Neil couldn’t make himself move. He just stood there in the doorway of Maggie’s hospital room, the jagged edges of too many emotions pressing against him all at once.

But the sharpest, the loudest—nearly drowning out the beeping of a monitor, the noise of a mop bucket’s wheels as a janitor pushed it down the corridor behind him—fear.

Lilian was already at the bedside, enfolding Maggie’s limp hand in her own, murmuring words of love or maybe a prayer. She was the strong one. She hadn’t stopped cold in the door like he did, frozen by the sight of Maggie with her eyes closed, cheeks ashen, a tube in her nose, and hooked to machines.

No, the moment the doctor had strode into the waiting room ten minutes ago and asked for the Muir family, Lilian had been the one to jump to her feet, to surely catch every detail that passed his lips—blocked vessels, emergency angioplasty, stent. Lilian had filed every detail, he knew, so that she could fill in Indi and probably research each medical term the moment she got the chance.

Whereas he’d tripped on the doctor’s first words. Muir family.

“This is Muir Farm. It’ll always be Muir land.”

Oh, Maggie. Had he done this to her? The long walk across the fields. The cold, evening air. The shock of what he’d shown her. The panic that had set in—a reaction he still didn’t understand. But that didn’t matter now.

At Lilian’s shudder, he finally willed his legs to carry him across the room. She leaned over Maggie now, tears landing on the sheet over Maggie’s lower half. The surgical team was readying even now—they likely only had minutes before someone came to wheel Maggie away.

“Dr. Lakeman said he expects a good outcome.” His weary brain had latched on to that much. And this operation was so much less invasive than open heart surgery. But it needed to happen quickly. “She’s going to pull through this, Lil. She’s going to.”

“What if Indi doesn’t get here in time?”

In time for the emergency surgery, she meant. Not in time for . . . no, he wouldn’t let his thoughts go there. He wouldn’t think of any of the risks—blood clots or . . . or whatever else the doctor might have said that he hadn’t been able to follow in his panic.

“She’ll be here any minute.” In fact, he should probably go out to the waiting area now. They’d left Sydney out there alone, and when Indi arrived, she’d want to come back. But only two people were allowed at a time and . . .

And he couldn’t bear to see Maggie this way. I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m so sorry. I’ll tear the treehouse down board by board if that’s what you want whenever you wake up. I won’t bring it up again.

He’d barely given the condition he’d found the treehouse in a second thought. Who cared about an intruder now?

“We should’ve listened to you, Neil,” Lilian whispered. “On Tuesday when she fainted . . . if we’d listened to you, taken her to the doctor . . .”

He squeezed Lilian’s shoulder. “No, don’t think like that.”

She stood and turned, falling into his ready embrace. So maybe she wasn’t as strong as he’d thought. None of them were.

Maggie—she was the strong one. They all needed her. Needed her more than anything. More than some vision for the future. More than the farm. If only he’d told her about the financial struggles sooner. Let her know about Carter’s offer. He should never have argued with her. He should’ve told her if she wanted to sell, he’d support her.

Because it was what she’d always, always done for every one of them. How could he have been so thick-headed? Gone behind her back . . . acted as if he knew best . . .

God, please.

It was the closest he could come to a prayer.

He held his sister tight for a moment, then released her, wishing he had words to encourage Lil. But he was an empty well, nothing left to dredge up. A better brother wouldn’t be fighting the urge to flee in this moment.

And then giving in. “I’ll go see if Indi’s here, okay?”

Lilian only nodded. He moved to the door.

“Neil?”

He glanced back at her.

“Someone should probably tell Wilder.”

Oh, of course. He should’ve thought of that already. Should’ve called or texted in the ambulance or later, as he paced in the waiting room. “Right. Can you . . .?”

She nodded. On a different day, in a completely different situation, he’d make some lame joke about the irony of Lilian being the one to think of Wilder.

But he couldn’t manage even that.

He emerged into the waiting room seconds later. Sydney still sat in her same chair as before, knees tucked up to her chest and her arms around them. Why weren’t his legs quicker to take him to her? He should be hugging her, too, unearthing words he hadn’t been able to for Lilian.

But he was too numb.

“Neil!” Indi pushed through a revolving door, her heels clacking on the tile floor, tear tracks staining her cheeks. She flew into him, pulling him into a tight embrace, her purse hitting his back. “She’s not in surgery yet, is she? Please tell me I got here in time. They can’t take her back without—”

“Lil’s in with her now. Room 113. Only two people can be with her at a time.” He peeled the visitor’s badge from his shirt. Hopefully no one would double-check the name. He doubted Indi would be moving slowly enough to be stopped anyway. “It’s just down the hall and to the right. There’s a nurses’ station on the way if you can’t—”

“I’ll find it.” She slapped his badge on her coat upside down and moved past him. Then stopped. “Oh, Neil. That’s . . .”

Neil looked behind her to where a man had paused after exiting the revolving door. The man, tall and clearly uncomfortable, stood awkwardly, his white button-down untucked. Silver tinged his dark hair—premature considering, by the rest of his appearance, he didn’t look older than his early thirties.

Oh, of course. Her fiancé.

Neil turned back to Indi, but she was already gone. He let out a breath, his lungs too tight. He should meet the guy. Introduce himself. Or . . . or talk to Sydney. She had to be hurting, hoping for a chance to see Maggie, too, before . . .

He couldn’t do this. He lurched toward the door Indi had just come in, ignoring the man who’d trailed in after her, ignoring Sydney calling his name.

The cold slammed into him the moment his feet landed on the sidewalk and he doubled over, hands on his knees. This couldn’t be happening. Maggie. A heart attack.

Him. Falling apart.

“Neil.” Sydney’s soft voice broke through his panic just enough to raise his head.

“I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

“You’re not fine.”

“Maggie’s the one who’s not fine and I missed it. I didn’t realize . . .” Somewhere nearby an ambulance siren pierced the air. “It’s been too much for her—all of it. Between you coming to Maine and Wilder’s investigation and the search for JP.” No, JR. Tate Carter.

Maggie didn’t even know that part yet. She didn’t know about Sydney not being Diana’s daughter.

“I should’ve realized the toll everything was taking on her. No, I couldn’t force her to the doctor, but I could’ve at least kept her from slaving away in the kitchen all afternoon yesterday, making that huge meal. I could’ve not dragged her across too many acres to see a blasted treehouse in thirty-three-degree weather.”

He finally looked at Sydney, lifting his gaze in time to see hers fall and her cheeks blanch.

Oh, no, he didn’t mean . . . His words replayed in his mind. The part about her coming to Maine, the search for her father. And the treehouse—Syd had been the one to encourage him to bring Maggie out there tonight.

“No, no, I’m not blaming you. The way that sounded, I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t,” she whispered.

Did she, though? Because she was backing away, hurt so clear in her eyes it was enough to shatter him entirely.

“She’s going to be here awhile. I’ll go back to the house.” Sydney started to turn. “I’ll get some things to make her more comfortable when she wakes up. I’ve still got your keys.”

Because he’d gone in the ambulance and Lilian had been too upset to drive. “Syd—”

But she was already walking away. He needed to follow, undo the damage he’d just done.

No, he needed to stay. They’d be taking Maggie back for surgery any minute.

But Sydney . . .

“Neil.” Lilian’s voice rose over the whoosh of the revolving door. “Dr. Lakeman needs to talk to us.”

The night sky was pitch-black, as was the house in front of her. No lights in the windows. Just silence, stillness, save the rumble of the truck’s engine.

Until she turned the key, and then there wasn’t even that. She pulled the fob from the ignition and her hand dropped into her lap. Shouldn’t her eyes be wet with tears in this moment? Or had she cried all of them earlier today, first on the way home from Tate Carter’s and then at the treehouse?

She stared at the house outside the windshield—all shadows at nearly ten o’clock at night. Home.

No, not her home. It couldn’t be, no matter how deeply she longed for it.

Not just because she wasn’t Maggie’s granddaughter. Nor only because there’d been a horrible, awful truth behind Neil’s words back at the hospital, however much he hadn’t meant to cast any blame.

But because once Maggie finally knew the truth—about Tate, about Sydney—it would cause her even more pain. And Sydney’s presence would only make things worse, a constant reminder that Maggie still hadn’t found the real Cynthia Muir. That somewhere out there, there was still a lost sheep . . .

And it was the last thing Maggie needed now. When she made it through surgery—because she would, she had to—she’d have a journey of recovery in front of her. That doctor had said it could take longer to recover from an emergency angioplasty than an elective one. She’d be in the hospital for several days, might not feel up to speed again for weeks. No way was Sydney going to let herself make it any harder for her.

So she needed to leave. Before she brought any more hurt to the Muir family.

She forced herself from the car, the biting cold filling her with determination as she marched to the house, not even stopping to pet Captain when he rounded the corner and bounded toward her. Inside, she climbed the stairs and went straight to her room.

She’d pack her suitcase and then she’d gather up a few things for Maggie as she’d promised. She’d call Micah on the way to the hospital to drop them off, find out if he was still in town. Hopefully he could come pick her up. Maybe the airport would let her trade Sunday’s ticket in for an earlier flight.

It would be torture not saying goodbye to Maggie in person. But it was better this way.

And Neil.

No. No. She couldn’t think about that now. She needed to act before she lost her resolve. She wouldn’t stop to notice how the house still smelled like Maggie’s blueberry cobbler. Wouldn’t let herself linger outside Neil’s door or again in the bathroom, remembering back to that first night. She would pack now and emotionally crumple later.

It didn’t take her more than fifteen minutes to empty the dresser drawers and gather her toiletries. She only had a few items in the closet, her fingers brushing up against that silly pink robe she’d worn out to the treehouse . . .

You can reminisce later.

And she would. She’d remember every minute of these almost-two weeks. She’d probably cry a hundred times when she was home. Maybe someday she’d be able to smile at the memories. But there wasn’t time now. Not when every minute that passed was another opportunity to change her mind.

She zipped her suitcase and grabbed her purse and didn’t let herself look back when she left the room.

Thump.

She stopped halfway down the hallway. What was that? She waited.

Nothing.

Stop stalling.

She began moving again, lugging her suitcase down the stairs. Only when she reached the bottom did she realize—Neil’s coat. She’d grabbed it before racing to the hospital, and she was wearing it still.

Okay, maybe she hadn’t cried every tear yet. They stung her eyes now as she lowered her luggage to the floor and shrugged out of his jacket, draped it over the banister.

She supposed she could’ve worn it to the hospital, left it in the truck. But no, between the smell of it, the sentiment, the memories . . . no, she needed to leave it here. She bent to pick up her suitcase again, then froze.

Another thump. The creak of floorboards.

Those are footsteps.

But whoever it was hadn’t come in the front door. She would’ve heard, wouldn’t she?

And then the whispers reached her.

Her heart thudded. Neil or his sisters wouldn’t have reason to whisper. They wouldn’t be here at all, wouldn’t leave Maggie. Wilder? Maybe someone had called him and he’d had the same idea she had, had stopped here to pick up a few of Maggie’s things.

A thin line of light from under Maggie’s bedroom door, casting into the first-floor hallway, confirmed that thought. But why would Wilder be whispering? And to whom?

“I thought you said you knew where it was.”

Wait, that wasn’t a whisper anymore and it wasn’t Wilder’s voice.

Without a second thought, she pushed open the bedroom door.

And all the air left her lungs. “Micah?” She tried and failed to make sense of what she was seeing. He stood at Maggie’s dresser, one drawer halfway open, clothing spilling out. She stepped farther into the room. “What are you doing he—”

Her last word was lost to a shriek as a heavy arm grabbed her from behind and then a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Easy, that’s my sister.” Micah’s nostrils flared.

A voice, low and menacing, sent a chill coursing through her, each word slow and deliberate. “You said you knew where it was.”

She struggled against the man’s hold, panic warring with her confusion. And then a burst of anger so hot she bit the man’s hand and jerked her head to the side. “What are you doing, Micah? What could you possibly be looking for?”

His movements turned frantic as he returned to digging through the drawer. “There’s a ring in here. I heard them talking about it.”

“What? Why—” The man’s hand found her mouth again.

“You can make this easy or you can make this difficult. Your choice.” His slimy voice curdled her insides.

“I’m sorry, Syd. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged in—”

“Shut up and find it so we can get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

Micah opened a third drawer. “Why don’t you let go of her and help me look? Try the vanity.”

She didn’t so much as feel a muscle twitch from the man behind her. “And give her the chance to call for help?”

“I told you, they all left for the hospital. I watched them leave. I saw the ambulance.”

And so he’d decided to rob the house? Find some ring? What ring? How could he? How could he?

As if he could hear her question, he ignored his accomplice and spoke up again, yanking on another drawer. “I didn’t want to do it, Syd, but I told you they were impatient. You think they let me leave Chicago alone?”

Understanding finally reached through her alarm. The loan shark or whoever it was he’d gotten mixed up with—the man holding her must be a lackey.

“Harmon said he’ll take the ring as payment if it’s really worth as much as I think. I know it’s bad, but look at it this way, Neil was probably going to give it to you anyway.”

What?

“Just stay calm and let me do this and then I’ll leave.”

She’d heard enough. Fury tore through her and she lifted her foot and brought it down on the man’s. His hold slackened only the tiniest bit but it was enough. She twisted and jammed her knee against his groin, his shock freeing her elbow just enough to—

The man wrenched her arm and stopped it before impact, her scream colliding with his growl. No, she was not letting this happen. She struggled, screamed.

“Syd, stop.”

She ignored Micah and tried to kick the man again, but he shook her, yanked—

And then suddenly he jerked away from her. Had Micah—? No, he was over by the window now, trying to lift it open. “Micah, please, no—”

The pop of a fist against bone and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The man who’d been holding her landed at her feet.

But who—

Neil?

She spun. Not Neil.

Tate Carter rubbed his fist, the barest wince on his face as he eyed Micah. “Give it up, kid.”

Neil raced toward the house. He didn’t stop at the police car in the driveway, lights spinning. Didn’t have a thing to say to Micah, handcuffed and standing with an officer. Didn’t even care who the other man cuffed beside him was.

He burst into the front door, heart hammering every bit as much as when Carter had first called, telling him things that didn’t make sense. Until one sentence drowned out all the rest.

“Sydney was trying to fight him off when I got there.”

Sydney. Sydney had gone home. She’d walked into the middle of a robbery. She could’ve been hurt.

His panicked gaze found her immediately, sitting on the living room couch, Carter’s arm around her.

But another officer blocked his path, stepping toward him the moment he spotted him. “Oh, good, Neil. I’ve got Carter’s statement and your houseguest’s, but if you could confirm that she actually is your houseguest—”

“Sorry, Tompkins, you’ll have to wait.”

He strode past the police officer and reached Sydney just as she stood. Ignoring Carter, he pulled her to him, smoothing his hands down her back. “Are you all right?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I’m fine. Tate got here before anything could happen.”

He pulled back, palms on her arms. “Not before anything could happen. Not the way he told it. He said you were trying to fight someone off. Micah?”

She shook her head. “No, the other one. I don’t even know his name. Just that he works for someone named Harmon and . . .” She fell into him again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Micah was this desperate. I had no idea . . . He said something about a ring and he owes someone twenty-five thousand dollars . . .”

He stilled her with his hand on the back of her head. “It’s okay. None of that matters as long as you’re okay. I had to come . . . I . . .” He tucked her head against his neck. “Wilder had just gotten to the hospital when Tate called. I took his car.”

She was the one to pull back now. “Maggie?”

“She’s in surgery now. It’ll be a couple of hours before we get an update.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

He did. Of course he did. He looked over her shoulder to Carter. “Any chance we could get a minute?”

The man looked anything but comfortable. But he nodded and moved out of the room, Officer Tompkins leaving with him.

Neil’s gaze returned to Sydney, but she was looking away and he could feel the shakiness of her breathing. “I’m so sorry this happened, Syd.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing. I’m the one whose brother—”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave the hospital like that. Especially after what I said, how it must’ve sounded. If I’m frustrated with anyone, it’s myself. She didn’t take the treehouse well.”

“What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, you are not the reason she had a heart attack. And believe it or not, somewhere deep under all my fear and every frantic thought I’ve had since it happened, I know I’m not, either. There’s a hundred things I wish I’d done differently, but Maggie wouldn’t want either one of us blaming ourselves.”

It took effort to say those words, to try to make himself believe them. But giving himself over to guilt, clinging to one regret after another, none of it would help Maggie through surgery.

But instead of easing at Neil’s assurance, Sydney stepped away from him. “I need to talk to Micah. And the police. I need to figure out what happens from here. I guess it’ll depend on what charges are pressed.” She moved toward the entryway. “They’ll want to talk to you too.”

“One thing I don’t get. Tate—what was he doing here?”

“He said the way things came to a head this afternoon had been killing him ever since.” There was a ghost of a smile in her voice. “He decided enough was enough, didn’t care how late it was. He knocked, heard me scream.”

Came to the rescue. He was grateful to the man even as it galled him that he hadn’t been the one who was here when Sydney needed him.

“Micah never did find the ring, so it’s unharmed,” she said, still walking away. “At least there’s that.”

“Syd—” He broke off, catching sight of what he’d missed when he’d first erupted into the house. In the entryway, by the doorway—a suitcase.

And his coat draped over the staircase banister.

She must’ve heard his sharp inhale, because she turned back to him, likely following his gaze and realizing what he’d just seen. “Neil—”

He could only shake his head.

“It’s for the best.”

No. No. “Like when Tate Carter let CarleeAnn walk away?” If the man heard his tumultuous words from the next room, he didn’t care. “I’m supposed to just shrug and watch you leave?”

“It’s not as if I want to. But Maggie’s going to have enough to deal with recovering from surgery.”

If she recovered. If she made it through . . . Oh God, please. Don’t even let my thoughts take me there. He couldn’t lose Maggie.

He couldn’t lose Syd. “You can help her recover. You’ve already helped her so much.”

“How? By reminding her every day that I’m not the granddaughter she lost? You all tried to tell me in different ways when I first got here that this would only end up in disappointment. You were right. But there’s more at stake now than emotions. There’s her health and healing. It’s better if I go.”

“No, it’s not.” How could he make her understand? “You belong here, Syd.” You belong with me. “You can’t just leave like this. Not without saying goodbye.”

“Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do now?”

“I’m not the only one who cares about you.” He closed the distance between them, desperation clouding his voice into a mere hush. “Please. At least, don’t leave before Sunday. Don’t leave before we know Maggie’s going to be okay. Before you’ve seen her.”

He’d backed her into an emotional corner, he knew it. She knew it, too. Her shoulders dropped and she nodded.

And then left him standing there—more bereft than he’d known was possible.

“Neil?”

Officer Tompkins stood in the spot Sydney had just vacated. Why? Couldn’t he have just one minute to think? Just to breathe? Not that his ragged breaths were doing any good, not with his lungs so taut and his heart too close to breaking. Sydney . . . Maggie . . .

“This will only take a second,” Tompkins said, opening his notebook. “There’s just a few details—”

“I wasn’t even here.”

“I want to make sure accounts are matching up. That nothing is missing. That this was a one-time incident—”

He jerked. “The treehouse.”

Tompkins looked up from his notebook. “Say again?”

“There’s a treehouse. Far west field. Someone was in there tonight. I think they were looking for something.” Could it have been Micah? But why would he have looked for the ring there? And why couldn’t he bring himself to care?

“Huh. Neither of the men said anything about that.”

He took Wilder’s car keys from his pocket. He needed to get back to the hospital. He needed . . .

He didn’t know what he needed anymore.