Read Online Gone Country by Lorelei James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lorelei James
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So what are you ripping out, plowing up, or chopping down today?”
Rielle peeled off her gloves and set them on top of the fence before she left the fenced garden. “I’m about to check my fruit trees to see how close I am to harvest.”
“Then you what? Pick them, load them and haul them to a farmer’s market?”
“Some gets sold locally, but the bulk goes to restaurants across the country.”
“There’s a market for it outside of Wyoming?”
“A much bigger market.”
Gavin fell in step with her as she headed toward the grove of trees at the bottom of a small hill.
Rielle gestured to the orchard. “These are considered old fruit trees. They’d been here thirty years when my parents bought the place thirty years ago. So they’re sixty-year-old trees that’ve never been treated with pesticide. That’s incredibly rare.”
“So you just leave them be and let nature take her course?”
“I prune and water and use natural pest repellents. It usually works. But one year the trees were infested with some weird bug and had zero yield. I figured all the trees were done for because…”
“You couldn’t spray them.”
“Exactly. The next year, the trees came back stronger than ever, no bugs. I chalked it up to nature knowing what the trees needed better than I did.”
He walked alongside her. “I am a clueless urbanite when it comes to trees—with the exception of recognizing orange and grapefruit trees.”
“I think it would be cool to walk into your backyard and pick a grapefruit for breakfast.” She touched a branch of the closest tree. “This is a pine sweet apple.”
“Never heard of that variety.” His eyes lit up. “Ah, this is the tree that lays the golden apples.”
She laughed. “Yep. I have two of these. Next in line are mountain pear trees, again a rarity. These two are the fussiest of all the trees; I never count on any kind of yield.”
“But when it does bear fruit?”
“I get five bucks apiece for them. They’re so tiny, yet have such robust flavor. One chef in Chicago has a standing order to buy the entire crop. He’s anxiously awaiting shipment because it’s been two years since these suckers have bloomed.”
Gavin whistled.
“The next two trees are golden apricot. I sell the fruit to locals or find some use for it in my own cooking and canning. After those are the plum trees. The variety is sweet water pink, another rarity. The skin is such a deep purple it’s almost black, but the flesh is a very pale pink. The fruit doesn’t get big, and it tastes like a cross between a blueberry and a strawberry.”
“What’s the going rate for a sweet water pink plum?”
“Six bucks apiece.”
“Do you sell them around here?”
She shook her head. “Wyomingites won’t spend that on a beer, let alone on a tiny piece of fruit. There’s a Japanese fusion restaurant in San Francisco that takes the whole lot every year. My understanding is the chef slices a single fruit and plates it with single curls of white, dark and milk chocolate and charges twenty-five bucks for it.”
They kept walking and she began to feel self-conscious, blathering on about trees. “You sure you’re interested in this? Or are you just being polite?”
He stopped and grabbed her hand. “I’m very interested.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never known anyone who makes a living off the land the way you do. I mean, yes, the McKays do, but in a different way. I’ve watched you nurturing your garden, slaving to harvest, exhausted but exhilarated. It’s something to behold. I don’t think I could do it year in, year out, being at the whim of nature and the weather.”
Rielle stood close enough to him to let his eyes draw her in. That vivid blue, the same blue all the McKays had, but his eyes seemed…brighter somehow. Truer. Something about Gavin said trust me. This was the first time she’d ever had that gut reaction. Because she didn’t trust easily, that made her attraction to him
Rielle peeled off her gloves and set them on top of the fence before she left the fenced garden. “I’m about to check my fruit trees to see how close I am to harvest.”
“Then you what? Pick them, load them and haul them to a farmer’s market?”
“Some gets sold locally, but the bulk goes to restaurants across the country.”
“There’s a market for it outside of Wyoming?”
“A much bigger market.”
Gavin fell in step with her as she headed toward the grove of trees at the bottom of a small hill.
Rielle gestured to the orchard. “These are considered old fruit trees. They’d been here thirty years when my parents bought the place thirty years ago. So they’re sixty-year-old trees that’ve never been treated with pesticide. That’s incredibly rare.”
“So you just leave them be and let nature take her course?”
“I prune and water and use natural pest repellents. It usually works. But one year the trees were infested with some weird bug and had zero yield. I figured all the trees were done for because…”
“You couldn’t spray them.”
“Exactly. The next year, the trees came back stronger than ever, no bugs. I chalked it up to nature knowing what the trees needed better than I did.”
He walked alongside her. “I am a clueless urbanite when it comes to trees—with the exception of recognizing orange and grapefruit trees.”
“I think it would be cool to walk into your backyard and pick a grapefruit for breakfast.” She touched a branch of the closest tree. “This is a pine sweet apple.”
“Never heard of that variety.” His eyes lit up. “Ah, this is the tree that lays the golden apples.”
She laughed. “Yep. I have two of these. Next in line are mountain pear trees, again a rarity. These two are the fussiest of all the trees; I never count on any kind of yield.”
“But when it does bear fruit?”
“I get five bucks apiece for them. They’re so tiny, yet have such robust flavor. One chef in Chicago has a standing order to buy the entire crop. He’s anxiously awaiting shipment because it’s been two years since these suckers have bloomed.”
Gavin whistled.
“The next two trees are golden apricot. I sell the fruit to locals or find some use for it in my own cooking and canning. After those are the plum trees. The variety is sweet water pink, another rarity. The skin is such a deep purple it’s almost black, but the flesh is a very pale pink. The fruit doesn’t get big, and it tastes like a cross between a blueberry and a strawberry.”
“What’s the going rate for a sweet water pink plum?”
“Six bucks apiece.”
“Do you sell them around here?”
She shook her head. “Wyomingites won’t spend that on a beer, let alone on a tiny piece of fruit. There’s a Japanese fusion restaurant in San Francisco that takes the whole lot every year. My understanding is the chef slices a single fruit and plates it with single curls of white, dark and milk chocolate and charges twenty-five bucks for it.”
They kept walking and she began to feel self-conscious, blathering on about trees. “You sure you’re interested in this? Or are you just being polite?”
He stopped and grabbed her hand. “I’m very interested.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never known anyone who makes a living off the land the way you do. I mean, yes, the McKays do, but in a different way. I’ve watched you nurturing your garden, slaving to harvest, exhausted but exhilarated. It’s something to behold. I don’t think I could do it year in, year out, being at the whim of nature and the weather.”
Rielle stood close enough to him to let his eyes draw her in. That vivid blue, the same blue all the McKays had, but his eyes seemed…brighter somehow. Truer. Something about Gavin said trust me. This was the first time she’d ever had that gut reaction. Because she didn’t trust easily, that made her attraction to him
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