A Second Harvest (Men of Lancaster County Book 1) Read online

  Christie led the way around the side of the house. The grass, David noted, desperately needed cutting. It was early October, so it had stopped growing for the year, but it probably hadn’t been mowed in months. It was too long and shouldn’t be left like that over the winter. Maybe he should offer the use of his tractor mower.

  Or maybe he should just stay out of Christie Landon’s business.

  Ruth had kept an old rusty barrel in the corner of her backyard for burning. David saw her use it many a time. Now puffs of smoke curled out of it, limp and black.

  “Um, I wasn’t sure what to do with all the leaves, so I googled it. I read that you can burn them, and Aunt Ruth had this barrel, so I figured that’s what she did. But I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”

  He googled what to do with fallen leaves? The thought boggled David’s mind, but Christie sounded unsure, and David’s instinct was to be neighborly and help. If there was one thing he knew about, it was the endless task that was fall leaf disposal.

  He walked up to the barrel and peered in as best he could with the smoke, but he already knew what was wrong. “The leaves are too wet. That’s why they’re not burning well.”

  He allowed himself a glance at Christie’s face to see his reaction. Christie bit his lip and looked sheepish. “Oh. That’s completely logical, isn’t it? I just raked them up and stuck them in there.”

  “It rained pretty hard last night. Best to let them lie until they mostly dry out before raking them up.”

  Christie nodded. His blue eyes sparkled with wry amusement. “Good to know. Guess I suck at this home ownership thing.”

  David blinked at the language. “Suck” wasn’t a word most people he knew would use. He stared at the barrel of leaves, unsure what to say next. You’ll get used to it? Ask me about leaves anytime?

  “So did you just come over to introduce yourself? Or is there something I can do for you, David?”

  David felt his neck heat. Right. “Yeah, I, um, wanted to discuss your field.”

  “My field?”

  David pointed to the west, toward his farm. “Your property extends that way. Two acres of it are part of that cornfield there. Your aunt let me farm it with my acres, and I paid her rent for it once a year in December. So I was wondering if you want to do the same, or if you have other plans for the land.”

  “Oh my God!” Christie looked at the field in surprise. “I own corn?”

  David hid a smile over the amazement in his voice. “Well. Not exactly. You own the land. Your aunt rented it to me for this past year, so technically the corn is mine.”

  “How much of that field is mine? Two acres, you said?”

  He sounded like he had no idea how to eyeball two acres, so David took a step closer to Christie so he could point. “You see that tree there on the lane? The one with the crooked branch? That’s about where your aunt’s property ends. Follow that straight across toward that red barn over there. What’s in front of it is your two acres.”

  “Sick!”

  David looked at Christie doubtfully, but he appeared to mean it as a good thing. “Uh, there are markers in the ground, but you can’t see ’em from here.”

  Christie took a step back as if to see better, and that put him rather close to David. David wanted to move out of the way, but he didn’t want to appear skittish. His heart started pounding.

  “Do you always grow corn there? When do you, um, plow it down? Under? Harvest! That’s the word. When do you harvest it? Is it good to eat? That would be amazing to eat corn that grew on my own land.”

  Christie looked over his shoulder at David. His blue eyes had long blond lashes, and they were pretty, too pretty, girl pretty—and too darn close. But they were also inquisitive and lively eyes. Christie’s face, on the other hand, was entirely masculine from this distance. A faint trace of fuzz grew on his chin and above his lip, and his nose and brows were strong. Something about the mix made David feel hot and cold at the same time.

  He forced his feet back two steps. “Um. No. Not always corn. Every few years I plant soybeans or a cover crop.”

  Christie kept looking at him, curiously now. David half turned away. A light sweat broke out on his back. Why did Christie make him so uncomfortable? He was a grown man, for God’s sake. He’d always been shy with new people, but he should be able to talk over business without getting so nervous. “So… do you still want to rent the field to me? Or maybe you plan to sell this place.”

  “How much?”

  “What?”

  “How much did you pay my aunt to rent the field?”

  “Seven hundred a year.”

  “That’s all?”

  David scratched his neck. “It’s actually high compared to the average price per acre around here. But since it was just two acres, I wanted to make it worth your aunt’s while.” And he also wanted to give the old woman a little bit of income. He didn’t say that.

  “Hmm. Well, to be honest, David, I do plan to sell the place. I’m just not sure when. I figured I’d be here for at least six months, but—”

  David looked toward the house in an effort to escape Christie’s gaze. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing—smoke coming out of the back screen door. “Hey! Something’s burning!”

  “Oh shit!” Christie yelled. He ran for the house.

  He banged inside the back door. David stood there stupidly. He didn’t know if he should follow, but it would be rude—not to mention cowardly—to leave Christie to deal with a house fire alone. He ran for the back door.

  The kitchen was just inside, and he found Christie taking a cookie sheet of smoking charred lumps out of the oven, coughing.

  David held open the back door. “Take it outside!”

  Christie nodded and pushed past him with the smoking tray. He put it on the little table Ruth always kept out back. The smoke ascended into the open air.

  “I can’t believe I did that!” Christie rolled his eyes at himself. “I set a timer, but I didn’t even hear it out here.”

  “Don’t you have a smoke alarm?”

  “I… have no idea?” Christie said sheepishly.

  David sighed. “Come on. Let’s look for one.”

  They went back inside the house. When David visited Ruth in the past, he was only ever in her living room near the front door. It was their December ritual. He came by with his annual rent check and a wrapped ham. She gave him a tin of Christmas cookies and wished his family Merry Christmas. They had a perfectly amiable business relationship, but not a close one.

  The little house was sorely in need of updating, David noticed. The wallpaper, paint, and curtains hadn’t been changed in at least two decades. He helped Christie open windows in the kitchen to clear the smoke. Several stuck badly. Then he walked into the attached living room looking for smoke detectors. He didn’t see one.

  Christie followed him, not saying a word. When David reached the short hallway that probably led to the bedrooms and bathroom, he stopped and glanced at Christie questioningly.

  “Please.” Christie waved a hand at the hallway. “I’d like to know if I need to have one installed. Apparently I’m not to be trusted with anything involving combustion.”

  David smiled despite himself at Christie’s choice of words. He liked the smart way the kid talked. He went on. At the end of the small hallway, there was an old smoke detector on the ceiling. It was once white, but it had aged to a gnarly yellow. The light wasn’t on. Given its location, David would bet good money it was the only one in the house.

  He needed to take the cover off and check the battery. The ceilings weren’t very high, and he found he could just grasp the unit if he stretched up as far as he could, but his bulky coat restricted his movements. He took it off and laid it on the floor. He reached up with both hands and tried to twist off the cover. It hadn’t been removed in a long time, and it was stuck. Probably that’s why Ruth gave up putting in new batteries. She wouldn’t have had much arm strength at her advanced age
. The cover wasn’t sitting in the grove right. He jiggled it with his fingers.

  There was a sound like a whimper of protest from Christie. David looked at him, wondering what the problem was, but Christie was studiously looking at the wall, his cheeks a little flushed.

  “Sorry, I’m trying not to break it.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  The cover finally gave way, turning. David removed it slowly. The inside showed an old battery and a few spiderwebs. “Have you got a nine-volt?”

  “There’s a junk drawer in the kitchen. I’ll check.”

  Christie went down the hall. There was the sound of rummaging. David wiped his brow with the sleeve of his plaid shirt. Why did Christie discombobulate him so? Yeah, he was better looking and more worldly than anyone David knew. He had multiple earrings in both ears, and his smile was white and perfect. Still, he was very friendly. He even tugged at David’s sympathy a bit, being so clearly out of his depth. There was something appealing about him with that slender face and warm blue eyes.

  Heck, he was just a kid, probably not much older than Joe, David reminded himself firmly.

  When Christie returned he wore a determined look and carried a pack of nine-volt batteries. “Found some.”

  David took one from the pack and replaced the dead battery in the smoke alarm. The little indicator light went green. He put the cover back on carefully, making sure to get it in the right grooves this time so Christie wouldn’t have any difficulty if he needed to change the battery again.

  “Well, that should do it.”

  “Thank you so much. I should have thought to check that.”

  David shrugged. “There’s a lot to do when you move into a new place.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been slowly boxing up all my aunt’s stuff.” His voice was a little sad.

  David knew exactly what that was like—boxing up the pieces of someone else’s life. He’d packed away all of Susan’s things in their bedroom, but he still hadn’t touched her sewing room. Had no idea where to even start in there.

  His sense of discomfort returned. They were standing together in the small hallway, which meant they were too close—again. “Well. If you want to think about the field and let me know. My contract with your aunt doesn’t run out until the end of the year, so you have time. I also wanted to let you know I’ll be taking the corn down next week. My tractor is loud, but it won’t take longer than a day.”

  Christie nodded. “Okay. No problem. Um….” He gestured over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “I put on some coffee.”

  David stuffed his hands in his coat. “I should probably get going.”

  “One cup?” Christie’s face screwed up hopefully. “I can’t leave you with the impression I’m completely helpless!”

  The anxiety in David’s stomach tightened some more. He wanted to escape, but Christie’s expression made him reluctant to force the issue. Maybe the kid was lonely. He probably didn’t know anyone in the area.

  “All right. One cup. Thank you.”

  Christie smiled gratefully and led the way to the kitchen. The coffeemaker was on the counter, hissing and percolating away. It was probably Ruth’s because it looked ancient. Christie took two china cups and saucers from a cupboard, humming happily. “Do you like cookies? The ones I burned were the last of the batch. I have some good ones from earlier.”

  It seemed rude to refuse, though the lingering smell of burned pastry and his own nerves left David without much of an appetite. “I’ll try one.”

  Christie poured the cups and put them on the table with saucers and spoons. He put out a small carton of half-and-half and a bowl of what looked like sugar. Then he loaded up a plate with cookies that had been cooling on a rack. David took a seat at the small pine table, and Christie brought the plate over and sat down too.

  He looked up at David and smiled shyly. “I found Aunt Ruth’s box of recipe cards and decided to try a few of them. There’s not a whole lot to do around here.” He pushed the plate a tiny bit closer to David. “I thought these sounded interesting. They have coconut, cherries, dates, and walnuts in them.”

  They looked delicious, lightly golden and chock-full of the ingredients Christie had mentioned.

  “Your aunt was a good cook. She baked cakes for weddings and such.”

  “She did? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yup. She had a good reputation. Do you bake a lot too?” David was having a hard time getting a handle on Christie. None of the men in David’s family—his father, himself, nor his son—ever did more than boil water and grill meat on the barbeque. But then he already knew Christie wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met.

  Christie shrugged. “I can cook. I took home ec in high school, and I really liked it. But when I lived in New York, I just did the basics. Pasta. Salads. Things like that. It’s kind of fun, though, to get into it with this bigger kitchen. And, I don’t know… it just feels like the homey, country thing to do.”

  He said the homey country thing as if it were a novelty. David took a bite of a cookie. It was actually quite good. He hadn’t had decent home-baked cookies lately. Susan hadn’t felt well enough to do much in the kitchen her last few years. After the funeral the church ladies inundated him with food for a few weeks. But lately the only one who tried to feed him was Evelyn Robeson, and her food was practically inedible.

  David finished the cookie and drank a sip of coffee before saying anything. He still felt awkward. “The cookies are very good.”

  Christie’s smile was wide and genuine and so immaculate it looked like an advertisement. “Thanks. Would you, um, like to take some with you? For your kids? Your wife?”

  Christie licked his lips nervously. David’s eyes flickered down to follow the motion then back up to Christie’s eyes. “I live alone,” he said stiffly. “My wife passed a few years ago, and my son and daughter are both in college.”

  “Oh.” Christie’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”

  “Thank you.” David stood up. “Well. I appreciate the coffee and cookie. I really should be going, though. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Okay. Hang on a sec.” Christie got up, grabbed a plate from the cupboard, and started piling cookies on top of it. “Please do me a favor and take some of these. I’ll blow up like a balloon if I eat them all.”

  “Nah. I shouldn’t.”

  “Honestly. Please take them.” Christie’s big blue eyes implored.

  David’s resolve crumbled. “Well… if you’re sure.”

  “I am so sure!” Christie brought the plate over to David with an odd little sashay in his hips. “And I’m sorry about the whole burning oven thing! I got distracted in the backyard and totally forgot I’d put in a sheet of—”

  David suddenly gasped. His jaw dropped open.

  “What’s wrong?” Christie asked.

  “I have a TV dinner in the oven! I have to go!”

  David grabbed the plate and ran out of the house. He ran all the way back to his place on the farm lane, trying not to spill the cookies. When he got close to his old fieldstone house, he could hear the shrill of the smoke alarm.

  He yanked open the kitchen door to the acrid scent of smoke. His two dogs fled the house and the horrible noise, nearly knocking him over. He tossed the cookies on the counter, grabbed an oven mitt, and pulled the silver tray of blackened food from the oven. He took it outside, coughing, and threw it in the trash can by the garage.

  His coughs became chuckles and those became laughs. Holy Toledo! How could he have forgotten the TV dinner? He and Christie Landon had better avoid each other from here on out. Or as Christie foretold, they might end up burning down half the state of Pennsylvania.

  Chapter 4

  Christie’s pen flew over his Wacom tablet in a blur. His sketch took life on the large monitor, and it was good. The rolling farmscape and the swirling clouds above it had a woodcut feel.

  He’d been put on a brand identity campaign for a young organic d
airy company. His boss joked it was appropriate given where Christie was now living, and today, looking out the window, he’d been inspired to just sketch.

  It had been a while since Christie used serious sketching as part of his design work, but this brand wanted something old-fashioned yet hip. The Wacom filter he was using made his strokes look like a fine charcoal pencil. It was fucking awesome.

  He saved, considered, erased, redrew. He liked thick lines for this, almost a Grant Wood style, but modern. He wanted to feel the life in the soil on the foreground, making it look solid from a distance but actually comprised of a dozen swirling lines and a few cool-looking beetles too.

  He looked up photo reference for a cow on the net, then started sketching it on a new layer.

  The hours flew by as he worked. When he finally became conscious again of his surroundings, it was thanks to the loud sound of a motor. Christie blinked and looked out the window. He could see the top of a tractor approaching through the towering stalks of corn out back. Right. David Fisher said he’d be harvesting the corn soon.

  Christie paused his pen over the Wacom tablet. He watched as a green tractor came through the corn like a land-eating monster, made it fully into view, and turned. Through the glass window in the cab, Christie could see David manning the wheel and watching the side mirror as he drove. He was dressed in a tan canvas jacket that was unbuttoned. Underneath he wore a green plaid shirt buttoned to the collar.

  Nothing about this outfit should have been remotely sexy. But damn, it was. The man was hot, that was all.

  Christie put his elbow on his desk and his chin on his palm and watched the tractor. He should not be perving on his farmer neighbor, but then entertainment was a bit scarce here in Amish country. When David came by two days ago to talk about the field, Christie probably hadn’t subtle about his immediate attraction. Luckily David was too clueless to get it. He was hetero with a capital H and probably unaware of what a silver fox he was or that Christie was even gay. Talk about different worlds!

  David Fisher was the first man to give Christie honest-to-god butterflies in ages. He had an attractive, honest face with full lips framed by a short brown-and-gray beard. His smile, which made only a few brief appearances, was shy and real. He was butch and earthy, so different from the metrosexuals and club types Christie knew in New York. He found that unpretentious manliness super sexy.