“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 will be three before long. They’re beautiful, brilliant and they have a terrible addiction to eating.”
“I’m sorry, Nora. I have all the people I need. Do you want to leave a number in case something comes open?”
“The church,” she said with disappointment. “You can leave a message with anyone at the Virgin River Presbyterian Church. I’ll check in with them every day. Twice a day.”
He gave her a very small smile. “I don’t expect anything to come up, but I know the number if something does.” He wrote down her name and referenced the church phone number beside it. “Thanks for coming out here.”
“Sure. I had to try. And if you hear of anything at all, anywhere at all…”
“Of course,” he said, but she knew he didn’t mean it. He wasn’t going to help her get a job.
She left that little office and went to wait by Noah’s truck, leaning against it. She hoped he had a nice visit with Mrs. Cavanaugh since she had inconvenienced him for no reason. No matter what Tom Cavanaugh had said, she knew he had rejected her as not strong or dependable enough for apple picking.
Life hadn’t always been like this for Nora. Well, it had been difficult, but not like now. She hadn’t grown up poor, for one thing. She’d never been what one could call financially comfortable, but she’d always had enough to eat, a roof over her head, decent if inexpensive clothes to wear. She’d gone to college briefly and during that time had had a part-time job, no different from most students. She’d had an unhappy family life, the only child of a bitter single mother. Then she’d found herself to be very susceptible to the flirtations of a hot and sexy minor league baseball player with no earthly clue he’d turn into a hard-core drug addict who would dump her and their two children