Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5) Page 2

  Chelsea wiped her hands on a towel. Should she feel badly that she got out of plums but Keanan didn’t? Nah, a big manly guy like him wouldn’t want to make a salad anyway, and he probably had muscles to burn. Actually, she knew he did. His thick biceps were unmistakable with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Even his tanned forearms flexed muscle as he chopped.

  She averted her gaze. She didn’t find him attractive in any way. She was just fascinated by the sheer bulk of him without an ounce of fat. That was all.

  “Want to swap, Keanan?” asked Sierra.

  He shrugged. “If you like.” His gaze flicked past Sierra to Chelsea.

  Did Keanan seriously have green eyes? That wasn’t just an old wives’ tale about redheads? Not that his hair was exactly red. It was darker, more like auburn. The color of autumn leaves.

  His eyebrows rose.

  She’d been staring. A burn rushed up her cheeks. She grabbed a basket and broke eye contact. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

  Who was she telling? No clue.

  * * *

  Keanan leaned back in his chair after an amazing meal. He’d visited dozens of cooperatives around the world, even stayed at one or two for the better part of a year before moving on. Never had he even contemplated settling down until arriving in northern Idaho last May. But then, he’d never found a community that matched all his values, including spiritual, before this.

  Green Acres filled him with its satisfying physical labor, with the men, women, and families who loved God and valued His creation. Jo Nemesek, one of the original members, bulged with new life. A sign of growth for the future.

  From beyond her, Jo’s husband, Zach, spoke up. “How did today go for everyone?”

  The man was a veterinarian in the nearby town of Galena Landing, yet pitched in solidly on his days off. Keanan could respect a man who just rolled up his sleeves and did what he could.

  “I’m plum tuckered out,” Sierra replied with a grin.

  Keanan laughed.

  Sierra’s husband, Gabe, chuckled as he slid his arm across the back of her chair. “I think we all are. But Noel and I got the last of the plums picked. You’ve got Keanan to thank for sorting out the ones the starlings pecked and tossing a few buckets of those to the pigs.”

  Keanan leaned forward so he could see Gabe better. “How many more boxes outside?”

  Gabe tipped his head to the side and glanced at Noel. “There’s probably another six boxes in the truck. What do you think, Noel?”

  “Two hundred pounds, maybe two fifty.”

  From across the table, Chelsea groaned.

  Had no one told her farming was work? She wore every emotion on her sleeve. Not that her layered pink top had sleeves. Not that her tanned arms could possibly be natural. Not that he cared.

  Keanan yanked his gaze back to Claire. “Are you the one who decides when we’ve canned, dried, and frozen enough plums for this crew for the winter?” He swept his hand to indicate the twelve people around the table, children included.

  “Is food coordinator my new title?” Claire laughed. “I’m sure we have enough. It’s not like plums are the only fruit we have around here. It’s just that we’re not into wasting food, and the good Lord provided plenty of plums this year.”

  “Hoarding is waste of a different kind.” He needed to be careful not to offend anyone. “If the freezer is full of plums, there is no room for meat. If the canning jars are full of plums, where will the tomatoes go?”

  After all, as soon as the plums were dealt with, garden tomatoes would once again resume center stage.

  “Good point.” Claire nodded. “It’s a hard habit to break. Any suggestions?”

  “Do you think anyone in town who could use them?”

  “I could talk to the Smiths,” put in Gabe. “See if they’d like to sell some through Nature’s Pantry.”

  Chelsea tipped two manicured thumbs up.

  Keanan caught the gesture from the corner of his eye. Not that her opinion mattered. She only wanted to get out of the labor. All that water must be hard on her nails.

  “We can give it a try,” Zach said. “I can take a box to the clinic and see if I can give them away. Can you use more at the nursing home, love?” he asked Jo.

  “I already took some in, but the chef might want to make some desserts as well as serving them as a snack.”

  “Don’t all the old people need prunes to keep them regular?” Noel asked.

  Claire glared at him.

  “It was a joke.” He held up both hands.

  “The staff orders prunes by the case from a distributor.” Jo pursed her lips. “They don’t have the means to dry plums anyway, and I’m not sure we could meet the demand.”

  “Did you have any further ideas, Keanan?” asked Claire.

  “I thought I’d go door-to-door with my bike and trailer and see if I could give them away.” He looked around the table, avoiding Chelsea’s gaze. She was new, and didn’t understand all the ins and outs. “I do realize it would take time away from work.”

  “Take a farm truck,” suggested Noel. “Less time, more capacity. I’m all for off-loading these plums to other people who might want them.”

  Gabe leaned forward to look at Keanan past Sierra. “As far as I’m concerned, take what’s left in the truck now. I don’t think the girls want to see more plums in the kitchen any more than you do.”

  Chelsea nodded in Keanan’s peripheral vision, and he felt a surge of irritation. He really shouldn’t let her bug him so much. A city girl like her, she’d be gone in no time. If he were the gambling sort, he’d bet she wouldn’t last a month. At the longest, she’d stay through Thanksgiving. What they needed around here were people who knew how to work, not prissy women in scarves, heels, and nail polish.

  Definitely not a single woman who was doubtless on the hunt for a husband, not that she’d given him a second glance that way. He ought to grow his hair a little longer, maybe stop shaving if it would repel her further. Make sure everyone around here remembered he was single by choice, that throwing him together with Chelsea onto the same work teams just because they were the only singles on the farm — Allison was engaged to Brent and didn’t count — didn’t mean they were the slightest bit suited. Just look at her.

  No, don’t.

  She was watching him. As was everyone else.

  “Keanan? You must’ve been a million miles away.” Jo’s elbow caught his ribs lightly. “Noel asked if you wanted to do it this evening.”

  He nodded, sharper than he’d intended. “Sounds good. I can head out right away.”

  Chelsea jumped up. “Have dessert first. Let me get it.” A moment later she returned to the table with a large cast iron skillet exuding an aroma of sugar, cinnamon, and… plums?

  “Smells great.” Noel stood. “I’ll get the ice cream.”

  “When did you whip this up?” Jo turned to Chelsea. “Last I saw you, you looked like you were dragging.”

  “It didn’t take long. There were plenty of sliced plums.” Chelsea’s gaze caught Keanan’s for an instant. “Besides, the schedule said I was on dessert, and I didn’t want to disappoint.”

  It didn’t smell disappointing in the least.

  Sierra peered across the table. “Is that Auntie Pam’s recipe for plum upside-down cake?”

  Chelsea nodded. “I asked Mom for it. It’s one of the few memories I have of our aunt before she died of cancer.”

  “Oh, man. I’d forgotten all about that recipe.” Sierra’s gaze didn’t leave the dessert as Chelsea served.

  Noel added a scoop of ice cream to each and passed the plates down the long farmhouse table.

  “Plum cake?” asked Jo and Zach’s two-year-old daughter. “Maddie lub plum cake.”

  “Here comes a little dish for you, Maddie,” said Noel. “And one for Finnley.” He handed two smaller servings along.

  “Thank you,” murmured Allison’s five-year-old nephew, Finnley, his eyes fixed on his serving.

&n
bsp; “Maddie tank-u.” The little girl nodded as Jo offered a bowl to her. “Good.”

  Noel returned the ice cream to the freezer as they all dug into dessert.

  The ice cream melted onto the warm cake, forming milky rivulets. Keanan lifted a forkful, allowing the aroma to fill his nostrils before taking his first bite. Amazing. His eyes widened and he couldn’t help the glance he shot at Chelsea.

  Why was she watching him, then looking down with a pink face to match the rest of her? Did she actually care what he thought of it? Him, in particular?

  “Great stuff!” Claire said. “Might need another box of plums in the freezer if that means we can look forward to more of these all winter.”

  Chelsea turned to Claire. “Do you really like it?”

  “Totally. I hope you’ll put the recipe in the file box in the kitchen.”

  Noel took a bite. “This is great, Chelsea.”

  “Wow, it sure is.” Allison saluted her with her fork.

  Chelsea glanced at Keanan.

  He cleared his throat. “Very good.” He wouldn’t be stingy with words of praise. Not over such a delectable dessert.

  She picked up her fork. “I’m glad you all like it.”

  * * *

  Why did it matter to her what Keanan Welsh’s opinion of her cake was? His opinion of her? That was utterly ridiculous.

  Chelsea slammed the last plates into the dishwasher and added detergent. Green detergent, of course. Biodegradable and septic tank safe.

  Well, okay, it was because he didn’t seem to think she could do anything right, not that he’d used words to express his opinion. He didn’t need to. The distaste was evident on his face.

  The farm truck rumbled out of the yard, the sound of its engine diminishing in the distance.

  Finally. Chelsea’s shoulders sagged with relief. With him off the farm, she could relax a little. Feel less judged. Maybe enjoy the final kitchen cleanup, even knowing they’d do it all over again tomorrow, only with tomatoes.

  She glanced at the schedule on the whiteboard as she turned on the dishwasher. Gabe was on cleanup with her, but her brother-in-law hadn’t come in the kitchen yet. Well, there wasn’t much left to do besides the baking dishes. She turned toward the sink.

  Keanan popped the plug into the deep sink and turned on the hot water.

  Chelsea’s heart sped up even as her shoulders slumped. “Um, you’re not Gabe at all.”

  Keanan glanced at her. “Excellent observation.” He added a squirt of detergent.

  Frowning, she looked at the schedule again. No, she hadn’t misread it. “Where’s Gabe?”

  “He phoned the people at Nature’s Pantry and they said they’d take all the plums, so he’s gone to deliver them.”

  “Oh. I guess that makes sense. He used to own that health food store.”

  Keanan’s eyebrows went up. “He did?”

  Aha. Something she knew that he didn’t. “Yes, for years. He sold it around Christmastime last year then went away to school.”

  “Interesting.”

  He didn’t sound interested. His tone was a conversation stopper if she’d ever heard one. Whatever. “Want me to dry, or shall I sweep and do the rest of the cleanup?”

  His jaw twitched. “I should have asked you which you preferred.”

  “It doesn’t matter, really.”

  He shrugged.

  Fine. She’d sweep then do a spot-wash of the floor. A few plums had left sticky splotches. No need to leave those, even though the floor would need attention again tomorrow. She forced her mind out of that direction. From what Sierra had said, they had weeks of daily canning and freezing still to come.

  Chelsea applied the broom to the etched concrete floor with perhaps more enthusiasm than necessary. She eyed the rubber pad by the sink and the bits of kitchen debris around Keanan’s feet. Those hippie sandals must be at least size twelve.

  He shifted out of her way and she quickly ran the broom across the worst of the mat. “Thanks,” she murmured and carried on.

  This was a huge commercial kitchen. How could one guy fill the space the way Keanan did? He took up so much room it even crowded into her head.

  Enough already.

  Chapter 3

  “Oh, come on. You can’t convince me you’re not curious to see what grain bins look like before they become a house.” Sierra leaned against the closed door inside Chelsea’s duplex.

  Seriously? “I’ve seen them before.” Chelsea rubbed her curls with a towel. “Besides, I just got out of the shower and don’t want to catch my death of a cold. Do you know what the temperature is out there this morning?”

  “We had a frost last night, but don’t worry. The garden coverings kept the produce from freezing. The guys pulled the old quilts off before going over to help set up Keanan’s place.”

  So the topic had come around again. Her sister was nothing if not persistent. “I really don’t care about his pet project, okay? I’m not that interested in architecture.”

  Sierra studied her. “Well, that’s a change. You were the one who always wanted to drive around the fancy neighborhoods to look at the houses.”

  “And that has what to do with grain bins? Aren’t you embarrassed what the neighborhood is going to look like?”

  “Not at all.” Sierra pursed her lips. “The pictures Keanan showed us from the Internet looked pretty cool, actually. Innovative recycling, and a home that will last much longer than this duplex.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and eventually it will be recyclable in turn.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. “So recycling is more important than beauty? Than charm?”

  “I think this is going to have both.”

  A large truck’s backup beeps sounded from the end of the driveway.

  “Come on, Chelsea. Don’t be a stick in the mud. Come cheer Keanan on. It’s a big day for him.”

  “Go ahead. Enjoy it. I’m making a pot of tea.”

  Sierra crossed to the range and turned the kettle off. “No, you’re not. Get your jacket on.”

  “Excuse me?” Chelsea dropped her hands to her hips. “Just because you’re my big sister doesn’t give you the ri—”

  “True. This has nothing to do with being part of the Riehl family and everything to do with being part of the Green Acres family.” Sierra marched over to the closet, grabbed Chelsea’s coat, and held it out. Her expression brooked no argument.

  “He is not my family,” muttered Chelsea as she shrugged into the jacket.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Nobody said you had to marry the guy, but you’ve both officially joined the team here. And that means you make an effort.” Sierra paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t make me sorry I recommended you to the others.”

  “Oh, now I’m here only because I’m your sister? Not because I have skills of my own this place badly needs? And not skills at washing plums, I might add.”

  “Grow up, Chels.” Sierra wrenched the door open and stalked outside.

  If only she’d walk away so Chelsea could go back in and turn the kettle on. From her sister’s glare, she guessed that wasn’t happening. Chelsea shoved her feet into her Crocs and followed Sierra out.

  “I really don’t know what’s gotten into you since you moved here. You used to be fun.”

  “So did you.”

  Sierra searched her face. “Okay, really. Something’s gotten under your skin. Want to talk about it?”

  Chelsea sank her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Her sister was right, but how could she tell Sierra what was wrong when she had no clue herself?

  In a few minutes they were close enough to see the crane lift a round corrugated metal object as Keanan watched from beside Brent, their resident contractor. A surge of irritation at the sight of the tall redhead ran through her.

  But that was dumb. Why should she let him bother her? No reason at all. Live and let live. She’d ignore him, and he’d ignore her. The work of the farm would carry on, and sooner or later
he’d get tired of it and abandon his grain bins and move along, rejoining his tent in some foreign country.

  Couldn’t come soon enough. They could use the round structures for storing something like grain. Now there was an idea.

  The first truck moved out of the building site with grinding gears, and the guys bolted the bin’s base to the footings while the second backed into place. The crane lowered the second bin around the first, and Brent climbed up a ladder, probably making sure the space between the two was relatively uniform.

  Gabe slid an arm around Sierra. “Now that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen a house go up.”

  Chelsea shot a look at her brother-in-law. “It doesn’t have a roof. Or windows.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and don’t you think a door would be useful?”

  “All in good time.” Gabe’s gaze slid back to Sierra. “I think this is genius. Want to live in a grain bin, honey? Keanan says there are more where those came from.”

  Sierra tilted her head to one side. “Hmm. I might have to see it finished before I decide one way or the other.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Chelsea shook her head.

  “Not necessarily. I find the idea intriguing.”

  Whatever. Brent, Keanan, and the driver were engaged in an arm-waving discussion, while the other guys came over to the spectator area.

  Chelsea’d had enough. “Excuse me. My morning tea awaits, or I won’t be ready for another tomato canning day.” She turned and strode away, her sister’s protest masked by the semi’s engine.

  She could be glad of one thing. Keanan would no doubt be too busy playing with his big toys to help in the kitchen. She’d gladly put in a longer day if he were occupied elsewhere. It would be a relief, really.

  * * *

  Keanan snapped a chalk line then Brent hauled out his electric saw and carved a doorway out of the exterior bin. Minutes later, he cut the matching hole from the interior bin.

  Brent examined the edges and nodded. “I’ll get the door frame in place before anyone slices a hand on that sharp lip.”