when she was grieving.” He gentled his voice. Cass Gentry wasn’t as slim as she’d been, and warm color washed the cheeks that had been ashen the last time he saw her, but he sensed fragility in the woman beside him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She started toward her SUV, which was parked beside the pickup. “When can we talk about the business?”
“Whenever you like. When would you like the fifty-cent tour?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Tomorrow? There will be a hayride through the orchard at ten. It gives you a good view of the place.”
“A hayride? Seriously?”
He wasn’t quite sure if she’d meant to sound derisive or if that was just how it came out, so he pushed back impatience. “Yes. We have them for groups by appointment or spur of the moment if someone wants to go and there’s an available driver. In October, we have evening ones.”
“All right, Mr. Rossiter. I’ll see you at ten.”
“It’s just Luke. Mr. Rossiter’s my dad, who would tell you, no, Mr. Rossiter’s my grandpa.”
She nodded, looking uncertain. “Can you tell me where the nearest supermarket is?”
“Sawyer.” He pointed. “Three miles that way.”
“I remember.” She sighed. “I think that can wait until tomorrow. I’m sure Royce won’t mind going out for dinner. What’s available at the lake?”
“Anything Goes Grill and Silver Moon Café. There’s also a pizza place that does carryout. The bulk foods store is great for groceries and has an excellent deli section. Are you staying at the lake?” Why would she do that with Zoey rattling around alone in that twelve-room farmhouse behind the hill of the orchard?
“Yes. For two weeks. That’s how long I’m giving myself to decide what to do.”
“What to do?”
“Yes.” She turned in a tight circle on the gravel drive, lifting her chin and gazing outward.
He followed her gaze with his own, wondering what she saw. The apple barn was there, its retail store convenient for customers. The cold storage barn, newer and bigger, had been built farther up the rise. The replica round barn, smaller than an original but true in shape and scale to the ones built in the area during the early twentieth century, held pride of place across the parking lot from the apple barn. The grapevines were behind it. The pumpkin patch filled the area between the driveway and the apple barn.
Trees were everywhere. Close to a hundred varieties of apples grew in neatly rowed sections all the way back to where Cottonwood Creek created the farm’s boundary. The way the orchard’s land rolled made keeping up with everything a challenge sometimes, but it was always rewarding.
The drives and parking lot were still gravel. Something always needed fixing. There was evidence of too many ideas conceived of but never hatched—the round barn being the greatest of those, the grapevines behind it another. Luke thought it was the most beautiful place in the world.
He wondered what she saw. With more urgency than he liked, he also wondered what she thought.
“WHEN ARE WE going to go see your aunt?” Royce stood at the bar that separated the lake cottage’s minute kitchen from its living area.
Cass slid the take-and-bake pizza out of the oven. “Come and get it. Ouch!” She licked the thumb she’d accidentally dipped into pizza sauce. “I don’t know. It’s complicated with Aunt Zoey. You know that.”
“Not to be rude—” which meant that was probably exactly what the teenager was going to be “—but everything in your family is complicated. Once we move back to the real world and I go back to school, I’m going to write a paper on it. You and your aunt and your past and present stepparents and Dad can be my expert witnesses. Do you want some milk?”
Cass shuddered. “No, thank you. And don’t forget, you’re related to some of that family, too.”
Royce bit into her pizza, chewed and swallowed before saying, “Just you and Dad. Mom’s not weird like you guys.”
“No, she’s not.” Cass poured coffee, glad whoever had been in the cottage last had left an opened bag of breakfast blend in the pantry. “Your mother has been a port of calm for me ever since I met her.” She eyed her sister’s plate when Royce took two more slices of pizza. “At least until now. Can you really eat that much pizza?”
“In a heartbeat.”
A half hour and an entertaining conversation later, Cass was surprised to realize that she, too, could eat four pieces of pizza without so much as blinking an eye. “What do you say?” She got up from the table with a groan and put their plates into the dishwasher. “Want to take a walk along the lake? As I remember it, there’s a nice path. Or we can walk on the road.”
Royce looked scandalized. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, Sister Authority Figure, but it’s dark out there.”
“I know.” Cass put on one of the hooded sweatshirts they’d hung inside the entry closet and tossed the other one to Royce—the evening air was cool. “That’s why I’m taking you along. I might need protection.”
Royce was right about it being dark, but it seemed to be social hour on the lake’s narrow graveled roads. Not only were people walking and running, the bicycle and golf cart traffic rivaled that of the retirement community where Marynell had lived.
Cass had thought she might recognize people and had dreaded it. She’d also looked forward to it. She’d love to explain to them why she’d left without saying goodbye. Why letters forwarded by her grandmother had gone unanswered. Why, when people had looked for her, she hadn’t responded. Why, in an electronic world that fascinated her, she remained anonymous.
But she couldn’t even explain it to herself.
“Where was the house where you lived with your grandparents that year you were here?” Royce interrupted her admittedly maudlin thoughts.
“On the other side where the condos are. They sold it to a development company within a few years after I left. The lake has gotten a little more upscale than it was when I was in high school. We’ll drive around there tomorrow and see.” She pointed toward a large Craftsman house. “That’s Christensen’s Cove. Two of my friends lived there. Arlie’s dad, Dave, and Holly’s mom, Gianna, were married. They were some of the best people I’ve ever known.”
When they reached the south end of the lake, Royce stared at the two estates that took up most of the frontage. “They look really out of place here,” she said finally. “It’s like a what’s-wrong-with-this-picture thing.”
“It is. The one over there is where the Grangers lived. Chris and Gavin were always away at school, although they were here in the summer. I think their family owns the winery we drove past. What was it called?”
“Sycamore Hill. We liked its
