“The committee hired maze designers about ten years ago. That’s how we get the digital designs and...” Her voice trailed off. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” He shook his head and she rushed to tell him. “It’s all digitally designed these days. The companies sketch it out, then they come and plant the maze using GPS to guide the tractors and deposit the seed as densely as possible. We paid to have that field planted this May.”

“Well, they did a piss-poor job of it. That field’s a mess.”

“It’s only a mess because it hasn’t been maintained!” Her voice rose and she paused to take a breath. “You’re supposed to mow the trails all summer, and the corn is not in rows on purpose, and...” She rolled her eyes, waving her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with the maze, damn it. Just mow the trails! In case you’ve forgotten, we paid good money to have that thing designed and planted.”

“And in case you’ve forgotten, that’s your problem.” He headed for the shop. “Find someone else’s cornfield to screw up.”

CHAPTER THREE

ANDREA COULDN’T BELIEVE Zayne Rutledge had the nerve to turn his back on her as if her future wasn’t resting on the success of this festival. He walked into the shop, the door closing slowly behind him. She dashed forward and grabbed the handle just before it latched. She grabbed Hudson’s little hand and tugged him along as she marched inside.

The woodworking shop was larger than she expected. There were machines scattered around the floor. The drills and saws were slightly menacing. The walls were lined with racks of lumber. A massive worktable was directly in front of her, and there was a partially assembled fretwork there. It looked like beaded rays of the sun extending from a curved piece of molding. She’d seen similar frets inside the many Victorian houses in town.

“This is the woodworking you do?” She walked over and traced her fingers down one delicate spindle. Hudson put his fingers on the edge of the table and stood on tiptoe to see.

“It looks like lace, Momma!”

Zayne was glaring at her. “I didn’t invite you in.”

“You didn’t ban me from entering, either.”

“I told you to go away. I think the banning was implied.”

“Well...” Andrea looked around the tidy shop. “You know what they say about assuming...”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he went to work, laying out spindles and comparing them to a printed pattern nearby. He was trying to freeze her out, but that wouldn’t work. She stayed right where she was, waiting.