CHAPTER THREE

      “WHERE ARE ALL the fall colors we’re always hearing about?” Royce peered out the windows as they drove along Lake Road toward the turnoff onto Country Club Road, where the orchard was.

      “It’s only the first week of August. The fall colors start up next month and peak in October.” Unless something stilled the restlessness in Cass’s mind, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be back in California with Royce in her old high school and Cass going to the coffee shop every day to sit in a corner booth and work.

      “You can do what you do anywhere,” Royce had remonstrated when Cass had informed her they were making the trip to Indiana.

      It was true. She could. Being the author of a bestselling mystery series gave her a lot of residential latitude; however, if they stayed at the lake, someone would eventually find out that Cass Gentry and Cassandra G. Porter were one and the same. While it was true that neither of her personas had anything to hide, keeping them separate had worked for a long time, both personally and professionally. “We’ll see,” she murmured, braking for the turn.

      “See what?”

      Cass started. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken until her sister replied. “Oh, nothing. Well, yeah, we’ll see how you feel about hayrides. I went on a few when I was here. They were fun.” They’d been at night, though, under starry skies and the harvest moon, and she’d had a boyfriend—that had made all the difference. Not that she and Sam had ever been serious, but they’d had a good time.

      “He owns the hardware store,” Holly had said last night, holding onto Cass’s hands as if she’d been afraid she’d disappear again. “He’s married to Penny and they have three little Sams—all that’s missing is the eye patch.”

      They’d sat together on the park bench while Holly had filled Cass’s mind and an empty place in her heart with reports of the friends from that year of her contentment. Arlie and Jack had married in June. Libby and Tucker were engaged and so were Holly and Jesse. Gianna had been dating Max Harrison, the high school principal, for years. Nate owned the golf course and spent half his time in Indiana and half of it in North Carolina. His wife’s name was Mandy. Linda’s family lived in Fort Wayne.

      “It’s like there are no scars.” Cass had known even as she’d said it that it wasn’t accurate—all of the survivors of the prom night accident had scars whether you could see them or not.

      “Oh, they’re there.” Holly had pointed at her prosthetic foot. “We miss Daddy. We miss Linda. Tuck and Jack have had to get past knowing their dad caused the accident. But we’ve all reached the point of not letting the scars define us. We had to give up some dreams, but we’ve found new ones.” Her dark eyes had searched Cass’s face. “How about you?”

      Cass had shrugged. “When I was here that year, I thought I’d found perfection. I even wrote a paper one time about how the lake should have been called Lake Utopia. I’ve been looking for that same thing ever since, so in a way I guess I do let it define me.” Something needed to because she didn’t really have a clue as to who she was.

      Holly hadn’t asked why she’d left, although Cass could read the question in the other woman’s dark eyes. Jesse had spoken little, greeting her and then stepping aside.

      “Will you see all of us?” Holly had asked. “We’ve all wondered. We’ve all looked for you at one time or another. We wanted to respect your privacy, but we wanted to know you were all right, too.”

      “I want to see you all.” That decision had been instant and much easier than Cass had anticipated.

      “Are you lost?” Royce’s voice interrupted her reverie. “I think we drove past the orchard back there.”

      “Oh, good grief.” Cass looked in her rearview mirror and braked. The wreck had happened somewhere near the country club that sat at the top of the hill on her left. She didn’t want to be reminded, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she saw the beautifully carved crosses at the side of the road. One for Dave Gallagher and one for Linda Saylors—she knew without looking. Jack and Tucker’s father had died instantly when he’d hit the van carrying one set of parents and ten prom-goers, but no one would have included him in the roadside memorial.

      “Sorry, Roycie,” she said. “I didn’t realize coming back here would be so overwhelming.”

      Royce’s hand brushed her shoulder in a pat. “Bad overwhelming or good overwhelming?”

      Cass laughed, surprised at the sound. And a little pleased with herself. Her life was okay in a lot of ways. She was successful in her field. She’d survived breast cancer and divorce. But she didn’t usually laugh much. It felt good.

      When they pulled into the orchard driveway after turning around near the crosses, the wagon was all set for the hayride. Two pretty horses were anxious to get going. A young Amish man, his clean-shaven face announcing his bachelorhood, was on the driver’s seat. Another young man, bearing a marked resemblance to Luke Rossiter, sat beside him.

      “Sorry we’re late,” said Cass, joining Luke at the back of the wagon. “I was daydreaming and missed the turn. This is my sister, Royce.”

      “Royce.” Luke shook hands with her. “That’s Isaac Hershberger and my brother, Seth. The wagon’s going to be almost full of a 4-H group from near Kokomo. There’s room for you, Royce, if you want to go, but your sister and I are going to take the motorized tour.”

      “I don’t know.” Royce wasn’t normally shy, but she looked uncomfortable. “Maybe I should just wait here. I won’t be in the way.”

      Seth jumped down from the driver’s seat and came around. “If you’ll come along, I’ll ride in the back with you. Mary Detwiler will sit up front with Isaac and they’ll pretend they’re not going out.”

      Isaac turned in his seat, smiled a greeting at Cass and Royce and tossed his flat-brimmed hat at Seth.

      “Come on.” Luke urged Cass in front of him. “They’ll settle down once the passengers are on board.” He waved at his brother. “‘Settle down’ might be the wrong way to say it—they’ll entertain them. How’s that?”

      He led the way to the utility vehicle on the other side of the orchard truck. “Do you want some coffee to take along? It’s always fresh inside the store.”

      “That would be good.”

      A few minutes later, they were back on the four-wheeler. “There are sixty acres here, as you probably know,” he began, starting down one of the wide paths between the rows of trees. “We have nearly a hundred different varieties of apples, plus a few acres of pears, cherries and plums. We also have some grapevines. Chris Granger, from Sycamore Hill Vineyard and Winery, is helping with those and eventually we hope to serve and sell wine. We already sell all kinds of jams, jellies and honeys on consignment.”

      “I’m surprised,” Cass admitted. “I thought it was more or less a hobby farm. I know the income was more substantial than I expected when I inherited, but I had nothing to compare it to.” Nor had she paid much attention. She’d put the monthly checks in the bank, uncomfortable with receiving money she hadn’t earned. The cumulative amount had made her accountant raise