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“You’ve lost both your parents?” Sam’s voice is tender.

“My mother a long time ago, my dad more recently.” I touch my claddagh ring, but I don’t say anything about David. I’ve already shared my sad story with Wren. I’m not about to tell some random guy in the middle of the woods the real reason I’m here all on my own. “So, where to next?”

“Looks like the next marker is a few yards past that old barn. That’s where we’ll turn west.”

I look in the direction he’s pointing, daunted by how steeply the land rises. “Mind if we take a break before starting that climb?”

“Good idea.” Sam sits on a fallen log and stretches out his long legs. I make a chair of a mossy rock and drink my water bottle dry. My stomach rumbles so loudly it makes us both laugh.

“Here.” Sam squirts sanitizer on his hands, then tosses me a granola bar he’s conjured from one of his many pockets.

“Thanks.” Suddenly ravenous, I tear it open. “So, is my property passing inspection?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “It’s not like you have to leave it wild, you know. The preservation designation allows for both agricultural and recreational use.”

“Recreation? You mean, like camping?”

“Camping, sure, and farming, too, though the woods along this slope aren’t good for much besides syrup.” He frowns, looking concerned. “A hundred acres is a lot of responsibility for you to take on all by yourself.”

I bristle. “The last owner was a single woman her whole life and she managed just fine.”

“I’m not suggesting you aren’t up for it,” Sam protests. “More power to you, Audrey. It’s just that all this land is counting on you, now, to keep it safe.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. This place is supposed to keep me safe, not the other way around. Standing up, I brush granola crumbs off my jeans. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, sure.” Sam stands, too. It takes some searching to unearth the next marker. Once we do, we put the stream at our backs and start the trek uphill.

“Hey, what’s that?” A silvery glint catches my eye. Venturing ten yards or so into the woods, I find a line of wire strung through eyelets screwed into tree trunks. “Is it a fence, do you think?”

Sam comes over and touches it. “A single strand of baling wire isn’t much of a fence. Besides, your property line’s back that way.”

The line of wire stretches on through the trees until I lose sight of it. “What’s it for, then?”

Sam checks his compass. “I don’t know, but it leads straight to your house.”

“That’s creepy.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. You find all sorts of abandoned things in the woods.”

We walk away from the wire and continue along the boundary. Aside from some more ATV trails, there’s no development in sight.

“Who lives that way?” I ask, pointing north.

“Says on the deed that’s the Sprague farm.”

“Oh, right. My neighbor Joe Sprague was supposed to come mow my lawn yesterday. I didn’t realize he was right next door.”

“There’s about ten acres between your house and his, so not exactly next door.” Sam peers through his binoculars in my neighbor’s direction. “I’m seeing a clearing planted with apple trees. Hunters do that to attract deer. Like I said, you really should post some signs.”

The trees stop abruptly. Up ahead, skinny saplings poke through waves of goldenrod and thistle, bees dancing from wildflower to wildflower.

“I didn’t even know this field was here,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

“It must’ve been a pasture at one time. Anyway, Ridgetop Road’s straight ahead of us.” Sam points off to the left. “Your barn’s over that way.”

“Do we really have to follow the entire boundary?” I ask, swatting at a bothersome gnat.

“Technically, yes, but I can finish up on my own if you want.”