At eight, the crunch of tires on gravel pulled me out of the shed.

Ranata parked her white SUV near the barn doors.

The engine cut off, and she stepped out into the crisp air in a tailored beige coat and tall leather boots that had never touched real mud.

She reached into the back seat and pulled out a huge wicker basket wrapped in clear cellophane, tied at the top with a thick red ribbon.

I walked over and wiped the dirt off my hands onto my jeans.