Lizzy glanced down at the pitchfork she was holding, dismayed to find it pointing straight at Andrew, as if she were preparing to run him through. She lowered it slowly, annoyed with herself for being so skittish. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, I need you to come out of there, please. It isn’t safe.”

Lizzy performed a quick scan of the barn, finding nothing that looked remotely hazardous. “What do you mean, it’s not safe? It looks fine.”

“Well, for starters, this door is about to come off its hinges. You’re lucky it didn’t flatten you when you opened it. And there”—he paused, pointing to the apex of the roof, where a slice of sunlight was visible through a chink in the boards—“we had a storm back in April, pulled up part of the roof, and damaged several trusses. Plus, the loft and stairs are ready to give. That’s not from the storm, just good old-fashioned dry rot. New England barns are built to last, but not forever. Also, we had a colony of bats last summer, and they tend to come back.”

Lizzy eyed him as she edged toward the door. He smelled of amber and sandalwood, of crisp fall days with the hint of smoke underneath. The combination caught her off guard—not flagrant, but subtly masculine, nudging at memories she preferred to keep buried. He had always smelled like that. Always.

She tipped her head back, noting the smear of caulk in his hair as she sidled past. “Bats don’t scare me. In fact, I find them rather cute. But I draw the line at collapsing roofs.”

Andrew followed her out, easing the door closed behind him. “It’s on the list.”

“The list?”

“Things I promised your grandmother I’d do. I wanted to get them done before . . .” He looked away, shoulders hunched. “I ran out of time.”

Lizzy swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Me too.”

“She was quite a lady, your grandmother. I had just started working when my father was diagnosed. I was new to the firm and had just landed this big project, so he kept it to himself. Didn’t say a word about being sick until the very end. But your grandmother knew—or guessed. She cooked for him and kept the house clean, drove him to treatments, and made him this special tea to ease the nausea. Stubborn old goat. I didn’t find out until the doctors pulled the plug on his chemo. But Althea was there for all of it. I owe her for that.”

Lizzy managed a fleeting smile, a mix of pride and grief. “Althea didn’t tell me she was sick either. I didn’t find out until she was gone.”

“I wondered why you didn’t come to see her. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. I was furious with my father for not telling me, but he honestly thought keeping me in the dark was the right thing to do. Your grandmother must have thought so too.”

Lizzy pretended to study the barn door, eager to change the subject. “It’s nice of you to want to help, but the new owners will probably have their own ideas about what to fix.”

Andrew stiffened. “You sold the farm?”

“Not yet, but eventually.”

His shoulders seemed to relax, though not completely. “Yeah. About that. There are a few things you should know.”

“Such as?”

“The place is going to need work before a bank will think twice about financing, and I’m not talking about a coat of paint and some tulips in the window boxes. The house wiring’s tricky on a good day, and the plumbing isn’t much better. The furnace is hanging by a thread, and every roof on the property needs replacing.”

Lizzy stared down at the toes of her boots, registering this unwelcome bit of news. One more complication she hadn’t planned for. And couldn’t afford. “I had no idea things were that bad. I don’t suppose any of that’s going to be cheap. I’m not exactly rolling in cash.”

Andrew shot her a crooked smile. “I’m afraid not. But I know a guy. Friend of the family. Lives close by. Will work for food and the occasional kind word.”

Lizzy squared her shoulders. “Thanks, but I couldn’t accept that. A few panes of glass is one thing, but I can’t let you rewire the house and redo the plumbing.”

“Historic renovation is sort of my thing. Why not let me help?”

Lizzy held up a hand, cutting him off. “No. Thank you. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can find a cash buyer to take the place as is.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but why would you want to waste your time? We hardly know each other.”

He offered a half smile and a bit of a shrug. “Because I told your grandmother I would, and a promise is a promise. I owe her.”

“You can’t owe her. She’s gone.”

“Then I guess I owe you.”

Lizzy found herself at a loss for words. She couldn’t help thinking about her conversation with Luc two days ago, his glib assertion that when he inherited Chenier Fragrances, Ltd., he’d inherited her too, as if she were some shiny trinket in his mother’s jewelry box. And here was Andrew, telling her a promise he made to Althea was a promise he now owed to her. The contrast was hard to ignore.

“You don’t inherit promises,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t work like that.”

He shrugged, smiling again. “My promise. My rules. I’ll nail the door shut before I leave, just to be on the safe side. I’ve got a load of wood coming next week. As soon as I finish the greenhouse, I’ll get started on the loft.”

“I just told you—there’s no money to pay you. And I can’t ask you to work for free.”

“Your grandmother was a special woman, Lizzy. She had a great big heart, and she used it to take care of people. Not everyone understood that, and toward the end, even the people who knew her forgot it. I’m not one of those people. I’m repairing the greenhouse and the barn for the same reason you’re about to carry a pitchfork into that wreck of a garden. I can’t bring Althea back, or change how things went down, but I can do this for her—I can look after the things she cared about.”

Lizzy fought the urge to look away, rattled by the sudden intensity in his voice. Or maybe it was his kindness that made her feel so defensive. He’d been with Althea at the end, where she should have been. He had to have an opinion about that.

“It isn’t that I don’t care, Andrew. I do. But I can’t stay. I know what you think. I know what Evvie thinks too. But I have a job—in New York.” She shook her head, hating that she felt the need to defend herself. “Althea was Moon Girl Farm. I’m not. That’s why I’m selling. Because it should belong to someone who’ll love it the way she did.”

Andrew scrubbed his knuckles over the stubble along his jaw, as if weighing his next words carefully. “What about Rhanna? She doesn’t want it?”

Lizzy stiffened at the mention of her mother’s name. “We haven’t heard from her in years. I think it’s safe to say she isn’t interested.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know. Althea didn’t mention her much.”

“The last we knew she was in California somewhere, singing for her supper.”

And god only knew what else.

She didn’t say the last part out loud. She didn’t need to. Everyone in town knew Rhanna’s story. The drinking and the drugs. The revolving door of one-night stands. The frequent run-ins with police. And Andrew knew better than most, since he’d seen it firsthand. Lizzy tightened her grip on the pitchfork, trying to fend off the memories. They came anyway.

A crowd at the Dairy Bar on a sticky summer night. Families with children. Kids from school looking for a place to hang out on a Friday night. A ruckus at the back of the line. People scurrying, moving like a school of minnows, across the parking lot and around the corner.

She had followed them, because that’s what you did when people started running. When she rounded the corner, there was a police car in front of city hall, blue lights strobing dizzily. A burst of laughter. A smattering of catcalls. A prickle of dread as the crowd peeled apart. And then Rhanna, stripped down to her panties and knee-deep in the fountain, belting out “Me and Bobby McGee” at the top of her lungs.

One of the officers kicked off his shoes and waded in after her, chasing her around in circles until he was red-faced and panting. It had taken a full fifteen minutes, but finally she was hauled from the fountain, high as a kite and still singing as they wrapped her in a blanket and folded her into the squad car. A wave of relief had washed over Lizzy as she watched the black-and-white pull away. The spectacle was over.

Only it wasn’t.

There was a boy from school, a football player named Brad or Brett, who spotted her in the crowd. He rounded on her, pointing with an outstretched arm. Hey, that’s her kid! Maybe she’s next! What are you gonna sing, sweetheart? More laughter. More pointing. She had wanted to melt into the pavement then and there, to run, to die. But her feet wouldn’t move. And then, out of nowhere, there was a hand on her elbow, steering her through the crowd, down the street, around the corner.