Sugar And Spice. Shirley Jump

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СКАЧАТЬ out the window. His father’s truck was gone. He must have gone to town for something. He shrugged.

      Gus set his dishes in the sink, gave Cyrus a rawhide chew, put on his jacket and hat and was out of the house, all within five minutes. Instead of walking out to the white pine field, he climbed into his pickup. If the weather held he could clear at least two rows of the beautiful white pines that would bring him top dollar. As he bumped along the rutted fields his thoughts returned to Amy Baran. He felt like a sixteen-year-old again with his first crush.

      On the seat next to him, Cyrus growled as he fought with his chewie, which wasn’t crumbling to his satisfaction. “You see, Cyrus, you have to work for everything in this life. There’s no free lunch, even though Miss Amy Baran seems to think there is.” Cyrus ignored him as he continued fighting with the rawhide bone.

      Gus stood in awe as he gazed at the white pine grove. How beautiful, how pungent it smelled. Suddenly, he didn’t want to cut the trees. They were just too majestic. Even though his father hadn’t fertilized or irrigated the beautiful trees, they had survived. All the grove needed was to be thinned out. Maybe he would cut every third one instead of all of them. It broke his heart that once the magnificent specimens were cut, decorated by someone in a house that was probably too warm, the tree would slowly die and be discarded. You live, then you die, he thought bitterly.

      Angrily, Gus walked among the stately trees, tying long, yellow strips onto the branches. Long strips of the bright yellow tape meant the trees were not to be touched.

      Why, he asked himself, was he so angry? Was he angry that his mother died, that his father let everything go to hell, that he’d killed Gus’s birth tree by cutting it down and donating it to the White House? Or was he angry at the young woman in the purple hat and scarf for calling him a scrooge and hurting his feelings? All of the above, he decided as the chain saw in his hand came to life. He worked then like there was a devil on his shoulder, cutting away the thick undergrowth and dead branches. He broke a sweat but continued until it was too dark to see what he was doing. He was sweating profusely and every bone in his body ached as he drove back over the same bumpy fields. He looked down at his watch and was surprised to see that it was six-thirty. His father would be waiting dinner for him.

      His father wasn’t waiting for him when he opened the kitchen door. The table wasn’t set either. The huge pot of soup was still simmering on the warming burner. The oven showed a golden roast chicken dinner complete with stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy. Cyrus barked.

      Gus shed his outer clothing, and that’s when he noticed the red blinking light on his father’s answering machine. No voice mail for Sam Moss. Gus pressed the button to listen to the message. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he heard the sweet, melodious voice of his love. “Mr. Moss…ah, Gus, this is Amy Baran. I’m…ah, calling you to apologize for calling you a scrooge last night. I was upset when I called you Scrooge. At the time I meant it because I was angry. I don’t mean it today because I’m no longer angry. Even though we’re competitors of sorts, I hope you sell all of your trees and that you make a lot of money. Again, I’m sorry for my rude behavior.”

      “Well, hot damn! Did you hear that, Cyrus?” Gus slapped at the kitchen table as he danced a little jig while Cyrus nipped at his ankles. His love apologized. She wasn’t angry with him. Maybe now he could call her for a date. He played the message again and listened to the end of it. A frown built between his brows. She hoped he sold all his trees and made a lot of money. She thought this was all about money. She thought he was a money-hungry Christmas tree salesman. How could she think that about him? It was never about the money.

      A niggling voice whispered in his ear, a voice he didn’t want to hear. Sure it’s about the money. It’s about proving to your father you can do in two months what he didn’t do in the last ten years. This is your way of getting back at him. It all translates to money—$$$. Who are you kidding, Gus Moss?

      You didn’t put it behind you. You’re kidding yourself if you think you’ve moved on. You haven’t. You are a scrooge.

      The phone found its way to Gus’s hand. He dialed Information and asked for the number to the Baran residence. His shoulders slumped when he heard the voice mail click on. “This is Gus Moss, a.k.a. Scrooge. I just want to say I accept your apology and would like you to know I’m really a stand-up guy. I’d like to invite you to dinner if you have some free time. If you’re agreeable, we should probably schedule it before we both get busy selling Christmas trees. The apology wasn’t necessary. I would have said the same thing if I had been standing in your shoes. I think you should give me an opportunity to defend myself. I hope you have a nice evening.”

      Chapter Ten

      It was eight-thirty when Amy Baran dialed Gus Moss’s phone number. She hated herself for what she was about to do but she had no other choice. Ripples of anxiety raced up and down her arms. “Gus, this is Amy Baran. I just got your message. I appreciate the return phone call. Listen, I was just about to go out to Tony’s to grab a pizza. Would you like to join me?” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

      Gus looked down at his worn sweatpants, then at the oven where his dinner sat. He’d been in no hurry to eat earlier. “Well, sure. Thirty minutes?”

      “That works for me. I’ll meet you there.”

      “Wear that purple hat and scarf, okay?”

      Amy laughed, a jittery sound, but Gus didn’t pick up on her nervousness. He was beyond excited as he raced upstairs to change his clothes, with Cyrus right behind him, nipping at his heels. It took him four minutes to change into acceptable clothes for a pizza date. He used up another five minutes filling a plate for Cyrus. Two minutes later he was out the door. It only took a minute for him to realize how cold it was. He cranked on the heater and sailed down the road.

      Gus was ten minutes early when he parked his truck and headed for the pizzeria. It was warm and steamy, the rich scent of garlic and cheese wafting about. The place was full of chattering customers chomping down on Tony’s pizza. He looked around at the red leather booths for a sign of Amy. He saw her in the back. She waved. He grew light-headed as he made his way to the booth.

      She smiled.

      He smiled.

      She motioned for him to sit opposite her.

      He obliged.

      “I took the liberty of ordering. I got the works except for anchovies. If you want them, now’s the time to ask. I hope you like Corona.”

      “I do. Like Corona and no, I don’t like anchovies. I guess we have something in common. I love pizza. Three food groups you know.” He needed to stop acting like a young teenager and act like the successful man he was. He struggled for something to say that sounded intelligent. “It’s cold out.” Wow, that was brilliant.

      “I felt some snow flurries when I got out of the car. Usually it doesn’t get this cold this early. How do you handle this cold coming from California?”

      “I bought a lot of warm clothing. The truth is, today I was so cold I was numb. How was your day?”

      Amy picked at the napkin in her hands. It was almost shredded. Here it was, the question she’d been dreading. “Listen, I want you to know something about me, Gus. By nature I am not a devious person. I have ethics. I’m pretty much up front and in your face if anything. I called you back…under false pretenses. I was sincere about the apology the first time I called you. I’m not going to beat around the bush. I need your Christmas trees. I went out to McLean to a guy who said he СКАЧАТЬ