Page 1 of Lime Tree Hill

1

CHERRY GROVE

If Tayla Whitmanhad caught an earlier flight to Clifton Falls as planned, she might not have noticed the obscenely large billboard at the intersection of Airport Drive and the Eastern Pacific Highway.

But as the taxi driver stopped and waited to turn left, Mitchel Harrington—all lit up in his half-naked glory, complete with a self-indulgent bulge and a knowing smile—caught her gaze and held it. Tanned to perfection, abs of steel, molded pecs, and wearing the tightest pair of boxer briefs she’d ever seen, did the man have no shame?

Tayla stared for longer than appropriate, given her distrust of him. Sure, physically, he was one of the most mesmerizing men she’d ever met. But good looks meant nothing if a person lacked integrity. And this latest stunt proved her opinion of years before to be true—the guy was a prize jerk.

As they approached her family home, Tayla straightened in her seat, her attention fixed on Lime Tree Hill’s southern block. Five hundred yards north, Cherry Grove sat landlocked by acres of citrus trees, and farther along the straight stretch of highway, the main entrance to Lime Tree Hill was barely visible.

“Up there on the left,” she said to the driver. “Cherry Grove.”

“I hear it’s been a bad season for cherries,” he replied.

Her father had said as much when she’d talked to him just before his heart attack. At the time, Tayla had asked how they were coping, but he’d brushed her off. Her parents rarely discussed the financial side of the orchard with Tayla and her sisters. “Yes. The last couple of seasons, actually.”

The driver pulled to a stop outside the house, and while he unloaded her bags, Tayla looked fondly at the large villa, her eyes misting with tears.

A few moments of composure later, she stood on the veranda and watched the taxi pull away. Tayla wondered if Mitch was at home. Unless the lights were on upstairs, the packing shed where he worked and lived was barely visible from Cherry Grove. But when Tayla looked out over the trees, the place was unusually dark. Maybe he was out on the town, strutting that tight butt around some seedy bar. After all, it was Friday night.

Tayla opened the front door with a shove and switched on the light. The house smelled slightly stale, the result of being closed up for over two weeks, and its stillness unsettled her. But when she trundled her suitcase down the hallway and into the living room, she smiled. A white jug full of sprigs of lavender sat on the sideboard, scenting the air with the aroma of mid-summer. She inhaled deeply.

Home.

Walking from room to room, Tayla opened the windows against the oppressive air. After living in Australia for the past three years, she’d forgotten that Clifton Falls summers could be almost as hot as Sydney’s. She headed to the pantry in search of something to eat and opened a half-pint jar of preserved apricots left over from last year’s crop. Scooping out the fruit with her fingers, she savored the sweet tang of summer as sugar syrup dripped down her chin.

She was just about to unpack when the phone on the sideboardrang, setting butterflies free in her belly. It was after nine thirty. “Hello. Tayla speaking.”

“Tayla. It’s Ned. I noticed the lights on. Your mother asked me to keep an eye on the place, so I’m glad it’s just you. How’s your dad doing?”

“Ned. Hi. He’s improving slowly. And sorry, I should have called you. I thought it might be Mitch checking up on Dad.” Tayla trundled her suitcase into her bedroom and heaved it onto the bed.

“He’s away until tomorrow night.”

Good.“Actually, I saw him as I left the airport.” The billboard flashed across her mind. “Almost all of him.”

Ned chuckled. “You mean the billboard. Can’t say I like it much myself. Four grown men posing in their underwear like idiots. Still, the money they raised funded a new defibrillator for the Youth Sports Trust. Every second man in Clifton Falls owns a pair of their boxers now, even an old fella like me.”

“And here’s me thinking he’d gone into modeling.”

Ned chuckled again. “Are you staying long?”

Tayla hesitated. Was she? “I’m not sure yet. Dad has to stay in Auckland for now, so I’m holding the fort in the meantime. Anyway, thanks for your concern. No doubt I’ll see you around.”

“I look forward to it. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks. And give my regards to Maggie. Goodnight.”

As she hung up the phone, Tayla sighed. How did you pack a large family home full of memories into one a quarter of the size? And what would happen if the sale of the orchard fell through?

She unzipped her suitcase and opened the lid. Neatly aligned packing cells greeted her—bras, panties, jeans—and packed in an alabaster habotai silk garment bag underneath, her wedding dress lay abandoned. Stilling for a moment, she resisted the urge to take one last look before dumping it in a charity clothing bin or drowning it in the river and letting it float out to sea.

But she couldn’t bear to drown it. The ocean didn’t need any more garbage.

Tayla pulled the bag free and walked down the hallway, out the back door and over to the implement shed where her old Subaru wagon sat—a trusty runabout that her parents had kept ‘just in case.’ She opened the rear door and lay the bag inside, then turned and walked back into the house, one lone tear tracking down her cheek.

As Tayla reached the kitchen, the muffled sound of her text alert had her searching for her phone. She found it on the counter, next to the empty jar of apricots, and glanced at the screen.

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