“Haven’t had the chance. I actually had some very important information for you.”

“Your astrological sign? Your love language? Your newly discovered fetish for men with ill-mannered dogs?”

“My truck,” she said.

“Your truck,” he repeated, resting his elbow on the open window, the picture of casual flirtation.

“You’re in my truck.”

He poked his tongue into the inside of his cheek and looked around the interior of the vehicle. “Huh. Yeah. That explains the lack of mulch on the floor mats and keys in the cupholder.”

“Yeah.”

He opened the door, and she took a step back as tall, nearly naked man and wet dog got out.

“It’s a hell of a story we’ll have to tell the grandkids,” he said. “Or nieces and nephews if you don’t want kids.”

The words barely penetrated. She was too busy admiring that long, lean body. The outrageous confidence and commitment to go-with-the-flow that made it impossible for the man before her to feel the slightest bit of embarrassment over his predicament.

“It was real nice meeting you, Maggie,” Silas said, offering her his hand.

“Uh-huh,” she said to his abs.

4

4

Fresh from a shower at the inn, Maggie went in search of a strong Wi-Fi signal and dinner. Her muscles were singing from a full day of heavy lifting. But she’d gotten a respectable jump on the initial cleanup on the first floor. The more dirty work she got done now, the faster she and the crews could dig into the real work.

It was past sunset and a little chilly, but Kinship’s downtown was lit with charming gas streetlamps and tempting window displays. The general store with its well-stocked candy and bug spray sections and the big timber church on the corner were familiar. But the brewery looked new, or if not new, it hadn’t caught the eye of her twelve-year-old self all those years ago.

Also new was the artsy café on Main Street that was still open.

She headed inside the white clapboard building and was delighted when it wasn’t a bell that chimed, announcing her arrival. It was a set of spurs hung above the door.

There were a few patrons huddled around small, round tables over books and coffees poured in big, white mugs. The vibe was Wild West meets folksy hipster. She liked it immediately. Cacti and other less pointy greenery perched on rustic wooden shelves in white and copper pots. The counter was crafted out of knotty pine, and on top was a glass case of sinful-looking baked goods that Dean would never eat.

Maggie admired the man’s dedication to his physique. She could appreciate the effort and ethic but preferred applying her own to different areas.

She ordered a peanut butter cookie with her roast beef panini from Jun, the teenage barista, and settled herself at a corner table under black-and-white photos of mountain peaks and river bends.