The Promise

  “I think she’s proudest of you, but be warned—she’s going to live to be a hundred, and she will never give up. She’s very close to engaging a matchmaker, and she will see you married.”

  “She’d better come up with some new material, then. Single doctors with children are off the table. Or at least they should be.”

  “But you like him,” Adele said with a smile.

  “Not that much,” Peyton said. But she liked him so much that she looked forward to work after the weekend with her family. And she hadn’t kissed him yet, but she knew she was going to. She wouldn’t dare tell Adele. Adele might start rooting for him, and all she was considering was a possible kiss. Because he was so lovely. And hot.

  And then she was going to run for her life!

  Nine

  The first time Peyton had taken to the hayloft to escape and be alone, she was six years old. No one knew where she was or how long she’d been missing. The younger children were napping, Papa was in the orchard, Mama was in the garden and kitchen. When the little ones were waking, it was noticed that Peyton was nowhere to be found.

  While her mother searched in and around the house, Paco and some of his hands were searching the orchard, fields, outbuildings, corrals and the water holes and streams on their property. Although they called to her, she hadn’t heard them. By the time she climbed down from the loft she’d been gone a couple of hours. She had straw in her hair. Everyone associated with the Lacoumette farm came running at the sound of the bell. Mama was on her knees, holding Peyton close. “Peyton, what were you doing up there?”

  “Just working things out,” she said clearly as if it made all the sense in the world.

  In a loud and busy household, almost each one of them had a place they escaped to when they needed a little quiet space to think or hide. George liked the pasture, Matt climbed the pear trees, Ginny hid in the cellar, Sal liked to sit on the ground in the front yard, hiding behind the large trunk of a very old tree.

  On her weekend visit Peyton disappeared to the loft. She lay on her back, hands behind her head, one ankle balanced on her raised knee, and thought things through. Would it be wrong to let him kiss me? Because he wants to and I wouldn’t mind. And it doesn’t mean I want to move in with him and take care of his children, right? If I don’t let that happen too soon, it should be all right. I’m still planning to leave, to live somewhere else, to start my life over...I think. But while I’m taking a leave from my career to do a little community service, I could do with a little love. God knows, it’s been a long dry spell. I will even help him find someone good to replace me and not some trashy little twenty-five-year-old. Of course, a true friend would hook him up with a girlfriend, since I’m not interested in being anyone’s girlfriend...though I might be ready in a couple of months....

  It took roughly two hours to come up with something of an agenda. She’d been in his clinic for a month, she would let herself be kissed. They could be social, go out together sometimes, but it would be rare since he was so busy. She would do a few things for the clinic, things that would help him after she left. She would enjoy those sweet kids, but she would not become their nanny. And she might even stay in touch with him because he was, if anything, excellent friend material.

  Except, the crush factor was beginning to influence her into thinking maybe she could start over right where she was. If the crush got stronger...

  When she went back into the kitchen, her mother kissed her cheeks and pulled a little straw from her hair. “Did you get everything worked out?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Peyton said with a smile. “Well, one thing is worked out. I was right to leave Portland.”

  Sometimes visiting the family farm exhausted Peyton, sometimes it rejuvenated her. This particular visit felt very good. It helped to see Adele so healthy and happy. Since it was not shearing, harvest or Christmas, the homestead wasn’t overflowing with family, so it wasn’t as chaotic as it could be. They used Skype to chat with her brother Sal, currently serving on a Navy destroyer. Twenty-four-year-old baby brother, Mike, called home from grad school; the phone was passed around to a dozen family members.

  She was able to have some time to talk with her father on the porch, just the two of them. “You’re more yourself than you’ve been in a long time,” he said.

  “I am?” she asked.

  “It seems like,” he said. “You ever hear from any of those folks? Ted and his tribe?”

  “No,” she said. “Ted has moved on, and the kids were very happy to see me go.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Peyton. Ever since I pulled you squalling from your mama’s body, I’ve known you to work hard and honest and do your best no matter how rough the job.”

  She laughed at him. “Thank you, Papa, but you didn’t deliver me.”

  “Might as well have. You surely made your presence felt around here. I could hear you in the barn!”

  “Now, Mama says that little Mike was the loudest and most trouble. That’s how I remember it.”

  “Oh, Mike. He thought he was something special from the first breath he took. The Pope himself sent your mother a letter to say there were finally enough Lacoumettes in the world.”

  “The Pope? Well, I always wondered why you and Mama didn’t try to squeak out a few more....”

  “She swears it was the Pope who wrote. She was getting a little cranky,” he said. “What’s your life like now, my little bird?” Her father was always careful not to call the kids little lambs, as their days were definitely numbered.

  “It’s good,” she said automatically.

  “In what ways is it good?” he wanted to know.

  The images that came to mind that described her current happiness were so unusual, she wasn’t sure she could explain. A Great Dane who followed a newborn, begging for a chance to sniff her. A teenage football star who took the time to teach a bunch of foster kids to paddleboard. A four-year-old who said, “It’s okay. I’m right here.” A conversation on the beach over a fire that stretched out till the wee hours, strong arms around her the whole time. A little clinic where folks stopped by to talk as often as they sought medical help. A little diner where the food was passable, the gossip rich and the camaraderie binding.

  “It’s a nice little place,” she said to her father. “The people are very friendly.”

  “You saying that fancy car didn’t make you happy?” he asked, raising one salt-and-pepper brow.

  “It drives like a dream,” she said, laughter in her voice.

  “You mean it doesn’t drive itself? Does it make a lot of little cars?”

  She laughed at him. Paco Lacoumette would never spend good money on something as frivolous as a fancy car. “It hasn’t made any little cars yet,” she said.

  “Keep an eye open,” he advised. “For what that piece of tin costs, she’s gonna whelp soon, make you a proud mama.”

  He was a riot. She’d never tell him she regretted spending so much on a car and that she wasn’t even sure why she had. She kissed Paco’s weathered old farmer’s cheek. “I have to speak to Mama, see if I can help in the kitchen.”

  There was already plenty of help in the kitchen. Her sister-in-law Lori, Adele and her mama were hard at work in a hot, sweaty kitchen. But Mama was in her element—she loved having a houseful. There would only be nine for dinner—a small group. So Peyton didn’t feel too guilty asking a favor.

  “Mama, my new Thunder Point friends don’t have much experience with Basque cuisine. If you have extra from tonight that you can spare or any freezer dishes you can part with, I’d love to take some back with me. One of my friends is a deli chef, and she’s especially curious.”

  “Is that so?” Mama asked, not looking at her.

  “Only if it’s convenient. I could borrow a cooler or thermal carrier and take it home with me tomorrow. Fresh. Just if there’s enough.”

  Her mother turned and looked at her. “There is always enough food, Peyton. Not enou
gh of other things sometimes, but of food there is never a shortage. I can spare some for your friends to taste.”

  “No oxtail or tongue, Mama,” she said. “They’re beginners.” Then she smiled somewhat timidly. Her mother’s home was the only place she was ever visited by timidity.

  Her mother crouched to pull a roasting pan from the shelf beneath the work island in her big kitchen and handed it to Peyton. She pulled a knife from the rack and said, “Fine. Kill a chicken.”

  “Oh, Mama, can’t George?”

  “I think George is busy in the barn, and I understood you to say you wanted something Basque for you friends—not too ethnic or exotic.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But I’ve always hated killing chickens! And I think you’re taking advantage of me.”

  “Always, my little Babette,” Mama said. And then she smiled.

  In the end Peyton packed up a couple of large take-home boxes that would do a restaurant proud. Mama pulled out all the stops—she was clearly showing off. Lamb-and-spinach-stuffed mushroom tapas, lomo and sautéed shrimp, tomato-and-garlic soup, creamy red potatoes, red beans and chorizo, mussels and rice, chicken basquaise, lamb shanks in stew, bread and two bottles of Rioja. “You are so brilliant, Mama,” Peyton said.

  “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....”

  And they came running. Yelling. “Peyton! Peyton!” Jenny and Will attached themselves to her legs, hugging her so hard she dropped to one knee to gather them in. “You’re here! You came!”

  Oh, God. She hoped Scott wouldn’t see that tears sparked in her eyes. They liked her? They were happy to see her?

  “I can show you a movie,” Jenny said.

  “We can have one on the TV, all of us,” Will said. “We can have popcorn and ice cream because we ate a good dinner!”

  “Or we can have a
tent! You can come in it!”

  “Do you want popcorn and ice cream?” Will asked.

  “We can play Candy Land in the tent!”

  She looked up. Scott had put aside the large box and was smiling down on her, hands on his hips. “Your fan club.”

  “I have to go,” she said to him, her voice soft.

  “Okay, kids, let Peyton out of your mighty little grips. She has to go. Peyton, you have a date or something?”

  “No...no, I just...well, I’m a little tired, and I left the car running.” But as she said that she had an arm around each child’s little waist, holding them closer.

  “Are you worn out from your weekend away?” Scott asked.

  She shook her head forlornly. She was sunk, and she knew it. She kissed a couple of hot little cheeks.

  “Why don’t you give me your keys, and I’ll turn off your car?”

  She made a small sound, a kind of weak whimper, as she handed over the keys.

  “Don’t let them take complete advantage of you. I was just about to make them some popcorn,” Scott said. He went out the door. That’s when she noticed he was wearing worn leather slippers. And she found them incredibly sexy. That wasn’t a good sign. Her sister Ginny called her Fancy Pantsy; designer clothing was supposed to be sexy to her.

  By the time Scott came back in the house, perhaps only thirty seconds later, Will had the Candy Land board opened on the living room floor. The kids were literally bouncing on the floor in excitement. Given they were only four and five, Peyton expected it would be a long game, but they’d played it so often they’d become fast. After two games, Will wanted to play War using three decks of cards. On their third game, Scott was hovering again. “I’m making popcorn. You have to let Peyton have a break. Glass of wine, Peyton?”

  She had gathered her composure by now. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No, actually. I was planning on heating up one of those low-cal frozen dinners. I ate enough over the weekend to keep me for days.”