Might as well follow the man. No use standing here staring at a useless giant of rusty steel, fighting the urge to pull off a work boot and chuck it at the thing.

“Look at the bright side.” Mr. Barrett stepped into dousing sunlight, his sandy-brown hair nearly aglow. “’Least you discovered it now as opposed to next August. Could’ve broken down mid-harvest and then where would you be?”

Not somewhere all that different from where he was now, to be honest. Discouraged and helpless, with no idea how to tell Maggie something had to change. He pulled one hand free from his pocket and rubbed his chin. Good grief, he about had a full-on beard these days. Indi would love that, always said he needed “more variety” in his appearance.

“It’s all flannel shirts and faded jeans and hair constantly in need of a trim. Would it hurt you to switch it up now and then? Maybe a nice cashmere sweater and pressed slacks or even a dapper suit.”

He’d stopped milking Melba just long enough to let out a hearty laugh. “I’m a farmer, Indi. I don’t do dapper.”

“I’m only saying you need a little more variety. Maybe then you’d finally get yourself a lady. You’re thirty-four, Neil. Time’s ticking away.”

“I don’t need to get myself a lady.” Not when he had three women here at Muir Farm counting on him to keep the place alive. Between Maggie and his sisters, he had all he could handle.

Indi was the youngest, twenty-eight but with an untamed restlessness that made her seem younger at times. Lilian, at thirty, was the middle sibling and the quieter, gentler one. Like the sea on a breezeless day—calm at the surface but with a depth he wasn’t sure too many people ever delved.

And Maggie. A mother and grandmother and guardian angel—and the one who’d knit their family together. None of them were biologically related, but that fact didn’t change the tight bond twining them to one another.

“Maybe you don’t need a lady, but don’t you want one?” The rest of that conversation with Indi slid in.

“What I want, Indiana Joy, is for a little help with these chores. Specifically, those blasted hens. Start gathering eggs, will you, lassie?” He’d poured on his Scottish burr on that last part—what was left of it, anyway, considering he hadn’t seen his homeland since he was fourteen.

But no, this was his homeland now. The farm, the coast, the little town of Muir Harbor only a few miles up the shoreline.

Anyhow, the beard was a change and if it made Indi smile, maybe he’d wait another couple of days before shaving.

“Never took you for a daydreamer, Neil MacKean.”

He blinked under the bright sun, a gust of wind whipping over him, plastering his jeans to his legs at the front and billowing his jacket behind him, carrying the sound of Captain’s distant bark. “Sorry. So, what’s a new harvester go for these days? In my dream world, I’d retire the old one.”