Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he unrolled his paper napkin, tucked it in his lap, and picked up the burger with fingers that were precisely arranged on the bun. He was methodical about biting and chewing, neat and tidy. Fastidious with the napkin, too, nothing dripping in spite of the fact that there was ketchup involved and things were done medium rare.

He wiped his mouth. “How do you have a usual and not know what it is?”

“Diner amnesia, evidently. On the other hand, it’s going to be a surprise—which at least in theory, I’m going to like.”

“An entree ordered by your subconscious. Cool.”

A moment later, Bessie punched out of the kitchen’s flap door with a steaming plate.

“Here ya go, chicken pot pie, nice and hot.” She put the food next to Daniel Joseph’s burger and grabbed a silverware roll out from under the counter. “You want your Diet Coke, too?”

“Ah …” Lydia cleared her throat.

“Looks like we’re having dinner together,” the WSP’s new groundskeeper said. “Didn’t this just work out, huh.”

BACK TWO YEARS ago, on the first day Lydia had arrived at her new job, Candy had been in charge of her orientation—and not only about the nonprofit. There had been plenty to learn about living in Walters. And the one piece of advice that had held especially true? Everybody in the zip code was related. If not by blood, then by marriage.

So you never said anything bad about anyone because you were talking to their relative. As Candy had said, just like you wouldn’t throw poop at a fan, you didn’t want to run down another person ’cuz the crap would come back on you.

Such a way with metaphors—and there was a corollary to the woman’s Zip It Rule of Walters, New York.

Standing over the plate of steaming food, Lydia glanced up at the server. Bessie was married to Susan, the grocer’s, husband’s brother. Which meant that not only did the women work in the same building and take their breaks together, they also rode into and from work as a twosome.

“I’m so sorry, Bessie, but I have to get home. Would you please put that amazing dinner in a to-go?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I just thought you’d come to eat with this nice young man—”

“Thanks so much.” Lydia smiled. “And you’re right, I guess I do order a lot of chicken pot pie.”

As Bessie marched back through the flap doors to the kitchen proper, there was an awkward moment. On her side of things.

Daniel just went back to his hamburger. “So I’m guessing word gets around here quick, huh,” he said between mouthfuls.

“Oh, that’s not the reason I’m not …” She glanced at the kitchen’s flap doors. “Okay, fine. So much getting around in this town. You have no idea.”

“And we wouldn’t want your husband jealous.”

“He wouldn’t be—I mean, I don’t have one.” Since when did she get so tongue-tied all the time? “And what about your wife.”

“No wife, no girlfriend. Drifter, remember?”

“I remember.”

Bessie came back out again, a paper bag in her hand. “Here you go.”

“And here’s fifteen. Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Lydia. You’re a big-city tipper, you know that?”

“If that’s my claim to fame, I’ll take it.” She smiled at Daniel in what she hoped was a professional way. Because Bessie’s eyes were bouncing back and forth between them like the woman was reading all kinds of things into all kinds of facial expressions. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Daniel. At work.”

Daniel glanced over and lifted a casual hand. “I’ll be there on time. Even if I have to walk.”

“So where are you staying? Pine Lodge?”

“Yup. That’s the place.”

Lydia frowned. “That’s two miles away.”

“And God gave me two legs, one mile each.”

“I like that attitude.”

“Paul said he’ll bring the bike over when it’s ready. To the Project.”

Lydia opened her mouth to offer him a ride in the morning. But a quick glance at Bessie—who was still enthralled—cut that impulse off. Besides, the Pine Lodge was run by Candy’s sister and brother-in-law, who were Susan and Bessie’s first cousins by marriage.

Too complicated.

“Have a good night,” she said before walking off.

“You, too.”

As she headed for the diner’s exit, she told herself not to look back at him. To treat him as she would Candy. Or Rick. As just a fellow employee of the WSP.

Just as her hand pushed the bar, she—

Looked back.

Daniel Joseph had ducked his head and turned it toward his half-finished Coke. To anybody else in the place, he was just another man filling his empty belly before he headed back out into the spring chill. But his eyes … those glowing eyes …

Were on Lydia.

The instant their stares met, he looked away. So did she.

But as she stepped back into the night, things had gotten a whole lot more tropical, in spite of whatever a thermometer might say.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Under the start-as-you-mean-to-go-on theory, she was going to be completely obsessed by that man in a week and a half.

“Not what’s going to happen,” she announced as she crossed the damp pavement.

Back in her car, she put her food in the passenger seat and tried to ignore the fact that the chicken pot pie was the first warm passenger she’d had in her hatchback since … well, when?

Funny how meeting a stranger was what it took to make her feel lonely.

Starting her engine, she reversed out and headed down the county road again. She’d been renting a little house by the stream since she’d come to town, and by now, she figured her car could drive the short distance home itself. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she fiddled with the radio dial with the other, restlessly going back and forth through the four fuzzy stations. She needed distraction. Noise. A news report, a song with a good beat—hell, she’d take a commercial for a gutter cleaning company or a used car lot.

When she hooked into one of the Canadian broadcasts, she sat back in her seat and tried to decipher the French—

Flashing blue lights from the other side of the two-lane road blinded her.

There were three cop car worths. No, four. And there was also a boxy van and an ambulance.

She hit the brakes as she passed by Sheriff Eastwind’s SUV, and with a wrench of the wheel, she cut across the lanes to pull in behind his vehicle. Getting out, she covered her eyes with her hand to cut the blue strobing.

A tall figure in a New York State trooper uniform strode over to her. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to get back in your car—”

“What happened?”

“—and continue on your way.”

She looked into the tree line. Flashlights were flaring as a group came back toward the road through the forest.

The trooper stepped in and blocked the view. “Ma’am, you’re going to leave now, either in my car or your own. What’s it going to be?”

“Who got hurt on the mountain?” She glanced at the man. “I work at the Wolf Study Project up the road from here, and this is our land, part of our preserve.”