Page 38 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Dad’s eyes met mine. Dad rarely issued orders anymore, but he had a way of making his expectations known without saying them directly. This time though, something passed between us. Something sharp enough he clarified it with words.

“Make sure it’s safe,” he said.

“I will.”

“And charge her fairly.”

“I always charge fairly.”

“I know. Charge her fairly.”

That second version meant something different.

Before I could respond, Mom looked at me.

“You took her home?”

“Yes.”

“To Marigold Ranch?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

I frowned. “And what?”

“How is Evelyn?”

“She seems good. Worried about Carson.”

“That woman has worried about Carson since the day she was born.” Mom’s voice softened. “How does the ranch look?”

I hesitated. Carson’s guarded expression returned to me. The way she had watched me notice the leaning fences. The exhaustion behind her insistence that they were managing.

“It needs work,” I admitted.

Dad’s mouth flattened. “James kept that place immaculate.”

“James had more employees,” Clover said. “June told me most of them left after he died.”

“Clover,” Mom cautioned.

“What? It isn’t gossip if it’s true.”

“It’s still someone else’s business.”

Clover lowered her fork, though curiosity remained bright in her eyes.

Hunter spoke quietly beside her, “Running a dairy with limited help would be difficult for anyone.” His tone held no pity. Only fact.

“She’s doing most of it herself,” I said, thinking again of Carson unloading paperwork at the grocery store, memorizing delivery details, and refusing to let me pay for anything.

Mom stopped cutting her chicken. “How do you know?”

“I asked about employees and she avoided answering.”

“That sounds like Carson,” Dad said. “James once broke two ribs and told everyone he’d pulled a muscle because he didn’t want help through calving season.”