She closed her eyes, and then it hit her. The oddity that had niggled at the back of her mind earlier in the day when she’d been looking up at the bluff side of the house. Her heart rate kicked up a bit.

Easing out of Sy’s grip proved tricky. But she managed it without waking him or the kittens. She dragged on her shorts and shirt and jogged downstairs.

She made it halfway down the porch steps before realizing she’d forgotten shoes and, remembering her toe, ran back inside to grab her work boots.

Finally, standing on the south side of the house, she counted carefully. The buzz in her blood got louder.

She hurried back inside and up the three flights of stairs, winding around and around.

On the third floor, she poked her head into the front room with the glassed-in turret and the twin windows that faced the river. Then did the same in the next room. It was smaller, but it had the same two windows on the south wall.

The closets of both rooms lined up with each other. At least, that’s the way it seemed. But now Maggie wasn’t sure.

Back in the hall, she paced off the distance between the rooms.

“I knew it,” she breathed. Excitement bubbled up in her. She found boxes of bathroom tile just off the landing to the stairs and ripped the tops off two of them. When the cardboard was in position, she headed back downstairs and out the front door.

“Silas!” Maggie said, bursting into the room.

He was just starting to sit up, kittens scrambling off him, when she jumped. She landed on him, and to his credit, he caught her.

“You sure know how to wake a man up, Mags.”

Hands on his shoulders, she straddled him. “I need you to come downstairs and tell me if I’m crazy,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re not crazy. But you are sweaty,” he said on a yawn.

“I ran up and down a couple flights of stairs. Also, I think my boobs are sunburned,” she admitted.

He rolled and pinned her beneath him. “I’ll examine them thoroughly in a minute,” he told her, then pretended to fall asleep on top of her.

“Very funny, Wright.” She gave his butt a hard pinch. “I think I found something.”

“Yeah. It’s called my ass,” he said into her hair. “Which given how much that pinch stings might also be a little sun-kissed.”

“Please,” she asked, putting a little extra breathiness into the ask.

He sighed theatrically. “You know I can’t deny you when you use that voice. But if this is some kind of trick to get me to do work, I’m going to tie you to this bed and leave you here for a week.”

“I’ve got an Abe Lincoln that says you won’t regret getting out of bed,” she tried again.