Keeping the knife out of sight along his thigh, Danny followed the female voice to a wide, open kitchen. A bank of windows looked out onto the forest. In the center of the huge expanse of black granite and steel, a woman in a skirt, heels, and red wool coat was staring through the glass, watching a young couple having an animated conversation in the rear yard. She was likely in her late forties, but her too-thin face and bleached-blonde spiky hair added a few years.

“Carolyn Fitzgerald, Northfield Realty.” She gave him a let-me-sell-you-a-house smile.

Danny exhaled. Overreact much? Maybe his post-traumatic stress wasn’t as controlled as he’d thought.

Wrinkles fanned from the corners of mildly predatory eyes as she walked toward him. She held out a bony hand. “Are you interested in the property?”

He folded the knife against his leg and slipped it into his pocket before accepting the handshake. Social niceties made him thankful that the bomb had affected his left hand instead of his right. Small favors. “No. I’m Danny Sullivan. My sister is engaged to the owner, Reed Kimball. I’m looking in on the house.”

“Oh.” Disappointment flickered across her face, like a cat that just missed a baby rabbit. “Will you be staying here long?”

“Probably a couple of weeks.”

“Well, then I’ll be sure to call before I bring any more buyers through.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Danny accepted her business card.

“Not that there are that many.” Carolyn’s gaze drifted to the window. “It appears as if they’re done and that they won’t be making an offer.” The frown deepened. “Maybe with you here, I’ll have better luck selling it. Vacant houses aren’t very appealing.”

Danny glanced into the yard. The couple was walking toward the front of the property.

He escorted her to the front door. She put the key back in the lockbox and gave the numbers a spin. Danny watched the red sedan pull away. Standing on the stoop, he surveyed the surrounding woods. Beneath the trees, patches of leftover snow were spread on the black earth like reverse Rorschach tests. Tiny buds dotted tree boughs and underbrush. Life starting anew. Though struggling to shake off the grip of winter, things were growing.

Could spring in the country work its magic on him? Could he shake off the cold that had lodged itself in his soul?