Page 110 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Carson rolled her eyes.

Meme smiled sweetly. “I only said I found the recipe.”

“You’re going to make cider.”

“Maybe.”

“For a festival we haven’t agreed to host.”

“Not yet.”

I hid my smile behind my glass, they bickered like mother and daughter. Then Jax asked about the dairy operation, changing the subject. Meme told a story about James trying to milk a cow for the first time after they bought the property and ending up kicked backward into a bucket. Apparently James had claimed afterward that the cow was, “emotionally unstable.”

I remembered him saying similar things about animals that didn’t cooperate.

“He blamed everything on the animal,” I said.

Carson looked at me. “You remember that?”

“He blamed a horse for stepping on his foot once.”

“Probably because the horse stepped on his foot.”

“He was standing directly behind it.”

“That sounds like Pops.”

Meme laughed. “He came into the house limping and told me the horse had a personal vendetta.”

Something changed in Carson’s face. The laugh remained, but so did the sadness. But one didn’t erase the other.

Meme looked toward me. “You worked here, didn’t you?”

“Couple summers.”

“I remember. Skinny little thing.”

Jax nearly choked on his tea.

I stared at her. “I was not skinny.”

“You were.”

“I played football.”

“You were still skinny.”

Carson studied me. “I would’ve paid money to see that.”

“There are no pictures.”

Meme’s expression brightened. “Oh, I’m sure there are.”

“Absolutely not.”

She started to stand. I pointed toward her chair. “Stay.”

Carson laughed again. “Scared?”