Molly's Garden

Molly made a face. “Okay, okay. Point taken. This is the last of this load. We’ll stop at the barn and get back support belts, and use them when we unload. The last thing I need is a squabble with the government’s Occupational Safety and Health Administration.” She lashed down the last two rows of crates and jumped off the truck.

“Adam, if you’ll drive up to the barn, I’ll get Nitro and meet you and Henry there.”

Nodding, he retrieved his shirt from a bean pole and climbed into the cab.

Henry got into his pickup and, after a sputter or two of the ancient motor, drove off.

Molly stopped to thank the pickers whose day was done. “Come to the office for your pay. Anyone who can return tomorrow will pick summer squash, carrots and radishes. Some of you will cut romaine lettuce. If you’ve done lettuce, you know it goes slower since we twist Organically Grown marketing bands around each head.” She repeated what she’d said in Spanish. When no one asked questions, she got Nitro and set off for the barn.

The men stood talking inside the open double doors.

“Henry, would you mind giving Adam the back belts to put in the truck? I’ll open the safe and pay the workers.”

“Are they finished?” Adam said in clear surprise. “They can’t have earned very much in such a short day.” He followed Molly to the office, but took the belts Henry handed him.

“You maybe didn’t notice. They are all women. Most have school-age children at home caring for younger siblings until Mom gets back. They start here at dawn. The short work day suits them.” She spun the dial on a big floor safe, opened the heavy door and took out a stack of clipboards and a money sack.

Adam disappeared with the belts. He came straight back and watched Molly spread clipboards across a big oak desk. She opened a money bag and pulled out stacks of bills and smaller sacks of coin. Taking a seat behind the desk, she glanced past Adam and smiled at a petite woman in a worn cotton housedress. “Luisa, bring me your crate slips.”

The woman made herself smaller to slip past the big man in the doorway. “Excuse me,” he said, scrambling to step aside.

Molly took the woman’s colored slips, counted them out and recorded numbers on pages clipped to the boards. “You picked like a whirlwind today,” she said. Wasting no time, she counted out money and handed it to the woman, who tucked it in a pocket of her dress. In a soft voice she said she’d be back the next day.

One at a time the others filed in to be paid. The entire exercise took only fifteen minutes.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Adam asked, “Why do you pay people every day?”

“I don’t pay everyone. Only the pickers. The farm crew get checks each Friday because they make a set wage. As you will, too. I trust that works for you.”

“Sure. Whatever,” he said.

“Henry,” Molly called. “Could you put this away and lock the safe? We need to hit the road. I’ll post to the computer when we finish. Since you volunteered me to ride along with Adam, I’ll collect the market receipts and do the banking. It’s only a few blocks out of the way of our last stop.”

Henry bustled into the office. “I figured you’d show him the ropes. I’d do it, but when I finish here I’m needed in the east pasture—sorry, old habits die hard. I mean the east garden. Rick phoned. Someone stole our irrigation heads.”

Molly stopped short of the door.

“Good thing you bought extra when you upgraded the filtration system,” Henry added. “I’ll take him new ones and help install them. I think we need to get water on the onions.”

“Who on earth would steal irrigation heads?” she asked.

Henry shrugged as he stacked her paperwork back in the safe. “Dunno. Maybe migrants who think they’re worth selling for junk.”

“Are they copper?” Adam asked. He’d moved into the conversation and now stood directly behind Molly. “It’s been all over the news lately that thieves are stripping every possible shred of copper wire and fixtures. Apparently that’s a lucrative black market.”

“I think our fixtures are brass,” Molly said, her brow furrowed. “Do we even have a dozen new heads, Henry?”

“I checked. We have exactly twelve. I’ll pull the paperwork so you can reorder. With the weather turning warmer, you’ll lose crops aplenty without regular irrigation.”

Molly’s frown deepened. “Who would steal sprinkler heads?”

“You already asked that.” Adam shifted his gaze from Henry to her.

“Yes, and I may ask it again. Let’s go.” She whistled for Nitro and he bounded out of the shadowy barn.

Lengthening her stride, she reached the truck before Adam, and she had the passenger door open with the dog inside by the time she felt his big hands close around her waist. She jerked away in shock. “What are you doing?”

His expression turned puzzled. “Helping you into the cab.”

“I’m capable of climbing into a truck. Get in your own seat and start this beast.” She tried to prove her agility, but her right boot slipped off the high step. Had Adam not still been in a position to steady her, she probably would have fallen on her backside.

To the man’s credit, he didn’t say a word. He gave her a boost and put his sunglasses on as he rounded the white cab of the Ford F-650.

“Uh, thanks,” she muttered. “That’s what comes from being too cocky,” she added, nudging Nitro over so she had room to sit and buckle in. Still, she glanced at Adam out of the corner of her eye. He seemed fully engaged with starting the truck, shifting it into gear and driving toward the gate.

Point in his favor. No matter that she’d like to think, under similar circumstances, likely she would’ve rubbed it in. Or laughed at least.

He pulled out a cell phone, set it where he could see it on the dash, and tapped it a few times. “I took the liberty of loading the market addresses into my GPS.”

Downshifting, Adam passed through the gate and pulled onto the county road.

“Ramon always ground the gears. Have you driven commercial big rigs?”

Adam spared her a glance that fell away when Nitro flopped down and used his thigh as a head pillow.

“I’ll move him if he’s bothering you,” Molly said. “It’s really odd. We took classes so he’d be my guard dog. He growled at Henry for months. Yet you’re his instant buddy.”

“I haven’t got an explanation. I haven’t had a dog since I was a kid. But he doesn’t bother me. And to answer your previous question, I’ve driven more kinds of vehicles than I can name, including some with the steering wheel on the right.”

Molly studied him. “You didn’t give me any references from abroad. I assume the company you worked for was based in Dallas.”

“Yes.” Slowing, Adam swung onto the freeway on-ramp.

“According to Henry, your boss in Dallas was light on specifics. His guess was that you did government work.”

His eyes on the side-view mirror as he merged with traffic, Adam mumbled, “Some. Yeah.”

“Sounds like that job would be way more exciting than bartending in rural Texas. Why did you leave?”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Long enough for Molly to look directly at him and see his jaw tighten and throat muscles working. She thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“I left Dallas for personal reasons,” he said with a ragged edge to his voice. As if to put a defined period at that end of his statement, he stabbed a finger at his phone. “My GPS indicates I should exit at the next ramp. What’s the procedure at the first market?”

“Oh, uh...” Molly felt she’d crossed some line she hadn’t meant to. Quickly she gathered herself. “There’s a road of sorts that runs behind the stalls. Vendor vehicles enter at the north end. You can stop behind our booth. Pull up as close as possible to give other trucks room to pass. Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

This time he didn’t remark but concentrated on driving, navigating the poorly marked streets that led to the outdoor market.

By then the sun had burned through the morning smog that hung over Laredo. Molly directed Adam down an alley and told him where to stop.