Page 21 of Back in the Country
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
Waylon shrugs one muscular shoulder.
“Boss said I could cut out a little early.” I laugh.
“Yeah, I just bet he did.”
There was less than no chance that Hank justletWaylon leave the garage early. As it is, they are looking for extra help all the time just to keep up with the demand. You’d think with a town our size we’d have a shortage of work, but that isn’t the case.
Between the custom restorations they do and the everyday repairs, they are consistently swamped. The Rusty Fender has created a reputation in our little town, and even with the business being run by Rusty’s son, Bruce, that stillmeanssomething.
Family businesses survive in places like this because people want to walk in and be greeted by name. They want to know that they’ll get quality service at a fair price and maybe even a bad cup of coffee from the foyer while they wait.
The world is changing, but Clementine Creek has cornered the market on hospitality. The Rusty Fender embodies that mentality; it just needs an update. I have a plan for that too, but I am waiting for the right time to talk to Bruce.
“Will you take a walk with me?”
“You know it’s like a million degrees out, right?”
“It’s always hot in Tennessee.”
He isn’t wrong.
Sighing, I grab a baseball hat and thread my ponytail through the back. I won’t be cute after this walk, but Waylon is impossible to resist with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Where are we going?”
“Thought we could take a walk through the orchard.” He looks down at me and smiles. “Give you a little shade.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious! You go away and get a fancy degree, and suddenly you’re more comfortable in front of a computer than out in the Tennessee heat.”
“You’re a filthy liar if you’re sayin’ you’d give up air-conditioning to be hot and sweaty.” The words had been full of sass, but when our eyes meet, my breath catches.
“Depends what I’m doin’ to get hot and sweaty, Baby Girl.”
His voice is husky and raw and pure sex.
I resist the urge to fan my face becauseoh boywas that hot. Way holds my gaze for another moment and then blessedly moves down the path toward the orchard.
Our property and the Thayers’ had once been one large compound before it was divided up and sold off. Gran and Pop had owned the land, the orchard, and the assortment of workhouses before Sorren and I came to live with them. When Pop retired, he asked Waylon’s parents if they had any interest in running the orchard. They had not, and it had been put up for sale.
Pop and Gran hadn’t known they had grandkids at the time, but I know they still regretted not being able to pass that piece of family history to us. Pop had inherited the entire homestead, Darling Farms, from his daddy.
Clementine Creek.
Darling Farms.
Likeoh my darlin’ Clementine…
Anyway, it had started out as a joke and had turned into something so much more. When Harry Aubergine purchased the orchard from Pop, he hadn’t known anything about running a farm. He was a businessman, so he kept the original staff and then expanded their operation.
Harry turned Darling Farms into something of a tourist destination, but I always got hit with a sense of nostalgia being here. I grew up running through the orchard and lying under the shade of the trees. Harry never minded, and I always appreciated that. Even now, the orchard feels like home even though it isn’t ours anymore.
Still, it’s charming. Heirloom apples, blueberries, and peaches dominate the fields along with corn and other vegetables. Hayrides and corn mazes announce the change of seasons, even if the temperature is far from crisp and cool.
I gaze around as we walk. The light breeze is my only saving grace, keeping me from completely sweating though my T-shirt.
