Page 86 of Cherry Tree Ranch

My hand finds the edge of the chair across from her at the kitchen table. My muscles ache as I lower myself into the seat, the lacquered wood slick against my sweaty palms. The fire has left me feeling bruised inside and out, as though I was thrown into a boxing match without gloves, run over by a gravel truck, trampled by a dozen horses.

“I know a cause for the fire doesn’t make what happened go away, but I hope it can help you move on to the next step,” she says.

Cash pinches his brow. “So you know?”

“I do. This morning, the forensics team combed your property. They determined a cigarette discarded in the mulch around a tree started it.”

I side-eye Cash, whose eyes have grown wide.

“We’re still unsure how it was enough to fuel such a large fire, especially with green trees, but fires often have a mind of their own. We’ll question everyone again, but it wouldn’t hurt if you do a little digging yourself. Please let me know if you get any information. Whoever was responsible for this should be brought to justice.” She leans forward, and stares into my eyes.

My heart pounds in my chest. Emery smokes sometimes, but there’s no way I’m telling the investigator that. Emery’s alluded to the fact that she never felt like she belonged here the way I do. If she found out she burned it down, she’d never forgive herself. And, for that reason, I need to protect her this time.

“Do you know if the land or the orchard are insured?” the investigator asks.

Mom and I look to each other, and both shake our heads. “No.”

When the investigator leaves, Mom drums her fingers on the table and stares out into space. A dull ache in my stomach creeps up into my throat, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the party. I’m tempted to get Emery’s birthday cake from the freezer, but, despite everything, I won’t eat it without her.

Chapter Thirty-Three

It’s only been five days since the fire, but I miss my precious cherries. I’ve been in a downward spiral, not knowing how to move on, or how to pay the debt. Cash has been at the ranch every day. He’s getting very good around the bees. We’ve worked tirelessly together to harvest the honey from the frames. I’ve hated not being close to the bees, but I’ve kept away.

One day, Cash took me for a picnic ride to lift my spirits.

We rode Blue and Luna up through the copper-coloured canyon and left the arid terrain behind for lush meadows of wildflowers and mountain streams. We drank a splash of wine from dixie cups and ate cheese and salami on paper plates, then lay under the aspens, my head on Cash’s chest and our legs intertwined.

“Thank you for this,” I said, peering up from his chest to see if he was asleep. “I really needed it.”

“Me too,” he whispered. “Horses and nature are good medicine.”

I turned my gaze towards the heart-shaped leaves of the aspens shuddering in the occasional breeze. “I wish I could bottle up the sound of the aspens so they could sing me to sleep every night.”

“Quakies,” Cash said.

“Huh?”

“Their full name is quaking aspens – Populus tremuloides. Because they quake in the breeze.”

“I love the way they make me feel. I can only imagine how beautiful this spot is in the fall.” I rolled off his chest and looked deeply in his eyes. “Fall is my favourite. What’s your favourite season?”

“Spring, for sure.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Why?” He pointed up. “You haven’t spent enough time here in spring if you’re asking that. The leaves are neon green for one thing. There’s still snow on the mountains, but the fields are green and flowers are popping.” He laughed. “And the fruit trees – how can spring not be your favourite when all the trees are blooming, and it smells absolutely delicious?”

“Delicious, huh?” I chuckled, but God if I don’t know what he was talking about… Between the fruit blossoms and the wild mustard, it’s truly spectacular.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, and you know what else is delicious?”

I quirked a brow. “I don’t know. What?”

He took my bottom lip in his and kissed me softly. “This.”

Thinking of that day helps to keep my disappointment in check, because honey sales at the market are sporadic. Honey has a long shelf life, so people don’t need it often. Customers tell me and Cash stories of how the cherries were like nothing they’ve ever tasted. They’re trying to cheer me up, but it only makes me sad. Everyone in the valley heard about the fire. Many of them tell me they can’t wait until next year because they truly believe the trees will come back. I don’t want to tell them that, even if they do, the ranch will probably belong to someone else by then.

At the end of the day, Cash and I count the money we made. It’s abysmal. The only good sale was from the pizzeria owner ordering a case to get him through the winter months. He beamed about the cherries I’d saved for him as well. Cash picked up a couple of shifts and brought the cherries in a few days ago. And, apparently, I’m not the only one who loves the sour cherry gelato. Wyatt’s idea was a hit. The owner said the flavour sold out the first day, faster than when he was using the imported cherries. I wish I could make heads or tails of whether that makes me happy or sad. Maybe it’s both.