“No,” Bett said helplessly. Her mother had been here all of fifteen minutes and already she felt undermined. Guilty for the state of the house, for her inadequate figure, for her kitchen floor. And in disgrace because of the bees.
“And we’ll have it all done before Zach comes in to dinner. He’ll be pleased. Brittany, it is not necessary for you to help. Honestly, I am perfectly happy-”
“I know you are, Mom.” Only Bett couldn’t very well stand there and stare down at her mother, who was on her hands and knees. If Elizabeth wouldn’t get up, Bett was obviously going down. On hands and knees, the two women faced each other, both smiling. Elizabeth’s smile was delighted. “You know, we’re going to have such a good time together!”
“Yes,” Bett agreed. There was a semi due in for the peaches. The workers were expecting their paychecks. She was freezing cold and her yellow shirt was sticking to her. They were going to have to spray tonight because of the rain, and it would take hours to unpack the rest of Elizabeth’s U-Haul.
At another level, Bett felt a rush of warmth flood her at Elizabeth’s smile. Those smiles had been all too rare this past year. Okay, Mom, Bett thought fleetingly. I am not going to feel irritated. We are going to be calm together. And I am darned well going to keep you happy or die trying. She picked up the scrub brush.
Zach strode impatiently toward the house. The entire day was a bitch. Six hours of spraying coming up, not his favorite chore. He hadn’t liked leaving Bett with a crew in the rain, and in the meantime the semi had just arrived, with Caruso’s Mercedes trailing it. Their buyer always had an hour to spare for showing off pictures of his grandchildren. By spending time, Caruso seemed to feel he was “cultivating” one of his favorite growers. The only cultivating Zach had time for during the harvest season was in a field, and he still had miles to go this day. Bett usually handled Caruso, but Zach had seen the pink Lincoln in the yard, the one Chet had paid God knows how much to have custom painted some years back.
A warm, wet muzzle snuggled into Zach’s palm; he paused long enough to stroke the oversized, mangy beast to whom it belonged. “Baby” was one of Bett’s orphans. The thin line of Zach’s mouth softened. He crouched down on his haunches. “So where’ve you been, you old cuss? Bett’s been worried.”
The dog moaned at the sound of Bett’s name. Zach chuckled, stroking the bristly fur under the animal’s chin one last time. Bett had her bees. The cat. A fawn she’d managed to charm into the backyard last winter. She’d trained a covey of pheasants to come to the back door to be fed on snowy days. And the pigeons that made a disastrous mess on the barn roof were “homers”-which meant they were supposed to go home. Instead, they had a cooing fit whenever Bett set foot outside.
His wife was fey. Baby, the mangy mutt, was just a part-time visitor who’d limped up to the door one day with a trap caught on one paw. The dog somewhat resembled a Great Dane, but with a hound’s sagging jaws and a setter’s sweeping tail. He checked in regularly with Bett, just wouldn’t stay. Zach wondered fleetingly how Bett had ever thought herself happy as a city girl. His love for wild creatures matched hers, but he didn’t have her special gift with them.
Just an appreciation for it. He stroked the dog’s head one last time. “She’ll be out,” he promised, and made for the house.
Chaos greeted him at the door. Boxes and grocery bags and suitcases were piled every which way; the two canaries were chittering with fright. Sniper, who never came inside, was perched on top of the cage, interestedly batting his paw between the gold bars. Used to coolness and silence when he walked into the house, Zach swallowed a sigh of exasperation and made his way along a hazardous path toward the kitchen.
His nose wrinkled instantly at the smell of ammonia; after that jarring note came another. There was a feminine screech the moment his booted foot hit the floor; for some unknown reason the refrigerator was in the middle of the room; and before he had a chance to draw a breath, his mother-in-law was hurling herself at him.
He not only accepted the quick hug, he returned it; but he didn’t have much chance to greet her.
“I wanted so much for us to have it done before you came in!” Elizabeth said unhappily. “Zach, I’m so glad to see you! I’ve brought you a few things-listen, you just sit down. I’ll get you some iced tea. In the living room, there’s no walking on the kitchen floor just yet. Not that you can’t if you want to,” she added hastily. “It’s just that-”
“You’re looking great, Liz,” he interjected as soon as she stopped to draw breath. His exasperation faded a little. He really was pleased to see the animated enthusiasm on his mother-in-law’s face, and he would undoubtedly find the patience to listen to her steady stream of chatter once he got his business taken care of. Elizabeth was just-Elizabeth.
He refused the offer of iced tea three times, listened to the story of her drive from Milwaukee, stood obediently in the doorway, gathered after several hurt looks that he was supposed to comment on the floor and did so dutifully, and finally got a word in. “Where’s Bett?”
Elizabeth motioned vaguely toward the refrigerator. “But you’re sure I can’t get you some coffee, then?” she asked worriedly. “Zach, you work so hard; you must need a little refreshment…”
He shook his head, took a step toward the freestanding refrigerator and stopped at the expression of horror on Elizabeth’s face. He stepped back, pushing off one boot and then the other. He ventured in, past the pail and rag, around the corner of the refrigerator. If he hadn’t spotted the crown of yellow hair, he would have kept on going. As it was, he paused in shock and leaned over the counter.
Bett was trapped between the back of the refrigerator and the wall. She looked up at him from on her hands and knees, a toothbrush in one hand.
“What the Sam Hill are you doing?” he mouthed.
“Hi,” she mouthed back. She was damp, hot, frustrated and irritable…but the bewildered look on Zach’s face almost made her chuckle. She made motions to show what she was doing-the toothbrush, the small bowl of pasty-looking cleanser and water, and the corner-and shot him a mischievous grin. “Zach, you know I always clean behind the refrigerator once a week,” she said aloud.
“Hmm,” he commented noncommittally, and reached down as she reached up for a quick kiss. “Caruso’s out there. He claims he told you he wanted twenty more bushels.”
She grinned again. “He always says that when the produce is good. It usually means he’s irritated that he didn’t order more because he knows he can sell it. You told him you always wanted that Mercedes of his?”
Zach looked blank. “No.”
“And the grandchildren, Zach. He talks about the grandsons, but it’s the granddaughter who’s the apple of his eye. And after that, you mention that Joe Cranston offered you a quarter more per bushel than he did.”
Zach heaved a sigh. “Two bits, who the hell is Joe Cranston?”
Bett shook her head sadly. “Sweetheart,” she said with exasperation, “Joe Cranston is a figment of my imagination, of course. I swear, Zach, you’re incurably honest.”
And Bett, Zach thought idly, was incurably winsome. Her rainwashed hair had dried in a flyaway halo; her small frame was tucked quite comfortably into that tiny square; and the blue eyes staring up at him were clearly inviting. “Come out of there and say that,” he suggested threateningly.