His dog’s tail gave a happy wobble as warm spring air rushed in.

Silas loved this time of year, too. As a kid, it had meant that endless summers of swimming, skipping rocks, and sleepovers were just around the corner. As an adult, the first sustained days of spring buoyed Western Idaho residents into thinking about mulch and weeding and retaining walls and patios for outdoor entertaining. And how much they didn’t want to do that work themselves.

It was no coincidence that the mailers for Bitterroot Landscapes were landing in mailboxes in a fifteen-mile radius today. Not only had he highlighted the nice, clean look of fresh mulch and neat lawn lines, but he’d also made sure to hint at what a pain in the ass the work was.

After several years of steady growth, he’d predicted this season would be tougher. The plant closing had many neighbors hurting for those paychecks. So he’d been prepared to tighten his belt and do what was needed to keep his people working steadily.

However, he hadn’t predicted a call about the Old Campbell Place.

Born and raised in Kinship, Silas was as familiar with the house on the bluff as the cold cuts cooler at Garnet Grocery and every kayak-swamping submerged rock on the five miles of Payette River he considered to be his.

Judging from the call, the estate’s new owner was looking to do more than Band-Aid the grand dame of a house. And Silas was going to dazzle the hell out of that someone into letting him get his hands on those grounds.

The dog let out a sigh.

As long as a certain someone kept his breakfast down.

The road got skinnier and steeper as his truck climbed. He’d laughed when the client—Dean Jensen with those California vowels—had asked if he needed directions to the project. Everyone knew where the Old Campbell Place was.

He slowed and signaled for the turn onto the lane. Not even the camouflage of wild Rocky Mountain maple and chokecherry could hide the way.

Bumping along, he noted the fresh ruts in the mud. He wasn’t the first trade on-site. A good sign that the owner was excited to get started. He could get behind excited, he decided as the quaking aspens that seemed intent on devouring the drive thinned and the house came into view.

He let out a low whistle that had Kevin perking up.

She’d been a grand beauty in her day. Now, crumbling and sagging. But beyond the peeling paint and broken windows was the kind of charm that never faded. The grounds—he’d had a look at the site map to refresh his memory—were five acres of hilltop roll. House, garage, barn, remains of a greenhouse. Mother Nature had been busy here in the years the property stood vacant. Trees and shrubs, weeds and thistles.