Lilian nudged him with her elbow. “But you at least got a look at her, didn’t you? Any resemblance to old photos of Diana? Any chance this one’s for real?”

“Would you two stop whispering as if I’m not in the room?” Maggie straightened, knife held in midair. “I know this is all a little uncomfortable, but I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. Lil, stop questioning Neil as if he’s on a witness stand. Neil . . .” Her grin turned cheeky. “I’m quite relieved you opted for modesty this evening.”

He sputtered on his water. “Very funny. Seems like you might be forgetting I was the innocent bystander in that incident.”

Maggie resumed cutting the lasagna. “You could’ve stayed in the shower.”

“She could’ve stayed out of the bathroom.” He plunked his glass to the table.

Lilian folded her arms. “Clearly I missed something.”

Wilder picked that moment to saunter into the room. “Hey, folks. Ah, MacKean, glad to see you traded in the towel for actual clothes.”

Whatever retort he might’ve tossed at his friend was lost to Lilian’s muttered, “Oh, you’re still here.”

“Been outside.” Wilder peeled off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair across from Lilian before plopping down. “Maggie told me to stick around. Figured I might as well be useful.” He reached toward the basket of bread in the middle of the table.

But Lilian swiped the basket away before he could nab a slice. “By eating our food?”

“No, by replacing the bulbs in the front porch lights.”

One of a dozen to-dos Neil hadn’t gotten around to this week. He should probably thank the guy, but for once Lilian wasn’t the only one on the outs with him. He still didn’t fully understand how Wilder had come across Sydney Rose or what made him think she was Maggie’s long-lost granddaughter, but to bring her here was downright foolish.

At the soft clearing of a throat, silence rattled through the dining room.

Neil balled his napkin all over again as his gaze flew to the woman standing under the arched opening. She wore dark jeans and a long cream-colored sweater with a wide, sort of scooped neck. He’d noticed the red tint to her hair earlier, but it’d been pulled back then. Now it hung in long, loose waves—darker than he’d realized before. A color that made him think of the blend of spices Maggie used in her legendary cider.

Stop staring. He’d told himself he wouldn’t be curious about her. Wouldn’t be interested. He’d be polite enough to please Maggie and nothing more.

Hadn’t counted on her being pretty, though.

Still, no matter. She’d be in and out of Maggie’s life in mere days like all the other girls. He’d seen it time and again.

Whereas he’d still be here, fighting for the farm, this land, this house. Wishing he could coax Maggie into a change of heart regarding the future of Muir Farm. But how probable was that when clearly her whole heart was still wrapped up in the past?