Mr. Harman measured them for a long moment. Then he nodded once as if he approved. “We don’t cohabit on our land.”

That out of the way, Mr. Harman shook what Dagney was holding out to him, and then he gave the sack to him. With a jab of his gnarled finger, he said, “Biscuits made just now. Venison sausage. Sweet tea.”

“Thank you,” Sutton said.

Mr. Harman grunted. “You got time to come see the new baby?”

“Actually, we’re heading back to Charlemont,” Dagney said. “Sutton has something she needs to go to.”

“Oh, that’s not—”

“I know ya from somewheres.” Mr. Harman crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Dagney. “Where’d that be?”

“I’m the governor of our Commonwealth, sir.” As Mr. Harman’s eyes widened, Dagney mirrored the other’s man pose exactly, linking his arms and leaning back into his boot heels. “And you know, I’d really like to come back and meet your family, hear what’s on your mind, talk to you about how I can help?”

Mr. Harman whipped off his cap. “I didn’t vote fer ya.”

“That’s okay. A lot of people ’round here didn’t.”

“It true you’re from Daniel Boone’s people?”

“Yessir.”

“Might have something in common, then.”

“How ’bout we find out by talking sometime?”

As Sutton looked back and forth between the two men, she found herself liking Dagney even more. Here he was, one of the richest and most powerful men in the state, and you would never have known it.

“Yup, you can come back,” Mr. Harman pronounced. “But only with Miss Sutton. The wife don’t like outsiders.”

“Aggie likes me,” Sutton offered.

“You ain’t no outsider.” Mr. Harman slapped his cap back on and nodded like that was that. “You know where t’ find us. Safe travels.”

The man left with the same lack of fuss with which he’d arrived, taking off into the wilderness on his ATV, disappearing down the mountain trail.

Dagney glanced over. “I’m pretty sure he would have shot me if I’d slept in your cabin, whether or not anything happened.”

Sutton nodded. “Mr. Harman is very old-fashioned—and also good with a gun.”

Dagney lifted the sack. “We’ll eat this on the way home.”

“Oh, listen, we don’t have to leave. It’s a long drive—”

“Who said we’re driving?” Dagney whistled and the pair of state policemen who were his guard jumped out from behind the cabin. “Boys, we’ll be getting Ms. Smythe back to town now. Call ahead and tell them to have the ’copter at Southfork Regional. We’ll intercept in thirty minutes.”

“Roger that, Governor.”

“Thank you, boys.”

As Dagney turned back around, Sutton shook her head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Hey, if you can’t impress a girl with the perks of the office, what good are they? Besides, I’ve got about fifteen people in Charlemont who have wanted to meet with me for the last two weeks. I’ll line up the meetings on the way so this is official business.”

“I’m not sure what to say. Other than it’s really not necessary.”

Dagney tilted in and spoke like he was sharing a secret. “I think you came out here to escape and it didn’t work. You keep staring out at those hills like you’re trying to convince yourself you did the right thing, and sometimes, it’s better and more efficient to just give in and do what you have to do.”

“What if it’s the wrong thing, though?”

“When was the last time that you steered yourself off course listening to your heart? And don’t worry that it will hurt my feelings. I’ve been through much worse and I’m still standing. Besides, I had a great time driving out here with you last night and the stargazing was phenomenal. How many meteors did we see? Twenty? Twenty-five?”

Damn it, Sutton thought as he waited for her inevitable capitulation. Why could she not be in love with this man?

Back at Easterly, Lizzie left her and Lane’s suite and headed for the staff staircase in the rear of the mansion. As she went along, she checked to make sure her black shift dress was in the right place on her shoulders. The Talbots number was nothing she would ordinarily wear or own—when she was on the job as the Bradford family’s horticulturist and landscape designer, she was in her uniform of khakis and a polo with the estate’s crest on it. Outside of work? Blue jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers were just fine.

You needed a funeral dress, though, or you weren’t a grown-up, and she’d gotten this one in a consignment shop in the little town by her farm in Indiana. Heaven only knew how it had found its way onto that rack filled with colorful castoffs, but for twenty bucks, she had plugged a major hole in her wardrobe and was totally willing to overlook that the thing was a little tight on top.

As she went down the hall, she made mental notes about vacuuming, dusting, and—

The wave of nausea tackled her from behind, sneaking up from out of nowhere and sending the world on a wonky-spin that had her throwing out a hand to catch herself.

With a frantic glance over her shoulder, she thought, Nope, not going to make it back to their room.

Rushing forward, she threw open the first door she came to, plowed across a vacant guest room, and beelined right into a peach marble bathroom.

She hit the floor so hard, she bruised her knees, and then she nearly caught her chin as she popped the toilet lid open and gave in to the dry heaves.

Nothing came up. Which made sense because the last time she’d eaten had been at dinner the previous night. Or wait . . . she had felt ill then, too. Had it been lunch? At the hospital?

As she sat back and sagged into the cool wall, she thought, Great. The stomach flu.

Just what she needed right now. She had to leave with Lane for the cemetery in, like, ten minutes, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to make it down to the car, much less through whatever ceremony—or non-ceremony—was going to happen relative to his father’s ashes.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head, looked around—and cursed.

“Oh, come on . . .”

Of all the bedroom suites she could have chosen? Really? Chantal’s?

Lane’s soon-to-be ex-wife’s previous crib was the last place she wanted to revisit. And okay, yeah, sure, fine, there were so many no-longer-a-part-of-their-lives in that preamble that she really shouldn’t have cared one way or the other. In the wake of that woman’s departure from the household, this fancy’d-up repository for plumbing was no different than the other fifteen or twenty loos in the mansion: elegant, well appointed, and—as with most now—vacant.

But Lizzie really didn’t like to think of Lane’s impending divorce. Or that hateful female.

As she waited to see if her stomach was going to cramp up again, she thought about all the effort she and Lane had put into moving Chantal’s things out—while the woman had stood on the sidelines flapping her arms and stamping her feet. Clearly, it had been one of the first consequential learning experiences of a very privileged life.

Cheat on your husband with his father + Get yourself pregnant = Eviction

The math was quite simple.

Putting her knees up, Lizzie balanced her arms on them and let her fingers dangle. Breathing slowly and evenly, she tried to reason with what was going on underneath her diaphragm. And what do you know, memories of all of Chantal’s bullcrap were soooooo helpful.

That elegant blond woman with her Virginia pedigree and her wedding-ring entitlement was both the reason Lane and Lizzie had broken up two years ago—and why they’d ended up back together.

Well, actually, it had been two breakups and two reconnections, Lizzie supposed—but certainly most, if not all, of the ugliness between them had been because of Chantal. Which was what ensued when a wife falsely accused a husband who wasn’t in love with her of domestic violence. While pregnant with his own half brother or sister.

It was something out of an old episode of Dynasty. Except they were actually living it.