“Yes, but it’s California in the summer. It doesn’t rain very often. That’s one of the main challenges.” Max followed the coast north. “There’s no water on the island, no wells or springs. The main house and the caretaker’s cottage both have cisterns that collect rainfall, and filtration systems that make it drinkable. Usually the winter brings enough water to fill those cisterns, but in the drought years we’ve had to bring water over from the coast. The island drops right off into the ocean. There’s no harbor. The water around it is deep. Hiring someone who can maneuver in close enough to offload anything is a challenge. You can imagine what it all costs.”

Actually, Kellen couldn’t imagine a number that high.

Max continued, “Turning this into a resort, even one that specializes in guests who care about rare wildlife and birds, is a risky proposition.”

Rae asked, “Is that why we’re here? To check out the island and make a decision?”

“That’s one reason,” Max acknowledged. “The Di Luca family believes a wildlife sanctuary is a strong possibility, for practical as well as ecological reasons.”

“So you didn’t bring me here just to pick on me?” Rae asked.

Kellen turned and grinned at her. “That’s the other reason.”

Rae grinned back.

Ever since her meltdown, Rae had mostly been her usual lovely, funny, charming self. They’d left Yearning Sands Resort and traveled to Bella Terra, California, to the Di Luca Winery in Pennsylvania, to Italy, Morocco, Spain, Mongolia—all in the space of three weeks, assuming Kellen had figured the time zones right—and then zoomed straight to Eureka, California, where they had picked up one of the Di Luca helicopters and flown to the island. Rae had clearly considered that her parents had lost their minds for creating such an agenda, but she’d treated them with warmth. It was as if the surge of hormones had retreated, leaving her sensible again.

At the same time, Kellen was constantly braced for the next outburst.

Max confessed he thought Rae had realized how absurd her tantrum was, and wouldn’t repeat it.

Kellen did not snort. Not out loud. But privately she thought Max was the master of wishful thinking.

“We’ll hang you by your thumbs every evening,” Max promised.

“Daddy, stop it!” Rae said with humor.

“The caretakers live there.” He dipped down again, toward the bottom end of the island, toward a cottage built sometime after World War II.

Its small size wasn’t an illusion of distance; it was tiny, one or two bedrooms, with a porch that faced east, a garden plot, a greenhouse and wide live oaks in the side yard. A woman came out of the house and looked up, shading her eyes.

Max waved.

She didn’t wave back, but continued to watch them.