“And where did you think you got all your big brains? From that old farmer?” She threw back her head and laughed.

“You and Papa are in love every day,” Peyton said.

“And on the days we’re not, he behaves better.”

That comment almost sent Peyton back to the hayloft.

When Peyton stopped for gas on her way back to Thunder Point on Sunday she called Carrie and Scott and asked if she could drop off a little Basque treat on her way home, and of course, both of them were thrilled. She went to Carrie’s house first. Lou McCain let her in and led Peyton into some kind of gathering in the kitchen. Rawley Goode stood at the stove, Ray Anne sat at the table with Carrie, who had her leg elevated on a kitchen chair. Peyton put her offering on the table and asked, “What have I interrupted?”

“Just a hen party, Peyton. Do you know Rawley?” Carrie asked.

He turned from the stove and looked at her rather critically. “We seen each other around. And in case you’re wonderin’, I ain’t no hen.”

All of the women laughed, and Peyton noticed they were having wine, cheese and crackers.

“Hi, Rawley. What are you working on?” Peyton asked.

“Rawley’s been helping me with the cooking since I wrecked my knee,” Carrie answered for him. “The girls and I try to get together for a glass of wine every week if we can.”

“And your knee?” Peyton asked.

“Much better. It gets a little sore and swollen when I’m standing a lot, but I’m watching it and taking it real easy, thanks to Rawley.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lou said. “Didn’t you get a little help from your other friends? We’ve all been making wraps and sandwiches, grocery shopping, offered to take the August wedding job since we’re experienced servers. We’ve done it at some of the most notorious parties in Thunder Point. We need supervision, of course, but we’ve been helping!”

Rawley turned from the stove where he was casually stirring some kind of sauce and said, “I think the lady was talking about the natural talent.”

Again they all laughed.

“What’s in the box, Peyton?” Carrie asked.

“Oh, right... I was momentarily distracted. My mother packed up some samples of her best offerings for tasting. She left out the more exotic family meals, favorites at my house but I wasn’t sure how daring you would be—so, no tongue or oxtail soup or squid cooked in its own ink this time. But if you aren’t truly impressed with this menu, you’re crazy.” She unpacked the box, named each dish, presented the wine. “From my uncle Sal’s vineyard,” she said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t scare up any of the white. After a weekend of family, they were running low.”

Carrie was immediately on her feet, the chair she had raised her leg on pushed out of the way. “Oh, my gosh, Peyton! This is wonderful! There’s enough here for dinner! We can dip in right now!”

“My mother says to warm the mushrooms, chicken and shrimp in the microwave, but everything else must be warmed on the stove. Especially the soup and stew.”

“Did you eat like this every night, growing up?” Carrie asked.

“Oh, God, no! We always had hearty meals—we worked the farm and needed calories. But we had simple meals—soups and stews and bread and more potatoes and beans than you can possibly imagine. Sundays we had a lot of seafood, lamb and chicken. Except for the shrimp and clams and grains, almost all our food came off the farm, either fresh or from the canned or frozen food we preserved.”

“What a wonderful way to grow up,” Lou said. “I grew a tomato plant once. It didn’t do that well.”

In just moments Carrie had plates on the table, pans on the stove, serving dishes pulled out of cupboards and was opening up the containers. “Have a glass of wine with us, Peyton. We have to start tasting.”

“I didn’t know I was getting dinner tonight,” Ray Anne said. “I have a pizza date with Al later, after he has his Sunday night chores with his boys all finished.”

“What Sunday-night chores?” Lou asked.

“He has to make sure rooms are clean and laundry is done for the week. They have their family meeting, get the schedule straight, work out any issues. Then he gets a hall pass.” She eyed the beautiful food. “I might have to just watch him eat the pizza. This is irresistible.”

Carrie put a wineglass in front of Peyton. “I’m going to pass,” she said. “I have one more stop to make, and then I have to get home and recover from my weekend. Visiting my family involves a lot of people.”

“I’ll take care of these dishes, Peyton. You can take them home with you the next time you go. Or, if your mother needs them, I can arrange to ship them to her.”

“She has lots, Carrie. I’ll take them home next time.”

Peyton was tempted to stay for that glass of wine, at least to see how they responded to her mother’s cooking. They did seem to be having a great time together. She couldn’t help but wonder how Rawley felt about being thrown in with this gaggle of sixty-ish women. But she didn’t stay, she went on to Scott’s house. And while she was driving there she asked herself why she had set this up—going to Carrie’s first and then Scott’s. Was it because she hoped to spend more time with him? How foolish, especially since she was going to see him every day this week. And really, wasn’t this a bad idea, liking him as she did, wanting to be with him whenever she could?

She tried reminding herself she could end up in the same position she had been in with Ted—his forgotten paramour and the manager of his household and family while he was pursuing things he found infinitely more rewarding. It wasn’t quite working. She knew Scott wasn’t that kind of man. But she thought it would be very wise to move as slowly as possible. To that end, she left her car running as she took her box of food containers to the door. It was identical to the box she had left with Carrie, a fine collection of her mother’s best.

Scott opened the door wearing a fitted T-shirt and pair of sweat pants. He’d apparently taken a day off from shaving, and sweet baby Jesus, did he look delicious. “Peyton, hi! Here, let me take that. When you said you had a treat I didn’t expect... Come inside.”

She shifted the box into his arms and said, “I...ah...I really can’t stay....”