Molly's Garden. Roz Fox Denny
days. And, during peak season, we have high demand six or seven days a week.”
“Good. Let me know what days and which markets you’ll be at. I’ll adjust my schedule so maybe we can grab lunch or dinner together. I didn’t make friends here until I met you.”
Molly nodded. “It’s the same for me, even though I grew up here. Most of my high school friends have left the area. My college friends weren’t from around here. They’re spread all over the globe now.”
“Mom says if I’d gone to college I’d be married by now. But of my former friends who went on to university, those who moved back to Corpus act like I’m a lamebrain or something.”
“They’re the lame ones.” Molly sat back with a sigh. “You have tons of talent.”
“Oh, you are good for my ego. Do you have time to watch a movie?”
“I’d love it, but unfortunately I’ve got to get home.”
“Well, here, let me send you off with a loaf of cranberry bread at least.”
“No, you won’t. I’m buying one of those and a loaf of dark rye. It’ll save me chasing you down at one of the markets only to find you’ve sold out.” She pulled out her billfold.
“Shall I put you on my weekly e-newsletter?
“Please do.” Molly counted out cash and set the bread aside, admiring Tess’s logo on the bags: colorful hearts around the words Bread From The Heart.
“I wish I had something clever to call my business other than McNair Gardens. But Dad already had the arch that said McNair Cattle. It was simpler to change out Cattle for Gardens.”
Taking her cup to the dishwasher, she said, “We’ll have to do this again. My house next,” she said, picking up the bread she’d bought.
“Perfect. I guess if I miss anything about home, it’s that my aunts, uncles and cousins were always popping in and out, bringing food and games.”
Molly tickled Nitro. He got up, shook himself and yawned. Coco sprang up and wagged her tail. “The few times we’ve talked I’ve never thought to ask if you have siblings.”
“No. My mom picked older husbands who didn’t want kids of their own. And she was honest about saying her big family lacked money to go around. She wanted better for me. My dad died when I was five. Luckily I had cousins who were like siblings.”
“I used to wish my dad would remarry and have kids so I’d have siblings,” Molly mused. “Dad claimed he was a one-woman man. People said that was noble. Now that I’m older I think it was an excuse to not risk being hurt again. Cowardly, even.”
“Maybe not. None of us can really know why another person makes the choices they make.”
“I guess I feel so alone in the world since he died. My mom was orphaned and grew up in foster care. Dad’s family all died before him.”
Tess put a hand out and squeezed Molly’s arm. “I’ll be your pretend sister. Truly, if anything says we need to get away from our work and mingle more, you just reminded us that we’re both such loners.”
“Did I sound totally pathetic? All this talk of family made me melancholy.” Striving to regain her earlier joy, Molly hugged Tess and headed for her SUV. The dogs both whined.
Tess captured Coco and they stood on the porch until Molly backed out onto the street.
Nitro hunkered down in the backseat.
It wasn’t that late. But traffic on the freeway seemed extra light. Normally this section was heavily traveled by trucks crossing the border at Nuevo Laredo, although her dad had thought more traffic crossed south at Reynosa, which lead into McAllen. Molly sometimes sold produce in small towns inland from Laredo. But the lion’s share of her business was north of the ranch, toward San Antonio.
It was dark by the time she exited the freeway onto the two-lane road angling toward the ranch. A crescent moon brought out the glitter of stars high overhead. Molly recalled how she used to like riding herd with her father at night.
African nights in the village were even darker, and the stars bigger, closer, for lack of any outdoor lighting.
A rare shooting star caused Molly to brake. She looked for others, but when there weren’t any more, she took the one as a good omen.
Her SUV bumped for a short distance along the private lane that cut across McNair land to the archway entrance. An automatic eye registered her vehicle and she let the engine idle while waiting for the big gate to swing open. Where, as a girl, sagebrush had lined the route from here to the house, now carefully tended vegetable fields flashed green in the arc of her headlights.
As if sensing where they were, Nitro sat up, stuck his head over the seat and panted in Molly’s ear. She reached back and rubbed his nose. “Almost home, boy. Tonight was fun, wasn’t it?”
All at once she saw a slight movement off to her left near the path that ran between bush and pole beans. Her SUV hit a pronounced dip in the road and by the time she’d climbed out onto level ground again, whatever she’d seen was gone.
Nitro began growling and sprang against the right back window.
“Easy, boy. I don’t see anything now.”
Instead of driving head-on into the carport, she turned around and backed in, which left her high beams illuminating the field. Her dad had always carried a loaded handgun beneath his front seat, and often had a rifle prominently displayed in a back window gun rack. Molly had lost count of the number of times he’d counseled her to do the same since she’d come back to nurse him through the cancer.
She knew how to shoot. He’d taught her well. But she didn’t like handling guns and believed they could be turned against a hesitant owner.
Nitro continued to paw at the window even after she shut off the motor and let the lights die. She could turn him loose to investigate, but didn’t, because the shadow might be a coyote. Instead, she clipped on his leash, collected her bread, left the cooler and ran up the three steps to her front door with her key out. She quickly unlocked it and turned on a hall light and the one on the porch.
It was plain by his frenzied barking that Nitro’s keen senses had picked up a scent.
Locking the door, she dragged Nitro into the kitchen and snapped on the bright overheads. Her heart racing, she unleashed Nitro and quickly turned out the kitchen light again. Silencing the dog with a treat, she eased over to the window and scanned the area where she’d seen—something.
Nothing moved. Not even a leaf.
Nitro padded over to his water bowl and proceeded to lap at it noisily.
Still, it took time for Molly’s nerves to settle. Not normally easily frightened, she chalked it up to the attack on her two truck drivers followed by the veiled warnings from the deputy and the less-veiled caution from her insurance agent. He, of course, probably felt compelled to act in her father’s stead as they’d been lifelong friends.
Belatedly she remembered asking Henry to stick a note on her front door if he wasn’t able to hire the new driver so she could prepare to go to market again herself. Eventually, convinced she’d let herself be spooked over something that meant her no harm—even if a poor, hungry person had been trying to steal green beans—she opened the kitchen door and checked all around for a note. Finding none, she closed it with a sigh of relief. For now one problem had been solved. She had a driver.
Setting her alarm for 5:00 a.m., she spent a moment drawing a rough map of Adam Hollister’s first-day route.
Since one person couldn’t sell at all farmers’ markets at once, she had local moms manage her booths. The women kept careful records and never cheated her out of a dime. She trusted them more than, say, for instance, men who ran oil companies.
Which reminded Molly she hadn’t