“How’s the honey production?”

They settled themselves on facing couches. “Absolutely stupendous. Mead time this fall.”

“Oh, Lord.” His wry grin made her chuckle. There was nothing messier than making mead, or honey wine. It took them a full fall afternoon of sticky-sweet messes that had become a tradition…as was the one evening a year when they both became perfectly silly on the stuff, once it was finished fermenting.

Zach didn’t waste any time dipping into the platter of fresh food. “You were not just taking a quick dip in the pond to cool off. You were flaunting again.”

“I never did understand why I married a man with such a dirty mind. I was simply swimming,” Bett said virtuously, and dove into her own plate.

“Bull. You knew I’d come after you.”

She leveled him a scolding frown, between grabbing a slice of cucumber and smothering it with dip. “You’ve accused me of this kind of thing before, you know. And I’ve explained to you that my mother raised a shy, modest type, hardly an exhibitionist… Did you check the peaches for tomorrow?”

“The north fifteen. We’ll probably spot-pick in the orchard behind the house as well. They’re nearly ready, and with this heat they could turn by tomorrow. Did you get the baskets?”

“At a discount.”

“How’d you manage that?” Zach shoved a foot against the coffee table.

“Seduced Kramer.”

“That must have taken dedication.”

“It did,” Bett said fervently.

“Dedication, courage and a cast-iron stomach.”

“Well, you know me,” Bett agreed. “I was desperate. Couldn’t get anyone’s attention down by the pond…”

“For two cents, Mrs. Monroe, I’d probably beat you.”

By some coincidence, Bett found three pennies in her jeans pocket. She tossed him two, and waited interestedly.

Zach got up, all right, but only to answer the second ring of the telephone. The phone inevitably rang off the hook in the early evening. Farmers calling farmers, primarily to encourage each other’s heart attacks. The forecast was for the heat wave to continue tomorrow, and once the weather report was over the anxiety attacks began.

Bett leaned back against the couch, half closed her eyes and felt gentle waves of weariness invade every limb. At least they didn’t have to go back out again tonight, since the semi had already been in. Not that their garden wasn’t begging for an hour of attention, but her priority was a little intimate time with Zach. December was full of leisure time, but minutes had to count in August.

“It’s your mother.”

Zach watched his wife’s face instantly change from serene, satisfied weariness to taut stress as she lurched up to reach for the phone.

“Mom? How are you?” Unconsciously, Bett pushed back her cloud of yellow hair, jerked off the couch like the coil of a spring and started winding and rewinding the phone cord around her finger.

Zach began piling empty plates on the tray, resisting the urge to clatter them together. Bett had always called her mother at least weekly; lately, Elizabeth had taken to calling every other day. Zach was fond of his mother-in-law and certainly felt sympathy for her trouble adjusting since Chet’s death. But that sympathy had been gradually eroding away for months. Bett was torn apart every time the phone rang.

“Stop crying.” Bett’s gentle voice was laced with anxiety. “Mom, you can’t keep doing this. It’s been well over a year. Did you get involved with that women’s club you said you were going to join?”

Silently, Zach carted the trays to the kitchen. By the time he’d taken care of the few dishes, Bett had the phone cord wrapped around her waist and one slim hand was raking through her hair. She was facing away from him as he stood in the doorway. Her spine was as taut as a violin string, and when she half turned again her eyes were tightly closed.

“Mom, I know the house has memories for you. Have you even asked Martha if she wanted to move in with you? Since her husband died, she’s had the same problem sleeping nights, hasn’t she?” Bett twisted the cord around and around her finger until her finger turned white from lack of circulation, then uncoiled it impatiently. “No, of course I’m not saying you should sell the house if you don’t want to. It’s just that if staying there is still making you unhappy after all this time…”

Zach set a glass of sun tea on the coffee table for Bett, and carried his own over to the fieldstone fireplace. He leaned back against the rough stone, staring outside at the last of the sunset.

Bett rubbed her temple with two fingers, denting the soft flesh and making white marks. “Mom. Please, please, just tell me what you want me to do! Do you want me to come for a couple of days? Do you want me to pack the things up and sell the house for you? I’ll do whatever you want; you must know that. You just have to tell me what you want. Mom, this has to stop-” Bett could feel her eyes filling up with ridiculous, overemotional tears.

Zach’s tea glass clattered down on the mantel. In four long strides, he reached her, untangled enough of the phone cord to claim the phone and all but jammed the receiver against his ear.

“Liz? This is Zach. Your daughter’s in trouble.” The words, however impromptu, were calculated to bring an instant cessation of feminine tears at the other end. They worked. Bett was staring up at him blankly, her lips parted in shock. He unwrapped the phone cord from around her and, with a brusque motion of his hand, urged her to sit on the couch. He kept on talking. “What would you say to coming to stay with us for a while? Bett’s got so much to do she’s running herself down… Yes, I know, but then she wouldn’t ask for help if she were sitting in the middle of a flood; we both know that… I don’t know. Does it matter? Why don’t you just pack a suitcase and close up the house, and we’ll worry about the how-long of it another time. No, Liz. We are not thinking about selling the farm and going sane again.”

He had to listen to something or other about the care of her dahlias before she agreed to come. Used to Elizabeth, he paid no attention. But when he hung up the phone, Bett was standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her chest. Her small spray of tears had dried. Zach sighed, calmly walking over to her and brushing back her silky hair with gentle fingers. “You’ve wanted your mother here for a long time now, haven’t you? But you were afraid to say anything. We’ve both gotten used to a very private lifestyle and neither of us really wants an intruder-and I should have figured out months ago that you needed me to make the offer, Bett. So if it’s tough going, it’s tough going. Families are still the only people you can count on in time of trouble. I ought to know; I hadn’t had any family for a long time until I met you. And I refuse to let you worry about Liz long-distance any longer.” Zach paused, a wry grin on his lips. “Am I the only one having this conversation?”

“No.” Bett smiled, trying to relax. It was so typical of Zach to take the bull by the horns. And it was typical of him to give willingly of himself to please her. Tiny knots were forming in the pit of her stomach at the thought of having her mother here, day in, day out, but she ignored them, a wave of love for Zach overtaking any lesser emotions.

She smiled again, slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. Zach smelled like sun and wind, an earthy, primitive scent that she loved. He rocked her close to him, his lips brushing her forehead.

“You weren’t really afraid I’d nix the idea of inviting her here?” he murmured against her ear. “Lord, Bett, you didn’t think I’d say no, just because we’d be a little inconvenienced for a time?”

“It wasn’t you, Zach.” Bett hesitated, staring at the hollow of his throat. “First, I felt…the thing is, Mom is still young; fifty-four is hardly ancient. I want to help her, yes, but she’s always depended on other people, Zach, and I felt she needed to…” Bett groped for the words “…get her life in order. For her sake. I was hoping that in time she’d make new friends on her own, come to some decisions, develop new interests. Her whole life’s been devoted to taking care of people, and I…”

Zach nudged her chin up, a small surprised frown on his forehead. “So she depends on us for a while. That’s not so terrible.”

Bett took a breath. “No,” she agreed hesitantly.

“Don’t tell me you really don’t want her here? That doesn’t sound like you, two bits.”

How could she be so ungenerous of spirit, when Zach was so very generous? What kind of inhuman, insensitive daughter wouldn’t do anything to help her mother through a bad time? “Of course I want her here,” Bett said vibrantly, and meant it. “Zach, it was so good of you to ask her…”

Zach drew back and kissed her on the nose. “Settled then?” he asked briskly.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Come on.” He turned and pulled her toward the door. “We have a very serious problem on the back forty we need to take care of.”

“Pardon?”


***

Bett was still in a distracted mood until she realized where Zach was driving. The landscape around the pond disclosed no problem that she could see. Night had fallen on the farm like black silk. It was still tropically warm, but the hush of evening was soothing, a stillness one could almost breathe in. Crickets chirped in the cattails, and the fragrance of ripening peaches was a thick, sweet perfume that filled the air.

Zach turned off the ignition and just looked at her, his face half in shadow, his eyes fathomless and dark. “There’s a blanket in back.” He gave her no chance to respond to that, reaching for her swiftly, tugging her close to him in that sweet darkness. His tongue slowly traced her lower lip, then her upper one. He dried the faint moisture with his fingertip. His touch was very gentle, very soft, very slow.