He glanced at her. “Not really.”

She nudged him. “Are you sure? It’s quite interesting.”

He must have understood her intent, for he pushed away from the table and headed out after her. Poppy was a speck of pale pink muslin in the distance as she meandered on the path leading into a cluster of scrubby oaks.

“I can’t stand that woman,” Liam seethed.

“I can’t either, but we need to see that she is declawed.”

Liam snorted. “She’ll grow a new set within the hour.”

“I intend to appeal to her better nature. She can help smooth the way for you and Patrick to join the family. We need to persuade her to stop lobbing bombs at you both.”

Liam folded his arms across his chest. “Let her come after me. I don’t care that she’s a woman. I’ll return fire and blast that smug look off her face.”

“No, you won’t. That’s not the right way to handle this situation.”

Liam glowered. “It’s how I handle things.”

“Then you need to grow up,” Gwen said, turning to face him. “From the moment you arrived on my doorstep, half-dead, angry, and mistrustful, I accepted you. Now I need your help declawing Poppy, and to do that, we need to flatter her. I want you to appeal to her better nature and ask for her advice.”

He cursed and looked heavenward, but she wasn’t having it.

“I won’t let Poppy drive Patrick away. We need to get Poppy on our side, and frankly, it won’t be that hard. Ask for her help learning croquet. Praise her skills. She’ll like that.”

“I’d rather beat her with a croquet mallet than ask for her help with it.”

“Too bad. We both owe Patrick, and it’s time to start delivering.”

They cut across the dunes on their way toward Poppy. Trudging across the sandy dunes was slowgoing because Liam still had to move gingerly. In the past few days, it had been easy to forget how far he’d come in healing from the stab wound, but it was still tender. Even with Poppy’s slow, ponderous gait, it took them a while to catch up to her.

“Yo! Poppy, wait up,” Liam called as they drew close.

Poppy turned to look at them. With her wide-brimmed straw bonnet, she looked like a Gainsborough portrait as she watched them approach on the path through the long grasses. The cattails were chest high and swayed in the stiff breeze, brushing against Gwen’s skirts as they walked.

The path was only wide enough for two people, so Gwen dropped behind, watching in approval how Liam offered his arm to Poppy, letting the pregnant woman accept his help as they walked along the scrabbly path.

“I liked the way you beat Edwin at croquet,” Liam said, and Poppy preened.