luck, buddy. I’ll touch base later.”
Adam let Dave go without further response. He stared at the raggedly torn-out ad and the scribbled phone number on the napkin. His drive to become a multimillionaire had lost him Jenny and Lindy, the two most precious things in his life. He’d let chasing after big bucks mean more than his family. The money still sat untapped—where it could stay.
Dave might be betting on the wrong man, though, Adam thought. He’d been out of the oil business for more than two years. Admittedly it had once been his life. Work he’d chosen at seventeen. Next week he’d turn forty-one.
But he couldn’t resist the lure of the hunt. For old times’ sake he’d have a look-see at McNair Gardens.
Looking around the bar, he knew he owed Frank a lot for this job. Frank had seen Adam’s reckless attitude toward life. Good friend that he was, Adam knew Frank would understand his desire to help out a former partner.
After seeing to the old-timers’ refills, he picked up the phone.
“I figured this day would come,” Frank Tully said. “I’m grateful you stuck around and helped out for as long as you did while I renovated the house. Diane said it’s time I get behind the bar, anyway. But, listen, if you go over there and don’t want to get involved, there’s still a job here for you. We’ll work something out. I told you my dad used to bring in live music on weekends. I’d like to do that again. It’s bound to draw crowds, so I’ll need help with control if nothing else.”
“I appreciate your friendship. I’ll take a run over there tomorrow. If the woman hires me, I’ll still need to rent your travel trailer, if I may.”
“Sure. She’d be stupid to not hire you. On the other hand, bud, you may want to lose the scruff.”
“I’ll shave and maybe get my hair trimmed. But why get gussied up?” Adam laughed. “Oh, one other favor. Will you provide a reference? Just don’t mention my past work.”
Adam finished out the night at the bar, all the while his mind straying ahead to hunting for oil again.
* * *
THE FULL-THROATED growl of a motorcycle roaring down her laneway jarred Molly from her task at hand. She stood from where she’d been kneeling among two dozen or so third-graders.
“That’s a cool Harley,” one big-eyed boy said. “My uncle had one, but it got stoled,” he added when Molly took her eyes off the biker to glance down at him.
She signaled one of her teacher helpers. “Callie, would you help them finish this row of carrots? If I’m not back by the time you finish, start on those flats of sugar peas. There’s enough for two long rows.”
“He looks yummy from a distance,” Grace, a teacher, added with a grin.
“Hmm,” was Molly’s response.
Removing her gloves, she tucked them under a sisal belt that held up her ragged jeans.
She stepped out of the raised bed and collected Nitro who’d been dozing in the shade afforded by one of several pecan trees that had been on the property since Molly had played here as a child.
The Doberman seemed to like the kids.
Adults were a different matter.
“Hello?” Molly called out to the stranger, who’d gone into the barn but then come out and gotten on his bike.
* * *
HEARING A SHOUT, Adam paused. He noticed a woman standing at the edge of a newly plowed field. She was a distance away, which gave him time to assess her and the monster dog Dave had mentioned, which hugged her side as she approached.
If she was the current property owner, she was younger than Adam had expected. Slender and willowy, she had a fresh-scrubbed face capped by curly hair, black as a moonless night sky. As shiny and black as her dog’s coat. And her gardens were more extensive than he’d pictured.
What gave him the biggest start was seeing she had young children working in raised dirt beds. Did she employ child labor?
The sound of laughing youngsters hit him like a punch to his gut. The kids looked to be about the age his daughter Lindy would be.
Last month she would have turned seven.
* * *
MOLLY STOPPED WELL short of the man seated astride his motorcycle like a cowboy sat his horse. Up close he looked big and brash in his threadbare jeans and motorcycle boots.
Edging nearer, she saw her own hesitant self in mirrored sunglasses he had yet to remove and she shivered. He held a helmet, wearing a narrow red, white and blue headband that held back taffy-blond hair curling around his ears and collar. He reminded her of a young Brett Michaels, and that wasn’t a bad image.
“I’m Molly McNair. May I help you?” She watched him unsnap a pearl button on the breast pocket of a blue Western-style shirt. She blinked as he extended a piece of paper.
The action was enough to make Nitro do something he’d never done before. He jerked his leash right out of Molly’s grasp and bounded up to the Harley.
She made a grab for him and missed. The next thing that happened was more shocking.
The man, who had yet to identify himself, stripped off his sunglasses with one hand and reached down with the other, murmuring soothingly until the dog dropped to the ground. Nitro rolled onto his back and wriggled in the dirt as the man laughed and scratched his exposed belly.
Molly’s jaw dropped. Impressed but wary, she crossed to the biker and took back her traitorous pet’s leash. It was then she saw the paper that had fluttered from the man’s hand. Her ad, torn from the newspaper. Bending, she picked it up.
“I came about the driver’s position.” The biker twirled his sunglasses by one arm. “Has the job been filled?”
Molly’s cell phone rang and she answered it before replying. It was Henry. He’d seen the man ride down the lane. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m two minutes away.”
“I’m fine. He’s an applicant for the job. Yes, I see you at the barn now. Good. I need to get back to the students. I’ll leave you to give him an application.”
“Okay.” Henry disconnected.
“My manager, Henry Garcia, has applications in the barn office.” She gestured toward the children in the field. “My class awaits.”
“By the way, I’m Adam Hollister,” the man said. He bent and gave Nitro a last few head rubs before climbing off the bike and striding toward where Henry waited.
Molly silently watched him leave. He certainly looked as if he could stand up for himself.
For the farm.
Still, she wondered about the newcomer. Adam Hollister. His eyes, more gray than blue, had roamed over her with disturbing ease. Unless that was her imagination...
Certainly the way he’d made friends with Nitro left her feeling jittery.
She wasn’t one to be smitten by the way a man looked. She’d grown up around good-looking cowboys. And she’d worked with a wide range of men in the Peace Corps.
Nothing had quite piqued her curiosity or affected her equilibrium as quickly as this brief encounter with Adam Hollister.
MOLLY WAVED GOODBYE to the children and teachers who’d loaded onto the school bus. For their first day at the farm they’d accomplished an amazing amount of work.
When she had first approached two elementary schools with her idea, she hadn’t expected immediate support. In her nine years with the Peace Corps she’d come to accept that every request got bogged down in tedious bureaucracy. So she’d