Page 6 of Moonshine and Magnolias (Just Add Peaches #1)

“A curse, huh? Like, being turned into a toad on a full moon?”

Dr. Upshaw huffed out a laugh. “Nothing that dramatic. He believes an angel cursed his uncle, but doesn’t know why, and now the men of their family have a hard time with permanent relationships.”

“That’s a great excuse for a fear of commitment.”

“If he wants to hire me to find the origin of his family curse, I’m not going to complain. I get to bask in the southern sun and play around in newspaper archives.”

Brandi gave a tinkering giggle. “That sounds like so much fun.”

And she even managed to sound sincere. Wendy gripped the end of her ponytail. “If we can do anything to help, Dr. Upshaw, just let me know.”

“Since you mention it, can you check the register books from the…” His eyebrows knit and he frowned. “late nineteen twenties?”

Another action-item Brandi could do. If the reward was spending time with a handsome man, she’d be more likely to follow through. Unless she got too distracted by said handsome man and forgot what she was supposed to be doing. Hmmm. “I’ll make a note to look for them.”

“Thanks.”

“She makes a lot of notes.” Brandi grinned at their guest. “That’s all she does. You should see how rigidly she keeps to a schedule. She wouldn’t even tie her shoes if it didn’t fit in to her plans for the day.”

“Then I guess it’s good thing I’m not wearing sneakers,” Wendy said. “I don’t have to worry about tripping on my laces.”

“And lucky for me or I’d miss this valuable source of information.” Dr. Upshaw offered her a warm smile. The kind that indicated interest. The kind she hardly ever saw directed at her. The kind men always threw Brandi’s way .

“Of course. That’s what I meant.” Brandi backtracked. “There’s nothing wrong with note taking. I would do it myself if I wasn’t so busy.”

“Of course,” Dr. Upshaw said.

“Call the house phone sometime after lunch and I’ll see what I can do about those books,” Wendy said. “Is there anything else?”

He took a long time answering and she had to hold back a shiver under his hazel stare. “No, not now.” The hint of promise was in his voice.

She should have let Brandi continue flirting.

***

After an hour spent listening to Hal discuss different points of interest to their search for the angel’s treasure, Rob ditched his brother and wandered about the grounds to soak in its history and find some tree that allegedly held mystical powers.

The path from the main building led him to the old kitchen that now served as a recreation room.

It could have led him to Atlanta and he still would have been relieved to get away from his brother.

He had been talking nonstop about breaking the curse since breakfast ended.

One more minute in his company, and Rob was likely to stick him in a box and ship him back home.

The door to the rec room opened and he caught a glimpse of a ping pong table before Wendy backed onto the concrete walkway.

She juggled three small step stools with a stack of plastic baskets sandwiched between them.

The sun hit her rich, dark hair, showing off strands of deep auburn in her long ponytail.

If she had seen him, she would have put on that mask of her not-quite smile and greeted him in her modulated tones. He could have announced himself, but the unobstructed view of her was too enjoyable for him to say anything.

Green gaze narrowed in concentration on the door knob.

Toned legs peeked out of the uniform skirt that hugged her backside.

She had changed from her conservative flats into a pair of tennis shoes.

High cheekbones led to full, pink lips, which parted to let out a sigh.

It seemed the uptight innkeeper had been hiding a sexy body behind her do not disturb sign .

She maneuvered the items in her hands and reached for the knob. Even with using her chin to keep the containers in place and some creative stretching, she couldn’t extend far enough.

A piano riff sang from her skirt pocket. She shimmied around, trying to get to her phone without losing her precarious grip on her load. The plastic baskets popped out of their resting place and tumbled to the ground.

She stared at the mess, then shook her head and dropped the rest of her armful, staying clear of the legs of the stools.

She righted the baskets with her foot while putting the phone to her ear. “This is Wendy.”

Rob half-listened to her conversation while she nudged two stools together with her foot. Apparently a roof was leaking somewhere in Terre Haute and only Wendy could save the day. He slid in front of her and closed the rec room door with a click. “There. My work here is done.”

Her lips curled up at the corners, but her eyes flared before they resumed their flat look. “Call the on-site manager and have her get those plumbers back to fix their mistake. It won’t pass inspection tomorrow if water-damaged tiles fall into the lobby.”

Rob scooped up a step stool that had fallen farther away than its buddies, then picked up the other two from their resting place.

“Okay, Bo. Let me know when it gets fixed. We may have to postpone, and we’re already behind schedule. Talk to you soon.” Wendy shoved her phone back in her pocket and reached for the stool. “Thank you, Dr. Upshaw. I’ve got it from here.”

He sidestepped her arms. “It’s no bother.”

The war of polite Southern hostess versus the need for control played out in the clenched muscle in her cheek and the assessment in her glance. “Thank you.”

Soon her arms were loaded with the baskets. He tucked the step stools under his arm, their white legs a sign of her surrender.

She peered at him from under her dark lashes. “Will you be joining us to pick the peaches?”

Exploring the grounds was suddenly unappealing. He and Hal would be tracking down leads for at least a week. Plenty of time to seek out any location mentioned in the old journals and newspaper clippings. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He followed her down the hill, the dirt-packed path leading right to the peach orchard. Trees stretched a good half mile in full view of the sun. A rich, earthy scent rose from the ground, and Rob inhaled the natural aroma.

Mr. and Mrs. Kipling sat on a concrete bench in the shade of the trees, lips locked and hands clenching hair and arms.

“We couldn’t have asked for lovelier weather,” Wendy said, much louder than her normal tone.

“Smooth,” he murmured as the happy couple put some distance between themselves. Mrs. Kipling’s hands went to her hair, patting down the sides.

“Good morning,” she said to the newlyweds. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“We were able to keep ourselves occupied.” Mr. Kipling grinned at his wife, who laughed and gave him a smack on the arm.

“Let’s get going.” Wendy handed each of them a basket, then marched them past a score of trees through the center aisle of the orchard.

The air was thick with the sweetness of peaches, and Rob recognized it as the lingering perfume Wendy carried with her.

Beyond the orchard lay a field with saplings, each one spaced several yards from the next.

“Any fruit you pick is yours for the taking. They can keep for about five days in the fridge, so you use the ones in your rooms.” Wendy stopped in front of a tree that stood about a head taller than Rob.

She demonstrated the proper technique for picking.

“Don’t force the peach from the tree. It will fall when it’s ready.

From whatever you don’t want, some will be incorporated into your meals while you’re here.

Some will go to the distillery that brews Fountenoy Hall’s house whiskey. ”

“I had too much of it during the last after-dinner hour,” Mrs. Kipling said. “I never knew peach whiskey was a thing. ”

“Not the ones we pick today, though,” Rob said. Researching his uncle’s role in Prohibition had taught him a little about making alcohol.

“That’s right.” Wendy handed him a basket. “It takes time to turn this all into our special moonshine. You get a gold star, Dr. Upshaw.”

Rob wiggled his way around the branches to stand close to the trunk. He could have grasped a peach closer to him, but instead reached up. The first peach didn’t budge. Neither did the second. Or the third.

“Not so easy, right?” Wendy said.

He hadn’t noticed her watching him, so intent was he on his trophy. Now he eyed a different type of prize. “This tree hates me.”

“Usually it’s a combination of the angle and the pressure.” She stood in front of him and stretched up.

Her sun-warmed body heated him when he scooted closer to watch her move through the leaves. She tugged, then lowered her hand. “See?”

He took out a perfectly round peach. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She stepped out of his way, leaving him cooling. “Your turn.”

He tried again and soon had a couple pieces of fruit in his basket. Wendy nodded approval. “Not too many at once, now. Peaches bruise easily when there’s too much weight on top.”

“How are we doing?” Mr. Kipling asked. They were gathering fruit from the lower branches.

Wendy wandered over to them. “Nice. Very nice. I can taste the cobbler now.”

She picked along with them, offering tidbits of peach information from its travels across Asia to their coloration being dependent on where they’re grown.

It was obvious she had recited this before.

Rob got lost in her voice as her tone became less guarded and hints of her Southern upbringing crept in.

All too soon the four of them had most of the containers filled, but Mrs. Kipling nearly dropped her basket when Wendy mentioned a little tidbit about the pits containing cyanide. “Does it leak out? I eat them all the time. I don’t want to die. ”

“The concentration levels are very small,” Wendy’s voice remained pleasant, despite her guest’s flaky statement. “Even if the pit splits open, it’s still safe to eat.”

Mrs. Kipling gave the fruit a suspicious look. “So you’re not trying to poison us.”

“No, ma’am. That would be bad for business.”

The line was delivered with perfect straightness, but Rob grinned at her subtle sense of humor.

Mrs. Kipling put the peach back in her basket. “There’s a lot to this fruit that I didn’t know.”

“Pits were also helpful for the war effort in World War I.” Rob kept attention fixed on the higher branches when he spoke, but felt Wendy’s stare on him. “They were used with charcoal to gather toxic pollutants in gas masks.”

“Very good, Dr. Upshaw. Another gold star.” She picked a peach off the tree.

“In the lobby, you’ll see a letter from 1917, written to my great-great-granddaddy by the governor of Georgia, commending his efforts in collecting the pits for the war effort.

” She took a bite of the fruit, leaning forward to avoid the juices that dripped from her hand.

Rob stood, mesmerized, as her tongue reached out to lick her lips. “I would love to try some of that.” So centered was he on Wendy’s lips, the peach she tossed to him almost smacked him on the forehead.

“Eat up,” she said. “Enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

Did the serious innkeeper make another joke? He bit into the peach, keeping his eyes settled on hers.

He didn’t mean for it to be a repeat of their staring contest this morning. A look of challenge flashed across her face, but she kept the contact going. “Tasty, isn’t it, Dr. Upshaw?”

“Never had anything like it.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Aunt Eulalee you approve of our cultivation methods.” Satisfaction flitted across her face .

Their connection cut off when the notes of a harp played from her pocket. She pulled out her phone and turned off the sound.

“Is that your infamous schedule?” Rob asked.

“Yes. It’s a good thing my shoes are tied.”

Rob gave a snort of laughter as he recalled the conversation with Brandi from that morning. “I’d tie your laces if it helped you stay on task.”

Wendy graced him with a tiny grin as she put the phone back in her pocket. He’d consider that a success.

She hoisted one of the baskets. “We’ll bring these to the storeroom, and you all can take what you want.” She shot him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Any requests for dessert tonight?”