“Pete MacDougal. Do you really have nothing better to do than stand around and bug me? Don’t you have a few hundred acres of apples that need pruning or trimming or something?”

“I’ve got the orchards. I’ve also got twins-two teenage sons-that I’m raising without their mother. And even though everyone in White Hills think I’m a farmer, I’ve been doing translating work for Langley for a half-dozen years now, full-time. And then there’s my dad, who’s been as pleasant as a porcupine ever since my mother died.” He didn’t suspect she wanted to hear any of that, but he figured he’d better give her a frame for his life. Otherwise she had an excuse for still treating him like a half stranger. “All of which is to say, don’t waste your breath being crabby with me. I’ve got people who can out-crabby you any day of the week, so let’s get back to our conversation-”

“We’re not having a conversation.”

“Oh, yeah, we are. We’re talking about finding a solution for that twenty acres of lavender out there. One possibility-and the simplest one-is a bulldozer. I don’t know if you knew Hal Wolske-”

“I’m not looking for a bulldozer. Or for help.”

“Okay.” He reminded himself that he came from strong Scots stock. Which meant he had no end of patience. He might have to kick a tree, soon and hard, but he could hold on to his patience until then or die trying. “If you don’t want to get rid of it, then you have to find a way to make it viable. I really don’t think your sister could identify the front end of a tractor from the back-”

“Don’t you start on my sister again.”

“But I do know your dad always kept two Masseys in the barn. The farmer your dad hired when he retired-Filbert Green, wasn’t it?-he used to keep them well maintenanced, at least until your sis kicked him out of the job. If you want me to check them out-”