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Leah. He wanted to write her off as trouble and walk away, but when she got in his face he wanted the conversation to keep going, which probably said something about his taste in women. “Help me with what?”
    “Getting the house ready.” She shrugged. “Anything, really.”
    No way was he buying this newly-reformed-Leah act. “Okay, I give up. What’s your game now?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    People wandered in and out of the aisle and a baby’s scream echoed from the other side of the freezer case, but his attention stayed on her. “The guy at the bank told me you’re smart and—”
    Her eyes widened and her voice inched up an octave. “Why are you talking to people about me?”
    “Just trying to understand who I’m dealing with.” Really, Mr. Temperley joked about Marc Barton coming over with a welcome cake and suggested staying away from him. That was it. Nothing Declan didn’t already know, but he decided to let Leah stew about it.
    “What you see is what you get,” she said.
    “Oh, I don’t think so.”
    “Look, you want your days here to run smoothly. I want you and your brothers to leave.” The charming cadence to her voice gave way to rough, choppy sentences. “I can be an ally in making sure you don’t have trouble.”
    He was pretty sure there was some truth in that middle part. The rest? Pure female crap. “Trouble?”
    “There are some folks who might not like you being here. Might not serve you food or wait on you in stores.” She glanced in the freezer case as she said it.
    Not that he hadn’t thought about that problem. He’d gone online and traced out where he could shop outside of Sweetwater if it came to that, or if her father tried to use his clout to ban all Hanovers from public spaces. If it came to that, he’d take Beck’s advice and get out.
    But something about her tone raised his defenses. Also made a nerve at the back of his neck tick. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat.”
    “I’m stating a fact. Having me on your side will limit the bumps.” She opened the case and took out a diet dinner.
    But now that she mentioned it he wanted to know. His brewing headache wouldn’t ease until he did. “Well, let’s see if you’re right.”
    “What?” She dropped the box back in the case and spun around.
    “Come on.” He heard her footsteps tapping behind him, but he kept going as he rounded corner after corner and finally found a man wearing a name tag and an apron. “Sir, may I ask you a question?”
    The man rocked back on his heels and shot Declan a broad smile. Everything about the guy said welcome. “Sure.”
    Declan dropped the folder in his basket, ignoring Leah’s focused stare at it, and held out his hand. “My name is Declan Hanover.”
    The man’s gaze bounced from Declan to Leah and back again. “Okay.”
    “Do you mind if I buy groceries here?” There. He asked and now he waited.
    And waited.
    Art Schneider, or so the tag said, just stood there with a blank stare. People walked around them and one guy mumbled something about blocking the onions. Finally, Art spoke up. “I don’t get it.”
    “He’s Charlie Hanover’s son.” Leah dropped the bomb with a satisfied smirk on her face.
    Art’s smile came back and his hand went out. “Nice to meet you.”
    Leah stepped between the men. “Art, did you hear what I said?”
    The older man glanced over her head and shot Declan a man-to-man look. “Do you have money?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then you’re welcome here.” With a nod and an awkward pat on Leah’s shoulder, Art was off.
    Declan watched the older man return to stacking apples on the display case. Relief flowed through Declan until it clogged his throat. So simple and accepting. He wished he’d run into more people like that in his life.
    He turned back to Leah. “There you go.”
    Silence echoed back at him. She stood there, frozen in the spot, with her hand still in the air. The pickle jar hung from her fingertips. She