Page 6 of The Payback Adventure
“You should fire him.”
“I can’t.” Manny had been her father’s trusted foreman, and he’d become both her right- and left-hand person. He’d been the one constant on the farm. Or had been until two weeks ago. But Elisabeth understood what commitment to family meant. “You don’t fire someone because their mother is ill. He needs to be with her.”
“What about your needs?” Kathy asked.
She needed someone to help her prepare the farm for winter. An extra pair of hands. Someone with two good arms and legs who could follow directions. It was already the beginning of October. Her stomach clenched. “I just need to find some temporary help.”
Temporary, cheap help.
“Where?” Kathy asked. “And how will you pay them since you kept Manny on salary?”
Elisabeth could do the work alone, but she’d have to quit this job. And berry farming alone wouldn’t support her family. She fought the panic rising in her throat.
Kathy squeezed her shoulder. “I’m worried about you, honey. You’re too young to have to do all this on your own.”
Elisabeth filled three glasses with ice and placed them on the tray. She had managed against bad odds before and would do it again now. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You need a break.” Kathy picked up the tray. “I’ll take their orders, and you deliver the food when you return.”
“Excuse me,” a female voice said.
Elisabeth turned and saw the stylishly dressed blond from table four. The engagement ring on her finger could have paid off the second mortgage on the farm and put at least two of her siblings through college. “I was wondering if you could bring some extra napkins with the bottled water?”
“I’ll take care of it, miss.” Kathy glanced at Elisabeth. “Get some fresh air.”
She knew better than to argue with her boss, especially in front of a customer. Elisabeth needed a few minutes alone. She stepped outside, took a deep breath, and let the tears flow.
When Elisabeth returned to the kitchen, she was surprised to see Kathy and the customer from table four talking. The tray still sat on the counter, though napkins had been added next to the plate of lemons, bottle of water, and three glasses. As soon as they noticed her, they stopped chatting.
“Feel better after your break?” Kathy asked.
Elisabeth didn’t often allow herself the luxury of tears, because she was afraid once she started crying, she wouldn’tbe able to stop. And this job was too important to let a pity party ruin her tips for the rest of her shift. “Yes.”
“You’ll feel even better in a few minutes.” Kathy picked up the tray. “Elisabeth Wheeler, this is Cynthia Sterling. I do believe she’s the answer to your prayers.”
With that, Kathy left the kitchen.
Elisabeth wasn’t sure what was happening, but the beautiful blond woman wearing designer clothes wasn’t a guardian angel. And she’d stopped believing in fairy godmothers a long time ago.
Cynthia stepped toward her, and Elisabeth noticed the woman favoring her left foot. “When I walked past the kitchen, I overheard you needed someone to help with your farm.”
Elisabeth nodded. “Someone” about covered what she was looking for. If the person wasn’t dangerous and a menace to society, she would hire them.
“I apologize for eavesdropping, but Kathy told me a little more about your situation after you left. I’m sorry.”
Elisabeth hated pity. She’d faced it from friends, neighbors, and even strangers for too long.
“I want to help,” Cynthia said.
She wouldn’t accept charity, and that was the only way the beautiful blond could help her. Elisabeth wiped the counter. “Thanks, but I don’t see how you—”
“My friend Henry, sitting across from my fiancé and me, needs a job. He’s a good man but made some bad investments and lost everything. He needs to turn his life around. Working on your farm would give him that chance.”
She had to be kidding. The closest he’d ever come to country was wearing Ralph Lauren Polo. Cynthia’s friend was dressed as if worth a million dollars with his leather jacket, lightly starched, perfectly pressed button-down shirt, and knife-edge creased pants. His hands looked as if he worked in an office not outside. “It’s hard work. Manual work. Long hours outdoors.”
“That’s exactly what Henry loves to do. He’s a get-your-hands-dirty type of guy.”
Not the well-dressed guy at table four. No way.
