Harvest Moon Homecoming Read online

  Mr. Finkenbinder took a deep, cleansing breath. Had the smoke in the room addled his brain? “Nothing. I, uh, nothing.” He slid the paper to the exact center of his desk, aghast to see his hands shaking.

  One problem at a time. Or not? He had been eager to extend the appropriate repercussions to Mrs. Bright, but now he had a more practical use for her. He willed himself to remain in control.

  “I believe we were in the midst of a conversation about the proper punishment for your daughter’s tardiness.”

  “Right. My fault. My punishment. I’m on pine needles and a blowtorch just waiting to hear the verdict.” She touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth.

  Mr. Finkenbinder swallowed. Loudly. He focused on her eyes. “If you would like to keep your daughter, and yourself, from spending the next two weeks sitting in after-school detention for two hours each day, you may spearhead the building of the Chestnut Hill homecoming float.”

  Mr. Finkenbinder laced his fingers together and placed them on the desk. Now that he’d noticed her mouth, he was having a hard time looking elsewhere. The rest of Mrs. Bright might be a hot mess, but her mouth was kissable. Definitely. He suppressed his wayward musings. He was a bachelor with a nephew to raise. And a principal, hoping to become the superintendent. He most certainly would not be kissing any parents. Not now. Not ever.

  Mrs. Bright stared at him with her arms crossed. She’d been speaking and he’d missed her entire tirade. Those pink lips were set in a straight line.

  He cleared his throat. Easy guess that she’d just said she couldn’t do the float. Actually, come to think of it, he probably didn’t want her to. She couldn’t be depended upon to get her progeny to school on time. What an insane idea to think she could make a float by Saturday.

  “Fine. If you don’t want to do the float, Harper can report to detention today after school.”

  “Are you deaf, Fink? I just said I’d do the dang thing.” Her brows drew together.

  “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” Disappointment that he wouldn’t have the chance to saddle her with some nefarious consequence slid through his stomach. Still, she was certain to be late again. For now, at least he was getting the float taken care of. But, come to think of it, he’d better supervise. Drat. “Give Mrs. Herschel directions to your house. I assume that’s where you’re doing it?”

  “Yes.” She spoke without moving her lips, and her back teeth ground with small crunches.

  “Great. May I presume you will not turn down help?”

  Veins stood out on the side of her neck, but she shook her head.

  “Then my nephew and I will be over this evening. What time do you think you will commence?”

  Her boot clunked against the floor in a fast rhythm. “Eight.”

  “That will suit. We will be there.”

  She jerked her head, her wild hair flying everywhere, and stood. “Unless, of course, I contract pneumonia, malaria, and herpes in the next twelve hours. If only I could be so favored.” Mrs. Bright continued to mutter under her breath as she stomped out of the room. After confirming her address with Mrs. Hershel, she strode out. She did not look through his window as she walked by.

  “Mr. Finkenbinder, sir?” Mrs. Herschel’s voice crackled over the small intercom speaker.

  He depressed the button. “Yes?”

  “You were not at the employee luncheon yesterday afternoon?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I see. Well, you know Mrs. Kurtz had her Home Ec. class cater it. No one consulted me, and I’m not sure who made that decision.”

  Mr. Finkenbinder groaned in his soul. Mrs. Kurtz was Mr. Daschel in female form. Only her experiments were intended to be ingested. By humans.

  “The elementary school principal and seven teachers have called in sick. I’ve exhausted our supply of substitute teachers, but each position is accounted for. Unfortunately, I still need one more chaperone and a bus driver for the field trip the third grade is taking this afternoon.”

  He already knew he was acting as principal for both elementary and high school today, common practice when one of them were out. How much was he expected to do? He depressed the button, thinking to instruct her to cancel the field trip. Immediately, the superintendent position came to mind. Instead he said, “That’s fine. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Two

  Ellie shuffled papers around her desk. That darn receipt was here somewhere. She had just seen it. She moved several folders bulging with papers and slid a box containing scraps of ribbon out of her way, knocking over a cup containing glass beads in the process.

  “Shoot.” She jumped up and her chair toppled over with a crash. She cupped her hands at the edge of the desk, stopping the flow of cascading beads, and glanced under the desk for the receipt. She grimaced. The dust bunnies had morphed into dust dragons. Any receipts that had dared fall into their territory had no doubt been consumed.

  If she didn’t know what the materials had cost, she wouldn’t know what to charge for the wreath she had made.

  The shop bell jingled and her mother-in-law walked into the small trailer that doubled as their seasonal shop and office.

  “I’m back here, Mom.” Ellie brushed most of the beads back into the cup and shuffled around the boxes and supplies littering the floor. The hoarders on television had nothing on her office.

  “Oh, there you are, honey.” Mom stopped at the doorway. “I just wanted to let you know that Dad and I are leaving for his appointment.”

  Ellie stopped short, automatically reaching up to steady a stack of boxes threatening to topple. “What?”

  “Dad and I are leaving for his appointment.” Her brows raised. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

  Ellie glanced at the calendar. Several papers were clipped to it, and bright sticky notes stuck to various parts, but the space for October the seventh was clearly visible. Completely blank.

  “I did. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s fine. You’re busy. But we’ll have to stop at the lab and get some tests done, so I doubt we’ll be home before supper. You and Harper will have to handle the evening crowd by yourself.”

  “It’s Monday. It won’t be bad. Except I got hustled into doing the school float for the homecoming parade, so Harper and I will be working on that down at the shed. After eight. If you and Dad could close up?”

  “Of course, dear.” She waved and turned. “Oh, this wreath is absolutely stunning. I adore the burnt orange with that dark green.”

  “Thanks. I was just looking for the receipt for the beads so I could price it.”

  Mom sighed and shook her head. “You have so much talent. It’s a crime for you to be holed up here on our little farm. I wish you had gone to art school like you had planned.”

  Getting pregnant with Harper at such a young age had shut down those plans. She and Liam had gotten married, and her main goal in life had been to be the best mom possible to Harper. Of course, when her husband had been killed in the paving accident, that goal had grown to include keeping the tree farm profitable.

  They had expanded their offerings from Christmas trees to a small apple orchard, pumpkins, a corn maze, hayrides, and their newest venture this year, a haunted barn. It had been insanely popular last weekend. Which, of course, had kept her up until the wee hours of Monday morning. Drat that stiff-necked Mr. Finkenbinder. Like she had time to make a float in the middle of the busiest season of the year. If she had time, she’d have her own float in the parade.

  She realized her mother-in-law still stood in the doorway, looking at her. “I’m happy here, Mom.”

  “I’m glad, honey. See you later.” She walked out and Ellie glanced again at the calendar. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t written Dad’s appointment down.

  With all the area schools booking field trips, she needed to keep on top of things and avoid scheduling conflicts. Thankfully, nothing had been booked for this afternoon.

  Her eye caught on a bright green Post-it note at the top of
the calendar. She scuttled around the stacks of boxes and moved closer to read it. Chestnut Hill 3rd grade. October 7, 12 p.m.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. She groaned and glanced at her wrist to check the time, but her watch was missing. A casualty of her mad rush to get out the door this morning.

  Okay. She could do this. Normally, they had at least two employees on hand for group bookings, but if the bus driver would drive the tractor for the hayrides, she could probably handle the rest. It was a small school—only forty or fifty students in each grade. She looked at the Post-it again. She hadn’t written down any numbers. Smart. Just brilliant. If she were her own employee, she’d fire herself.

  Ellie charged out of the shop door. A heavy crash sounded behind her as she pulled it shut. She’d deal with that later, whatever it was. Right now, she needed to fill the metal tubs with water for apple bobbing. Mental note—she needed apples. And hotdogs. Wait. No hotdogs. Not with third graders. Give those little darlings a sharp stick and an open fire and an ER trip was inevitable.

  Had she restocked their apple supply? Maybe Mom had. Gosh, she hoped so. Did the tractor have gas? No, not gas. Diesel fuel. Holy smokes, she’d made that mistake ten years ago. Never again. The tractor was probably out, or close to it. Dad usually took care of it, but Mondays were often slow.

  Ten minutes later, she had gathered glue and a few decorations for the kids who didn’t want to climb on the hay bales, and filled three tubs with water. She dragged them, one at a time, across the cement floor of their main building, which was only a pole barn with bathrooms and a small stage. She’d decorated it herself with hay bales, gourds, pumpkins, and cornstalks. Indian corn hung from posts, and orange lights glittered from the ceiling.

  Was one string of lights out? She twisted to get a better look. Her boot caught on the cement, throwing her to the floor, and the tub, rocketing along behind, slammed into her. It didn’t tip over, but water splashed backwards, then sloshed forward, smacking her in the face and drenching her down to her boots. Half of her hair was soaked and hung in her face. She glanced down and snorted. She hadn’t realized until now that she still wore her hot-pink pajama pants.

  Pulling herself to her knees, she flexed her arms and legs. Nothing broken—just soaked.

  “Hello? Anyone here?”

  Her heart stopped. She recognized that voice. She’d just heard it this morning. No. If evolution were true, and a big bang had really created this world, please, please, please, let there be another big bang, right now, and take her out.

  Nothing.

  She flipped her sopping-wet hair out of her eyes. Yep, it was Fink. Quite possibly the only guest they’d ever have visit the farm in a suit and tie. He hadn’t quite gotten the look of horror on his face contained. It mirrored hers, she was sure.

  “I’m sorry, Fink. But if you’re looking for the OCD convention, that was last week.”

  He blinked. Then his irritating, placating smile settled back into place. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your monthly bath, Mrs. Bright. But the shop is empty. Could you please direct me to a responsible adult so I can check in my busload of kids?”

  She slapped a caricature of his smile on her face. “The bath is seasonal, Fink. And your interruption could be considered sexual harassment.”

  His face drained of color as his smile slipped. He stepped back.

  A pang pinched her stomach. A small one. “I’m kidding. Holy cow, Fink, I’m fully clothed. Down to my boots.” His color still hadn’t returned, and he’d backed out the door. All she could see was the red tip of his nose. He had a strong Roman nose. A nose with character, her mom would have said.

  Ugh. She shook her head. There was nothing about Fink remotely interesting to her. Even his strong nose. “Go wait in the office and I’ll send someone in to take care of you.” With as much dignity as she possessed, just in case he peeked back in, she pulled herself to her feet, turned on her heel and strode out the back door. Her boots squeaked with each step, and she left a dripping trail of water in her wake, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Once out, she sprinted across the yard to the house. Ninety seconds later she blasted back out of the house, now attired in overalls and a tee with a green flannel shirt over it. She’d put her boots back on, because her other pair took too long to lace up, and thrown her hair into a ponytail—the only way to get her hair to conform without a chair and a whip. Racing back to the modular trailer that contained the office and the shop, she hoped to sneak inside the back door of her office. Then she remembered she’d stacked last week’s delivery of Christmas ribbon and bobbins and wrapping paper in front of it. Four heavy boxes. Annoyed with herself for failing to keep up with everything yet again, she slunk around to the front door. It hung open.

  She set her lips and put one hand on her hip as she started up the wooden steps. Fink stood at the top, like he was afraid to enter. Grr. Irritating man.

  Fine. She’d just push around him. That was when she saw the cause of the crash from earlier. The work table’s leg had finally buckled. She’d been meaning to fix that wobbly leg all summer but hadn’t gotten around to it—too busy trimming Christmas trees and keeping up with the apple tree spraying schedule and trying to get a jump on making decorations to sell.

  Rats.

  It looked like most of her wreaths were intact, but pine needles covered the floor, along with broken cornstalks, twisted grapevines, and dried flower dust. Mom had also set paper plates, plastic flatware, cups, and napkins on the table. Plus, the whole mess was dusted with hot chocolate powder from a can which now lay on its side on the floor, the lid cocked at an awkward angle against the offending table leg as though offering condolences.

  Fink was stalled at the top of the steps, not because he was afraid to enter, like she had thought, but because the jumbled mess blocked his way.

  “You might get a little cocoa powder on your shoes, but it’ll wash off, I promise.”

  “This must be my day for odd conversations.” Fink backed against the open door and spread his arm out. “Ladies first.”

  A bus full of kids was waiting. She didn’t have time to dither. Or think of an appropriate set-down to his sarcasm. Ellie brushed past Fink, catching a whiff of his cologne. It smelled…good. Not what she expected.

  Focus.

  Picking her way across the floor, careful not to step on any of her expensive wreathes, she reached the counter with the simple, electronic cash register. Usually the receipt pad sat beside it. She moved the address stamp, a can of pens, the tray of orders, and a loose receipt. No pad, although there was a half-eaten hot dog under a few stray pieces of paper.

  Fine. She’d get started and maybe it would turn up. “How were you planning to pay?”

  Fink reached under his suit coat and pulled a folded check from his shirt pocket. “I have a signed check from the school, written out to Sweet Haven Farm. There are fifty-three students on the bus, plus three chaperones. Ten dollars for the students, plus a free pass for the bus driver, and half price for the chaperones. That’s $540.” He looked for a surface to write.

  “Actually it’s $545.” Catching him in a mistake made her feel marginally better.

  “No.” That smooth, meaningless smile was pasted on his face again. “I did the figuring aloud for you. What did you not understand?” She felt like a second grader who didn’t understand borrowing.

  “I heard you do the figuring. And it was wrong. It’s $545.”

  He sighed, but his smile did not slip. Although his left eye twitched.

  Ellie bit back a smile. Mr. Unruffled was ruffled. And wrong.

  “Fifty-three students,” she said in the same tone she had used to teach her daughter colors. “Times ten is $530. The bus driver is free, plus half price for three chaperones. That’s…”

  “Ah, there’s where you went wrong, Mrs. Bright.” Oh, she hated it when he called her that using that condescending tone. “The bus driver is also a chaperone.”

  She bit the inside of her
cheeks. Both sides. The metallic taste of blood trickled into her mouth. She could be a gracious loser, but she didn’t have to like it. “Why, Fink, it appears that you were right. An odd occurrence for you, I’m sure.” It’s possible she might have batted her eyes.

  “As odd as you being able to find the receipt book?”

  The smile fell from her face. “I use the receipt book every day. However, I am not the only person who works here. Someone else must have mislaid it.” She knew, even as she said it, that it wasn’t true. She was the one who had the problem losing things. Breaking things. Spilling things. Running late. Getting behind. Had to be why she couldn’t stand Mr. Perfect.

  She walked behind the counter. Maybe it had fallen on the floor back there.

  Nothing.

  What was she going to do? If it were anyone else, she’d admit her problem and tell them they could pay later or she’d stop in at the school and pick up a check. But not Fink. She couldn’t allow him to get the upper hand.

  She stood up behind the counter. She’d just write him a receipt on a plain piece of white—

  “Is this it?” he asked, bending over in front of the counter. He straightened, holding the receipt book in his hand.

  “It is.” She plastered on her brightest smile, resisting the urge to lurch over the counter and grab the book.

  “I believe your boot was on it.”

  “I believe you—never mind.” She snatched it from his hand and scribbled out a Paid receipt. “I’m a little shorthanded today. Do you think your bus driver would be interested in driving the tractor for the hayrides? I would pay her for it.”

  Fink’s lip drew back. “No. I don’t believe he would.”

  “Um, maybe we could ask him.” Ellie’s eyes narrowed.

  Fink shifted on his feet, staring at the ceiling behind her head. She thought he whispered, “Super,” but she couldn’t be sure. Finally he said, “He’ll do it.”

  “Okaaaay.” The only thing she could figure was that Fink had an odd relationship with the bus driver. She wasn’t going there. She had enough to deal with.