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you think you’re doing?” she shouted.
    The man dropped the stick and whirled around, the frown replaced by a look of astonishment. “I could ask you the same question, lady,” he barked.
    â€œI own this place, and you’re trespassing. You need to leave before I call the police.”
    â€œCall them on what? There’s no phone up here.”
    Why did bluffing work in books and movies, but never in real life? “What are you doing here?” she asked.
    â€œI came to check on the place, make sure everything was all right.” He took a few steps toward her.
    She held out the stick of kindling. “Don’t come any closer.”
    He glanced at the wood, which, come to think of it, was pretty thin, and seemed to be fighting back a smile. But he stopped moving toward her. “You said you own this place?” he asked. “Who sold it to you?”
    â€œNo one sold it to me. I inherited it from my father.”
    All humor vanished from the man’s face. “I knew the owner of this place and he never said a word about any daughter,” he said. “So try telling the truth this time.”
    Maggie didn’t know whether to be more upset that this stranger was accusing her of lying, or that maybe he was telling the truth about her father never mentioning her. “Jacob Murphy was my father,” she said. “He and my mother split up when I was still a baby, but he left me everything he had in his will. If you don’t believe me, go talk to Reggie Paxton.”
    Blinking back tears, she turned and headed toward the front door.
    The stranger was on her with lightning speed. He grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the door. Maggie screamed and lashed out, and he stepped back so quickly she stumbled.
    â€œHey, it’s okay,” he said, holding both hands up as if to ward off a blow. “I didn’t mean to scare you. And I’m sorry I accused you of lying. You just startled me is all. I didn’t expect to find anyone up here.”
    â€œThought you’d be free to snoop around, didn’t you?” she said. “Maybe help yourself to whatever you wanted.”
    â€œHey, I said I was sorry for calling you a liar. No need for you to accuse me of being a thief.”
    â€œThen what are you doing up here, especially this time of night?”
    â€œI was on my way back from Telluride and thought I’d swing by and make sure everything was all right. And I was thinking about Murph, missing him. I thought it would be good to come up here and remember a bit.”
    He was a very good actor or was telling the truth. Maggie relaxed a little. Up close, the man was a little older than she’d first taken him for—early thirties, maybe. “What’s your name?”
    â€œJameso Clark.”
    â€œI’m Maggie Stevens.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Maggie.” He offered his hand, still clad in fingerless leather riding gloves.
    His hand was big and warm, the leather soft against her palm. She tried to remember the last time she’d been this close to a man, and couldn’t. She reluctantly slid from his grasp. “Hello, Jameso.”
    He peered into her face. “I can see the resemblance to Murph now. You’ve got his eyes.”
    â€œI do?” Her mother had never mentioned she looked like her father, but then, her mother never talked much about Jacob Murphy, at least not until the end. And then those ramblings had been focused on the past—on a time before Maggie existed.
    â€œI’m sorry for your loss,” Jameso said.
    â€œThank you. But I really didn’t know him. You two were friends?”
    â€œYes and no.”
    The cryptic answer puzzled her. Was he her father’s friend or wasn’t he? But before she could probe further, he put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s getting cold out here. Why don’t we go inside.”
    â€œIt’s not much warmer in the