As Chey had said the day the four of them had walked out of the Friday Morning Grief Group they’d each joined and instantly hated, they were not going to be wallowers. They were going to be warriors. Life warriors.
They would pay tribute to their loved ones rather than mourn them, by being the bringers of light, of positive thinking, the spreaders of joy. The better they did, the better they were doing by the loved ones they brought along with them on the journey, in each of their hearts. Showgirl Vivi and her lifelong benefactor and soul mate, Harold. Brilliant child prodigy Avery and her college professor mother, Lisbeth, and poet laureate father, Bernard. Barrel-racer Chey and her bull-riding brother, Cody. Painter and illustrator Hannah and her seven-year-old son and only child, Liam.
It hadn’t been an easy climb. They had been with one another at their lowest, their rawest, their weakest, and most vulnerable. They had cried together, raged together, feared together, and, ultimately, grown together. Warriors didn’t simply appear fully formed; they were forged.
Hannah looked out at the fields of lavender, row upon row riffled by the warm afternoon breeze, and took in a deep breath as Vivi squeezed her shoulder, likely reading her thoughts. Battle-tested, Hannah thought, but not bulletproof.
She had no idea what new tests awaited them, awaited her, only that she knew there would be more of them. That was the scariest part. Exciting, too. But still scary. Understandably, none of them wanted to be hurt again. In any way. But that’s not how things worked. Not how life worked. Not if you planned to live it fully. She owed a full life to Liam, promised him that every morning when she woke up—promised herself, too.
Hannah and Vivi both jumped as more stone and brick rolled and banged down the roof and off the side of the house, then shook their heads and winked at each other.
A new adventure, and the new tests that would come with it. The farm, their big plans for it, their ongoing plans for themselves as well. Hannah’s mind went to Will. Was he going to be one of those life tests, too? Was she even ready to find out?
Some big, bad warrior you are, Hannah thought wryly. Yeah, but even warriors carried shields.
Chapter Two
Hannah waved as she saw Avery’s little Prius start down the long, winding lane that led to their farmhouse. She returned Vivi’s squeeze before the older woman headed back inside the house to begin prepping the lavender buds for their big afternoon experiment.
Hannah heard Will’s heavy work boots on the roof above and rubbed her arms as if she could erase how it had felt to have his hands on her. It had been so very long since she’d felt a man’s touch. And longer still since a man’s touch had made her feel something. Anything.
She walked down the steps and motioned for Avery to park in front of the house instead of in the dirt and gravel lot around the side. Hannah made a mental note to tell Vivi that they all should move their cars to the garage or driveway loop in front of the house for the time being. That’s all they needed—for their cars to get bashed in.
Hannah found herself glancing back up at the roof again, at the man in the white T-shirt with the green eyes and too-serious face. She thought about that flash of an almost smile, about wanting to see if she could get a full one out of him. Yeah, you’re just begging to put a few more dings in that shield.
She tried not to think about that as she watched Avery park and get out. Avery Kent, at twenty-four, was the youngest of the fearsome foursome. Hannah might have had the most boring life, but Avery had inarguably led the most sheltered one of the four. Avery was a child prodigy, having earned her PhD in statistical analysis at fifteen, and a second one in library science just three years later. She also had an eidetic memory, which meant she could recall every single thing she’d ever done, seen, read, or heard, down to the tiniest detail. It was both freakishly impressive and not a little daunting to those who spent any amount of time with her.
To date, everything Hannah, Vivi, and Cheyenne knew about lavender farming, they knew because Avery had read up on the subject, and then taught them like a boss.
But book-learning and creating the products was one thing. Making what they’d learned into a business, they were each discovering, was another thing entirely. Today, they were going to learn how to make an essential oil. Hannah hoped. Avery had gone to pick up the necessary supplies that could be sourced locally, or down in the valley, anyway. Everything else had been ordered online. Hannah was hoping this experiment went better than their first attempt at making lavender-scented soap. They’d come close to needing a full kitchen remodel after that escapade.
Hannah jumped when she heard another piece of chimney roll down the roofing and plunk into the side yard, but was proud of herself for resisting the urge to take one last look. “Maybe you need to get some essential parts of yourself oiled,” she murmured under her breath, then grinned as she hurried around the back of the car when Avery popped the latch.
“I wasn’t able to get the exact tubing I’d hoped to find,” Avery said without preamble, as was her way. “I wanted glass but settled on heavily tinned copper that I found at Jansen’s hardware. You’d be amazed what they have in there. Everything from old rotary phone parts to Red Flyer wagons. It was like stepping into a different century, but with on-premises Wi-Fi and a catalog they’ve compiled over the years listing every part from every . . . well, everything that has parts.” She grinned. “I loved everything about it.”
She lifted a box from the back and handed it to Hannah. “It’s doubtful we’ll get the same distillate levels, but for the purposes of this test run, that won’t matter. If this comes out remotely well, I’ll see if I can find a suitable resource for wholesale ordering when it comes time to make bigger batches.” She pulled another smaller box and two handled bags from the back, then hitched them on her slim hip so she could close the hatch.
Avery was pretty much Hannah’s opposite in every way. Where Hannah was tall, with light brown hair and just enough extra curve in her hips and boobs to make finding proper-fitting clothes a bit of a challenge, Avery was short and boyishly slender. Hannah favored keeping her hair in a long, loosely woven French braid, and was forever tucking stray wisps behind her ears as she worked. Avery wore her ruler straight, thick dark hair in a swingy, razor-sharp bob that fell just below her chin. Her big, round, red-framed glasses only served to emphasize her serious hazel eyes and cute little upturned nose. And Hannah loved her like the little sister she’d always wanted but never had.
Along with Avery’s outrageous book smarts and her mile-a-minute brain, she had a mile-a-minute mouth to match, and a bubbly enthusiasm about, well, pretty much everything. She was endlessly curious, and wanted to see, read, and do it all. Hannah thought if anyone could accomplish such a thing, Avery would be the one to pull it off.
“We should probably figure out whether the process is worth the effort before we invest in too much gear,” Hannah said, as the two lugged the supplies up the front steps.
“I’ve done the development charts on that, and it will be,” Avery assured her. “If we produce oils, soap, and sachets, then the expenditure on supplies will easily be outweighed by even minimal sales in as early as eighteen months. And if my projections are accurate—and I based them at the low end of the performance scale and potential customer base, formulated using the overall population of Blue Hollow Falls, adjusted to the percentage of those who regularly shop at the Bluebird Crafters Guild booths at the restored mill, and adding in the increased consumer flow of new tourists that will likely occur when the new music amphitheater opens in August—we’ll be operating in the black by our second season. Possibly one-and-a-half if we go ahead with the off-season, holiday-oriented events I outlined in the prospectus I e-mailed to each of you last week. You have reviewed those, right?”
Hannah opened the front door and held it so Avery could navigate herself and her box and bags into the house, then went in behind her, shaking her head, an amused smile on her face. Avery’s always active mind and Vi
vi’s sheer force of will combined to make an energy field that alone ought to make Lavender Blue a success.
“I did look it over, yes,” Hannah said truthfully. “And your forecast on our long-term potential definitely gives me hope. But you’ll recall how the soap-making venture went our first time out, so—”
“Entirely avoidable,” Avery said matter-of-factly, as if almost burning half the house down had been nothing more than a minor lab accident. “We couldn’t have known that the industrial stainless steel mixer would short the circuits and cause the wall to catch on fire. Well, we might have had some advance warning on the circuit aspect had I done an analysis first, but there was no way to know that the space behind the wall had long since been turned into a mouse condo and veritable tinderbox. Anything could have set that off.” She walked on into the kitchen and set her box and bags down on the large, plank-top workstation that dominated the center of the sun-filled room. “Frankly, we were fortunate to find out when we did, and with all of us present to help put out the sparks before the whole wall went up.”
“Yes, well, when you put it like that,” Hannah said dryly as she slid her box onto the table next to Avery’s bundles. She opened the box she’d been carrying and lifted out a big pressure cooker. Frowning, she set it on the worktable. “So, this looks alarming,” she said, not bothering to mask her concern. “I thought we just picked the buds and covered them in alcohol.”
“That’s how you get an extract or tincture,” Avery told her. “To get a true essential oil, you have to distill it. And that means making lavender steam.” She gave Hannah a disappointed, but not entirely surprised look. “It was all detailed in the step-by-step guide I put together and sent each of you.”
Hannah watched as Avery opened the other boxes, including the ones that had been mailed to them, and pulled out what looked like an unusually formulated glass laboratory bottle, a long piece of tubing, and a big bucket. “This looks complicated.”
“Not really,” Avery assured her. She was the brains behind all four of the products they had decided they wanted to offer to their eventual customers. Lavender tea, soap, essential oil, and bath salts. Avery had also found a recipe for a body scrub, but Hannah thought they were being pretty ambitious as it was. They also planned to set up outdoor workstations during harvesting season, so the people who came to pick their own lavender and tour the farm could also make their own sachets, small wreaths, and dried flower bundles.
They each had specific areas they intended to oversee. Vivi would run the tearoom, Cheyenne the farming, Hannah the workstations and tours, and Avery would head up the actual production of the products. There would be employees in all of those areas eventually, as well, but first they’d agreed that each of them should fully understand all areas of the business, including hands-on experience. Right now, that meant learning how to make each of their future products.
“Where is Chey?” Avery asked as she finished assembling the various pieces. Picking up the tray of buds that Vivi had removed from the stems Hannah had picked, Avery examined it.
“She had to take one of her horses to the vet,” Hannah said.
Avery looked up, concerned. “Foster?” she asked, referring to one of Chey’s two rescue geldings.
Hannah nodded. “She’s had the vet out twice now, but Foster never displays the issues he’s having when Doc Fraser is here, so he asked her to bring Foster in and board him there for a day or two so they could observe him on camera. I’m not sure how long all that will take. Chey said she’d call when she was heading back.”
Avery and Hannah shared a dry smile. Chey wasn’t exactly . . . punctual. Or good at staying in contact. To say she was an independent spirit was underselling Chey’s aptitude for going her own way.
“Good selection,” Avery said as she went back to examining the buds, plucking three out of every four buds and tossing them in a separate bowl.
Hannah was proud of herself until Avery handed her that bowl and said, “Keep these for making the tincture.”
Hannah sighed. “Will do. Should I go pick more? I’m not sure we’ll have enough.”
Avery glanced at the basket of cut lavender Vivi had been working her way through before going upstairs to take a call from another contractor she’d hired to do some painting. “That’s all you got?”
Hannah nodded, trying not to feel dispirited. “We have a field full of them, though,” she offered gamely. “I’ll go cut more.” She picked up one of the stems from the basket. “Show me which ones look best and I’ll try to do better with my selection.”
Avery pointed to one of the buds. “See how this one is just opening, but this one”—she pointed to one higher on the stem—“shows more of the individual segments?”
They looked exactly the same to Hannah, but she nodded before Avery went to get a microscope to give her the full lecture. “Which one is better?”
Avery pointed to the second one.
Hannah gave her a little salute. “I’ll do my best, captain.”
“Take this with you,” Avery said, handing her the stalk they’d just been looking at. Her droll expression made it clear she knew Hannah had no idea what she was supposed to look for. “To use as a guide.”
“Thanks,” Hannah said with a grin, then peered at the two buds again.
“Just pick a lot,” Avery told her with a sigh as Hannah headed for the door to the veranda. “They won’t go to waste.”
“Front door,” Vivi reminded Hannah as she strolled back into the kitchen. The satisfied look on her face said the call had been productive, so Hannah took heart that at least one thing was going right that day. Hannah gave Vivi a little salute with her lavender stem and changed course to head for the front hall. “We should probably put signs up on both doors reminding us until we get the all clear. Or reminding me, at any rate,” she added with a laugh.
“Don’t linger too long out there,” Vivi added mildly as she emptied the basket onto the workstation and handed it to Hannah, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
“Ha-ha,” Hannah said, knowing exactly what Vivi was getting at and not bothering to pretend otherwise. “I think we all have enough on our respective plates not to be worrying about distractions.”
Vivi laughed. “Honey, don’t you know that’s exactly when the best distractions happen?”
Chapter Three
Will McCall was not a Peeping Tom. Nor did he eavesdrop. Not intentionally. But as he continued clearing the chimney debris from the yard, it was next to impossible not to notice what the women of the soon-to-be Lavender Blue Farmhouse & Tea Room venture were doing in their big, sunlit kitchen. You mean it’s impossible not to notice what Hannah Montgomery is doing, his little voice prodded.
He ignored it. Just as he’d been trying to ignore pretty much everything about Hannah Montgomery for the past two weeks. Ever since the first time he’d spied her out in the lavender fields, basket over one arm, filled with clippings of the newly budding stems. The ankle-length floral skirts she seemed to favor alternately billowed around or clung to her long legs, depending on which way the breeze was blowing. The pale yellow T-shirt she was wearing today was soft and loose, a size or two too big, as he’d noted was her custom. She’d rolled up the sleeves and tied a scarf around her waist, and another around the brim of her wide straw hat. She favored those, too. The shirt still hung loosely over her curves, but he knew they were there. He’d felt every one of them pressed against him earlier. She’d felt soft and warm, and, well, good. She was taller than he’d estimated, which appealed to him. He hadn’t held a woman in his arms since . . . well, for a very long time. “Maybe it’s like riding a bike,” he muttered, realizing he was once again off daydreaming instead of getting the job done. That was as unlike him as his newly wandering eye.
As if taunting his determination, the front door opened and she emerged with an empty basket over her arm, heading back out to the fields. She took the long way, avoiding the side yard and walking around the drivewa
y where it looped in front of the house instead. He watched as she let herself through one of the gates in the fence-line about twenty yards down the long stretch of driveway that headed out to the main road, if you could call it that. Maybe a dozen cars a day would pass by at best. He suspected that number would increase sharply when the farm opened for business.
Most days she wore her light brown hair as it was now, woven into some kind of complicated-looking braid that hung a fair way down her back. It swung as she walked, keeping counter-time to the graceful sway of her hips. Strands of her hair had come loose and danced around her face in the late afternoon breeze. He found himself thinking about what it would be like to slide the elastic band off the end and slowly unweave each and every plait until the long, rippling waves ran through his fingers.
He realized he was standing there, straight-out staring at her like a teenager mooning over a new crush, and jerked his attention back to the task at hand. He bent down and grabbed a few more pieces of broken brick and stone, tossing them into the wheelbarrow he’d loaded several times now. He heard a hint of something on the breeze as he pushed the wheelbarrow over to his truck to unload the debris. Realizing it was coming from the fields, not the house, he paused, listening. She was humming, or maybe singing. Just loudly enough that the breeze carried it all the way from the rows of lavender to him. It was like the fates were tormenting him or something. “Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” he murmured, resolutely turning his back to the field and to her. But the lilt of her voice reached him anyway, if not the precise words.
She had a wide smile that was frequently on display. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that she could carry a tune. She laughed easily, too, sweet and melodic, the kind that pulled a person right on in. Her eyes had been a surprise to him, though he couldn’t say why. He would have guessed . . . well, he didn’t rightly know what he would have guessed. A sunny blue most likely. But it turned out she had the softest, warmest gray eyes he’d ever seen. He hadn’t known gray could be a warm color, but it was on her. The light sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose had been unexpected as well. She was a tall woman, almost statuesque, so the freckles should have seemed incongruous somehow. And yet they suited her perfectly.
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