Two days later, Rose was sequestered in her office poring over paperwork. She'd read the same paragraph three times. Her eyes felt grainy, and not just from reading fine print. Every time she stopped and let her mind roam freely, she started to cry. She couldn't stop replaying Jackson's father's words. He may as well have told her directly, You're not good enough to marry my son.

Marry Jackson!

The injustice of it made her burn. If she'd ever wanted to get married, she would have. It just wasn't on her radar. She wasn't going to end up like her mother. But to be so thoroughly dismissed by Jackson's father cut deeply. She had come from a humble home, but she was not now, nor had she ever been, ashamed of her beginnings.

"Mayor?" A knock sounded at her door.

Rose blinked rapidly before looking up. Jas stood in the open doorway.

"Yes, Jas?" She regarded the receptionist politely and hoped her eyes weren't too puffy.

Jas hitched her shoulders and made a face. "You're needed at the front."

Rose sighed heavily. "It's Mr. Decker, isn't it?"

"And friends."

Rose straightened the packet of papers on her desk, then stood wearily. "I'm on my way."

She followed Jas into the front office and found Decker standing at the counter tapping his fingers on the stained oak. Rose sagged for a moment before she could stiffen her spine. He wasn't alone, and she was too exhausted to deal with it. Two men and a woman stood with him. The burly Fontaine brothers, to his right, owned a mechanic shop out on the highway. Doris Danforth, to Decker's left, was a former town councillor. Each of them had campaigned for Decker in the last election.

"Mr. Decker," Rose said, keeping her tone even. "What can I do for you today?"

Decker leaned over the counter. "I've a bone to pick with you, Rose."

She lifted her chin. "You're welcome to make an appointment. I'm very busy, and—"

"This is urgent." His tone was snide. "Myself, and these concerned citizens behind me, would like very much to know why Jonah McBride is in Dogwood."

Rose suppressed a scowl. Did he have some sort of lookout at the airport who alerted him whenever one of the McBrides touched down on town property?

"As I've said before, they're just visiting," she said levelly.

Decker sniffed. "That's convenient."

Rose scrunched up her face. "I'm not sure what your issue is, Mr. Decker. You're going to have to speak plainly."

He tilted his head and looked down his nose at her. "I shouldn't be surprised that you don't know what's going on in your own district. You've been distracted, haven't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Rose asked sharply.

"Some might even say you're out of touch."

Rose gritted her teeth. "I'm well aware of the goings-on in Dogwood. If you have something to say about me and the McBrides, say it."

Decker narrowed his eyes and paused for too long. "You're compromised. You should recuse yourself immediately."

"From what? There are no requests before the town right now that pertain to the airport. If there were, I would know. No permits, no developments, nothing."

Decker furrowed his brow. "Then you truly don't know why the McBrides are here?"

Rose barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

He smiled in a way that didn't reach his eyes. "I knew you were too close to that youngest one. I knew you couldn't handle it. You were never fit for the job, and I'll make sure the whole town knows it."

Rose straightened, searching for every inch of height. "Mr. Decker, I'm going to ask you to leave. If you'd like to make an official delegation to the town, you're quite welcome to, but I won't stand here for insults." She folded her arms. "It's time to leave, Alex, before I call security." She shifted her gaze to the Fontaine brothers and Mrs. Danforth. "If the rest of you have something to say, then say it. Otherwise, you know where to find the door."

Mrs. Danforth's face was pinched, as though she smelled something unpleasant.

She looked Rose up and down. "I hope you're prepared for the next council meeting, Mayor."

Decker turned his head to her sharply. "That's enough, Doris." He smiled at Rose mirthlessly. "We'll be back."

Rose quirked a brow as the foursome started toward the door. Decker leaned in and spoke in Mrs. Danforth's ear. When the door closed behind them, and she could see them disperse to their cars through the glass, Rose let her arms fall to her sides and sagged against the counter.

"Mayor Whitfield? Are you okay?"

Rose pushed away from the counter with her mouth set pensively. "I'm fine, Jas, thank you. If Mr. Decker shows up again, call me. If I'm not here, call security. You understand?"

Jas nodded. "Yes, Mayor."

Rose's mouth turned down as she strode out of the front office and into the back. She stopped in front of the array of filing cabinets that lined the wall. Her brow furrowed as she rubbed her jaw. Something about the interaction didn't sit right with her.

Rose was prepared for the next council meeting. She'd made sure of it, since it was only her second one since becoming mayor. But Mrs. Danforth had implied otherwise. It was strange.

She turned and walked down the hall toward the finance department. She hadn't been mayor long enough to know the finance team well, but the accounting clerk had always seemed kind enough. It wouldn't hurt to pop in and ask a few questions about the budget.

As she lifted her hand to knock on the clerk's door, Rose paused. Maybe Decker was right. Maybe she was out of her depth. She huffed and shook her head, then lifted her hand again. Alex Decker could take a hike. A long one. Rose was a good mayor. She'd been preparing for it her whole life.

As she brought her knuckles down, her phone rang in her back pocket. It was her father.

She brought the phone to her ear. "Dad?"

His voice sounded strained. "Rose, my love. I need a favour."

"Of course. What is it?"

"I'm at the hardware store. I bent over to pick up a length of hose." He gasped. "My back—"

Rose groaned. "Stay where you are. I'll be right over."

As she hurried out to her car, she filed Decker away in her mind. She would deal with him later.

***

Jackson had been up in the treehouse for hours. As he sat with his legs stretched out, the sun baked the plywood wall at his back. He stared at his palms, at the lifelines etched into his skin, strong and unbroken. If only his hands held the answer.

He and Rose had worked so hard on the treehouse that summer when they'd turned twelve. Neither of them had known anything about building, but she had been stubbornly determined, and Jackson would have done anything to please her. He'd surprised himself with his own capabilities. For the first—and possibly only—time in his life, he'd built something from scratch.

Shame made his face burn. How had he just stood there the other day while his father insulted her? Hadn't he learned a few things since coming back to Dogwood? He should have said something. He should have stood up for himself—for both of them. Maybe he wasn't the man he'd hoped to be, after all. The kind of man who built things up instead of tearing them down.

A gentle wind buffeted the walls, and the treehouse creaked as the cottonwood branches swayed. Jackson breathed in the scent of old wood and dust, then coughed lightly into his hand and sighed. He wasn't going to solve his problems with Rose up here. He got to his feet, then lowered himself down the ladder. He jumped lightly to the ground, dusted off his hands, and looked up at the treehouse. It was a lot like his relationship with Rose. He hadn't tended to it, and it had fallen into disrepair. It had been abandoned.

As he pondered the plywood walls, he wondered if he could fix it, but he wasn't sure if he was thinking about the treehouse or...something else.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he turned away from the cottonwood and started back toward the house, following the winding creek by rote. He'd been besotted with Rose as a boy, and his feelings were no different now. In fact, now they were stronger than ever, because he was old enough do something about it.

Like his relationship with Rose, he couldn't let the treehouse fall to ruin. He just couldn't. Suddenly, fixing their childhood project seemed vital. He picked up his pace as he neared the Creek House, the gears in his brain starting to grind faster as he formed a plan. When he got inside, Denny and Dally were in the foyer putting on their shoes.

"Where are you going?" asked Jackson.

Dally spoke as he slipped into his loafers. "Into town. We're not going to find wives here at the Creek House."

"Unlike some people," Denny chimed in with a smirk.

Jackson narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Ha, ha. Where's Dad?"

Dally answered. "He's in the dining room. Working." He scrunched up his face. "Maybe you should come with us, Jackson. Let Dad alone."

"Yeah," Jackson muttered. "Can you drop me off at the hardware store? Maybe we should rent another car so we're not all packing into that Taurus like a troupe of circus clowns."

Denny smirked. "Got places to be?"

Jackson shrugged and looked away.

Denny rolled his eyes and held up his hands. "No need to elaborate, Red. I know you like your secrets."

They piled into the car with Jackson in the backseat as usual. He rested his elbow on the door and stared out the window as the cedar and spruce flew by. Denny turned the AC on full blast. The day was a hot one with no sign of the wildlife that usually populated the Dogwood backroads. Any animal with sense was probably headfirst in a cold creek right now.

Downtown Dogwood was busy, with all the parking spaces full but few people actually out on the street. The cafés were jam-packed—as was anywhere else with air conditioning. If Jackson recalled correctly, sometimes the town shut down early on days like this so everyone could go down to the river and cool off, though some of the more earnest outdoorspeople were likely to seek out shade by going on a long hike in the mountains. Just thinking about it reminded him of his wild boyhood wanderings with Rose.

Denny slowed the car and double-parked outside the hardware store.

"You want us to come in with you?" he asked.

Jackson shook his head as he climbed out of the car. "I'll call you when I'm done."

Denny shrugged. "Suit yourself. Come on, Dalton, let's go down to the river. It's too damn hot for whatever Jackson's getting up to."

Dally murmured agreement. Jackson waved them off before sauntering into the store. It was blessedly cool inside. He wandered the aisles, looking for tools and two-by-fours, nails, and more, before he realized he would need a cart. As he strode to the front of the store by the cashiers, he almost bumped into someone.

"Hup, watch yourself there, son."

Jackson blinked. It was Herman Huang, looking much the same as he had when Jackson and Rose were children. He was standing at the end of an aisle with a pricing gun in his grip.

"I didn't see you there," Jackson said. "I'm sorry."

Mr. Huang looked him up and down, then squinted at Jackson's face. "I know that hair. You're the McBride boy."

Jackson ducked his head, suddenly nervous. "Yes. Uh, good to see you, Mr. Huang."

The man hitched up his pants. His hair was greyer than when Jackson had seen him last, and there were deeper lines around his mouth, but his gaze was as knowing as ever.

"I haven't seen you since you were yea high," said Mr. Huang, holding up his hand around chest-height.

Jackson smiled wryly. "Well, I never did grow much taller."

Mr. Huang's severe face broke into a smile. "I know the feeling. What brings you to Dogwood?"

"Just visiting."

"Have you seen Rose? I recall you two were thick as thieves, once." Mr. Huang grinned wryly. "Emphasis on the thieves."

Jackson's face flamed. "I can pay for anything we, uh, borrowed."

Mr. Huang waved him off. "Nonsense. It's long since been written off. But I'll take you're your money today. What are you here for?"

"Just some things for a project. I need lumber, a few tools." Jackson scratched his head. "And a truck to move it with, I guess."

"I'll deliver it." Mr. Huang dug into his pocket and came up with a stub of yellow pencil and a small, spiral-bound notebook. "Write down everything you need. I'll have it transported out to the house."

Jackson took the pencil and notebook, his voice warming with gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Huang."

Mr. Huang hitched up his already high trousers. "You're welcome. Good to see you, Jackson."

A lump formed in Jackson's throat. He nodded to Mr. Huang, then trotted off down the aisle toward the lumber yard out back. As he walked, he took a steadying breath. It was impossible to reconcile Dogwood sometimes. He felt simultaneously welcome and unwelcome, one of the family and a total outcast.

He traipsed around the whole store, writing down items and prices. The list was lengthy. He wasn't entirely certain he needed all of it, but it seemed better to be prepared. When he gave the notebook to Mr. Huang at the front counter, the man eyed the list speculatively, nodding his head as he read.

"I'll have it delivered to the house tonight, Jackson."

"Thank you."

"Make sure you go find some shade." Mr. Huang smiled at him. "It's a hot one." His eyes slid past Jackson to something behind him. "Well, this is lucky! It's Mayor Whitfield."

Jackson froze.

"Rose!" Mr. Huang beckoned to her.

Jackson's mouth went dry. "Mr. Huang, maybe it's best if—"

"Rose, look who it is."

Jackson clenched his teeth. "If you don't mind, I—"

"Here she comes." Mr. Huang gestured past Jackson. "Mayor Whitfield, isn't this a reunion!" He chuckled. "I hope you two aren't colluding to relieve me of my product. I have my eye on you both."

Jackson felt her presence without even turning to see her, like a sunbeam, warm against his back. He twisted to look. Rose stood behind him with a length of garden hose in her hand, a look of abject torture on her face.

"Hello, Mr. Huang," she said, her voice strained.

"Did you know Jackson was in town?" Mr. Huang carried on obliviously. "Jackson, Rose is our new mayor. And doing a fine job. We're very proud."

Jackson twisted the stub of pencil in his fingers, looking back and forth between Rose and Mr. Huang. "Yes, I had heard that. Uh—congratulations, Rose."

She furrowed her brow at him.

Jackson tried to swallow and only succeeded in making a strange gurgling noise in the back of his throat.

"Good to see you again," he managed.

Rose's eyes were too bright in the fluorescent lights. She looked as though she wanted to cry. Her mouth twisted sadly, and she looked away. Jackson's stomach dropped. Hell if he was he going to make Rose cry in front of the townspeople. He slapped the pencil down on the counter, startling Mr. Huang.

"Thanks for your help." Jackson dug out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Mr. Huang looked at him, then at Rose, with growing concern.

"I'll need to invoice you," he said slowly, "for an order this large. Rose? What do you say I put that on your father's charge account? No need for you to stick around."

Jackson twisted to look at her. She visibly wilted with relief.

"Thank you," she said, voice hoarse. "I—I need to..."

She trailed off and glanced at Jackson with raw hurt in her eyes, then fled. Jackson stood rooted to the spot as guilt turned his insides to lead.

"Mr. McBride?" Mr. Huang's voice was gruff.

Jackson turned to face him. The man's wry grin was gone, replaced by a stern-set mouth and considering gaze.

Jackson slid his card across the counter, then said quietly, "Charge it. Whatever the cost. I don't care."

Mr. Huang picked up his card and frowned. "I'll need a moment."

"That's fine." Jackson couldn't help the stiffness in his voice. He felt like the lowest of the low, and it was taking all his strength to keep his emotions in check. "The price doesn't matter. I'll...I'll pay it."

As the hardware store owner took his card and went over to the computer, Jackson sagged against the till and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe this was a dumb idea. It was just a treehouse. A childhood fancy. Maybe he should leave and never come back. It might be easier on Rose.

But his father was here, and Denny and Dally, too. Leaving without them wouldn't do much for Rose's pain. And he couldn't leave her again. Not like this. He opened his eyes and stared bleakly out the window at the blazing sun. He had to stay. He could fix this. He just needed the right tools.