“It’s not a?—”
“It absolutely is,” Chuck interrupted. “Jake planned the whole thing.Veryromantic.”
“We’re just visiting some properties,” Wes protested.
“Sure you are.” Evan grinned. “That’s why Jake asked us to cover ‘no matter what happens, even if he’s resistant.’”
Chuck held up a thermos. “We brought coffee. And Brody made cinnamon rolls.”
“You didn’t have to?—”
“Shut up and say thank you,” Tucker said, pushing past him into the house. “Where’s Miguel?”
“Already in the field. We’ve got reservations all day, beginning at noon. Not including walk-ins.”
“We’ve got it.” Chuck squeezed Wes’s shoulder. “You go. Have some fun. Let someone else worry about things.”
Jake’s car pulled up, and the four men stood smiling at him, daring him to dally. He grabbed his jacket and called out to Henry that he was leaving. Before closing the door, he turned. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”
“Merry Christmas,” said Evan, arm around Tucker’s waist. “Have fun.”
Outside, Jake’s rental car was running, plumes of exhaust smoke rising in the cool air.
“Ready?” Jake asked as Wes climbed in.
“I think so. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Diane’s farmhouse looked picturesque in the winter morning light. Smoke rose from the chimney, and the windows glowed warm against the bare orchards beyond.
She met them at the door with a smile. “Wes Dalton. " I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Crawford.”
“It’s Diane, honey. Come in, both of you. Coffee’s fresh.”
Her kitchen smelled of apples and cinnamon. Same as always, Wes thought. He remembered coming here with his mother as a kid, he and Cody Crawford eating fresh peach cobbler while the women talked about canning and preserving.
“I was just telling Jake the other day about the 2019 storm,” Diane said, pouring them a cup. “Lost half my peach trees. Theice buildup was so fast, branches were snapping. Sounded like firecrackers all night long.”
Wes nodded. “We lost thirty percent of our stock. Would’ve been worse, but Dad and I stayed up all night, tarping what we could.”
“Robert did the same.” Diane’s voice softened. “Saved what he could. But the stress...”
She trailed off, looking out at the orchard.
“The doctor said it was inevitable,” she continued. “The storm was just the final straw. Two weeks later, Robert had his heart attack. He was gone before the ambulance arrived.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Diane,” Wes said, unable to say her name without some formality. His own mother had been sick for two years before she died—a long, slow decline. It was awful. But he imagined the shock of sudden loss could be equally terrible.
“I tried to run everything myself after that.” Diane sat down across from them. “Thought I owed it to him, you know? To keep his legacy alive.”
She laughed, bitter. “Nearly killed myself trying. Cody found me passed out in the orchard last July. Dehydration, exhaustion. I’d been working fourteen-hour days, hadn’t eaten properly in weeks.”
“What changed?” Jake asked, though he already knew.
“My daughter staged an intervention. Brought my whole family down from Tennessee. They said Robert would be rolling in his grave if he knew I was killing myself to save his farm.” Diane looked directly at Wes. “She was right. This farm was supposed to be our life, not our death.”
