“First of all, I didn’t drug you. Is this shovel big enough?” he asked, holding up what could be used as a snow sh
ovel.
“It’s big enough to plant six trees. You should—” Eden started to explain about gardening equipment, but when she looked at him and saw that his eyes were twinkling, she knew he was teasing her. She had an idea that he knew more about gardening than he was letting on. “Could you open these boxes? We need to get the trees out, then we’re going to the orchard to plant them.”
He pulled a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and slit the plastic bands around the boxes. As they began to pull damp, shredded newspaper off the bareroot trees, she said, “So how did you get into the FBI?”
“I thought that was the way to save the world and that I could do it single-handedly. Great! A peach tree. My favorite.”
“Why do I sense disappointment? Did you find out that you’re not helping?”
Jared shrugged as he untangled three trees from one another. “I guess I’ve done some good, but the day-to-day bad you see gets you down. Sometimes things happen to make me realize that the average American man doesn’t spend his days dealing with the lowlifes that I know. Drugs. Murder. Women with slashed faces. I once worked on a case where three women—” Cutting himself off, he looked at her quickly, then away. “I wish there really was a little machine that could make me forget what I’ve seen.”
“Oh. You mean a machine like in Men in Black?”
“Exactly.”
“So how many grown cockroaches have you had to deal with?”
“Hundreds.”
Eden laughed. “So what’s the future hold for you?”
“I have no idea. Retire and settle down, maybe. Or I could get out of the field and take a desk job, but that appeals to me about as much as…”
“As what?”
“As having a desk job, I guess.”
Smiling, Eden looked toward the back of her property. She could see the orchard—or what was left of it. Toddy and she had set the posts, and together they’d put in the three-rail fence. It had weathered to a beautiful gray, and by now her orchard should have been beautiful. But nearly all the trees were dead, or so overgrown that they looked as though they wished they were dead, and part of the fence had fallen down.
Jared followed her glance. “Bad, huh?”
“Very bad.” She looked at him. “But thanks to the trees Brad sent, I can revive the orchard.” She looked him up and down. “Are you up to some work? Real work? And you can’t shoot anything.”
“Not even Granvilles?” Jared asked without cracking a smile.
“Most certainly not Granvilles.”
“I think I can handle it. But I have a bum leg and a couple of old wounds that—”
“Yeah, well, I had a baby. You want to compare pain?” Eden said as she turned toward the Mule. She needed to start making a plan of the whole garden, and what better way to survey her land than in the little truck?
Jared started to get into the driver’s seat, but Eden glared at him, and, with a mock bow, he handed her the key. It took a minute for her to get the hang of starting it and keeping it started (choke out, neutral gear, choke off, brake off, forward gear), but once she got it going, she set off across the lawn. There was no windshield, and as the air ran cool and fast across her face, she felt young and free. She glanced at McBride and saw that he was enjoying it too. On impulse, Eden turned the wheel sharply, and since the truck was so small, it turned in a circle hardly bigger than an embroidery hoop. She headed toward the unplanted fields next to her house. There didn’t seem to be any shock absorbers in the little truck because they could feel every bounce of the rough field. Again, she glanced at McBride and saw that he was smiling.
On impulse, Eden pushed the gas pedal to the floor and McBride almost fell out the open side. He grabbed the handle on the steel rod overhead, stuck his long legs under the dashboard, and held on. Eden raced across the bumpy fields, her teeth jarring and her breasts bouncing until they hurt. The air was cold on her face and blew her hair straight out, but the freedom of the ride felt wonderful. When she saw a leftover peanut bale, she hit it at full speed. When peanut stems flew up, she ducked her head, and McBride put up his arm to protect his face.
“All right!” he yelled joyously.
Eden turned the wheel sharply so they went in a circle, then she ran it toward another old peanut bale. When she hit it, the truck bounced them to the overhead canopy. Her head only touched it, but Jared yelled in pain—which made Eden throw back her head and laugh. Looking at her, he joined in the laughter.
It was on the fourth bale that they got stuck. The engine died and they stopped moving. Eden started the motor again, but the truck wouldn’t move. She turned off the engine and looked at McBride expectantly. Someone was going to have to push.
Jared threw a long leg out—and promptly sunk down to the middle of his calf. “What the—” he said.
“Swamp,” Eden said succinctly, nodding toward the great barrier of trees at the end of the field. “Precisely, it’s the Great Dismal Swamp. Did you know that George Washington surveyed the place?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And he stayed in your house.”