Maggie looked at the tree. It was so young, so fragile, but one day she would see it in full sweep, spreading over her pond, and— She stopped, realizing that it was the first time she’d thought of going through with the pond since the discovery. He must have known that, just as he’d known the willow might be enough to make her see the beauty and serenity again. Most of her anger had drained before she remembered to hold on to any of it.

“A peace offering,” she repeated, running a finger down one delicate leaf. “Is that what you call it?”

Her voice had been cool, but he saw that her eyes had already started to warm. He wondered how many strong men she’d slain with that one look. “Maybe.” He sliced the shovel into the ground where it stood, tilting slightly to the left. “Got anything cold in there to drink?”

It was an apology, Maggie decided, perhaps the only kind a man like him could give. It only took her five seconds to decide to accept it. “Maybe,” she said in an equal tone, then turned to walk back toward the house. A smile curved her lips when he fell into step beside her. “Your men did an excellent job,” she continued while they circled around toward the rear of the house. “I’m anxious to see how the stuff over the retaining wall’s going to look.”

“Crown vetch,” Cliff supplied before he stopped to check the job, as she’d suspected he would. “You should see something come through in four or five more days. It’ll spread fast enough to cover this bank before summer’s over.” He kept his hands in his back pockets as he studied the work his men had done and thought of the woman beside him. “You’ve been busy?”

Maggie lifted a brow. “I suppose so. The house needs a lot of attention.”

“Seen the paper?”

“No,” she said, puzzled. “Why?”

Cliff shrugged, then walked ahead to the screen door to open it. “There was a big story on finding William Morgan buried on his old land. Land,” he continued when Maggie moved by him into the kitchen, “recently purchased by a celebrated songwriter.”

She turned sharply. “They had my name?”

“Yeah, it was mentioned—several times.”

“Damn,” she whispered, and, forgetting he’d asked for a drink, she dropped into a chair. “I’d wanted to avoid that.” Half hopefully, she glanced up. “The local paper?”