“But I wasn’t. I know I latched the gate after feeding them. And even if I hadn’t, that wouldn’t explain Melba wandering around the grove and the chickens scattered all over the place.” She shook her head. “Plus, I think I saw footprints. It was dark, but . . . I’m pretty positive someone was on our land and purposely let the animals out.”

Footprints. Again. “And you’re just now telling me?”

“I told you—I was trying to save you the stress. I figured it was a bored teen looking for some amusement.”

She was probably right. ’Least, he hoped she was. But the last thing they needed was a prankster. What if someone found the treehouse, decided it would be fun to escalate from unlatched gates to vandalism?

“I shouldn’t have told you. Your forehead lines are showing.” Indi let out a puff of air. “But it’s hard not to tell you things.”

If only he didn’t have the opposite problem. For one split second, he almost considered taking Sydney’s advice. Telling Indi about the broken equipment, the farm’s financial struggles. But then she’d probably try to shove every dollar in her lockbox at him.

“Thanks for telling me.” He gave her a quick side-hug. “You’re right—probably just a kid out on a lark.”

But as he left her booth and made his way through the maze of stands toward the center of the square, he couldn’t shake it—the sense that too many things were happening at once. The harvester, the generator, the animals . . . not that any of it was related, but . . .

They weren’t related, right? Of course not. Old equipment broke. It happened. Just because two vital pieces of machinery bit the dust in one week’s time didn’t mean anything. He paused near the gazebo, squeezed his chin, and looked to the sky. The half-circle sun wasn’t doing much to light the landscape any longer, but the lanterns hanging from tree branches and streetlamps covered the square in a glow.

When he lowered his gaze, it landed on Sydney, as if drawn to where she sat at a table, shoulders slumped. What was she doing there alone? Where was Wilder? Had they already met up with that Creighton guy?

On impulse, he beelined back to the farm booth. Ah, that answered the question of Wilder’s whereabouts. He’d taken Sydney’s spot behind the stand. Bet Lilian was none-too-pleased about that. But he wasn’t sticking around to find out.

He reached for the item he’d tucked behind a basket at the back of the booth and ducked away before Lil or Wilder spotted him.

He reached Sydney in seconds. Wait, was she nursing a red cup? Oh, for Pete’s sake, had none of them remembered to warn her about the moon punch? “Sydney, don’t drink the punch.”