Page 6 of Lime Tree Hill

The evening before, Tayla had pored over the trust’s bank statements and accounts, sipping a glass of pinot as she tried to get a handle on her parents’ financial position. Like everything her father did, the records were meticulous, but that didn’t mean there was any money. Quite the opposite.

While poking around in their affairs didn’t seem right, her mother had no clue when it came to the ‘money side of the business’ as she called it. And Tayla couldn’t talk to her father. Not until he was stronger, anyway.

She wondered what had happened to the harvest payment. They harvested the cherries in December. It was now earlyFebruary, and the account was in the red by tens of thousands of dollars. There’d been no significant deposits in the past sixty days.

As she turned on the coffee machine, she checked the clock above the kitchen table. Seven fifteen. Too early to call Mr. Billboard, although she considered it. According to her mother, he lived alone in the loft above the packing shed. Tayla wondered why Mitch didn’t live in his late grandfather’s cottage. Perhaps he didn’t want to entertain his conquests in the house where Norman had died.

Thinking about Norman made Tayla’s chest pang. She’d had a fondness for him from the first day they met. And through their mutual love of books and movies, they’d bonded like old friends from another time. Apart from Hayden and her closest friend, Tim, she’d never had that connection with a man.

The night before, Hayden had phoned at some ungodly hour. Despite what he’d done, she missed him. The warmth of his hand on her back, his dry wit, and the way he pulled her in with his smile. But what could he say? ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I thought I’d mentioned I’d gone back to my ex and we were pregnant.’ Had those two important facts completely slipped his mind?

Just like their wedding. The chauffeur-driven limousine, her ivory silk gown, and the engagement ring—now hidden in its box in her underwear drawer. If Ruby hadn’t called to tell her about their father, she might still be waiting at the chapel. Dying of thirst and embarrassment.

A knock on the back door startled her. Pulling her robe tighter across her chest, Tayla listened again. On the second knock, she ran her fingers through her hair and cracked open the door. Mr. Billboard himself stood on the step, an adorable pug puppy at his feet.

“It’s a little early for callers, don’t you think? I’m not even dressed.”

He offered no smile. “I’d like a word. Can I take you out for breakfast?”

“Have you had a change of heart?” When Mitch looked puzzled, she continued, “About buying the orchard.”

“It’s not about having a change of heart. But a change of circumstances could make all the difference.”

“Meaning?”

He hesitated. “Look, all I’m asking for is thirty minutes. I have something I’d like to discuss.”

TheMitchel Harrington had something to discuss.Great. “After yesterday, I can’t imagine what more there is to say. So, it’s a ‘no’ to breakfast.”

His stare caught her a little off balance. He’d had that effect on her when she was seventeen as well, but she never expected it to be the same nine years later. It was his eyes. Moody blue as the sky on the eve of dusk, and just as mysterious.

“I have an office at the end of the packing shed. Shall we say”—he checked his watch—“nine thirty?”

“This morning doesn’t suit. And I don’t like being summoned.”

“Fine.” He huffed out a sigh, his loss of patience on open display. “Between one and two this afternoon, then?”

“I’ll see.”

“Look, Tayla, be there or not. It’s your call.” He turned, picked up the pup, and walked off without another word.

Tayla shut the back door with more force than intended, his words bouncing around in her head. And although part of her knew she was being unreasonable, by the time she hit the shower, she was mad as hell.

And yet, despite her better judgment, Tayla knew she’d make the meeting. After all, curiosity has its own agenda.

4

RESERVATION

Mitch walked away from the Whitmans’with some reservation. He wondered if the woman knew how beautiful she was—flaunting an attitude, makeup-free, and fresh from sleep. Would she make the meeting? He wouldn’t hold his breath.

As he passed Norman’s cottage, he stopped. He still found it hard to go inside. The old man had been Mitch’s last remaining link to his late father, and he’d felt his death keenly. Although he’d renovated the villa until all traces of Norman had been scrubbed from its interior, every time Mitch entered the kitchen, his late grandfather’s presence lingered. Even after all these years. What would Norman think of his plan? He’d probably be grinning from ear to ear.

Mitch whistled for the pug. “Come on, Mr. Edward. Let’s go get some breakfast, boy. I have a feeling we’ll need a full stomach for this one.”

Ned looked up as Mitch entered the large packing shed with Edward at his heels. After Norman’s death, Ned had continued to manage the orchard until Mitch took over the reins. Now in his eightieth year, Ned still helped run the packing shed, despite the operation being substantially larger than it was in Norman’s day.

“You been at the Whitman place all night?” Ned chuckled, his hands busy as he sorted lemons into a box.

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