“The land?” Kaden whispered, so soft Irene almost didn’t hear it.

He planted his hands on the table. Irene stole a glance at him. Dead leaves swirled about his shoulders, and bindweed bloomed in his eyes—uncertainty and disappointment rolled into one.

“And cut into the rest of the garden’s harvest?” Elena asked. “Yarrow has become known for more than just its bourbon.”

“Even if we did lease you the land, it might make no difference,” Addison said. “You saw what happened with the rosemary.”

“So, you admit it!” Nate said.

Irene winced.

“No, that’s not…” Addison blanched and drained the glass of bourbon that sat in front of her. A server swooped in to refill it.

“We need your soil to try to fix whatever has gone wrong with the corn,” Nate said. “But if something’s wrong with your garden, don’t you think that’s something we should all know?”

Irene bristled. The garden may have been struggling, but that was her family’s business. And they would deal with it as a family, not with the Bonners’ interference. “The fruit is unpredictable, you know that,” she said. “Everyone who eats from it knows that and signs a waiver. You partake of it at your own risk.”

“Something this monumental affects all of Yarrow, whether you like it or not,” Nate said. “Since I had a feeling this would be your reaction, the mayor and I have started working with the city manager to put a motion before the council to make all soil infused with Yarrow’s magic commissionable by the town.”

Irene blinked. Then she laughed. She felt that familiar Haywood anger start to churn inside of her, and the telltale sound of cicadas started up outside.

It wasn’t the soil alone that was magic—it was the synergy between the earth and those who lived and cared for it that brought forth its power. Sorrow transformed into new life. Irene had no intention of pouring the town’s pain into the Bonners’ pockets.

“You son of a bitch.” She planted her hands on the table and leaned toward him. “You’re trying to take the garden from us.”

Maura stood, and as she did a cicada landed right in the middle of Sylvia’s dinner plate. It rubbed its wings, filling the room with its song. “I should’ve known,” Maura said.

Sylvia waved a hand at the bug, but it held its ground. “I would never try to take your garden from you,” Sylvia said, ever the diplomat. “Yes, I wanted Irene to sell me some seeds, but I’d never just take them, much less your land. The only reason our distillery has survived was because of your family’s help. Because your family wants our town to flourish just as much as I do.”

“A likely story,” Maura growled.

“Mom,” Nate said. “I thought this is what you wanted.”