“Something’s wrong.”

Maggie’s words hovered in the kitchen, stopping Neil midway through plucking grapes from a bagged bunch. He dropped the few he held into a glass bowl and turned.

Maggie’s cheeks were flushed, several white hairs that had escaped her braid hanging limp around her face. She looked exhausted. He shouldn’t have left that to-do list for the girls this morning, should’ve known Maggie would insist on helping.

He strode to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “You didn’t have to go to all this work for dinner tonight. We could’ve picked something up in town.” For all they knew, Indi’s big-city fiancé, if he actually showed up this time, wouldn’t know a home-cooked meal from a spread supplied by the deli in town.

Or if they’d needed to get fancy, they could’ve ordered catering from Muir Harbor’s one upscale restaurant—Cobalt Pier. Not in the grocery budget, but they could handle the splurge if it would make Indi happy.

Hmm, maybe one of these nights he should take Syd to Cobalt Pier. She’d love the view overlooking the harbor. Probably the live music and candlelight, too. He’d love the time away from prying eyes. The number of times Lil and Indi had taunted him today was ridiculous.

But he’d get Indi back soon enough, at least. Surely he could find something about Bennington Foster to tease her about. His name, if nothing else.

Maggie waved off the chair and his concern. “I don’t mean in here. Something’s wrong out there.”

Oh, right. But whether she meant the fact that Foster wasn’t here yet or the awkward tension of Micah’s presence, he didn’t know.

He just knew he’d missed Sydney today. He’d seen Micah drop into rental his car and speed away not even an hour after showing up at the house. When he’d gone out to the porch to ask Sydney if everything was okay, she’d evaded the question. And he’d hated that he’d had to leave then, but Ansel Barrett had gone to a lot of trouble finding a used generator for him to look at.

Still, he’d kicked himself the whole way over to the implement store for not calling and canceling.

At the time, he’d been under the impression that Micah might not be returning to the farm. But apparently sometime between this morning and now, Maggie had convinced Sydney to convince Micah to join them for dinner. They were out in the dining room now, setting the table.

“I tried to ask her about him several times while she helped me chop vegetables.” Maggie leaned against the kitchen table. “She kept it vague.”

As she had with him when he’d called her on the way home an hour ago. He’d resorted to calling her “lass” and flirting with her, playing up his accent just to hear the cheer return to her voice. But something told him whatever cheer he’d heard over the phone had been only surface-deep.

“She’ll tell us what’s going on when she’s ready.” He said it as much for his own sake as Maggie’s.

“I find myself forgetting sometimes that she had a life before she came here.” Maggie reached for the bowl of grapes. “She fit in so quickly. You’re going to think I’m crazy, Neil, but I’ve been starting to think maybe I should just call things off with Wilder. Decide Sydney is Cynthia and let that be that.”

Two weeks ago he might’ve thought it crazy. Tonight? “Sounds like a reasonable plan to me.”

Because then Sydney might stay and they could have that date at Cobalt Pier. Plus, after that conversation with Wilder on his boat, he got the sense the guy could benefit from being let off the hook.

But would Maggie really be content with that? Granted, she hadn’t bonded with any of the other four “Cynthias” who’d come here the way she had with Sydney. But wouldn’t there always be a piece of her that needed to know? Always wonder if there was still a lost sheep out there and yearn to search for her?

Unless Sydney really is Cynthia. If only they hadn’t hit so many dead ends.

Could there be anything to Wilder’s musings that perhaps Maggie remembered more about Diana’s accident than she let on? Or could there be details trapped somewhere in her brain?

If there were, maybe that explained how closed off she’d become to life outside the farm. Maybe there was some unexplainable fear or lingering anxiety that held her here. But if that were the case, could she really consider selling the farm? Maybe she doesn’t plan to sell the whole place. Sell the land, keep the house—isn’t that what Ansel had suggested a couple of weeks ago?

Maggie reached for the bowl of grapes and indicated with a nudge of her head that Neil should get the pan of roasted vegetables. “Perhaps everything will smooth out over dinner.”

“Maggie, before we go in . . .” Now probably wasn’t the best time. But he had to ask. “Tatum Carter’s offer—have you, um . . . made any decisions?”

Please say no. No decision other than no sale.

He knew he couldn’t put off showing her the treehouse much longer, not after knowing how much it’d pained her being left out of the loop on the rest of it. But he was hoping he could at least wait until Saturday, buy himself enough time to get the interior of the house set up and looking nice.

But if she’d made a decision, then he wouldn’t be able to wait. He’d need to show her—tell her everything—as soon as possible in hopes of changing her mind.

“Not yet.”

Maggie’s reply wasn’t as reassuring as he’d hoped. It was that dangling “yet.” The hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “It’s not off the table, is it.” Statement, not a question.

“I don’t want to sell, Neil. But I also don’t want you wearing yourself out year after year trying to make ends meet.”

“I’m not—”

“I realized when I was listening to Tatum give his pitch that no one ever even asked you if you wanted to take over the farm. It just landed in your lap.”

“Of course I wanted it, Maggie. I’ve always wanted it. Since I was a little boy visiting from Scotland. This place is in my blood.” Even if it wasn’t his name attached to it. Even if he’d been born an ocean away. “Listen, what are you doing Saturday evening?”

She squinted at the change in subject. “Well, you know me. Going out on the town. Hitting up the pubs.”

“More like watching Lawrence Welk on public television and falling asleep before nine.”

“Tease me like that, son, and I’ll march right on over to Carter Farms and sign whatever papers he wants.”

Son. Maybe a thirty-four-year-old man shouldn’t need to hear that word as much as he did at times. But tonight, especially after the week they’d had, it meant the world. He leaned down to kiss Maggie’s cheek. “I just want to show you something that night. Can you make a little time for me? We could make it late afternoon so you don’t miss Lawrence. Before supper.”

“I can always make time for you, Neil. Now grab the veggies, will you? We’ve been keeping our guests waiting long enough.”

But not all their guests were here, he realized as he carried the tray of vegetables. Sydney and Micah were both seated, and Lilian was in her usual place, but no Indi and her plus-one yet. Maggie told him to sit and returned to the kitchen for her blueberry-glazed pork chops, still in the oven.

Lilian said something about Indi texting earlier, promising that Bennington knew dinner was at six, saying he’d meet her at the store and they’d drive out together.

But Neil could hardly pay attention, not with his gaze drawn repeatedly to Sydney. Was that one of Indi’s dark green scarves in her hair? Red waves spilled from behind it and a few framed her face in front. She wore the same cream-colored sweater as she had her first night here and looked every bit as pretty as he’d tried to pretend he didn’t notice that night.

He just wished she didn’t look so tense. Wished there wasn’t a strain thick enough to stick with a pitchfork clinging to the air in between her and Micah. He’d shared a stiff handshake with the younger man, then a mumbled greeting.

He could feel Micah’s assessment now, Sydney’s foster brother obviously making no attempt to hide his scrutiny as he picked up his glass of water and took a drink. “So, you’re the farmer.”

Lilian snorted beside him. Sydney bit her lip.

Neil chuckled. “Well, technically, we all are. Lilian’s got a vegetable garden bigger than our backyard. Indi’s got goats. But yeah, I guess I’m the only one who’d technically put it on a résumé.” He shrugged.

“It’s a blueberry farm,” Sydney filled in. “Neil mocked me my first morning here when I told him I hadn’t even thought about the fact that berry farms existed. In the Midwest, it’s all corn and soybeans and wheat. Livestock, of course.”

“I didn’t mock you.”

“You all but patted my head and told me to go back to the city I came from.”

He unfolded his napkin and laid it in his lap, knowing if he looked up and if she happened to be smiling, his return grin would give away far too much. More, he got the feeling, than Micah would be okay with. And way too much ammo for Lil. “Well, maybe that was because someone was pretending to be scared of a cow.”

But then he did look up. And she was smiling. And his pulse skittered.

Okay, Lilian could say whatever she wanted. And Micah, he could just—

“So, I guess technically or legally or something, Syd might be your niece.”

Neil’s too-warm smile faltered. “Um . . . huh?”

Micah pinned him with a smirk. “If she’s really who that private investigator thinks she is, then you and you”—he pointed to Neil and Lilian—“are Sydney’s aunt and uncle, right?”

Any other time and he’d get a fair bit of amusement out of Sydney’s wide-eyed look. Same look she’d given Melba. Only this time, it wasn’t an act.

“We’re all adopted,” he finally replied. “Well, I’m not even that. And so was Diana. None of us are actually biologically related, not to Maggie or each other.”

Micah shrugged. “Still.”

Still . . . what? He had a pretty good guess what Micah was trying to insinuate, but there was nothing to it, and certainly, the guy knew it. He was just trying to get a rise out of Sydney—and maybe Neil. But why?

What had they talked about on the shore this morning? Why was he here?

“Micah, please,” Sydney whispered.

“What?” His look of exaggerated innocence grated. “Just making conversation. Trying to figure out all the relationships around this table.”

All the mirth had fled from Sydney’s expression. She looked ready to wilt. What Neil wouldn’t give to jump from his seat, round the table, and tug her to him. Let that aid Micah in figuring out their relationship. He could draw whatever dang conclusion he wanted.

And he just might’ve done it if not for the sound of the front door opening. The sight of Indi—alone—hurrying in, veering immediately for the stairs. Her racing steps thumped up the stairs.

Not again. He started to rise, but Lilian put her hand on his shoulder. “Let me. This might be a job for a sister.”

Sydney had known Neil wouldn’t make it more than a few seconds before bounding up the steps after Lilian. He was probably lingering outside Indi’s door right now, trying to decide whether to knock or eavesdrop or simply wait out his sisters.

If Sydney had her way, she’d be up there with him.

“How could you, Micah? What was that? No one’s been anything but nice to you.” She slapped her napkin to the table just as Maggie appeared from the kitchen, a glass serving plate piled with what looked like a feast. Smelled heavenly.

Why couldn’t Micah see this evening for the treat it was? A delicious meal to be had in a lovely house with even lovelier people. Why couldn’t he be the boy who’d grasped her hand that first day at the Jacobsens’ and told her he was glad she was there? Or even the rascal who’d brought a caramel roll all the way from Chicago for her?

Why this animosity?

“Where’d Neil and Lilian go?” Maggie set the dish in the middle of the table.

“Indi got home. I don’t think her fiancé’s coming.”

Maggie’s face fell. “Oh, the dear girl. I could sock the guy. That is, if I ever actually get to meet him. And if Neil doesn’t get to him first. They’re all upstairs?”

At Sydney’s nod, Maggie gave her a look of apology and left the room, her soft steps sounding on the stairs moments later.

“So . . . what? Do we start eating without them?”

It was all she could do not to scowl at Micah. “No, we don’t start eating without them.” And just because she needed a minute away from the friction between them, she took a cue from Neil, copied his actions from her first evening here. She stood, reached for the water pitcher, and marched to the kitchen.

Of course, a week and a half ago when he’d used the same excuse to leave the room, the pitcher had at least been half-empty. The glass jug was completely full now. She set it on the kitchen counter hard enough that water sloshed over the edge.

“Syd.”

He’d followed her. She let out a raspy sigh as she turned. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been able to beguile anyone who comes across you. Why couldn’t you turn on just an ounce of that charm tonight? Did you see that meal out there? Do you know how much work Maggie went to?” And now it was growing cold in an empty dining room. “She fainted earlier this week. I watched it happen. Scared me half to death. We’ve all been trying to get her to take it easy ever since, but she refused to take her usual nap today just so she could make that meal for you.”

Well, not only for Micah. The effort had been just as much for Indi’s fiancé.

Why did it cause such a pang—not being up there with the others? Between Lilian and Neil and Maggie, Indi had all the support she needed for the disappointment she was facing now. But she’d begun to feel so much a part of this family. And they were up there with each other and she was down here with . . .

With the person who was supposed to be her family. And he was hurting. Somewhere underneath that stylish and stubborn exterior, he was still the eight-year-old boy with the teddy bear.

“I don’t charm everyone, Syd. You’re forgetting the Jacobsens.”

No, she wasn’t forgetting them. How could she when he looked at her like that? Almost . . . bereft.

I’m the only one he has. It’d been the truth since the day the Jacobsens had kicked him out.

Or, well, the reality of it wasn’t that black and white. It’d taken Micah a good two or three weeks to ’fess up to her that he’d left the foster home of his own accord. He’d actually made a deal with the couple. He’d show up at their house for scheduled meetings with his child services case manager and they could keep their government checks if they let him leave without reporting him.

Fifteen. He’d been only fifteen. And he’d said the words that had convinced her that dropping out of college and switching to full-time at the restaurant was the right thing to do. “You’re the only one I have, Syd.”

Maybe the real problem now was that he wasn’t the only one she had.

“I want to help you, Micah. I don’t know how, but I want to. It just can’t be at the expense of the Muir family. They don’t deserve your sullenness or rude insinuations or—”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

She kept her voice even. “This isn’t a lecture. It’s me, for once, putting my foot down and telling you how it has to be. I think you need to head back home and—”

“I just got here!”

“You can keep staying in the apartment. Stay as long as you need to. I’ll come home on Sunday and we’ll put our heads together and figure this out. Maybe if we sit down and talk to the person you owe—”

“You don’t know who you’re talking about, Syd. You don’t know these people. They’re not the kind of people you sit down and talk to.”

“Then we go to the police.”

He threw up his hands. “An even worse suggestion.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Micah, I’m thinking on the fly here. I just want to make sure none of this lands on the Muirs. They have enough going on. I’d like to keep your problem—our problem—from spilling over to them.”

He stared at her for a moment that stretched with simmering pressure. Shook his head. “No, you had it right the first time. It’s my problem.”

“Micah—”

“Don’t worry, you made it clear where you stand. I won’t trouble your precious Muirs anymore.”

She should follow him as he stalked from the kitchen. Try to stop him from stomping through the hall and into the dining room and on to the front door. But her legs wouldn’t move.

Was she really going to let him go? What if he’d only bought a one-way ticket to get here? Would he even have money for a flight home? Frustration clawed at her, both her heart and her mind torn between hurrying outside after him or going upstairs instead, making sure Indi was okay.

How had everything changed so quickly again? This morning she’d been an eddy of happy emotion, still dizzy from the night before. So all-consumed by thoughts of Neil that she’d very nearly let go of the idea of unraveling her parentage.

But she’d just told Micah she’d be home on Sunday. And she had to go. She couldn’t leave him to grapple his way out of his latest mess alone.

But what was she to do about Maggie? About Neil? About the whisper at each beat of her heart: Stay, stay, stay.

She pulled out the photo Micah had brought her. She probably should’ve showed it to Maggie earlier. Told her they’d been looking for the wrong person—or at least searching for a man with the wrong name—for days now. Not JP. JR. Could still be a name or initials . . .

Or Junior. It could stand for Junior.

She peered at the photo, taking in the slight tilt to Diana’s smile, the hint of amusement or maybe mischief embedded in it. And CarleeAnn—such high cheekbones and large green eyes with specks of brown. I have the same color of hair as Diana. The same color of eyes as CarleeAnn. She supposed if she looked hard enough, she could convince herself she took after either one.

And the young man in the middle . . . sandy hair with just a hint of ginger, blue tee. There was a logo on the pocket of the tee. Blurry considering the age of the photo but . . . had she seen it before?

“Sydney?”

Neil’s voice was a balm for her blistered heart. She turned, suddenly realizing he’d come up behind her without her hearing because he was already close. Close enough she could smell that soap he used, and all she wanted to do in the moment was bury her face against him and keep smelling it.

Might have if she hadn’t looked up and seen the confusion on his face, his attention hooked on the photo in her hand.

“Why do you have a picture of Tate Carter?”

Her breath left her.

“Syd?” He slid the photo from her fingers, his gaze crawling over the three faces and sharpening. “Wait . . . is this . . . it?”

The logo on the young man’s shirt. The truck she’d seen in the driveway the other day when Tatum Carter had . . .

“It’s JR, not JP.” Her heart thudded.

Neil met her eyes. “What?”

“On the back. There’s a scratch. Tatum Carter’s son . . . is he . . . ?”

Neil released a ragged exhale and nodded. “Tatum Carter, Jr.”