Then he’d known about her. At some point, he’d known.

His words came faster. “I don’t have an excuse. Nothing other than teenage stupidity. I’ve thought about it so many times through the years, but never once considered the possibility that . . .”

She should tell him she hadn’t come here for a guilt trip. Or an apology. Or even an explanation of his younger self’s decisions. She just needed to know. And there was something he’d just said . . .

“Letting her leave with you.”

“Which her?” The question jolted from her.

“Say again?”

She nodded to the picture on the table between them, her heart sprinting. Was this really happening? She’d just found her father and now, in the same hour, she was about to know—finally, for certain this time—who her mother was. “Which her?”

“You mean, you don’t know who . . . ?”

She shook her head, every racing thought slowing and then stilling entirely when he pointed.

The waiting was killing him.

Neil paced from one end of the barn to the other. Sydney had been gone for too long. She should’ve been back hours ago.

He’d stayed as busy as he could. He’d taken Micah on that tour, not that the younger man had seemed all that impressed by anything he’d seen. Other than a few clipped sentences here and a monotone answer there, the guy had done little talking. Any hope he’d had for bonding with Sydney’s foster brother had faded by the time they’d reached the closest field.

Micah had begged off quickly, but not so quick the whole thing didn’t leave a pit in Neil’s stomach. He hadn’t wanted to push Sydney about what the man was doing here, especially not after what they’d discovered about Tate Carter. And all that was still left unsaid between them.

But there was something off.

He’d gone into town with Indi midmorning and she’d loaded him up with items for the treehouse from her shop. She even had an antique queen-sized bed that would work in the space. He’d picked out a mattress at Muir Harbor’s sole furniture store, then had borrowed Wilder’s truck to get it out to the treehouse.

But now it was a quarter ’til two and he still hadn’t heard from Sydney.

Melba bellowed from her stall.

“I know, girl. I’m concerned too.”

But what could he do? Borrowing Maggie’s Buick and tracking Sydney down felt like an overreaction. She was a grown woman who didn’t need a man she’d known all of twelve days barreling in and trying to solve her problems.

Who was to say this was a problem at all? Much as he didn’t have a plethora of warm feelings for the Carters, Tate was a decent guy. Less arrogant than his dad, at least. If he was who Sydney thought he was, what if he took the news well? Maybe they were having a joyous father-daughter reunion.