Page 27 of The Pumpkin Patch Sisters

"You think this is about fuel and hours," Beckett murmured, making her pause. He took his hands out of his pockets, his fingers black with grease, his palms rough and scarred from decades of valley winters. He reached out and snatched the envelope from her fingers, the clean paper instantly gathering a dark smudge where his thumb pressed.

Dahlia let her hand fall, a faint sigh of relief escaping her lips as if she’d finally closed a difficult deal.

But Beckett didn't put the envelope in his pocket. He held it between his hands, his gaze locked on her face. With a deliberate motion, he tore the thick paper in half. The sound of the clean parchment ripping was loud in the quiet pasture, followed immediately by the rustle of the paper check inside as it split down the center. He didn't stop. Beckett folded the pieces together and tore them again, reducing her fair settlement to four neat squares of white paper.

"What are you doing?" Dahlia fumed, her face turning blotchy red with anger as she watched the pieces.

Beckett opened his hand, letting the paper squares flutter down onto the frost-dusted weeds near the tractor tire.

"I didn't do it for money or to be paid off," Beckett sneered through gritted teeth, his posture going rigid, his eyes flashing with anger. He could see the shock register in her eyes as she stood there speechless, staring at him. "She was like family to me. When I lost my parents, she was there. When I had a fever and couldn’t move for days, she brought me soup and took care of me. When I nearly lost the farm during a bad winter, she got the town to help." His jaw clenched. "So, when she needed help—from lifting a bag of seed, fixing the irrigation lines that split one spring, or clearing out the pastures she couldn’t get to—I wasn't going to stand on my side of the fence and watch her struggle." His eyes narrowed as they bore into hers. "I didn't do it to get a paycheck. I did it for a woman who propped up this entire community. A woman who looked after everyone else while breaking her back to keep her world going because she never wanted to trouble a single soul."

He leaned closer, his eyes refusing to let her look away, his dark hair catching the pale light of the autumn sun.

"I did it because I loved her like family," Beckett admitted, his throat tight with the weight of the secret he’d carried through three long winters. "And because she was the closest thing to family left after mine died. I wasn't going to let her orchard rot because she was left completely alone while others were too busy to answer their phones." His brows rose pointedly.

Dahlia

The white squares of the torn check fluttered in the wind, tumbling across the rye grass before catching in the frozen weeds near the tractor’s rear tire. Dahlia stared down at the shredded paper, her chest going tight as a cold wave of shock rushed through her veins. The rejection stung worse than a physical blow, compounded by his accusatory words about her not being there for her mother. Her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides as she tried to steady her breathing and keep her temper in check.

Her analytical mind, always so quick to categorize and resolve, struggled to process the sheer anger radiating from him. Why did he have to be so darn stubborn and proud? Dahlia was seething as she stood in the cold pasture, under the graying sky. Her mind was spinning as she tried to find the words to counter his blatant attack on how she’d let her family down.

In truth, there wasn’t a defense. Dahlia knew she’d distanced herself from Harvest Hollow and visited as little as possible. Guilt ripped through her once again, nearly choking her as it mixed with her anger at Beckett’s attack and refusal to let her pay him for years of free labor he’d provided the Marchetti farm.

"Why can’t you just take the darn money?" Dahlia grated, her voice trembling slightly though she tried to keep her tone detached. She kept her eyes fixed on the torn paper on the ground, refusing to look up and meet his eyes. "I calculated the market rate for three years of agricultural labor. It wasn't an insult. It was to show appreciation for all the help you provided my mother.” Her jaw tightened. “You spent your winters repairing her equipment and your autumns harvesting her crops. You deserve compensation."

"Compensation!" Beckett snorted rudely, his voice low and flat. The word sounded jagged, scraping between them like gravel. “Did I ask for it?”

"I…," Dahlia swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest as she finally met his eyes. Her heart seemed to skid to a stop when she saw the flash of hurt that skittered through his eyes.

“Keep your compensation,” Beckett muttered, pushing away from the tractor. His tall frame loomed over her. “Now if that’s all, I have work to do.”

Dahlia’s jaw went slack as she looked at him in amazement. Is he dismissing me?

Indignation burned through her. Dahlia’s chin went up, her posture snapping rigidly as her eyes narrowed dangerously, no longer able to keep her temper bottled up. "Look, you may be able to balance your books with pumpkins and shared tasks…" Her eyes blazed as her chest rose and fell in time to the pounding of her heart, now accelerated by her anger and humiliation. “But I’m here now. I’m responsible for balancing the farm ledgers and keeping the banks from foreclosing. To do that, I need to keep all transactions clean, which includes any farm labor. The banks, like me, do not consider a handshake a valid transaction.”

"Ah!" Beckett nodded. He didn't yell, and the only telltale sign that he was still angry was the darkening of his eyes. He shifted closer, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light of the western ridge. "Sorry, princess, I’m not for sale to appease your guilt. Just don’t log the labor."

The words hit her like a physical strike. Guilt. It was the raw and burning core of everything she'd been running from since she'd crossed the town line. It was the knot that'd been coiled in her chest every time she looked at the peeling paint of the farmhouse or the dry rot in the cider barn rafters.

Dahlia’s defensive anger flared to mask the pain, hot and reckless.

"Why, you..." Dahlia hissed, her voice rising as her control began to slip, her body shaking with anger. "My guilt!” The words flew from between her clenched teeth. “You stood here for three years and watched her struggle, and the farm fall into disarray.” Her fists were clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. “You knew how difficult things were for her. You knew she was struggling to keep this place afloat, and you never said a single word to me." Her throat felt raw, as if the words had been torn from her soul. “You could’ve called any one of us.” She blew out a breath. “Yet you chose radio silence. Playing the brooding hero from next door.” Her lip curled in a nasty sneer as all her hurt poured out. “What? Did you stand there waiting for this exact moment to dump a whole thirty-two years of salt onto my wounds?”

Beckett’s shoulders stiffened, and his face paled at her angry words, but he remained silent, his stormy eyes watching her with a calm that only fueled her panic.

"You participated in the silence," Dahlia continued, her chest rising and falling as the accusations tumbled out of her. She couldn't stop them, her defensive walls crumbling as she lashed out to protect herself. "You and her... You both chose to keep me in the dark. You wanted me to be the outsider. You built a wall of secrets around this farm, and you actively locked me out. Every time I called, every time I asked how things were going, I was told everything was fine. You helped her maintain that lie."

Her voice cracked on the final word, the sound sharp in the quiet pasture.

"So don’t you dare!” Her voice rasped from between her lips. “Don’t you dare stand there on a high horse thinking you’re some sort of saint.” She swallowed, her throat feeling dry. “I was working fifteen-hour days, trying to build a career in a city where nothing is given to you. I didn't even know she was sick because none of you, not one person from this backward town, bothered to pick up the phone.” She breathed through the anger. “Not one of you bothered to let me know just how deep the farm was in debt.” She was now struggling to keep her tears at bay, but she was darned if she’d let him see her cry. “All it would’ve taken was a phone call or one word of truth when I called every week.” She shook her head. “If someone had just told me the truth, if you'd just had the decency to pick up the phone and tell me what was actually happening here, contrary to popular belief, I'd have been here."

She stopped, her breath coming in short and ragged gasps. The silence rushed back to fill the space between them, cold and absolute. Dahlia stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs as she waited for him to defend himself, for him to argue or tell her she was wrong. But he only watched her, the wind whipping his dark hair across his forehead, his expression a mask of profound hurt.

Her lips pursed when he didn’t move or look like he was going to say anything.

“Just as I thought!” Dahlia’s voice was barely a whisper. “You’re as bad as the rest of my family, and this town with their tight-knit whispers behind my back and dark secrets.” She gave a soft snort. “I get it now. I was the one who left. The outsider now.” She threw up her hands. “You know what; I don’t care anymore. Take the money. Tear it up. Do whatever. From now on, please don’t interfere with anything on my farm. I’ll find contractors.” She glanced at the boundary wall between their properties. “Just stay on your side of the fence.”

Beckett