And never mind all that—it was his integrity that Peyton appreciated. She was very grateful for that. She believed they were going to be very good friends.

She had been eavesdropping in the clinic and figured out that Scott was camping on the beach with the kids tonight. The July night was warm and clear with a cool breeze off the water. Scott’s sitter had been back in town for a few days, so in the morning she would take the kids and Scott could go to work. She had heard him explaining it to Devon. “I’d better get this camping trip over with. Will won’t shut up about it.”

Peyton packed up a thermos and cups in a beach tote, parked at the marina and walked across the beach to the site where a small, yellow tent was pitched. The tent was glowing from a dim light inside. There was still a bit of a fire, and as far as she could tell, there were no other people on the beach. He was close to the hill just below Devon’s house, and there was a light on outside Devon’s lower floor.

As she drew closer she could just make out Scott sitting right outside the tent’s zippered opening. He was cross-legged on a towel beside the fire. “Ahoy,” she said quietly, drawing near.

“I thought that was you,” he said. “What are you doing out here so late?”

“It’s only nine-thirty. Are they already asleep?”

“Out cold. I ran them around the beach for a while, took them for a bathroom stop at Devon’s and bedded them down.” He reached over to the small cooler next to him. On top was something wrapped in foil. “S’more?”

She knelt in the sand on the other side of his fire. “I believe I will. Was that dinner?”

“First, hot dogs, then s’mores. My stomach is roiling,” he said.

“Did you put an open can of beans on the coals? Because that’s real camping.”

“That’s all I’d need, right?”

“What’s lighting that tent?”

“Battery operated night-light. The last thing I need is some clown in a dune buggy mowing us down in the night. That’s why we’re out here on a Thursday night instead of the weekend. Less competition.”

“I brought you some hot chocolate,” she said, passing him the beach bag.

“I don’t suppose it has a little brandy in it?”

“I’m afraid not. Are you going to need a little something to get to sleep?”

“I think I’ll be napping with one eye open. The other thing I’m not in favor of is a kid wandering into the water.”

“Did Devon leave the light on for you?”

He nodded and poured himself a cup of hot chocolate. “Half the fun of camping is peeing behind a rock or bush, but if we have any larger issues, her door is unlocked.” He sipped the hot drink. “This is great, Peyton. Really nice of you.” He reached back, pulled a log off a pile and tossed it on the embers.

“You’re a very good sport,” she told him. “This is the sort of thing they’ll always remember.”

“Me, too,” he said. “What kinds of things from your childhood stand out?”

She chuckled a little. “Come on, I grew up on a farm—it’s a playground twenty-four hours a day. While my folks didn’t get to all the school events, just about every class party for every kid was held on the farm. My dad buried potatoes and ears of corn with hot coals, there was barbecue and homemade ice cream. And there was nookie in the loft.”

“Is that so?” he asked with a laugh.

“During sheep shearing a lot of extended family came to stay—lots of cousins. Lots of food. All the women cooked nonstop while the men sheared. Shearing was closely followed by some butchering. It was like a holiday.”

“Did your father have a lot of sheep?”

“While I was growing up there were fruit trees, vegetables, mostly potatoes, and a nice flock of sheep. My oldest brother, George, took over the sheep and grew the herd. Now it’s an even bigger circus. Kids tend to smuggle lambs into the house, treat them like puppies or kittens—it’s a rancher’s undoing. There’s other livestock, but mostly for personal use and consumption, not for commercial farming. We have chickens, a few cows and horses, three llamas—rude, spitting llamas. Dogs and cats. Every once in a while a stray animal shows up. There was a Clydesdale without a home when I was very young. He lived with us for years. We butchered the occasional calf. We grow some chickens for dinner and the eggs are plentiful. It was a menagerie, but my dad is serious about the pears and potatoes, and George is the king of sheep. In fact, if you don’t have anything major going on this weekend, I’d like to go to the farm for a couple of nights.”

“You’re not on call or anything,” he said.

“If you need me I’ll put it off a week,” she offered.

“Nah, go ahead. Gabby is back, and Devon is going to be around if there’s an emergency.”

“I’ll bring you some great stew and bread.”

“I would love that. So, you’re feeling better about things? Or is part of getting better going home to the farm?”

She laughed softly. “Sometimes it is, but my sister Adele will be at the farm for a week or so. Her husband will be with her for a couple of days, but as I mentioned, he has a restaurant in San Francisco—he’s afraid to leave it for a minute. But Adele is in her eighth month, and she’s due during the harvest which means Mama won’t be able to go to her then. I’ll stand in for Mama. That’s why it’s so important for me to be there.”

“So you’re doing better,” he said.

“Do I seem better?” she asked.

“You seem a long way from your condition when I found you...you know.”

“Crying like a fool?”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way,” he said. “You were understandably upset.”

“When I was a girl, I had the usual number of disappointments and broken hearts. I liked to go up into the hayloft for hours to work things out in my head, to map out my emotional journey. My papa always said my biggest problem was that I wanted everything perfect and didn’t allow that other people might have plans that weren’t exactly like mine. I might need a little time in the loft. When I started dating Ted I thought we were perfect for each other. We had a shared vocation, he had kids and I’m great with kids. I might not have been looking at the right things....”

“Like loving him?” Scott asked.

She swirled her hot chocolate and laughed. “Someone like me might think it’s love when all it really is is appearances. But I’m a lot better, thanks. On one hand, that bad news gave me just the kick in the ass I needed to really move on. To stop hoping he’d come to his senses and see that I was the perfect woman for him. I wanted to be done with that whole situation, but I admit, it was hard letting go. It is no longer hard. What’s hard is that I now doubt my instincts about men. About people. I’ve always been able to read people—I could smell a phony, a liar. I knew when I was being played. I also knew when I’d found someone real, someone wonderful. Now I wonder if my radar is all screwed up.”

“Just practice it for a while, Peyton,” he said. “Turn your radar on and test it here and there. I bet you’ll find that even though you slipped off the rails once, it was just once. I see you with people every day. You’re good. You’re genuine. You know how to talk to them. You know what to ask and what to say, and they’re drawn to you. I think you’re going to be okay.”