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“She wanted to.”

“And thanks for not throwing a punch.”

A reluctant smile pulls at his mouth. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to.”

I mean to go back to the inn, but I end up driving to Taya’s place. I have now talked to everyone I need to before I can face her.

I park in the gravel drive.

Her Wrangler is there. The lights are on inside. It’s eight in the evening, which means she’s probably working.

My nerves scramble as I walk up to the porch steps. I knock.

Nothing.

I knock again and, this time, call out her name.

Still nothing.

“Taya, open up. I know you’re in there.”

“I know you know. Go away.”

Stubborn fucking woman!

“I’m not going away.”

A long pause and then the door opens.

She’s in jeans and a sweater. She has a legal pad in her hand. Her expression holds nothing—but it’s too full to be nothing—but whatever it is, it isn’t welcome.

She looks absolutely beautiful, and my gaze moves over her face. I’ve been starved for her—my body remembers, and something deeper answers.

“Clara texted. Said you went to see her.”

“Yes.”

“Stay away from my client.”

“I owed her an apology. I gave it. I won’t go back without your permission.”

“What do you want?”

“Can we talk?”

She hugs her legal pad close to her and looks me up and down. “Fine, talk.”

“Can we go inside, Taya?”

“You can stand on the porch.” She leans against the frame with her arms folded, her legal pad against her chest, and her chin up. “You’re not a guest.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“About not telling you who I was. For…tanking your preliminary hearing.”

“Did you come to Wildflower Canyon for me?”