Gooseflesh broke out on Blue’s arms, and by the time the rest of them were reaching for second helpings, she knew she had to paint the murals—not to leave her mark on the house as April had said, but to leave her mark on Dean. The murals would last for years. Whenever he walked into this room, he’d be forced to remember her. He might forget what color her eyes were, maybe he’d forget her name, but as long as the murals were on the walls, he’d never be able to forget her. She pushed the food around on her plate, her appetite gone. “All right. I’ll do them.”

A sliver of watermelon dropped off April’s fork. “Really? You won’t change your mind?”

“No, but remember that I warned you. My landscapes are—”

“Mushy pieces of crap.” Dean grinned. “We know. Good for you, Bluebell.”

Nita looked up from her barbecued beans. To Blue’s shock, she didn’t protest. “As long as you make my breakfast in the morning and you’re back in time to make my dinner, I don’t care what you do.”

“Blue is going to be staying in the caravan now,” Dean said smoothly. “It’ll be more convenient for her.”

“More convenient for you, doncha mean?” Nita retorted. “Blue’s dumb, but she’s not stupid.”

Blue could have argued the point. She was dumb and stupid. The longer she stayed, the tougher it would be to leave. She knew that from hard experience. Still, she had her eyes wide open. She’d miss Dean desperately when she left, but she had a lifetime’s practice saying good-bye to people she cared about, and it wouldn’t take her long to get over him.

“There’s not a single reason for you to keep living in that mausoleum,” Dean said the next night during dinner at the Barn Grill, “not when you’re going to be working every day at the farm. I know how much you love staying in the caravan. I’ll even put a Porta Potti out there for you.”

She wanted to. She wanted to listen to the tap of summer rain on the caravan roof as she drifted off to sleep, to sink her bare feet into the wet grass when she stepped outside in the morning, to spend an entire night curled up with Dean. She wanted everything that would come back to torture her when she left.

She set down her beer mug without taking a sip. “No way am I giving up the sight of Romeo climbing over my balcony railing at night to get to the goodies.”

“I’m going to break my neck getting to the goodies.”

Not likely. Unbeknownst to Romeo, she’d had Chauncey Crole, who doubled as the town handyman, reinforce the railing.