good morning, Donna. I can’t stay; just came in to let you know I’m heading over to The Comfort Table. Jeff get that stuff to you?” Max asked.

  “Indeed, he did,” Donna confirmed. “I’m just crunching the numbers now on how much the project will cost us. When I get the results back I’ll email them to you with a suggested retail price, sir.”

  “Perfect. Are you coming to the house for dinner? We’re grilling if you’re interested,” Max offered, watching her eyes light up as she handed Tavish an envelope.

  “I’ll be there. Can I bring a date?” she asked.

  “You wound me, lassie!” Tavish cried, placing a hand on his chest as if in pain. “I’m an eijit for waiting too long, aren’t I? Now you’ve gone and let some dobber sweep you off your feet.” He gave a deep heartfelt sigh as he looked at Donna sorrowfully. The Scotsman was a flirt of the first order and not the least bit perturbed by the twenty-two-year age difference between himself and Donna.

  The older woman rolled her eyes and reached up to pat his broad shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get over it as soon as you get to the dining hall and see Kendra. Or maybe Lauren? No, no it must be Olivia-”

  “Alright, alright; you’ve made your point, Donna,” Tavish interrupted her hastily as he saw the storm clouds gathering on Max’s face. He shrugged innocently at their boss “Whaaat? I canna help the way the lassies feel about me. I assure you I’ve been on my best behavior.”

  “Save it, MacBain. I should be back in an hour. Call my cell if either of you need anything,” Max informed them, before leaving the office. He got into the beat up truck and started it, grinning as the engine came to life smoothly. As he drove down the long road towards the main entrance of the five-thousand-acre farm, he was filled with the usual strong sense of pride as he viewed his property. If someone had told Max that he would walk away from his dream profession as a lawyer to become a farmer, he would have insisted they be drug-tested on the spot.

  But now he couldn’t imagine anything better than getting up at the crack of dawn to work this land that had been in his family for the last hundred years. One of a few black-owned farms around, Cinnamon Farms was also one of the busiest farmsteads in Wilkins County with a great breeding program for horses, cows, geese, pigs, ducks, sheep, chickens, and turkeys. According to Walter Jennings, another reason Cinnamon Farms was so successful was because he’d had the good business sense to marry his ex-wife, Clarissa Pembrooke, a San Francisco socialite whom he’d met while selling a prize bull to a farmer in St. Helena, California. The farmer had been gracious enough to invite Walter to a friend’s barbecue and Clarissa happened to be there. It was lust mistaken for love at first sight, and they married a week later. It was easily the most impulsive thing the steadfast quiet farmer had ever done, and they would come to regret it.

  The new Mrs. Jennings hated farm life. Four months into marriage, she packed up and headed back to San Francisco, or civilization as she liked to call it, leaving poor Farmer Jennings heartbroken; but somewhat relieved. Though they were both devastated to have a divorce under their belts, the Jennings’ quickly realized that there was a great business opportunity in the mess that was their failed marriage.

  Mrs. Jennings decided to open specialty food shops. Partnering with her ex, they chose to do cheeses, charcuterie, fruit, and pates, all created on the farm. They made specialty baskets that were shipped all over the country, making the farm one of the most profitable and economically sound farmsteads in the U.S.

  As quiet and introverted as he was, Walter Jennings was more than willing to open the farm gates to the public during certain times of the year. For fall, the pumpkin patch and fields were open to the public for hayrides, corn mazes, and picking pumpkins. When the lake froze over during winter, it was the local ice skating rink. With spring came the big Easter egg hunt and carnival, which Max and Donna were currently prepping for.

  Max looked both ways carefully before exiting to his right on the empty two-lane road and headed to town. He smiled and shook his head, still unable to believe that he wasn’t bored ye
t with small town living. In his former profession as a corporate litigator, Max had lived abroad in Bern, Switzerland, though he’d rarely been home enough to enjoy the city or the ultra-modern condo he’d purchased. The prestigious international law firm that hired Max at the age of twenty-six sent him all over the world, and he’d enjoyed traveling to cities like Macau, Athens, Brussels, Madrid, and Sydney.

  It was a beautiful, fast-paced rollercoaster ride that Max got on without hesitation and enjoyed to the fullest. Work was an exciting challenge; attractive women throwing themselves at him were plentiful, and bonuses flowed regularly into his checking account. Yes, life was good and Max had no intentions of slowing down. He was the first one in the office and the last one to leave his desk every night, logging countless hours in his ambitious goal to make history by becoming the youngest junior partner in the firm’s history by the age of thirty. There wasn’t a moment to lose in that intensely driven rat race as he worked tirelessly to exceed the firm’s expectations. But life has a funny way of knowing what you need before you do, and suddenly the ride came to a stop with a screeching halt and Max jumped off. He’d never looked back or for a faster ride to get on.

  Instead, Max had found a slower paced ride in Baymoor, Maryland where he could breathe and work at his own pace. Yes, farm life was hard demanding work, but it brought Max a sense of fulfillment and great enjoyment. He’d turned his back on making millions, shrugged off his parent’s profound disappointment, and up until last night, Max would have sworn that his life was perfect and not lacking in any way, shape or form. Until “Gina” walked into Mo’s and proved him wrong. As he was still thinking about her, he realized he had two choices: One, he could pack up and head to D.C. after everyone left tonight; or two, ask a really good friend to help him find “Gina”.