Sunrise Point

Mexican gentleman nodded solemnly. Proudly.
    “Tom usually works around the grove—it’s usually Mrs. Cavanaugh and her foreman, Junior, who handle the hiring.” The boy put out his hand. “I’m Buddy Holson, by the way.”
    She took the hand with a smile. “Nora,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
    The latch to the door finally unlocked; the door opened a crack. Jerome went in first. He came out just a moment later and then Eduardo and Juan entered together. They were out in a second.
    “We’ve all worked here before,” Buddy explained. “Everything is on file for the regulars. Good luck.”
    “Thanks,” she said. “Hope to see you around.”
    “You bet. Me, too,” he said, giving his hat a little touch. And Nora realized, he probably thought she was much younger than she was. It would never occur to him she was actually a single mother. “You must live around here.”
    “Virgin River,” she said.
    “I’m in Clear River. I better go in—see you around.” And he disappeared inside, but was back out in just seconds, slipping a piece of paper into his pocket. With a handsome parting smile and another touch to his hat, he headed for the last pickup parked there.
    Nora took a deep breath and pulled open the door. The man behind the desk looked up at her and she froze momentarily. For no particular reason, she’d been expecting a much older man—the husband of the Mrs. Cavanaugh who usually managed the hiring. But this was a young man. And so handsome that he almost took her breath away. He had wide shoulders, a tanned face, brown hair, expressive brows and the kind of dark brown eyes that would glitter in the sun. His features might be ordinary, but put together so perfectly, he was hot. A hunk with that dangerous wholesome look about him—the look that had trapped her in the past. Her face probably flushed before going completely pale. She had had bad luck with such men and had no reason to assume her luck had changed.
    “Can I help you?” he asked.
    “I’m here about the job. The apple-picking job.”
    “You have experience with apple harvesting?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “I’m a very fast learner and I’m strong. I have tons of energy. And I need a job like this.”
    “Really? What about this job seems right for you?”
    “Reverend Kincaid says it pays pretty well and is kind of short. I’m a single mother and I can probably get help with the kids for a while, then I have two part-time jobs in Virgin River to fall back on when the harvest is over. Sounds perfect for someone like me.”
    “Well, it might be longer than you think. The end of August to almost December, most years. So I guess it wouldn’t be right for—”
    “I might be able to do it—there’s a new day care and preschool in town, if I can afford it.”
    “How old are you?” he asked.
    “Twenty-three.”
    He shook his head. “Already a divorced mother at twenty-three?” he asked.
    The surprise showed on her face for less than a moment. She stood as straight as possible. “There are some questions you’re not allowed to ask me,” she informed him. “It’s the law. If they don’t pertain to the job…”
    “It’s irrelevant. I’m afraid I’ve already hired my max—all people with experience. I’m sorry.”
    That took the starch out of her. Her chin dropped and she briefly looked at the ground. Then she lifted her eyes to his. “Is there any chance something might become available? Because there aren’t many job openings around here.”
    “Listen… Your name?” he asked, standing from behind his messy desk and proving that he was taller than she even guessed.
    “I’m Nora Crane.”
    “Listen, Nora, it can be back-breaking labor and I mean no offense when I say, you don’t appear to be strong enough for a job like this. We generally hire very muscled men and women. We haven’t ever hired kids or slight women—it’s just too frustrating for them.”
    “Buddy’s been working here since junior high… .”
    “He’s a great big kid. Sometimes you have to carry fifty pounds of apples down a tripod ladder. Our harvesting season is grueling.”
    “I can do that,” she said. “I’ve carried my nine-month-old in a backpack and my two-year-old in my arms.” She flexed a muscle in her upper arm. “Motherhood isn’t for sissies. Neither is being broke. I can do the work. I want to do the work.”
    He stared at her in shock for a moment. “Nine months and two years?”
    “Berry