He rarely bought jewelry, didn’t intend to now, but a charm caught his eye, seemed predestined. Rather than a bracelet he figured she wouldn’t wear, he had it put on a chain.

When he drove the rest of the way home with the top down, the wind blowing the scent of flowers, the mountains green against the blue of the sky, he realized something had changed inside him.

The hook Graham and Eliza had lodged in his guts had pulled free. Done, he thought again, really done now.

He pulled over by the lake to get out, just to look at the sky, the hills reflected on it. Maybe there were undercurrents and always would be, but they’d never drag him down again.

He’d keep building his law practice, and he’d take Darby sailing. Maybe, shit, yeah maybe he’d play some baseball.

And put the past where it belonged. Locked away, like Graham.

He cruised up his drive, saw the solidity of his house—he’d done that—the charm of the terraces, the new trees—Darby had done that.

He wondered if, like him, she’d begun to see this place, this home, as a blend of them. And what that could mean to him, what it might mean to her.

For now he parked in the front, hauled everything inside. He watched through the door, studying the way Darby placed stone, how she and Ralph used the elevation in that placement, in the design, with Gabe doing the hauling.

He couldn’t follow it yet, but figured if he didn’t trust her vision by now, it made him an idiot. And a man smart enough to have Darby McCray in his life was no idiot.

He opened the doors, left them wide, and walked out into the backbeat of rock and roll.

Ralph spotted him, lifted a hand. “She ain’t lifting over the limit, boss. We’re sitting on her good there.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s everybody else?”

“Maintenance job.” Darby swiped sweat. “Are you checking on me? Haven’t I got enough keepers?”

“She’s a little pissy,” Gabe told him.

“Who wouldn’t be?” She muttered it, jabbed a finger where she wanted Gabe to set a stone so she could arrange it.

“It’s coming up on time for her to pop the pills.”

Darby sent Ralph a stare from under her ball cap. “I know what time it is.”

“Hot work,” Zane observed. “How about I make a big pitcher of lemonade?”

Darby shifted her stare to Zane. “You know how to make lemonade?”

“Sure I do. You get the can out of the freezer, open it, dump it, add cold water, stir.”

Some humor leaked through. “Funny, that’s my family recipe, too.”

“I’ll do that, then y’all can take a break, Darby can pop the pills.”

And he thought as he went inside, he’d call his office afterward, do some work from home. Later he’d grill up some chops and sweet corn, put some potatoes on with them.

Because like it or not, he intended to take care of her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sweaty, sore, and satisfied, Darby took a couple pictures of the water feature in progress before she knocked off for the day.

She knew Zane sat at the back patio table with his laptop, a Coke, and one of the baseballs he tended to cart around. She’d tolerated Ralph’s ribbing.

“Somebody’s keeping an eye on you, boss.”

Just as she’d tolerated having a teenager hand her a fresh ice pack every hour or so and remind her to take a break and ice her shoulder.

She wasn’t an idiot, Darby assured herself, and she was perfectly capable of doing her job and being pissy while still appreciating the concern.

Now the workday done, her crew gone, she prepared herself to tolerate Zane’s fussing over her.

So she walked over to the table, picked up his Coke, gulped some down. “You know, you didn’t have to stick around and sit out here. I already had Gabe and Ralph on my case about doctor’s orders.”

“Uh-huh.” He finished up a last email. “Actually, I was enjoying an afternoon working at home and outside while surrounded by the landscape my lady created. A nice change of pace for me.”

He lifted a chin toward the progress of the water feature. “Coming right along.”

“It is. And if you go away, go to work the rest of the week like you’re supposed to, you should see the finished product by end of the day Saturday. Barring rain delays.”

“Yeah? That’s great because I’m figuring, if you’re pretty much done with the works by the end of the month, I’m going to throw a big, bust-out Fourth of July party.”

“Really?”

“We’ll have a hell of a view of the fireworks on the lake from up here.”

“Hmm.” After tipping down her sunglasses, she narrowed her eyes on his face. “You look like a man in a pretty good mood.”

“I’d say that’s accurate.”

“And unexpected.”

“I’m in a good enough mood to fire up the grill in a bit. Interested?”

No fussing, she concluded, and didn’t know quite what to think about it, or his good mood.

“I could be. I’ll grab a shower.”

She walked inside, then nearly straight back out again. “Are you opening a sideline flower shop out of your kitchen?”

“What? Oh.” Shaking his head, laughing, he got to his feet. “Slipped my mind. They’re for you.”

“For me? Walker, there has to be seven or eight dozen flowers in there.”

“I couldn’t decide, so I got a bunch. And the vases,” he added as they walked back in. “I thought about sticking them in vases, but then I decided you’d do a better job of it.”

“Well.” She searched for a word, settled on “Wow.”

“I didn’t get a card because I didn’t think they made one that covered all of it. Like thanks, I’m sorry, heal up soon, maybe a congratulations thrown in there. And the overall important you matter. You matter, Darby.”

“Wow” didn’t measure up, she realized, to what he made her feel at that moment. The words, the way he looked at her, the glory of scent and color surrounding them.

“I’m really dirty, but too bad.” She went to him, wrapped around him, and hoped what she felt in that moment came through the kiss.

“This is ridiculously beautiful, Zane. Insanely thoughtful.” Before stepping back, she pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I’m going to have the best time arranging all these.”

“We can have some champagne while you do.”

She blinked. “Champagne.”

“I picked up a couple bottles.” He got one out of the fridge, started to open it. “I didn’t think to ask if you liked champagne.”

“I’d be crazy not to. Zane, where did you go when you left here this morning?”

“We’ll talk about it.” He opened the bottle with a cheerful, muffled pop. “Meanwhile, open this.”

He handed her a small, wrapped box, then pulled out champagne flutes.

Overwhelmed, even a little anxious, she stared at the box. “Zane, I’ve got a few bruises. For all this I should be in a coma.”

“If you were, you couldn’t drink champagne. Open it. If you don’t like it, I’ll keep it myself because it made me think of you.”