Page 53 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“That easy?”

“No.” She smiled. “I’m just changing tactics.”

“Clover.”

“What? I’m being honest.”

Beau rubbed a hand over his face. Walter drank his coffee with a frown. And I realized, with growing horror, that every member of this family was going to become a problem.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, thankful for the change of topic.

MEME:

Mrs. Whitaker called. Harvest meeting tonight. I think we should go.

I stared at the message.

Of course.

Of course she had.

“Good news?” Clover leaned toward me.

I locked the screen. “No.”

Her smile returned, it scrunched her nose. “See you at seven.”

“I didn’t say I was coming.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I looked toward Beau for assistance, but he raised both hands.

“I’m staying out of this.”

“Coward,” I whispered.

“Smart choice brother.” Clover smiled cheerily.

I should have left. I should have paid the deposit for Pops’s truck, gotten into Meme’s Camry, driven back to Marigold Ranch, and spent the rest of the day doing what I had done for the last five years.

Work.

Keep my head down.

Keep the ranch alive.

Keep Willow Creek safely on the other side of our property line.

Instead, I stood beside Pops’s broken truck with a pumpkin muffin in my hand and stared at Meme’s message again.

I think we should go.

We hadn’t attended a Harvest Festival meeting since Pops died.

We hadn’t hosted the festival since the year before my accident.

And suddenly, everyone seemed determined to drag Marigold Ranch back into a tradition I had spent five years avoiding.