Promises Under the Peach Tree

Mack took his time finishing his own beer, needing a minute to get his head on straight before he went in the house to talk to his mother. What did Scott know about putting the past to rest?

He couldn’t deny that Nina stirred him up inside as much as ever. In fact, his ex-wife had accused him of never getting over Nina. Jenny had been wrong about that, though. He’d been furious with Nina Spencer. She hadn’t been able to shake the dust of Tennessee off her shoes fast enough at a time when he’d needed her most.

She’d called him the night after the accident, upset and crying, saying she was leaving that night for New York. Right then. And she begged him to come with her. No warning of her change of plans, she just wanted to go.

But he couldn’t leave his family when they were falling apart, and she’d never forgiven him for it. Then again, things had only gotten worse after she left, and he’d blamed her for not being there with him. For impulsively taking off. Within the month, they were done speaking for good.

So just because Mack’s temperature spiked into the triple digits whenever he saw her didn’t mean he’d ever forget the way she’d bailed on him.

* * *

WHEN NINA HAD left Manhattan, she’d taken only her espresso machine and her cat on a red-eye flight.

Now, two days later, the rest of her worldly possessions were being unloaded off the back of a sketchy-looking moving truck and into one of her grandmother’s barns. She hadn’t wanted her things being manhandled by repo men in New York.

“Careful with that!” Nina blurted to one of the movers as he struggled with an antique pie rack that had been a gift from a client. Her apartment furnishings would all remain in the city just in case she could figure out a way to get her life and her career on track again. She was in a holding pattern for now between the business and her grandmother’s health. She was mostly in Tennessee, but she’d left one foot in New York in case things were a total bust here. After all, if her grandmother truly needed to go into assisted living, there wouldn’t be anything tying her to Heartache.

But for now, Nina would stay in Tennessee until the scandal surrounding her business died and she’d liquidated some assets, then she’d figure out where to go next. Her partner had been in charge of the books for their shared bakery venture and she’d drained their account before eloping with a high-profile client on the eve of his wedding.

Big, fat mess.

“I’ve got it,” one of the movers assured her, sweat dripping off his forehead as he struggled to keep the pie rack off the concrete floor. “We can handle this.”

Telling herself not to micromanage, Nina nodded and took the opportunity to grab a cup of coffee from inside the house. She could smell bacon frying before she reached the screen door.

“Gram!” What was she going to do with her? Even with a cane, her grandmother stood at the stove with a fork in one hand.

Yanking open the screen, Nina hurried to take her place.

“You’re just in time for breakfast.” Gram tried shooing her away, her freshly colored blond locks tucked behind one ear. “I can get it, for crying out loud. How do you suppose I ate before you got here?”

“Humor me.” Nina guided her to a padded metal chair from a mismatched bunch of flea-market finds clustered around a butcher block table. “Let me at least serve, okay?”

“Only because I love you and want to make you happy.” Her grandmother kissed her cheek and took a seat, her swollen knuckles clutching the table as she lowered herself slowly. “Just don’t get in the habit of waiting on me, dear.”

“Okay.” Nina made quick work of plating the eggs and bacon, her stomach growling the whole time. “But if you’re doing well, why does Dad say you should be considering assisted living?”

She’d been surprised by his tersely worded email urging Nina to convince his mother to move into a new place where she would have someone checking on her.

“Because he doesn’t want to be bothered by phone calls from his mother.” Gram winked at her over the rim of her coffee cup, but Nina didn’t think she was joking.

She peered over the white ruffled café curtains on one window to check on the movers’ progress in the barn and then took a seat at the table.

“I know he’s selfish, Gram.” He’d never inconvenienced himself for them, and Nina doubted he was any different with his second wife or her children—half siblings Nina had met only because she insisted on visiting twice a year to at least make an effort. “But he’s never brought up something like assisted living before. Did the doctors voice new concerns to him?”

“I have no idea what any of my doctors would have told him.” Gram rose to refresh her coffee even though she’d hardly taken three sips.

“That sounds...carefully worded.” Nina’s eye strayed to the oversize vintage stove that Gram had used since her wedding, a Wedgewood appliance where Nina had learned how to bake.

This kitchen had been a refuge for a child continually shuttled between feuding parents. When she was in Heartache, she wasn’t in the crossfire. On the downside, being left here time after time as a child and then permanently when she was ten years old only underscored that she wasn’t wanted. “I may have tuned out some of what your father said.” Gram shuffled back to the table, slower this time. Because of the full coffee cup, or did that knee still bother her more than she wanted to admit?

Nina wanted to help, but also didn’t want to hover. She watched every cautious step and felt tense inside.

“Would you mind if I followed up with your doctors?” Nina sipped her orange juice and tried to focus on the moment and what needed to be done—and not on Mack Finley.

“You want to talk to my doctors. So they can tell you what? That I’m eighty-four and my bones are brittle?” Gram chuckled and pointed a pink fingernail at her. “We both know that already. I’m being careful. I don’t even wear cute shoes anymore.” She stuck out her mint-green-colored tennis sneaker as a reminder. “But if you really want to talk to them, sugar plum, of course you can.”

“Sugar plum?”

Gram smiled and patted her cheek. “I’ve missed you, pretty girl. You never visit for more than a weekend anymore, and I have a lot of endearments to cram into these days together.”

Guilt pinched, but this time, it mingled with nostalgia.

“I’ve missed you, too.” She sipped her coffee, her grandmother’s brew so strong she wondered if she’d have to hook up her espresso machine after all. “I don’t think I realized how much.”

“I knew the bacon would win you over.”

“Even the coffee is better here.” Everything tasted better at home. Maybe it was because she’d learned all that she knew about cooking and baking from the woman seated next to her. “I’m actually dying to cook in this kitchen again. I forgot how much I loved the stove. And I’ve been so focused on baking the last few years that I haven’t spent much time on other kinds of dishes.”

“You cook all you want. I’d rather have you in the kitchen than playing sleuth at my doctor’s office.” Gram frowned and tapped her newly manicured nails against her coffee cup for a moment before she met Nina’s gaze. “I don’t want to give up my independence or this house, hon. So, please, make sure your father doesn’t try and pull a fast one on me to get me out of here, okay?”

Worry made Nina’s stomach clench. Her grandmother had always seemed invincible. She’d carved out a living for herself in a big old empty farmhouse after her husband died when he’d been fifty-five. Gram had been on her own ever since, living frugally and selling off pieces of land and equipment to supplement odd jobs like canning and making jellies for a local farm store. Not until recently had she ever spent a nickel on herself, and that was only because Nina had given her a year’s worth of salon services for Christmas last year. Gram was crafty and cagey. A survivor. And it sent a sharp pain through Nina to hear a note of fear in this strong woman’s voice.

“Of course.” As soon as she made the promise, though, she wondered how she would keep it if she ended up moving home to New York. “I mean, I’ll talk to Dad and clear things with your doctors since obviously, we all want you to be safe, too. But you look great to me.”

Gram quirked an eyebrow, clearly hearing the backpedaling.

A sharp rap on the kitchen door startled her and saved her from digging herself any deeper into a hole.

“It’s Ethan, Mrs. Spencer,” a young man’s voice called through the closed door.

“Ethan?” Nina looked to her grandmother to enlighten her as she stood.

“A neighbor boy,” she explained to Nina just before she opened the door. “Well, hello there, young man.”

“Morning, Mrs. Spencer. I finished mowing the lawn and I wanted to see if you’d like me to pick some peaches or nectarines for you.” A shaggy-headed, dark-haired teenager held an empty bushel basket under one arm, his rumpled T-shirt and jeans covered with bits of hay suggesting he’d already been working for a while.

“The more the merrier, Ethan.” Gram waved at the boy but didn’t stand...a sure sign her knee was hurting. “I’ve got some reinforcements this week to help me with my last batch of jam now that the peach season is almost over. Nina, this is Ethan Brady. He’s the grandson of the gentleman who bought the dairy farm where the Hendersons used to live.”

“Nina Spencer.” Nina shook the teen’s hand. “I’m visiting my grandmother for a couple of weeks. Did you need help with the picking?” She peered out the door behind the boy toward the orchards in the distance, but couldn’t tell if the trees were loaded with fruit or not.

“No, thank you.” He looked like he might be hiding a smile. “I can handle it. I wouldn’t want to take Mrs. Spencer’s company away.”

“I don’t mind.” She hadn’t questioned how her grandmother was doing financially, but maybe she would welcome the extra jam and jelly sales while Nina was home to help her. For that matter, maybe she shouldn’t be helping her grandmother give away those peach pies when she should be charging for them. “I’ll just grab some gloves in the barn—”

“No, really,” Ethan protested, stepping off the small porch and backing away. “My gramp gave me strict instructions to take care of the picking myself because he owes Mrs. Spencer a favor,” he called through the screen. “And he said to tell you that the town of Heartache loves cupcakes.” The teen shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. “No clue what the means.”

Spinning on his heel, he darted through the tall grasses of an open meadow with his bushel basket and headed toward the orchards.