“When you showed me the treehouse last night, you said the farm could really use the extra income. And I know I’ve only been here two days, but I’ve seen how hard you work and . . .” She didn’t know why she was saying any of this. What right did she have to interfere in any of his business? But halting her words seemed as impossible as stopping the chattering of her teeth. “And now you’re considering a side venture, but no one else knows about it. It just seems like you carry the load of this whole place on your shoulders—and yours alone. You don’t have to do everything on your own, Neil. You’ve got this amazing family. Let them help you.”

She thought he might rebuff her. Tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about. He’d be completely within his rights. Instead, he glanced over at her. What did he see when he looked at her?

Probably a virtual stranger offering advice he never asked for.

But that wouldn’t explain the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes or the ghost of a smile playing over his lips. “Maybe you are Maggie’s granddaughter. That’s the kind of thing she’d say.”

“Well, she’d be right.”

“The thing is, sometimes I feel like it’s my fault we’re struggling financially. I’m the one who said we needed a harvester about a decade back. We had to take out a pretty hefty loan and I didn’t realize how hard it’d be to catch up after that. I thought we’d save money, not needing to hire such a big crew for hand raking. We still hire a small crew, but not nearly as many.”

His pace stopped almost entirely as they emerged from the trees, his words trailing. His eyes moved past her, over her shoulder, his mouth widening into an O. She angled to follow his gaze. “Are those . . . ?”

He groaned and nodded. “Indi’s goats. And the chickens.”

All loose and roaming the backyard.

And then his hand was on her shoulder. “You should get to the house. Melba’s probably around here somewhere too.”

Chapter 11

My Dearest Robert,

Today I told Sydney the Legend of Muir Harbor . . . and then later realized that in all the time we spent together in those three weeks before you shipped out, I’d never told you the legend. Well, better late than never, as they say.

It starts, as so many Gaelic stories do, with two clans and an ageless feud . . . and eventually, a family set adrift at sea. I told you once, surely I did, that Muir is the Gaelic word for sea. As the legend goes, the famed and ferocious Alec Muir said it was only fitting that the sea gift his family their freedom and future.