Family Trees (7 page)

“Thank you.” He reached out his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Instead of a handshake, Ginny took his hand, held it in the warmth of her soft palm, and gave it a nurturing pat. “And if you ever visit Bayfield again, do it in early October when the apples are at their peak. We have an apple festival that is quite a hoot.”

“I'll remember that.” He smiled, released her hand, and headed out the door.

“One more thing . . . ?” Ginny called out.

He held the door open and looked back.

“When you find her, tell her that I'd like her to wrap it up. My husband is having some produce buyers from the Twin Cities up this afternoon and he'll need to use the truck. I'm sure she can find something else to do during the remainder of the day.” She either winked at him or blinked away something in her right eye. Considering the way her eyes nearly creased shut when she smiled, it was difficult to know for sure.

“Of course.” Ryan thanked her and walked outside with a boost of optimism.

After stashing his purchases in the car, he headed off in the direction Ginny had instructed. He passed a “Pick Your Own Apples” sign and wished it was October. That would have given him an excuse for showing up unannounced in the orchard. As he walked between the rows of apple trees, he thought it would probably end poorly, but it felt right—and exciting—and real. It could be a huge mistake, but he was willing to give it a second shot.

It didn't take long before Ryan spotted Shelby. Compared to how she looked earlier, her jean shorts were now scuffed with dirt and her T-shirt clung to her skin, which glistened with perspiration. She looked endearing with her hair pulled up in a ponytail that looped through the back of a red baseball cap. Instead of bounding up to her, he paused under the cool shade of a tree to consider the best way to introduce himself. Again.

Standing on a ladder that leaned against the tree trunk, she appeared to be checking the condition of the apples. There was a large bucket on the ground beside her ladder where she seemed to be collecting damaged fruit and shoots that must have been pulled from the tree. Shelby moved effortlessly. While it was obviously a strenuous task, particularly in the rising heat, she hardly appeared out of breath. There was rhythm to her movements, as if she were in synch with the trees.

He knew very little about apple farming, but from what he could observe, it seemed the Meyers family would have an abundant crop. The tree branches were heavy with fruit. The apples grew in clusters throughout the tree, even hanging down from the branch tips like grapes from a vine. The apples were young, pale green and blushed with pink, with only a few displaying a touch of red.

When Shelby paused to wipe the sweat from her brow with her work-gloved hand and readjust her hat, Ryan saw his opportunity. He took a deep breath and slowly stepped out from behind the tree.

C
HAPTER
7

“H
ello?” came a man's voice from the orchard shadows. Shelby gripped the ladder to steady herself and looked wide-eyed toward the sound. With the sun directly behind the man, she couldn't make out the details of his face.

“We aren't picking apples yet. It's too early in the season,” she called out, raising her free hand above her eyes to try to block the sun and get a better look. “But you can find berries on the south side of the barn.”

“Yes,” he said, making his slow approach. “I know.”

“Someone at the store can help you.”

The appearance of this stranger put her on guard. People rarely wandered into this section of the orchard, let alone men on their own. In fact, she doubted if she had
ever
seen a man come out alone. Men on dates, yes. Men with families, definitely. But alone? Never. So why was this one here? She instinctively looked around to see if anyone else was nearby, in case she needed help. Seeing no one, Shelby stepped down from the ladder.

“You should head out to the other part of the farm,” she said again, with more insistence, while pointing in the direction he had come.

He raised his hand in greeting. “I came out to see you.”

“That's far enough!” she said sternly, walking toward her truck without taking her eyes off of the man. She swallowed hard. “You need to back the hell—” Just then a cloud blocked out the sun and, in its shadow, the man's face came into view. It was him. The tourist who had helped her with the pies. She sighed with relief. As the tension in her arms and shoulders relaxed, her fear turned into bewilderment. It still didn't make sense why any man would be in the orchards, let alone this one, who certainly must have had more interesting things to do on his vacation.

“I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“That's an understatement.”

He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his khaki shorts and shrugged. “Should I go?”

“Yes—I mean, no,” she faltered. Shelby rubbed the side of her neck while considering the man standing before her, unaware that in doing so she left a smear of dirt across her skin. “You don't have to go. I didn't realize it was you.” The cloud passed overhead and the orchard was bathed in sunlight once again. She pulled the brim of her hat lower over her eyes to block out the glare. “Brian, was it?” She knew it was Ryan.

“It's Ryan, actually.” A smile settled on his face as he took a few more cautious steps toward her.

“Yes, Ryan. Sorry. I'm terrible with names.”

“And you're Shelby. I remember.” He was now standing a few feet away.

She remembered him being attractive, but out here in the afternoon sun, he was stunning. “What are you doing out here?”

“Your grandmother told me where to find you.”

“Gran?” The thought of her grandmother's involvement was somewhat reassuring, only because Shelby knew she was an excellent judge of character. He must have said or done something right for Ginny to send him into the orchard to find her. Shelby set the branch cutter down on the ground and crossed her arms over her chest, curious to hear what he had to say.

“I hope you don't mind,” he answered, now standing in front of her. “But earlier—back in town—you drove away so quickly. I didn't have time to give you something.”

“Give me what?”

He pushed his hands deeper into the khakis that hung loosely over his narrow hips. She averted her eyes until he found what he was looking for and extended his hand toward her. When Shelby looked up, she saw her turquoise pendant necklace dangling from his fingers. She removed one of her work gloves and set her hand upon her collarbone. Her neck was bare. The necklace swayed back and forth from his fingers, like a clock slowly ticking off the seconds until she found her voice.

“I don't know what to say. I guess . . . I didn't realize I had lost it.” Shelby reached out, touching Ryan's hand lightly as he slipped the delicate silver chain from his fingers to hers. A warm blush rose up and spread across her cheeks.
It's your apple blush, Shel,
Jeff had said after he kissed her for the first time, so many years ago. She withdrew her hand and pushed back the memory.

“Thanks. It was nice of you to come all the way out here to return this.” She removed her other work glove and held them between her knees while she secured the necklace around her neck. “It's sentimental to me. It was a gift from my grandfather and I honestly don't know what I would have done if I'd lost it.”

“It was no trouble,” he said, his face lit up in a smile.

“Where did you find it? And how did you know it was mine?”

“I saw it on the sidewalk, right where you had been standing before you got into your truck. I had a hunch that it might be yours.”

“Pretty good hunch.” She heard a soft rustling through the orchard as a breeze passed through and cooled the back of her neck.

“Guess you could say it was a bit of a Cinderella moment,” he said. “You know—pretty girl drops something as she rushes off, only to be found by the charming prince . . .”

“Charming prince?”
Come on—is this guy for real?
she thought in disbelief.
Tourist
.

“Your grandmother called me charming earlier, so I'm going with it,” he joked, displaying a boyish dimple in his left cheek that she hadn't noticed before. “And before they have a chance to get to know each other better, she notices the time and drives off. . . .”

“. . . in an old pickup?” she interjected, appreciative that he'd gone out of his way to help her—again—but not about to succumb to his charms.

“Yes. In your case, a truck. And the poor guy is left with nothing more than the glass slipper.”

“The necklace.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I'll have to agree with Gran. You
are
charming. And thoughtful to come all the way here, especially when you could have just given it to Boots.”

“That would have been far less interesting.”

“Perhaps.” She laughed in spite of herself. “So. Thanks again. First this morning. And now this. But I should be getting back to work.” Shelby slipped the gloves back on her hands as Ryan retrieved her bucket of tree shoots and damaged apples.

“Right, of course,” he said. “But let me ask you a question first.”

“Sure.”

“What's your boyfriend's name?”

“Excuse me?” She couldn't have heard him correctly. He extended the bucket to her with an amused smirk on his face. Like a chess player who casually challenges his rook to her queen and whispers, “checkmate,” Ryan knew her game was over.

“Simple enough question,” he continued. “Does he live nearby?”

I'm not playing,
she thought, putting up her guard again. She took the bucket from him and asked, “Aren't your friends going to wonder where you are?”

“Nope. They'll hardly notice I'm gone,” he said with confidence. “Is the guy a Badgers fan?”

“What?”

He pointed to her hat with the white
W
for Wisconsin embroidered on its front. “Your boyfriend. Did he go to Madison?”

She raised her other hand to touch its frayed brim. “I went to Madison.” She placed the bucket in the flatbed of her truck with a heavy
thud
and turned back to the tree to retrieve the ladder. As she folded the ladder, its joints stiff from age and its metal rungs warm from the summer heat, she blocked out the sound of Ryan's prying questions and recalled a happier time.

It was fall and football and new beginnings. For the first time in her life she was away from home and the possibilities for her life seemed endless. Shelby and Jeff were freshmen dressed in red and white along with a stadium of cheering Badger fans. Jeff had put his cap on her head and kissed her cold nose that October night, as they huddled under the stadium lights, wrapped in a bleacher blanket, waving college pennants. She had never felt happier.

“I'm sorry,” she heard Ryan finally say. “I can see you don't want to talk about this.”

The memory of Jeff's face faded as she turned her attention back to the man standing before her. “You seem like a nice guy, but I hardly know you and I really do need to finish up here.”

He insisted on helping her load the ladder into her truck. “I know I'm keeping you, but here's the thing. And I know it's going to sound crazy,” he said with a pause.

“Yes?” she asked, shifting her weight to the other leg as she waited.

“It simply comes down to this—I'd love your company, I mean, I'd like to spend a little time with you,” he finally said, grimacing a bit at the awkwardness of his own words.

Shelby slammed the tailgate shut, brushed off her hands, and faced him squarely. The soft blush in her cheeks was replaced with a flush of rising irritation. “Listen, Ryan. That's nice, and, like I said before, I'm sure there are plenty of girls who would love to keep you company while you're in town. But I'm not—”

“You're not one of them. I get that,” he said gently while resting his arm on the tailgate. “I don't know what kind of men you've spent time with in the past, but I think you're getting the wrong impression. I mean, you have to admit it's unusual that we have literally run into each other several times in the short time that I've been in Bayfield.”

“It's a small town.”

“Okay, maybe it's something. Or nothing at all,” he continued. “But if you were Cinderella and I came to you with the glass slipper, would you tell me to take off? Or would you agree to another dance?”

He's charming, and those dimples are irresistible, but he's exactly the kind of guy Mom would go for,
she thought, standing firmly with a clenched jaw.

“I'm going to The Inn's rooftop for a drink tonight at around eight, and your grandmother said she'd like you to call it a day. Something about needing that truck of yours,” he suggested. “So what do you say—join me?”

Before walking away from him and climbing into the driver's seat to head back to the barn, Shelby put on a polite Midwestern smile and said simply, “Sorry, but I'm no Cinderella.”

C
HAPTER
8

A
t 8:45 that evening, The Inn's rooftop bar was busier than Ryan had anticipated for a weekday. People congregated around plastic tables and chairs, drinking from bottles and disposable cups as the sun set over the waterfront park and marina below. Even at this hour, the day's heat had only dropped by a few degrees. Men wiped perspiration from their brows and necks while women pulled at their blouses and fanned themselves with laminated bar menus. Ryan knew Brad and Pete were keeping cool back at the cottage with beers in hand and their feet in the water. Now, looking down at the ice melting in his second gin and tonic, certain she wouldn't come, he regretted abandoning his friends.

“What do you mean, you're going into town for drinks?” Pete had asked earlier that evening while manning a black Weber grill in the backyard of the cottage, a plume of gray smoke billowing up around him as he flipped steaks over a mound of ashen charcoal briquets that gave off a slight red glow.

“I'm meeting someone,” Ryan had answered nonchalantly from where he sat on the back porch steps, a safe distance away from Pete and the smoke. “Actually, to be honest, I'm not sure if she'll show. I could be back early.”

“You're meeting up with someone tonight?” Holding three cold beers in his hands, Brad pushed the screen door open with his foot to join the others. The door shut behind him with a spring-loaded slam.

“How's Holly?” Ryan asked, knowing that Brad had spent the last half hour on the phone with his pregnant wife.

“She's great. Five months along now, if you can believe it. Her sister is visiting right now. But hang on—don't change the subject. Who are you meeting?” Brad sat down next to Ryan and handed him a beer. “I don't remember you meeting anyone. Was it that blonde from the coffee shop?”

“No.” Ryan took a sip from the chilled bottle.

“So give it up,” Pete said from behind the smoke. “This is supposed to be a guys' trip. Which
you
planned, by the way. And now you're going off with someone else, leaving us high and dry? We're not letting you off so easily without getting some details.”

“Shit, Pete—are you burning our dinner again?” Brad stood up to check on the steaks, which were now engulfed by angry, spitting flames.

“Get outta here!” Pete snapped at Brad with his blackened BBQ tongs. “Step away from the grill and let the master create.”

“Yeah, we know what you create. You're the master of char on the outside and raw in the middle.” Brad shook his head and returned to sit back down next to Ryan. “Seriously, what's goin' on?”

“Do you remember that woman we ran into at the outfitter shop?” Ryan began. “The day we picked up our gear?”

“At the door?” Pete asked.

Ryan lifted his bottle in Pete's direction. “That's the one. Her name is Shelby.”

“You know her name?” Brad asked with surprise, looking from Ryan to Pete. “Hang on a second. Is that what you were doing today, tracking her down? You weren't looking at boat charters?”

“Not exactly.” Ryan picked at the paper label that was peeling off his bottle, wet with condensation.

“I'll bet she was surprised to see you again,” Pete said, stepping over to grab the unclaimed bottle at Brad's side.

“Just the opposite,” Ryan replied, turning the bottle around in his hands, remembering the episode with Boots and the pies. “She didn't know me from Adam.”

“Is that right?” Pete coughed, back at the Weber and fanning smoke away from his face as he moved the steaks to a cooler section on the grill.

“I like her already,” Brad said.

Ryan took a pull from his beer and considered how to put his thoughts into words without sounding like he'd lost his mind. “I know next to nothing about this woman, but there's something about her. I can't put my finger on it. When she talks to me I feel like she's really talking to
me
—not some guy she's read about.” He laughed to himself while rolling a piece of the torn label into a small ball between his fingers. “Not only does she see me as just some guy on a summer vacation—it's clear that she doesn't like me much.”

“So she has great instincts, too!” Pete hooted.

“She must have picked up on the fact that you never commit and you can be a real pain in the ass,” Brad agreed, as the friends laughed at Ryan's expense.

When the laughter quieted, Brad turned to Ryan with some concern. “Okay, seriously—let's say she actually shows up tonight.”

“Unlikely,” Pete added.

“But let's say she does. You have a few drinks. Blow off some steam. That's all well and good,” he said. “But if you spend any real time with her this week, you can't hide who you are. I mean, I know you always like to downplay it, but you gotta keep it real.”

“I don't know,” added Pete as he gave the steaks one last flip. The heavy aroma of charcoal smoke and seared beef billowed around them. “I agree with Ryan. Think of it this way—what's honest about some of the things people say about him? What's honest about people who want to meet him just because they recognized him from the media? Or because of his money?”

“That's true, and believe me, Ryan, we know what you've gone through.” Brad reached his hand over and gripped Ryan's shoulder. Ryan still wasn't accustomed to the sensitive side of Brad that had come out after he married Holly. Previously known as a man of few words, the guy now loved to talk. “We know how you've been burned by women in the past. But if she really thinks of you as an ordinary guy, you're being dishonest.”

“I hear you. But I can't tell you how . . .” Ryan searched for the right word. “How
freeing
it is to talk to a woman without being loaded down with all of the baggage that comes along with being a Chambers.”

“So let's say she shows up tonight. And let's say you see her again. What happens when we head back to Chicago?” Brad asked before finishing off his beer.

“Nothing happens. We go home.” Ryan flicked the paper ball into the center of Pete's grill and watched as it disappeared into the coals. Although he trusted them implicitly, he wasn't ready to admit how intrigued he was by this woman and the notion of breaking away from his family ties. Even if just for a while. He needed time to think it through.

“Time to eat!” Pete announced, loading the charred steaks onto a plate and shutting down the grill.

Brad shook his head at Ryan and stood up. “One of these days, you're going to finish what you start.”

“It's just drinks.” Ryan rose from the steps and held the door open for the men to go inside to dish up.

 

As best as he could tell, Ryan sat unnoticed at a corner table of The Inn's rooftop venue, tucked behind a bar awning that was draped in strands of lights that resembled miniature red chili peppers. If anyone recognized him, they were politely keeping it to themselves. Just as he was preparing to abandon his hopes for the evening, he looked toward the entrance once more. Then Shelby appeared at the top of stairs. She paused, one hand placed atop the wood banister while the other fidgeted with the folds in her gray linen skirt. Ryan watched as she scanned the faces of those on the deck. He didn't move. The glow from a streetlight backlit her hair and the silhouette of her body, which he could faintly make out through the light fabric. Her hair was pulled up casually with a single clip. A few strands of hair curled down upon her bare shoulders, which were a golden tan against the crisp white of her camisole.

Once Shelby spotted Ryan, she offered the hint of a smile and a discreet nod of her head, gesturing for him to follow. Without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared back down the stairs. He had invited her out for the evening, but she clearly had the upper hand.

The flimsy plastic chair that Ryan was sitting on caught on the deck flooring and nearly tipped over as he hastily pulled away from the table. He left a generous tip beside his glass of melting ice before rushing after her.

“I didn't think you'd join me,” he said with quickened breath once he joined her under the streetlight on Main.

“That makes two of us.” Standing next to The Inn, they could hear an Eagles melody stream from the bar. Shelby glanced up toward the sound of the music and then stepped into the darkness. “Come on, let's walk.”

Walking away from The Inn and toward the lake, Don Henley's voice became an inaudible muffle backed by the hum of his band and a low bass beat. With the sun nearly set, the sky turned twilight blue with a splash of red along the horizon. The first stars were making their appearance and a waxing moon was on the rise. Ryan wasn't sure why she was leading him to the water, but he didn't ask. She embodied grace and strength. Effortless beauty. And also trepidation, as if at any moment she would turn and disappear. He decided it best just to follow.

“Thanks for coming,” he said simply. “I was beginning to think up excuses to give my friends about why you stood me up.”

“You could thank my grandparents.”

“Your grandparents?” That was unexpected.

“It seems you made quite an impression on Gran today. She must have said something to my grandfather because they just kept staring at me throughout dinner. I could tell they were anxious for me to say something about you—and why you stopped by the farm.” She glanced at him briefly.

Ryan would have loved to reach out to her, but instead he walked with his hands in his pockets. “Come on. I'm sure I'm not the first guy to stop by.”

“You're the first unexpected, unknown, out-of-town guy to stop by, I'll give you that.”

Nice to be an unknown,
he thought. “Did you tell them you couldn't wait to see me again, or did you tell them the truth?”

Before she could reply, they were interrupted by the approaching flapping sound of sandals hitting the pavement. A man wearing a short-sleeved jersey and cargo shorts was about to pass them on the sidewalk when he suddenly stopped to stare at Ryan. The man then extended his hand and looked poised to say something.

Back home, Ryan always took time to say hello to people who approached him. But here, in a place where he was enjoying his anonymity in the company of an alluring woman, he didn't want to spoil the night. Acting against his nature, Ryan turned his head and quickly brushed past the man. Ryan hoped Shelby hadn't noticed.

“Do you know him?” Shelby asked as they continued down the sidewalk.

“No, did you?”

“No, but it looked like he needed to ask you something.”

“Really? I guess I didn't notice.” He didn't look back. “Now, weren't you about to say something about your grandparents?”

She glanced over her shoulder and must not have seen anything unusual, for she picked up the conversation easily. “I was about to say that Gran asked if I was going to see you again. When I mentioned The Inn and cocktails, they practically jumped out of their chairs. I swear they were hovering over me until I finally agreed to come down here.”

“Huh. Your grandparents . . . And here I thought it was my irresistible personality that lured you out tonight,” he teased, hoping she would begin to relax. “They didn't pay you, did they? That would really add insult to injury.” He caught a smile at the corner of her mouth. It was a start.

They crossed through the lakeside town park and stopped at a spot along the shore, beside a solitary iron bench with ornamental armrests that curled like scrolls.

“Let's go down to the rocks.” Shelby slipped off her sandals and placed them beside the bench before walking barefoot down the rocky embankment. He watched in the dim light as she lifted the hem of her skirt and climbed effortlessly over a round boulder. “Coming?” she called out.

“Right behind you!”

Ryan tossed his shoes beside hers and then made his way to the rocks—maneuvering over them with much less finesse—and joined her at the water's edge. They stood in silence, looking out onto the moon, which perched low in the sky and reflected across a dark expanse of lazy waves.

“It's beautiful here.” He turned to her, wanting to feel the touch of her hand. He was drawn to her in the way that waves were drawn to the shore.

“It's one of my favorite spots, particularly on a night like this. Just wait. It won't be long before the sky will be filled with a million stars.”

“You're not concerned about being out here in the dark with some guy you hardly know?”

She tilted her head in Ryan's direction. “Why, should I be concerned?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. After all, haven't you heard what they say about small-town girls?”

“What do they say?”

She answered mischievously, “We don't lock our car doors, we sleep with the windows open, we drink straight from the bottle, and we're not afraid of the dark.”

 

As twilight faded into a starlit evening, their conversation took on a relaxed rhythm.

“Where is home for you?” Shelby asked.

“Chicago.”
Did it feel like home?
he wondered.

“I imagine it must be crowded. And loud.” Sitting on a partially submerged rock with her skirt gathered above her knees, Shelby dangled her feet in the cool lake water. “I've never been.”

“You'd like it,” he said from his spot on the flat-topped rock beside her.

“I would probably like the anonymity of being one of a million, rather than one of a few hundred. Like I am here.”