Jonah sees her passing and steals a glance over my way. He lifts off his stool, looking ready to come over, and my excitement swells. But then Marie stops him with a hand on his forearm and asks him a question that pulls him back into the conversation with two other locals. He eases back onto the stool.

I feel the sour expression take over my face. Am I being a jealous, slightly drunk girlfriend? Or was that an intentional move on her part?

“So? Good birthday?” Toby asks, regarding me curiously.

I force a smile. “Great birthday.” Despite the rocky start and this lingering sense of doom.

He drags a chair out and settles into it, opposite me. “How surprised were you to see that Jeep roll up?”

I didn’t see it roll up, exactly, but no need to get into the details. “More like shocked. Did you know about all this? About Diana coming?”

“Nah …” A few beats pass and then his grin gives him away. “Yeah, I found out last week.”

I give him a playful kick under the table. “You should have told me!”

“You kidding? Jonah would’ve beat my ass.” His gaze drifts over to where Jonah and Marie sit, lingering on her a moment.

“Have you asked her out yet?”

He laughs, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Working up the nerve. By the way, what happened between you and Roy? I went to help him out today, and he asked me if you still wanted him dead.”

“Really?” A blip of surprise stirs in my stomach. But what do I care if the curmudgeon’s been wondering that? I don’t give a shit about Roy Donovan.

“What did he do?” Toby asks in a knowing tone.

I shrug. “Typical Roy, but worse. We had a huge fight on the way home from the hospital yesterday. He said a bunch of mean stuff and told me to stop coming around, and he insisted on walking home from the main road.” I don’t really want to get into the details of Roy basically claiming I have daddy issues. I know what daddy issues are because I used to have them. Now all I have is a desire to keep my father’s memory alive.

But there is no way that would ever happen in the form of Roy Donovan. Not unless Roy is the evil and monstrous Mr. Hyde version of Wren Fletcher.

Toby chuckles and shakes his head. “I hope you let him walk.”

“Not like I had much choice. I think he would have tucked and rolled out the door, broken bones and all.”

Toby’s face splits into that wide smile that he inherited from his mother.

“So, was he a pain when you went today?” I ask.

Toby frowns. “No, actually. He was decent. Didn’t complain much at all. It was weird, now that I think about it.”

That is weird. Maybe he ended up taking those painkillers after all and they’ve sedated him to the point of being “nice.” If that’s even possible for Roy, which I doubt. It sounds like he can swing far in the other direction, though, if what he says about his wife leaving him is true. But how far, exactly, is the question. What made her run, besides his acerbic disposition?

What did he do wrong?

This morbid curiosity with the old man in the woods is getting the better of me once again.

“Well, unless he apologizes to me, I’m done helping him.”

“Roy, apologize?” Toby gives me a doubtful look.

“Exactly. So, sorry, but someone else will have to take over. Maybe your mom can find a friendly ax murderer, or someone equally insane.”

“So, he wasn’t wrong about you wanting him dead.” Toby grins. “I’ll cover until your friend is gone, but be ready. She’s gonna try to strong-arm you. That’s just what she does.”

“She can try all she wants. I’m not going unless he apologizes.”

Toby’s grin falls off suddenly. “Shit. Sorry, I’ve gotta go hide behind the bar.” He scurries away.

When I steal a glance over my shoulder, I understand why. Jessie Winslow has made an appearance tonight, in the same too-tight blue jeans and cropped boots as last time I saw her. She’s swapped her leopard-print crop top for a crimson one that clings to her ample curves.

Her large blue eyes scan the heads, quickly spotting Jonah. She indiscreetly fluffs her hair and puffs out her chest and then cuts through the crowd. Another cord of tension weaves its way along my spine. Just what I need. I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with that woman pawing Jonah tonight, on top of all my other issues.

Muriel comes around the bar then and marches straight for our table. “Where’s your friend?”

“Bathroom.” Probably fixing her makeup. I frown at the soft, camouflage-print gun case in Muriel’s hand. “Going somewhere?”

She sets it down on the table, and that’s when I notice the pink bow affixed to one end. “Happy birthday, Calla.”

Oh my God. “You bought me a gun?”

“Not exactly. This was my first gun that my parents gave me. It’s a Winchester,” she says proudly. “Good for slight females like you. The ownership papers are in the case.”

I don’t know what to say. Muriel knows I don’t like guns and have no intention of ever shooting one. She also knows me well enough to know that I’d never be rude and refuse a birthday present.

But, buried in with all my apprehension is the fact that Muriel is passing along her first gun—a gift from her parents, and probably something she prizes—to me.

Swallowing this confusing swirl of both aversion and appreciation, I settle on, “Thank you.” It is the thought that counts, after all, and this is Muriel being thoughtful.

“It’s not meant to decorate your wall, Calla,” she warns.

I was thinking I’d hide it in the back of my closet, actually.

“You need to be able to protect yourself, especially when Jonah’s gone in September, workin’ with Jack Thomas.”

“Oh, I’m flying home for those weeks.”

“What?” That deep crevice forms between her eyes. “But that’s garden harvest time! We’ll be busy canning!”

“Don’t worry, Muriel. She’ll be shootin’ the stem off apples in no time.” Jonah’s gruff voice from behind me is an instant balm, saving me from that conversation. Warm, strong hands land on my shoulders.

I reach back to clasp them, and then stretch farther to admire the strength in his wrists and his forearms beneath my fingertips, imagining these hands on the rest of my body later tonight. As much as I love having Diana here, the anticipation of having Jonah to myself—to repair whatever’s going on between us—is overwhelming.

A resort guest hollers out to Muriel, distracting her. Jonah settles down in the chair beside me and I waste no time combing my fingernails through his bristly beard and leaning in to capture his mouth with mine in a lengthy, searing kiss that’s probably too hot for the Ale House.

When I pull away, he’s smirking. “How are you two doin’ over here?”

“Fine. How about you? Having fun over at the bar?” I ask as lightly as I can.

“I guess.” He nods toward Jesse Winslow whose impressive cleavage is eye level with a rugged-looking fisherman at a nearby table. “Your favorite local just came in.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Toby ran away, fast.”