“You’re not having breakfast?”

“Chores.” He plucked an apple from a basket on the counter.

“I could go with you. You could show me around while you do the chores. Two birds and all that. No use interrupting the rest of your morning.”

He’d been the one to hear the truth behind her words then. She wanted the tour over with quickly. Since that’d suited him just fine, he’d shrugged, chomped into his apple, and waited while she’d run upstairs for a pair of tennis shoes.

Now Sydney gave Captain’s head one more friendly pat and rose, and for the second time since they’d stepped outside, he was forced to stifle a laugh at the sight of her. Or, rather, the sight of one of his bulky coats on her.

He didn’t stop the laugh quickly enough, though. Three thin lines appeared on her forehead as she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and narrowed her gaze. “Here I thought you were being nice, lending me the coat.”

Could she really blame him for being amused? The hunter green coat was like a dress over her jeans, reaching nearly to her knees, its sleeves flopping about her arms. “Wasn’t being nice. Just practical. That jacket you were wearing was too thin.” And too nice for a barn.

Although if he were being really practical, he would’ve gone searching for one of Lilian or Indi’s old pairs of work boots for Sydney to borrow. The last time he’d given an imposter a tour, she’d stepped in a pile of dung and squealed loud enough to send the hens into a tizzy.

That time, he hadn’t even tried to hide his laugh. Greta Turner hadn’t lasted more than four days on the farm before calling off her charade.

And hers really had been a charade. Turned out, she’d known from the start she wasn’t Maggie’s granddaughter but had mistakenly assumed there might be an inheritance up for grabs if she could pull off the scam. A few days and one dung incident later, she’d realized the truth—there was no money floating around at Muir Farm.

If there were, he might not have woken up with a crick in his neck and tight muscles this morning. You sound like an old man.

Well, there were times he felt like one.

“About those chores . . .”

He blinked. Sydney stood in front of him, the first wedge of morning sunlight brushing her hair with streaks of gold and bringing out the green in her eyes, her face awash with uncertainty. Maybe curiosity too. If her nervousness at being here was an act, she certainly played the part well.

“You okay with a walk? If not, we can hop in the truck.”

She nodded. “I can walk.”

“Right, then. Let’s go.” He took off toward the trees in long strides, expecting Captain to fall in step beside him like always. But no, a glance over his shoulder revealed the collie loping alongside Sydney as she hurried to catch up. Traitor.