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“It’s true.”

“Do I look like her?”

I wasn’t expecting that question. “A little.”

“Woo hoo!” She pumps her little fist over her head as she bolts through the door. A quick detour, and she runs straight to my brother standing at the bar. “Leon’s home!”

She flings her arms around his legs, and he swoops her up onto his hip. “Hey, bird brain. What’s three times three?”

“I’m not a bird brain!” she cries. “Nine!”

“What’s four times five?”

“Twenty!”

“What’s six times…” His eyes slide side to side, and hers go wide. “Seven?”

Dove closes her eyes and shouts, “Forty-two!”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Who says girls can’t do math?”

“Nobody!” Dove holds his neck as he gives her a bounce. I give him a quick peck on the cheek. Leon makes her so hyper.

“Hey, weirdo. How was your day?”

“Fine. When’s dinner? I’m starving.”

“You are always starving.” Going to the refrigerator, I take out a plastic bag with three marinating steaks inside. “I’m giving you a worm treatment.”

“Uncle Leon has worms?” Dove crinkles her nose at him, and he puts her down.

“I’ll worm you.”

“Ew!” She squeals and runs into the other room. I cut up carrots and celery, asparagus and red potatoes and start them in the cast iron skillet on top of the stove. It’s the same old recipe I’ve been making for years, but I try to mix it up a little bit.

“Where’s Sawyer?”

“He’s talking to Deacon about buying trees and shit.”

“Leon!” I hiss but the music of a harp and flutes playing the Angelina Ballerina theme is loud in the living room.

“She’s not listening to us.”

“Still. Watch your mouth.” I give him a pinch and return to the stove, moving everything into the oven.

Deacon Dring has become our financial adviser since returning from Dallas again. Mindy’s the only one who knows the whole story on the handsome man who keeps coming back to our town. I only know he gives sound financial advice. He’s guided me a few times on my own business.

“I need him to set some traps down at the feed shed.”

“You finally getting back to your dream?” His hazel eyes soften, and as much as I try to keep Leon as a kid in my head, I know he’s a twenty-two-year-old man.

“I never gave up on it. I had to put a comma there. Take care of more important matters before I could come back to it.”

“A comma.” He nods, a hint of a grin in his voice. “Some comma.”

We look in the catalog at the peach tree varieties and how long it’ll take for them to be shipped, whether they’ll be bare root or in burlap.

“We can pretty much plant these any time, but I think he wants to prep the soil for now and wait for April first.”