Sometimes, when he was speaking freely, the Scottish lilt to his words deepened. What was it that newspaperman had said earlier today? Something about Neil having a rocky background. Had he been born in Scotland? The accent sure suggested it, but how had he ended up here?

“Neil—”

“Hey, Sydney.” Wilder’s winded voice rose up behind them, stealing her chance to pry into Neil’s past. “Wait.”

“Guess Lil outlasted him. She’ll gloat about that for weeks.” Neil reached down to pat Captain as Wilder jogged over uneven ground.

The man reached them in seconds, wet jeans plastered to his legs. “Going home to thaw out,” he sputtered as he came to a halt. “But first, Sydney, I didn’t want to mention this in front of everyone, considering Indi and, well . . . anyway.”

“Spit it out.” Neil rubbed his palms together and blew into them.

“No one said you had to stay.” Wilder gave his friend a mock glare before returning his focus to Sydney. “Just wanted to let you know, I finally got ahold of CarleeAnn Picknell’s younger brother.”

The blanket slipped from one shoulder. Brother? “I . . . I knew you were searching for relatives. But I was thinking . . . distant ones.”

“Well, distant is about right.” Wilder mimicked Neil, blowing into his hands. “Her brother—stepbrother, actually—was twelve years younger than her. From our one very short conversation, it sounds as if they weren’t close at all. He was only six when CarleeAnn dropped out of college. Seven, the year of the accident. He . . .” Wilder glanced at Neil. “He doesn’t remember anything about his step-sister having a baby.”

It didn’t prove anything. But it didn’t disprove anything, either.

Wilder went on. “He works for a wildlife bureau, which is why I’ve had so much trouble tracking him down. He’s been up in some forest in Canada studying migration patterns or something. But he’s back in the States now and he’s agreed to come to town. This weekend, actually. He’ll be at the Autumn Market on Saturday.”

Saturday. Four days from now. By then she’d have been at Muir Farm for nearly a week. How much more attached might she be by then? “So he’s either my uncle or . . .”

“Or just the brother of your birth mom’s childhood best friend,” Wilder finished for her. “Unfortunately, DNA testing still isn’t an option, not with him being a stepsibling. And I don’t know if meeting him will get us any further, but he did say he has a few boxes in storage from his parents’ old house. He’s going to look through them, see if there’s anything that might help us. For now, there’s a hot shower back home calling my name. See you guys later.”