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Elsie returned with a pitcher of water and two glasses shortly after but didn’t move on.

Instead, she stood beside the table, hands on her hips, her gaze going from her to Avery then back again.

If the restaurant weren’t so busy, she might have dropped into the empty chair for a nice, long chat. “So, tell me about the new marshal.”

Tresia shrugged. “He seems like a nice man. We’ve only just met. Today, in fact.” She glanced at Avery, who paid no attention to their conversation at all and lowered her voice. “He’s a widower.”

Elsie lowered her voice as well and repeated. “A widower?” Sympathy—and something else—flashed in her eyes.

Tresia nodded and eyed her, then darted her gaze toward Avery.

Elsie gave a nod, as if understanding the silent message. “We’ll talk later,” she said then noticed two more people come into the restaurant. “I’ll be back with your order.”

It didn’t take as long as she thought it would before Elsie was back, their dinners in heavy paperboard boxes in a big paper sack. “Enjoy. I added something extra for the little one.”

“Thank you, Elsie.” She dug in her drawstring bag and pulled out a few coins then handed them to Elsie. “This should cover it.”

Elsie looked at the coins in her palm. “It’s too much, Tresia.”

“No, it’s just enough,” she insisted.

A blush settled over Elsie’s face even as a wide smile spread her lips. She closed her hand around the coins. “I’ll see you at the next Society meeting.”

“Yes, you will.” She held out her free hand. “Come on, Avery. Let’s go home.”

Avery scooted out of her seat, slipped her hand in hers and practically pulled her toward the door.

They walked home, cutting through the town square, then over two streets to the marshal’s house.

She pulled the key he’d given her from her drawstring purse but tried the doorknob first. Most people in Serenity didn’t bother locking their doors.

The door opened easily, and she stepped inside, bringing Avery with her.

After putting the food on plates, then in the oven to keep warm, except for her own, which she left on the counter, she turned toward Avery. “Would you like to help me fix the threshold?”

She silently nodded with enthusiasm.

“Let’s go see what’s in the shed. If there isn’t a hammer and nails, we’ll have to walk back to the store.

” Even as she said the words, she cringed, just a bit.

It would be uncomfortable going back into Sullivan’s so soon after she quit.

Arnold, being Arnold, and probably incredibly angry with her, might just kick her out—if he hadn’t closed up the shop already.

It didn’t matter if he had. She may have quit, but she hadn’t given up her key—after all, she was still going to do the books.

They went outside through the kitchen door and stood on the porch. The shed sat off to the left, although Avery’s eye had caught a swing hanging from a limb of a tall sturdy elm tree. She made a beeline for it, placed her doll on the seat, and gave the swing a gentle push.

“We can play on the swing tomorrow. Come help me find a hammer.”

Avery quickly retrieved the doll and ran up to the porch, the lace on her petticoat showing as she lifted her knees high. Disappointment showed on her face, but she didn’t question the request she’d been given. Apparently, someone had taught her to mind. Had it been the marshal? His late wife?

The shed door creaked as Tresia opened it. “It’s dark in here. I should have brought a lamp with me.” She opened the door wider, allowing the fading sunlight to filter into the darkness.

Fortunately, the shed did contain a hammer, as well as a myriad of other tools one might need to make repairs to the house.

There was even a new box of nails on a shelf.

Gathering what she needed, she went back into the house, Avery following behind although she had looked at the swing with something resembling longing.

A short time later, after Tresia had positioned the threshold in place and hammered in three nails, she held out her hand, palm up. “Avery, would you hand me another nail?”

Avery grabbed a nail from the small table beside the door with her fingertips, already warned how sharp the point could be, and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” Still, not a word from the girl, though she knew the child had a voice.

She’d heard her quite clearly as she crooned to her doll and on a few other occasions as well, but her responses were usually just one-word answers, if she deemed to speak at all.

Most of the children she knew only stopped talking long enough to take a breath, and sometimes, not even then.

She’d have to ask the marshal if there was a reason—physical or otherwise—Avery didn’t speak much.

A minute or two later, she tested the threshold, trying to jiggle it out of place but it didn’t move.

“Well, that’s done. We did a good job, don’t you think? ”

A deeper, gravelly voice, not the one she expected, responded from the parlor behind her. “You did a better job than I did, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Daddy!” Avery shouted, excitement in her voice and showing she could speak when she wanted.

Tresia shot up from her position on the floor and whirled around, hammer still clutched in her hand to see Avery safely ensconced in her father’s arms. “Oh, Marshal! I didn’t think you’d be home this soon.

” Blood warmed her face. Indeed, she could feel the heat of it rising up from her chest. He’d come into the house from the kitchen door as she’d been backside up, pounding nails into the threshold. How long had he been standing there?

“Dinner’s in the oven staying warm. I’ll…

uh…I’ll go take care of that.” She dropped the hammer on the table, thankful it wasn’t on her own foot…

or his…and strode toward the kitchen. He followed with Avery in his arms and moved a chair away from the table with his foot before seating his daughter in the chair.

Tresia quickly grabbed a kitchen towel and removed the plates from the oven, one at a time, and placed them on the table.

The marshal glanced at the plates, then at her as she pulled napkins and silverware from one of the drawers and placed forks, knives, and spoons beside the plates. “You’re not eating with us?”

“No, I’ll just take mine home.”

“Well, that’s just plain silly.” There was a warm glow in his eyes and a teasing quality in his voice as he turned to his daughter. “Avery, don’t you think Mrs. Morgan should have dinner with us?”

“Yes.” The word was said loudly and clearly and expectancy lit her face.

She couldn’t resist the hope reflected in Avery’s eyes or the slight smile on the marshal’s face. “All right. If you insist.”

“We do.”

She quickly plated up her own food and sat at the table though it felt awkward and became even more awkward as the marshal began asking Avery questions.

“Did you do anything fun today?”

Avery simply nodded as she took a small bite out of a crispy chicken leg. There was a smile on her face and a warm light in her eyes.

“Did you meet new people?” Again, he tried, but received the same response, which was nothing other than a nod.

It was obvious that Avery’s answers were not satisfactory to him at all.

Worry seemed to etch itself into his face.

There was sadness in his eyes, too, and Tresia’s heart went out to him.

She sympathized with the situation as she’d had the same with her father after he’d had his stroke, which had taken his ability to speak.

She wanted to tell him to stop asking Avery questions but was afraid of overstepping.

There were some parents who did not appreciate advice coming from anyone in regard to their children.

She’d run into that at the store, where some parents let their children do whatever they pleased, ruining her displays or running around and making a nuisance of themselves.

She’d asked more than one mother to leave over the years, despite losing a sale.

“Is the chicken good?”

Once again, his daughter just nodded and he gave up—finally—but then he turned his attention to her. “Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Morgan.”

She swallowed her mouthful of food then wiped her lips with the napkin. “There isn’t much to tell, Marshal?—”

He interrupted her. “You should call me Devlin. After all, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

She gave a short nod even as a little thrill whispered through her. “All right. Devlin. And you should call me Tresia.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze kept going to his daughter, watching her, waiting for her to speak, which she didn’t. “You were saying, Tresia?”

Oh, she liked the way he said her name. It flowed from his lips without effort in his deep, gravelly voice that seemed to send fairies dancing in her belly.

She paused, looking for the words, looking for a reason as to why that should be.

She’d been married, for goodness sake! She wasn’t some young miss mooning over a handsome man.

“As I said, there isn’t much to tell. I was born here in Serenity.

I love this town. It’s a good place and it’s getting better all the time. The Ladies’ Society?—”

He interrupted her again. “The Ladies’ Society? What is that?”

“It’s just a group of ladies Lucy Hart gathered together.

We try to do good things for the community.

Two years ago, we raised funds to beautify the town square.

The benches you see are new, each one donated by someone.

There’s a little brass plaque that shows who provided the funds for it.

And the flowers lining the paths are from Mrs. Dameron.

She has the greenest thumb of anyone I know, but we all help with weeding and such. ”

She watched him as she spoke, liking the fact that she had his undivided attention.

“Tell me more. What else does the Ladies’ Society do?”