Grit: A Love Story on 7th and Main Page 4

Fire and water. Whoever said that tattoos were a picture of your life wasn’t wrong.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning at the intersection of 7th Avenue and Main in downtown Metlin, Abby shot out of the truck as soon as Melissa parked it.

  “Don’t leave the market!” Melissa yelled at the disappearing ten-year-old.

  “Okay!”

  She tried her best not to be overprotective. Abby was friends with at least three other kids whose parents had booths on Saturday morning. She had an uncle and almost-aunt with a shop on Main, along with other known adults up and down the street.

  Melissa still worried.

  It was hard not to feel like her little girl was slipping away. Abby had a social calendar that had nothing to do with playdates anymore. She had school friends and riding friends. She had book club friends and 4-H friends. Everyone knew Abby and everyone watched out for her.

  Which made it feel silly for Melissa to worry, even though she did.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  Cary’s deep voice made her turn. “I know.”

  He stood by his grey truck, looking off into the distance, his dark brown eyes piercing. “Doesn’t make you worry any less.”

  “No.”

  He lowered the tailgate on his truck and pulled out the pop-up shade cover he’d set up for his booth. “You know, when I think about what all I did at that age—”

  “Everything.” Melissa tore her eyes away from following Abby and reached for her own shade cover, a bright yellow to catch the attention of the crowds. “Our parents let us do everything.”

  “As long as we were home by dinner.”

  “Same rule at my house.”

  “And we survived,” Cary said.

  Most of us did. Melissa didn’t say it. Saying it would only be a reminder of Calvin, and lately it made Melissa more uncomfortable than usual to bring Calvin up with Cary, even though they’d been friends.

  The weight of silence hung between them as Melissa and Cary set up their neighboring booths and tables. Market organizers walked around the perimeter, answering questions and handing out monthly forms to report sales. The morning had a chill, but Melissa could smell the threat of heat in the air.

  “Gonna be hot,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Cary put out a worn harvest lug of peaches and a box of figs. While Cary’s main crop was citrus of all kinds, he planted a few rows of almost everything so he’d have a year-round presence at the market. “You going to the town council meeting tonight?”

  “I will if I can, but most of those meetings are just old men bitching about the government, so it’s not the highest priority, you know?”

  “I can’t blame you for that. I’m going though, so if you have time—”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “You thought any more what you’re going to do about the horse?”

  Melissa didn’t hide the derision in her voice. “Nothing much I can do. The horse belongs to them. They can put whatever conditions they want on a gift, including only being able to ride when she comes out to visit them.”

  Melissa hadn’t been growing long enough to have year-round fruit, but she had lemons, grapefruit, and a whatever excess fruit they could spare from the kitchen garden her mother kept. Added to that, Joan’s lemon curd and orange marmalade were popular all year round.

  Cary kept his eyes on his table. “That was a shit move, giving her a horse like that.”

  Melissa glanced around to make sure Abby hadn’t snuck back within earshot. “Yeah, it was. But it’s standard for them, so she’s going to have to get used to it. They pulled this stuff with Calvin all the time.”

  “Ox told me about the house.”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t believe it. They built us a house so Calvin wouldn’t leave. It’s still there. No one lives in it. There’s just a cleaner who comes once a month unless we’ve been there to visit.”

  “So you’ve stayed in it?”

  Melissa shrugged. “Better than staying in their mansion.”

  Cary frowned as he took a box cutter and sliced off a piece of cardboard from his truck bed. “Mansion, huh?”

  “It’s weird. Huge place for two people and a live-in cook.” Melissa shook her head. “Though I guess Calvin’s sister also lives on the property with her husband and kids, so it’s not a complete loss.”

  “There is… so much going on there,” Cary said. “But mostly, I’m pissed off on Abby’s behalf.”

  Melissa felt the rush of energy that signaled the return of the Abby.

  “Why are you pissed off, Cary?”

  “Hey”—Melissa caught her daughter’s eye—“don’t say pissed.”

  Abby made a put-upon face. “You say it all the time.”

  Melissa mirrored the face. “And I also drink beer. You can’t do that either. Too bad for you.”

  “So I have to be twenty-one before I can say the word pissed?”

  Was it a ridiculous thing to be fighting about? Yes. Did that matter? Absolutely not.

  “Yeah.” Melissa pulled another lug of lemons from the back of her truck. “You have to be twenty-one to say pissed off. And lots of other bad words too. It’s the law.”

  Abby rolled her eyes hard. “It is not.” She turned to Cary. “Hey, adult.”

  “Hey, kid.”

  “Can I help with the lemonade today?”

  Cary glanced at Melissa. “You can help if your mom says you can.”

  Cary sold fresh-squeezed lemonade from his booth. It was delicious, but Melissa would need that lemonade spiked with a lot more than mint to get her to pay three bucks for a cup.

  Abby’s eyes turned from rolling to pleading. “Please.”

  “That’s fine, but if I need help, you’re over here.”

  She didn’t have anyone to help her in the booth, and every girl needed a bathroom break sometimes.

  “I’ll cover you,” Cary said. “Anytime you need.”

  It shouldn’t have sounded dirty. It really shouldn’t have. But then, Melissa hadn’t had sex in a long, long time. And she had to admit the images that jumped into her head were hardly the first time she’d imagined Cary naked.

  “You too.” She cleared her throat. “I can cover you—your booth. Cover your booth. If you need something. A break.” Fuck, could she sound more awkward? “I can cover your booth for you if you need a break.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he look amused? Melissa refused to meet his eyes, ruthlessly organizing the heirloom tomatoes that were Joan’s pride and joy.

  “Cary, where are the lids?” Abby was digging around in the back seat of Cary’s truck.

  Melissa glanced over her shoulder. “Abby, you better not be making a mess.”

  “She’s fine.” Cary had moved closer. “Look for a big bag under the seat.” His booth was set up, and there was still fifteen minutes before the market opened. “Let me help.”

  He rolled up his sleeves, and Melissa’s mouth watered when she saw his forearms.

  Not fair!

  Did he know what a pair of defined forearms did to a woman?

  Probably. Asshole.

  “Your mom’s tomatoes look great.”

  “You can take some home if they don’t sell.”

  “Your heirlooms sell out every week.”

  “And at four bucks a pound, I have no idea how.”

  Cary turned a wooden crate on its side and started piling zucchini in it. “Is this right?”

  She glanced up. “Yeah.”

  “You should teach lessons on how to display this stuff.”

  “It’s not a secret.” Melissa felt flustered. “I just do what I see at the grocery store.”

  “Yeah, but it looks good.” He finished setting up the right side of the table and turned, then reached over and lifted the crate of summer squash. “You’re observant.”

  I’m observing the hell out of your ass, that’s for sure.

  Dammit, she needed to get her mind off Cary’s
ass. In her defense, he was wearing Wranglers. “Thanks.”

  “Abby, you find the lids?” he called.

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay, get everything ready. Market’s about the open and people are gonna be thirsty.”

  Abby jogged from the truck to the booth, carrying a long bag of plastic lids. “Got ’em.”

  “Okay, put some gloves on and start scooping ice from that bag there, okay?”

  Something in Melissa’s heart twisted a little as she watched Cary walk Abby through making the lemonades, garnishing with fresh mint, and setting them out in an ice-water-filled plastic tub.

  Her daughter was focused and attentive. Abby lived for praise from Cary. She thought he was the epitome of cool.

  And Cary was always there for her daughter. Always. After Calvin had died, he’d made a point to be a regular part of her life. Abby invited him to soccer games and school programs, and Cary went to every one he could.

  Melissa was both grateful and sad. She appreciated Cary, but she missed Calvin. She missed the grandfather who’d raised her. She missed the life her daughter didn’t have with the father who had adored her and wanted to teach her everything.

  Abby should have had all those things. The fact that she didn’t sometimes gave Melissa random spikes of anger even though she knew her daughter was lucky in so many ways.

  Melissa’s first customer came to the booth and distracted her. Then a second arrived. Then a third. And in the space of twenty minutes, she’d gone from contemplating the big questions in life to barely treading water selling fruits, vegetables, and preserves to city people with deep pocketbooks.

  An hour later, she was able to catch her breath. She popped open the folding chair she’d brought and sat in the shade.

  Cary dragged his chair over to hers and sat next to her. “Good traffic this morning.”

  “Getting those food trucks to park over here helped.”

  “So did all the businesses opening early on Saturday.”

  Abby was still perched by the lemonade. “Mom, you want a lemonade?”

  “Thanks, baby, but it’s too early.” Melissa squinted. “I really want a coffee. Is Kathy’s coffee cart here?”

  Abby ran around Cary’s truck. “Yeah, I see her.”

  Melissa rose and grabbed a small bag, stuffing four heirloom tomatoes inside. “See if she’ll trade tomatoes for coffee.” She looked at Cary. “You want one?”

  “Please.”

  Melissa stuffed two more tomatoes in and held them out for Abby, who sprinted away on gangly legs, dodging between customers and browsers.

  Cary laughed behind her.

  “What?” Melissa sat back down.

  “That girl is all legs. It’s like they stretched out and the rest of her hasn’t caught up yet.”

  Melissa smiled. “I was the same way.”

  He cocked his head and glanced at her legs. “Yeah?”

  “Yep. I was a fast runner for a couple of years at the end of elementary. Then the rest of the kids caught up and I stopped growing.”

  “You’ve still got great legs.”

  She felt the heat in her cheeks. “You can’t say stuff like that, Cary.”

  “Says who?” He got up to sell some peaches to a woman with three kids who were grabbing all the samples on toothpicks.

  By the time he sat back down, Melissa had customers. Cary sidled next to her and took orders to the couple waiting in line. He sold two cans of preserves and a couple of tomatoes before they were alone again.

  Melissa was hoping he’d drop the legs comment and move on, but it was Cary, who didn’t know when to let anything lie.

  “So I’m not supposed to say you have great legs?” he asked quietly. “Because you do. And only a blind man wouldn’t notice.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that stuff because we’re not… together, okay?” Melissa kept a smile plastered on her face as customers walked by. “We’re friends.”

  “We’re friends who kiss each other,” he said. “So I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to notice your legs.”

  “Kissed. One time. Why do you keep bringing that up?”

  “Because it was a really good kiss and you ran away.” He stepped close enough that she could feel his body heat. Smell the scent of his skin and his aftershave. “I think it counts as more than one when I still remember what your mouth tastes like.”

  Her face had to be on fire. “Please stop bringing it up.”

  “I will when you tell me you don’t want me.” Cary’s voice dropped. “Tell me you don’t want me—that you have no interest in me beyond friendship—and you won’t hear another word about it. And remember, I know you well enough that I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  Why couldn’t she say the words? Why couldn’t she just lie?

  Abby returned with two coffees in hand. “Sorry it took so long! Kathy had a big line.”

  “No problem!” Melissa was absurdly glad her daughter was back. “Did she make us lattes?”

  “Yeah. That’s the other reason it took so long. She said thanks for the tomatoes.”

  Melissa sipped her coffee even though it was scalding. “Yum. Thanks, baby.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Cary eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup with a look that told Melissa she’d only delayed the conversation, not stopped it. Not for a minute did she think he’d forget about cornering her.

  But at least she’d stalled him. Maybe by the time he brought it up again she’d have a convincing lie.

  Because it would be a lie. There was no way she could say with honesty that she wasn’t interested in Cary. She was insanely attracted to him. No other man in six years had even tempted her. But acting on that attraction? Way too complicated. Maybe Cary didn’t see it, but Melissa wasn’t blinded by her hormones.

  She and Cary had too much history. Too many obstacles. He would always be Calvin’s friend, and she’d always be Calvin’s widow. Seeing anything beyond that opened her heart to too much pain.

  Chapter Four

  Melissa didn’t call him before the council meeting that night—which didn’t surprise him—but she did show up. She even sat next to him with the safe barrier of her purse resting between them.

  “Hey.” She grabbed a notebook and pen from her bag. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Nope. Bud’s still reading the minutes of the last meeting.” He glanced at the purse. It was a formidable barrier filled with notebooks, planners, pens—probably some baling twine, possibly a horseshoe—along with various and sundry other mysteries. He poked at the strap. “Do you have any snacks in there?”

  “You didn’t eat dinner?”

  “I was at the packing house until I drove over here.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “The packing house with all the… fruit? The boxes and boxes of fruit?”

  “Do you know how much fruit I eat on a daily basis?” Cary peeked in her purse again. “I bet you have a Snickers or something.”

  Melissa opened her purse and pulled out a small bag of almonds and a granola bar. “Take your pick.”

  He grabbed both and smiled when she rolled her eyes. “It is forever the purse of mysteries.”

  “It’s the purse of the working mother.”

  “You were an A student, weren’t you?”

  She clicked her pen and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Every single year.”

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I only got As in shop class. Drove my parents crazy.”

  “You and my brother,” she whispered. “What’s JPR Holdings?”

  “What?” He hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been looking at her legs, which were nicely encased in a pair of worn jeans.

  Cary really loved Melissa’s legs. He had plans for those legs.

  She nodded toward the front of Veterans’ Hall, and Cary turned to his attention back to Bud Rogers, the current council president.

  “…followed up their presentation last month with a representa
tive coming to visit tonight, and we thank them for that. Some of my fellow council had a few questions—”

  “You could say that.” The interruption came from Les Arthur, one of the oldest and most successful orange growers Cary knew. “I appreciate you all showing up tonight. I don’t appreciate your pressing for a vote this early.”

  Cary sat up straight and turned his attention toward the table in front. Les was notoriously quiet, so for him to interrupt meant something needed attention. He was on the council as a favor to the town. At nearly eighty, he was a well-respected member of the community and a local philanthropist. When he spoke, people listened.

  “What did I miss last month?” Melissa asked. “What presentation?”

  “I don’t remember. I was talking with George after the meeting. I remember something about a handout, but I lost track of time and…” Shit. More muttering at the head table.

  “The very brief introduction we were given to this project last month doesn’t even begin to touch on the realities.” Tammy Barber, the only woman on the council, raised her voice to speak. “No one mentioned how many houses this developer wants to build. I read every page of this proposal, and I’m concerned—”

  “How many houses?”—a shout from the back of the room—“What kind of development are we talking about here?”

  Normally Cary hated when people interrupted, but he had the same question.

  “Development?” Melissa hissed. “What kind of development?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded like they were just going to subdivide the old Allen ranch and turn it into a few play ranches, that type of thing. No one even mentioned the word development.” Cary was really wishing he’d grabbed that handout.

  Melissa wasn’t shy. She raised her hand a second before she spoke. “I missed the meeting last month, Tammy. Do we still have copies of this handout?”

  “How many houses?” The question was asked again. “Just answer that.”

  Tammy Barber leaned forward. “Two thousand houses.”

  “What the fuck?” Cary cleared his throat. “Pardon me, but what?”

  “Two thousand?” Melissa was as shocked as he was. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, everyone hold their horses here.” Bud raised his hands. “That’s why we’re talking about it. And that’s why JPR Holdings sent one of their top people here to answer your questions. But let’s not forget about our budget shortfall last year. This kind of development would be a huge boost for the local economy.”