It had become their little tradition in the week he’d been on the job, dragging her out of whatever she was doing at quitting time so he could walk her through what his crew had accomplished. It was as much to show off as it was to get the woman to take a damn break. Maggie Nichols didn’t know when to stop.

He started the tour on the north side of the house. Showed her the now deeper bed between house and garage, newly edged and ready for plants and mulch. Rather than being impressed, she took another long drink and swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes miles away.

Leading her around to the back, he pointed out the plots where the sod had been removed to reveal rich earth. Each six-foot-by-three-foot section would be its own raised bed for roses. When she stepped right over the spot where the creepy cemetery fence had been only that morning without noticing, Silas knew there was trouble.

Changing tactics, he nudged her farther away from the house. “Let’s take a walk, slugger,” he said.

“I have work to do,” she grumbled, obviously not realizing that they were exploring a new path that had been created with two passes of a brush mower and some enterprising chainsawing only hours before.

“I know you do. Watch your step,” he cautioned.

She grunted an acknowledgment, and he squashed the testosterone-fueled impulse to ask what was wrong so he could tell her how to fix it. He kept one eye on her and one on the path as it curved and climbed until they got to their destination.

“I can appreciate a good mad,” he ventured.

“You don’t want to talk me out of it? Soothe the beast?”

It was a little bit adorable that she could refer to herself as “the beast” and mean it.

Silas pulled off his hat and shoved a hand through his hair. “They’re your feelings,” he said. “You’ve got a right to them.”

The tension that was holding her shoulders up around her ears seemed to release. She frowned thoughtfully. “I do. Don’t I?”

He caught it for an instant. Underneath the thin layer of mad was hurt. Maybe even the tiniest edge of fear. “Sure do,” he said lightly.

Then he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the view.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.” A brand-new panorama spread out before them. Lake. Town. Mountains. River. Silas kept his hands where they were and gently dug into the knots he found with his thumbs.

“Oh,” she said again. Only this time, it was a sigh as he kneaded the tension, the muscle, the hurt. “It’s beautiful.”

“And it’s all yours,” he told her.

“For now,” she said bitterly.