Baby, I’m Yours Read Free Page A

murmured. “My mother always used two different kinds of apples in her pies. She said it made for a richer flavor.”
    “Carolyn could make a good pie,” Myrna admitted.
    “She did win lots of blue ribbons,” Bonita added thoughtful y.
    Shelby leaned in. “Why don’t you each take half of the Winesaps, choose a second type of apple for your secret ingredient, and let the judges decide?”
    The women looked at each other, then softened.
    “Okay, I’l agree to that.”
    “Me, too. As long as you don’t spy on what other kind of apple I buy.”
    “As long as you don’t spy on what other kind of apple I buy.”
    Shelby looked at Mitch. “Wil you please split up the bag of Winesaps and re-price them?”
    He looked relieved. “Sure thing, boss.”
    “Shelby,” she corrected, then spotting her father striding toward them, she gestured. “Here comes the boss.”
    But her smile dissolved when she realized he looked…angry.
    Walter Moon was a big man with graying hair and a slight stoop from stocking his own shelves for so many years. He was usual y jol y, a favorite with the customers, but not today. “I have to take off for a while,” he said, his voice gruff. He untied his apron and handed it to her.
    “Is everything okay, Daddy?”
    “It wil be,” he said, then marched off.
    Shelby frowned after him, wondering what could have him so upset. Maybe someone from the bank had cal ed. Maybe her father would be forced to face financial facts.
    She folded her father’s apron and suddenly, thunder rumbled overhead, vibrating the building’s metal roof. The weather certainly mirrored the mood of the day.
    “Shelby to dairy, Shelby to dairy.”
    She sighed and muttered, “Coming.”

Chapter Three
    Emory was pacing by his SUV in the parking lot of the Presbyterian church the Moons and Maxwel s had always attended. Mr. Moon hadn’t sounded too pleased to hear from him, but he’d agreed to meet Emory to talk.
    Emory would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. But he figured Shelby’s dad wouldn’t maim him in the parking lot of the church.
    At least the rain had held off. The skies continued to rol and pitch, and thunder reverberated against the mountains that contained Sweetness in a lush, green bowl.
    He heard Mr. Moon’s truck before he saw it, the engine racing a little too high. The man pul ed in next to Emory’s vehicle. He climbed out, then yanked up his work pants, slammed the truck door, and stomped toward Emory.
    Emory noticed Walter had left the engine running—a sign he didn’t plan on staying long. And the big man wasn’t sporting a cordial expression.
    Emory stuck out his hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Moon.”
    The other man shook his hand with bone-crushing strength. “Emory. I see you haven’t been shot yet.”
    Emory’s gaze strayed to the rifle on the gun rack in the rear window of Mr. Moon’s pickup. “No, sir.”
    “I’m busy, son. What’s this al about?”
    Suddenly he forgot everything he was going to say to convince this man how much his only daughter meant to him. A lifetime of playing and laughing and crying and loving with Shelby scrol ed through his mind. How could he capture and express al of those feelings in a few simple words?
    Walter jammed his hands on his hips. “Spit it out, son.”
    Emory straightened. “I want to marry your daughter, sir.”
    Walter arched a bushy eyebrow. “And?”
    “And…I’d like your blessing before I ask Shelby.”
    The big man screwed up his mouth. “You planning to come back to Sweetness to live, are you?”
    He knew it was a deal-breaker, but he wasn’t going to lie. “No, sir. But wherever Shelby and I settle down, I’l never stop her from coming back to visit you as much as she wants.”
    Walter Moon’s face darkened. “Visit?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Mr. Moon turned around and walked back to his truck. For a split second, Emory was afraid he might reach in to get his rifle, but instead the man just climbed in and banged the