Page 8 of Her Juicy Cherry (Sweet Treats 2)

The crowd nods and lets out a gasp of awe because the sight is magnificent. The cherry trees are in full form, and heavy with fruit. Verdant greenery waves in the wind, the boughs literally bent over to near-breaking with ripe cherries. I grimace a bit.

“As you can see, we need help. A lot of it. We have full-time staff on the farm, but during the harvest, we hire temporary help to make sure that everything that needs to get done, gets done. That includes a number of different tasks, but the most important one is of course, the harvest itself. We need to pluck cherries when they hit their peak, and then prepare and package them for sale. That can’t be done without you,” I say meaningfully.

Hank chimes in then.

“But first, lets get you guys settled. We have two dorms, a men’s and a women’s. There’s strict gender segregation for obvious reasons, but I think you’ll find the dorms clean and neat, if spartan. Follow me, and I’ll take you to your accommodations. Dinner will be at six tonight, in the main mess hall.”

“Welcome again,” I add, as the group begins to turn away, following Hank down a dusty dirt path which goes by the tractor shed. But as they slowly head to the dorms, lugging their backpacks and duffel bags, the curvy girl turns to look at me curiously. She doesn’t say anything, but something electric passes through the air between us. Then, I see her catch Hank’s eye and the same arc of energy shoots between them. She nods at both of us, and damn, but is that an extra wiggle to her walk now? Evidently Courtney Harlow has plans that don’t involve cherries at all, and I can’t wait to find out what they are.

5

Courtney

The dorms aren’t much to look at, but that’s okay. It’s like what Hank said: it’s clean and neat, but Spartan. Rows of beds are lined up against opposite walls, each one of them with a thin mattress and white sheets. A trunk lies at the foot of each bed, and there’s an accompanying lock and key so we can keep our belongings secure. We were warned not to bring more than a small bag because there isn’t anywhere to stash our stuff. Seems my duffel bag is just about right.

A door in the back of the women’s dorm leads to communal showers as well as lavatories and sinks. Clean white towels are neatly folded on each mattress, as well as an extra set of sheets. I begin unpacking my bag and carefully putting everything into the trunk.

“So what are you here for?” asks the woman on my left. She looks to be about forty-five and worn down by life. Her skin is the color of mahogany, and she’s got deep brackets around her eyes and mouth. Her graying brown hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her faded blue eyes blink at me blearily.

“Well, I wanted to get away from urban life,” I say judiciously while carefully folding a set of lacy lingerie. “I was living in the big city, and wanted to feel sun on my face for a change.”

The woman pulls a face like she’s tasted something sour and snaps her gum.

“Well, you won’t need that here,” she says, nodding to my lacy lingerie. “This job is about manual labor, honey. They’re going to work your fingers to the bone until you fall into bed each night, dead tired. Hope you don’t snore!” she cackles, placing her stuff on the bed next to mine. She’s got one small tattered bag that looks soiled and ripped. “Name’s Rhea,” she says, sticking one hand out in greeting.

“Courtney,” I say, shaking her hand. Her palm is calloused and rough, and I can tell she notices that mine is soft and white from office life.

“A newbie!” she exclaims. “You’ve never done any manual labor, have you?”

“Well, not really,” I admit in an even tone. “But I’m ready for hard work. Eager for it, even.”

That sets Rhea off into guffaws of laughter.

“Girl, you have no idea what you’re getting into! You’re accustomed to soft beds, an office job, and staring at computers. You have no idea what it’s like to toil under the sun for twelve hours straight until your back aches and your fingers sting.”

I stare at her.

“But you do?”

Rhea merely hums a bit, looking mysterious. She upends her bag onto the mattress, and I see she’s got one plaid shirt, and one pair of jeans. Seems some people travel light.

“You’ll see,” she says mysteriously. “Life gets everyone. It always does.”

This doesn’t sound promising, and I’m not exactly happy to have made Rhea’s acquaintance. But it’s fine because there are more exciting things on my mind: Hank and Huck. The two men are every bit as handsome as their picture on Cherrywood’s webpage. They’re each about six four, with thick, raven hair and sparkling blue eyes. Both men have shoulders heavily muscled from work, as well as strong backs that could haul an ox. Powerful arms hang at their sides, and long legs with thick thighs and lean calves made my mouth water.

---