Riley jumped forward. “Could I like maybe be a bridesmaid or something?”

“We’re not really engaged,” Blue felt duty bound to inform her. “Dean is amusing himself.”

Their fake engagement was too convenient to let her spoil it. “We’re engaged,” he said. “Blue is just sulking.”

Nita rapped her cane on the floor. “Come into the living room with me, Riley. Away from certain people. I’ll show you some exercises to strengthen your leg muscles so you can take ballet again.”

“I don’t want to take ballet,” Riley muttered. “I want to take guitar lessons.”

Jack set down the pan he was drying. “You do?”

“Mom always said she’d teach me, but she never did.”

“But she showed you some basic chords, right?”

“No. She didn’t like me touching her guitars.”

Jack’s expression grew grim. “My acoustic’s at the cottage. Let’s go get it.”

“Really? You’ll let me play your guitar?”

“I’ll give you the damned thing.”

Riley looked as though he’d dropped a diamond tiara on her head. Jack tossed aside the dish towel. Dean pulled Blue outside, not feeling at all guilty about leaving April to Nita’s mercies.

“I don’t sulk,” Blue said as they stepped off the side porch. “You shouldn’t have said that. And it’s not fair to raise Riley’s hopes about being a bridesmaid.”

“She’ll survive just fine.” He stalked toward the oil drum where they burned trash. It was full. He struck a match from the box April kept in a Ziploc bag and tossed it in. “Why won’t they all go away? Jack’s still around. April’s not going until Riley does. That old witch is the last straw. I want all of them out of here! Everybody but you.”

“Except it’s not that easy, is it?”

No, it wasn’t that easy. As the fire caught, he moved back to sit in the grass and watch the flames. This past week, he’d seen Riley’s confidence grow. Her indoor pallor had faded, and the new clothes April had bought her were already getting loose. He liked working on the porch, too, even if he had to do it with Jack. Every time he drove a nail he felt as though he was putting his own mark on this old farm. Then there was Blue.

She moved behind him. He picked up a cellophane wrapper that had fallen into the grass and tossed it toward the fire.

Blue watched as the wadded cellophane landed at the base of the drum, but Dean didn’t seem to care that he’d missed the shot. His brooding profile stood in perfect silhouette against the twilight. She walked over to sit in the grass next to him. Another bandage had appeared on his hand, this one across his knuckles. She touched it. “Construction accident?”

He propped his elbow on his knee. “I’ve got a fair-size lump on my head, too.”

“How are you getting along with your coworker?”

“He doesn’t talk to me, and I don’t talk to him.”