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D evlin watched the woman walk away, the scent of her honeysuckle perfume lingering in the air.

Mrs. Morgan was not what he expected. Not at all.

When he met with Lucy Hart earlier, as he’d been instructed to do, and let her know he needed someone to watch over Avery, he had expected an older lady—one with gray hair twisted into a tight bun at the top of her head and a face full of wrinkles.

He had not anticipated the tall, slender, vibrant young woman with rich auburn hair and kind violet eyes who just left his house.

He admitted, if only to himself, he’d been surprised to see her standing at his front door, but thought he recovered his shock fairly well.

She had appeared startled, too, given the widening of her eyes and her sudden gasp.

And then she’d fallen into his arms. She was all kinds of soft and warm and his body’s reaction to her touch made him question his own sanity.

He made the decision to hire her not on the fact that she could cook and clean but based solely on his daughter’s reaction to her.

Avery never took to a person that quickly.

In fact, he’d never seen her sit on a person’s lap aside from his or her mother’s, not even with her grandmother, but after what she’d been through—what they’d both been through—over the last eleven months, if Avery felt comfortable with a complete stranger, then so be it.

“What do you think, Avery? Did you like Mrs. Morgan?”

The little girl nodded, making her light brown curls bounce, though she didn’t speak, which still worried him.

The passing of her mother had affected her in so many ways, but it was the propensity to talk as little as possible that hurt him to his soul.

Before Hannah died, Avery was a regular little chatterbox.

Maybe spending time with Mrs. Morgan would help in that regard.

He tore his gaze away from his daughter and glanced down at the loose threshold. “Do you suppose there might be a hammer somewhere in this house?”

Avery shrugged.

They’d only been in the fully furnished house, the one provided for them by the town, for less than an hour before Mrs. Morgan had shown up.

He hadn’t had time to explore everything as he’d mentioned to her, but what he’d seen so far, he liked—it would suit his and Avery’s needs perfectly.

And that was more than he could ask for at the moment.

Already, he felt a comfort here, a solace that had been missing from his life for an extraordinarily long time.

Now, to get settled, and start their new life, one without Hannah. The pain in his heart made his breath seize in his lungs and he paused for a moment to let the ache subside, though it never truly went away. He didn’t suppose it ever would.

He looked down at his daughter. “Will you help me?”

She nodded once again then scampered off to the kitchen.

He could hear drawers opening and closing, her little feet going from one cabinet to another.

He looked in the hutch in the formal dining room and anywhere else tools might be hiding.

He came up with nothing and walked back to the open door and the offending threshold.

Avery joined him after a few moments, empty-handed.

“You didn’t find one?”

She shook her head.

“Me, either.” He grinned at her. “Well, I guess there’s no help for it.” He took off his boot then bent down.

The boot heel, as far as he was concerned, made a terrible hammer.

Didn’t matter how much he pounded, the nail that protruded and made the threshold loose wouldn’t stay down.

Every time he thought it would, he was mistaken.

He even tried pulling the loose nail out and moving it to another place, but that didn’t work either.

He heard chuckling, but it was deeper, richer, and certainly not coming from Avery.

Standing on the top step of his porch, a huge smile on his face, a cowboy hat shading his face, was an older man dressed in a gaudy plaid jacket and matching trousers that might have been better suited to a horse blanket.

“That ain’t gonna work,” the man said, his voice—and his twinkling eyes—full of humor, “although I’ve seen my wife use a book as a hammer. Didn’t work for her either.”

“Well, they say necessity is the mother of invention.” His face heated as he rose to his feet, boot dropping to the floor. “Can I help you?”

“You can if you’re Marshal Goodrich.”

“I am.”

The man pointed to a horse-drawn wagon in the street.

Painted white with red trim, the words ‘Jennings’ Ice’ was emblazoned on the side.

The horse that pulled the wagon wore a flowered hat, which was unusual…

or maybe it wasn’t in Serenity, New Mexico.

“I’m Paul Jennings.” His grin widened and his bushy gray eyebrows wiggled a bit.

“The Ice Man. Lucy Hart let me know you were here and needed ice.”

Devlin stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jennings.” He turned toward his daughter, who hadn’t said a word. In fact, she had moved to stand away from the door, almost hiding behind the small, ornate table against the wall. He held out his hand toward her. “This is my daughter, Avery.”

She came forward, a bit reluctantly, but forward none-the-less and dropped a curtsy, as she’d been taught.

“A pleasure, Miss Avery.” The big man bent down to be eye-level with her. “I got a couple granddaughters just about your age. Maybe you’d like to come and visit once you and your father get settled. Would you like that?”

His daughter nodded and murmured out a ‘yes’, which seemed to make the old man happy, not to mention what it did for his own heart. Maybe this move, this chance to start over somewhere that didn’t hold so many memories, was the best decision he could have made—for both of them.

“I might have a hammer in my wagon, if that’ll help.”

Mr. Jennings interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention. “That would be great.”

The older man ran down the steps as agile as a man fifty years younger, searched the wagon, but apparently didn’t find what he needed before he jogged back to the porch empty-handed.

“Looks like I was wrong, but you might want to head over to Sullivan’s Emporium.

It’s on the other side of the town square.

Can’t miss it. Takes up half the street.

They should have a hammer.” He grinned. “And anything else you want. Old Lyle Sullivan always said, ‘if we don’t have it, you don’t need it’.

” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll get your ice now. ”

He stepped toward his wagon, rummaged around for a bit in the back then returned, holding a big block of ice with a pair of iron tongs.

He took the path that led toward the back of the house and the kitchen without a word but with a happy little whistle, as if he enjoyed his job… or better yet, enjoyed his life.

For a moment, Devlin envied him and wondered if he’d ever feel that way again. He had once, but that had all changed in the space of a heartbeat.

“I’ll come by next Tuesday, see if you need another block of ice.”

He jumped, not realizing the man had returned, startling him from his thoughts.

“My sons and I deliver in town on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays depending on your schedule, but if you need it sooner, just let me know.” He jerked his thumb toward the east. “I’m just outside of town on the main road.

Can’t miss me.” He smiled. “Or the icehouse. Stop by any time. My wife, Bettina, would love to meet you.” He glanced at Avery.

“Bring the little one. We always got the grandkids running around.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jennings.”

“Paul, please.”

Devlin nodded. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Marshal. Welcome to Serenity.”

He watched the man climb into his wagon, grab the reins, and shake them. The horse, wearing its silly little flowered hat, responded immediately and pulled the wagon down the street.

“Now what, Avery? What should we do? Maybe walk around town?” He bent down and removed the threshold, which came off easily in his hand. “Go over to Sullivan’s Emporium and get that hammer and some nails, like Mr. Jennings suggested, and then maybe meet my deputies?”

She nodded enthusiastically to that though he wished she would say the words.

In Albuquerque, she had always loved going to the office with him and loved the deputies who reported to him, though that had never made Frances Emerson Comstock, his mother-in-law, happy.

She hadn’t thought it seemly that her granddaughter, scion of Albuquerque’s elite, should be with those less than her.

God knows, she hadn’t thought he was good enough for Hannah and let him know that whenever possible.

He pushed all thoughts of his former mother-in-law from his head, placed the piece of wood on the little table beside the door, then pulled on his boot.

“You ready?”

She nodded and placed her hand in his. He closed the door behind them though he didn’t lock it. Didn’t seem like he had to—and headed across the street, following the same path Tresia Morgan had just a short time ago.

Two streets over, they entered the town square with its random paths and little benches where one could sit and relax among the flowers growing there.

It was a peaceful place, filled with young couples and their children, relaxing on a perfect afternoon.

The fountain in the middle of the square gurgled water into the air, a haven for the birds that swooped by to take a drink.

Apple and pear trees, their fragrant blossoms scenting the air, provided shade and would, when the time was right, fruit.