“What meat do you like?” he asked Will. “Sausage? Lamb? Chicken?”

Will shrugged. “Are they the same chickens? Because I got their eggs today, and I liked them.”

“You’ll get around that. Corinne, bring the boy pears and cheese!” Paco yelled. And then to Jenny, he said, “Do you like potatoes and beans? Corinne, soup for my guest!”

The platters of meat came out, and Paco showed the kids how to gnaw the lamb off the bone, and they tried it, both of them liking it. They ate tapas, not realizing there was fish lying atop the pimento and cheese slice. Paco was large and robust, with the broad shoulders of a man who had been physically challenged by hard work every day of his life.

Dinner was a social event that went on for some time, but immediately following the meal, everyone who had worked in the orchard drifted off, headed straight for bed. The women gathered in the kitchen both to clean up and store food and to eat, gossip and laugh around the work island. Peyton’s brother George took some of his relatives across the property to his house, Corinne and Paco put up several in their house, there was one RV and one fifth wheel that housed more aunts, uncles and cousins. Scott was given a room with two bunk beds in it.

On Saturday, Peyton drove them around the property in a Rhino, a vehicle perfect for getting around the farm. They saw the orchard, the potato fields and George’s sheep. It was a long and busy day.

Dinner that night started out the same, but it didn’t end with exhausted workers headed for bed. A fire was built behind the house, and there were chairs surrounding it. Everyone gathered, and a few instruments came out—a clarinet, a drum, an accordion, a horn. Music began to serve as a backdrop to conversation. Some men lit thin cigars or pipes, and wine bottles were passed around.

And then Uncle Sal got up and began to dance. Paco followed his brother. George joined them, and within a few minutes there were a couple of teenage boys joining in the traditional dance. If they’d been wearing their cultural garb of white with red vests and caps it would have felt like a Basque festival, but these were tired yet energized men who had worked hard all day and wore the dress of farmers. And they danced like young men, whooping, slapping the air, grinning, twirling, kicking.

Paco pulled Will into the group, and he looked completely confused, then one of the teenagers showed him a couple of steps and kicks, and he was immediately into it.

Peyton grabbed little Jenny’s hand and took her behind all the chairs and danced around with her. Some of the girls and women clapped for the dancing men.

And Scott thought, I’m on another planet. It was like a fairy tale filled with excellent food, great wine, good cheer, celebration. Then the thing that brought it all home for him happened. Paco grabbed his wife of over thirty-five years and planted a big kiss on her mouth, holding her tight for a moment, laughing lustfully as she tried to get away from his coltish playfulness.

They were still hot for each other after all the hard years and eight kids. That was perfect.

Scott and the kids headed for bed before the older men gave up their wine, cigars, dance and laughter. Peyton went into the house with him, helping to get the kids bathed. “We can leave in the morning. The harvest is done until next Friday. Tomorrow they’ll all go to church and then home. Papa will send pears, slaughtered and frozen lamb and extra food with them all. When they help Uncle Sal at the vineyard, they bring home many bottles of wine—that’s the best. Are you exhausted?”

“I’m exhausted,” Scott said. “The kids have had the time of their lives. I think this was better than Disneyland!”

“They’ll be asleep in seconds. Let’s go out to the front porch swing and snuggle up for a little while. In the morning we’ll head back to Thunder Point. I’ll talk Mama out of some of your favorite dishes,” she said.

“Ohhh.” He sighed. “You are a dream come true.”

“And you, Dr. Grant, are a glutton!”

Fourteen

It was the first week of September, school had started for Will. Jenny and Mercy were attending a preschool in Bandon three days a week, with Eve McCain babysitting the other two days. And Scott Grant felt truly alive for the first time in four years.

He tried to play his cards close to his vest, not behave too demonstratively, but when he touched Peyton, his feelings were as raw and honest as they could possibly be. And naturally, since Scott had no guile, his words followed suit, especially when they made love. Nuzzling her neck, he asked. “Do you know what your skin smells like?”

“Yes. Right now it smells like you,” she said with laughter in her voice.

“Before it smells like me, it smells like rain. And faintly of flowers. And freshly washed linens. I can’t get enough. It’s intoxicating. Do you know what you taste like?”

“You?”

“Before that, you’re candy floss and champagne. Sweet and delicious and so soft on my tongue.”

They had been changed by their few days away and talked endlessly about their families and the differences in where they’d come from, even though they’d actually grown up just a hundred miles apart. It hadn’t exactly been planned, yet it did a lot to cement their relationship. Now all he could do was hope that Peyton was beginning to feel the same way. She was everything he had wanted in a woman for such a long time.

They fell into a nice routine in the clinic the week after their trips to Vancouver and the farm. Peyton had some ideas and suggestions for improvements—for one thing, she felt strongly that the clinic needed an X-ray machine. When Scott told her he had considered that when money loosened up a little bit, she began drafting grant proposals. The clinic assisted so many patients on federal and state entitlement medical programs, and there was grant money available. Not only did she begin researching qualifications and drafting copy, she brought Devon up to speed on the process, increasing her already impressive office skills.

It was Friday, and the clinic was empty of patients at the lunch hour. Devon had gone across the street to the diner for a bite to eat, Peyton was busy at the computer in Scott’s office and Scott was sitting at Devon’s desk in reception looking through patient notes. A man walked in. Scott knew who he was immediately. He was either Superman or Ted Ramsdale. He was exactly as Peyton had described him. Six-two, thick dark hair, broad shoulders, a face handsome enough for feature films, chiseled enough to cut glass. And above all, poised and confident.

“Hello,” Scott said, standing from the desk. “Can I help you?”

“Dr. Ramsdale, here to see Peyton Lacoumette.”

Scott was a healthy six feet tall, yet this man with his square jaw and piercing blue eyes somehow made him feel puny. “Let me tell her you’re here,” he said. But when he turned toward the back of the clinic, Peyton was already standing in the hallway.

“What can I do for you, Ted?” she asked smoothly.

Ted looked around briefly. “Is there a place we can have a private conversation?”

“Scott, is your office available for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” he said.

He watched as Ted let himself through the break in the counter and followed Peyton down the hallway. He noticed that Ted reached out to grab her elbow as if to escort her, and she shook him loose, throwing a grimace over her shoulder at him. Scott wished he hadn’t even seen that. He was afraid it would fill him with false hope. He stood at the counter. He let out his breath. Wow. He came after her.