a candidate for president or governor. There was no opera or a cultural museum. But do you know...” Rose leaned forward, eyes suddenly bright. “My attitude changed. The mix of people here is unlike anyplace else on earth. And I learned to love it.” She pointed at Emma with one slender finger. “We like Harmony Valley the way it is.”
Here was the familiar, determined Granny Rose. Emma sat up with a roll of her shoulders. “I like it, too.”
Granny Rose laughed. “Kathryn, you hated growing up here. We didn’t have television and there weren’t enough boys. You couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
Emma’s breath hitched. Kathryn was her mother. For the second time that day Emma reintroduced herself. “Granny, it’s me. Emma.”
Rose blinked. “Emma?” She smoothed her white hair back with fingers that trembled. Emma didn’t know if the shaking came from age, illness or stress. “Emma. You’ve always loved Harmony Valley.” And just like that, Granny Rose was herself again.
It was like losing the car-radio signal when you went beneath an overpass. Only this tuner required a doctor to fix it.
“I do love it here.” Emma loved it so much that more than half of her freelance portfolio and some of her bestselling works were based on the unspoiled views. Not that she couldn’t sketch or paint elsewhere. She had. Sedona, Yosemite, Yellowstone. But Harmony Valley was different. Not as grand. Not as colorful. But infinitely more peaceful.
If... When Emma painted again, it would be in this place. With all of Granny Rose’s love and support. And hopefully Tracy’s, too.
“Well, I have a busy day tomorrow. I like to be fresh in the morning.” Rose stood, wobbling a smidge. If Emma hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it.
Emma rushed to her grandmother’s side, offering an arm to lean on. She’d call her mother in the morning and tell her she was getting in touch with Granny’s doctor. “Let me walk you back.”
“My room is just down the hall, not across the continent,” her grandmother snapped with all the pepper Emma knew so well.
Emma chuckled, breathing in the familiar scent of rose water. “Humor me. I’ve missed you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Granny Rose accepted Emma’s support with a wry laugh. “Isn’t it lovely to have someone to lean on?”
“You miss Grandpa, don’t you?”
“Every day. But he’s going to be waiting for me when my time comes, the same as he waited for me under the oak tree in the town square when we were courting.”
Emma loved to hear how much her grandparents had loved each other, probably because her lawyer parents had barely survived a messy divorce when she was a toddler. That was when she and her mother had come to live with Granny Rose.
The floorboards creaked more than usual, almost as much as her grandmother’s knees. “You know he wants to cut down the oak tree in the town square. He doesn’t care that half the town received marriage proposals under that tree.”
“Who doesn’t care?” Emma turned on the hall light. It flickered, then burned bright.
“That computer nerd. He’s a pain in my tuckus.”
“Mine, too.”
Emma bid Granny Rose good-night, and then lugged her bags upstairs, depositing the shoebox full of Carina Career dolls next to her bed. Her room at Granny’s was small with a single bed covered in a green-and-gold star quilt and an old walnut dresser that didn’t take up much floor space. Emma loved the room. The southern exposure let in the most wonderful natural light.
When Emma was ten, she and Granny Rose had painted the walls the palest of blues and taken all the permanent pictures down so Emma could hang her works. She’d filled the walls last summer, but sold all those paintings to contribute to the cost of Tracy’s care.
Tonight, the empty walls spurned her.
Tomorrow she hoped Tracy wouldn’t do the same.
* * *
AFTER WILL LEFT Rose’s house, he walked along the fragrant bank of the meandering Harmony River, dodging blackberry vines and the occasional tendril of a wild yellow rose. The sun had dipped behind one of the hills surrounding Harmony Valley, creating a humid, hazy twilight.
When Emma realized he hadn’t asked Tracy if she wanted to see her, she’d glared up at him, the bandaged bump pushing through her dark brown bangs as stubbornly as she pushed up her chin. He’d seen that headstrong look of hers before—when she was seven and had been convinced that she and Tracy deserved a chance to play baseball with the older boys; when she’d found him and his fourteen-year-old friends skinny-dipping in the Harmony River and wanted to jump in; when he’d answered an SOS call from Tracy after the pair had sought refuge in a strip club when they’d realized they were in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district after-hours.
Emma Willoughby was trouble.
His sister was at a critical juncture in her recovery. She’d hit a plateau and was emotionally beaten. The last thing Tracy needed was a reminder of the accident or some ill-conceived adventure of Emma’s. He had to keep her away.
A figure stepped onto the path ahead of him, immediately recognizable. Her jeans and beige T-shirt bagged on her too-slim, too-frail frame.
“What are you doing here?” Will asked his sister with forceful cheer.
Tracy’s mouth worked in a halting cadence. “You. Took. Too. Long.”
Sorrow clung to Will like a lingering hangover. His sister used to talk high-speed and nonstop. Doctors told them these next few months were critical for Tracy’s recovery. Somehow he had to get her back on track. Tracy needed a goal to work toward, something more concrete than smoother speech.
Sorrow became anger, directed at Emma and her carelessness. “I visited Rose. I need all the votes I can get.”
“Suck. Up.”
“Come look.” Will leaned against a eucalyptus tree, breathing in its minty scent. The trees here bordered the property he and his business partners had purchased. Neat rows of chardonnay and cabernet sauvignon grapes filled forty acres like ranks of green soldiers. The farmer in him appreciated the effort required to build the vineyard and keep it healthy. The businessman looked at the farm buildings the town council threatened to condemn and shuddered.
Tracy leaned against the trunk next to him. “Pretty.”
Now was the time to plant the seed. “How would you like to run our winery when it’s done?” Tracy struggled with speech, but she was as sharp as ever. This could be the goal she needed to push herself further in her recovery.
She thrust away from him, scowling. “You... I... No. Why?”
“It was just a thought. You have a business degree.” Will backed down. It was too soon. He’d wait a few more days before mentioning it again.
“Minor,” she corrected with a shake of her head. “English major.”
He ruffled her short
