The next few days passed in a sweltering haze. Jackson had tracked down someone at head office about the Maple Airlines lease payments, but he was waiting for the reports. In the meantime, Rose wouldn't return his messages.

He lay in bed on Friday night with his phone on his chest, staring out the window and thinking about Rose. The way she'd moved with him up in the treehouse. The softness of her skin. The way her eyes slid half-closed as she cried out. It had been a true communion that had left him trembling, so he wasn't sure why he felt so guilty about it, now.

He toyed with his phone as he considered his impending decision. What if he stood up to his father and chose Rose? Things were different, now. As Dally had said, Dad couldn't keep them apart now that they were adults. So, he didn't know why he was stalling. Every time he envisioned confronting his father, he shied away from taking action.

He looked at the clock. It was just past midnight. With a sigh, he got out of bed, then pulled on a t-shirt and jogging pants. Careful to avoid the steps that creaked, he crept downstairs in the dark.

Outside, the heat of the day had mellowed. The sky was cloudless and filled with stars. Jackson walked down the path toward Bill's cottage, intending to veer off toward the creek. He pulled out his phone to turn on the flashlight, but a bright red ember in front of the cottage made him stop short.

"You're out late." Bill's voice emanated from the darkness.

Jackson put his hand to his chest. "You scared me. I didn't think anyone would be up. Are you smoking?"

Bill chuckled. "It's citronella. I'm trying to ward off the mosquitoes. Have a seat."

Jackson picked his way across the rutted path. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness. He took a seat in the Muskoka chair beside Bill. A small bistro table between them held a burning citronella coil. Its citrusy smoke filled the air.

"How are you feeling lately?" asked Jackson.

"Right as rain." Bill worked his shoulders. "Just about healed."

"Good to hear."

"What are you doing up?" Bill asked. "When you were a boy, you would only sneak out when you were coming to see Rose."

Jackson grimaced. "You knew about that?"

Bill smiled. "A father makes a point to know which windows in the house creak when they open."

Jackson laughed, a blush rising in his cheeks. "And here I thought we'd pulled one over on you."

"Not in the slightest. It was a bit of a pickle, to tell you the truth. You were my employer's son, and it was difficult to discipline you. Rest assured I'd have tanned your hide if you'd done anything untoward with my daughter."

The heat in Jackson's face intensified.

"But I never disapproved of you, Jackson," Bill continued. "You were a good kid. A little cocky, but you had a soft heart and that saved you."

Jackson's throat clogged with emotion. He looked up at the starry sky and breathed deeply.

"What's on your mind?" Bill crossed his ankles and leaned back in his chair. "You've been chewing on something ever since you came home to Dogwood."

Jackson frowned and considered the man's words, but he didn't know what to say.

Home. Sometimes, late at night, his chest would ache, and he was filled a with a formless yearning that was so strong he couldn't breathe. Since coming to Dogwood, the feeling had lessened, but it hadn't gone away entirely. He longed for something, and he could never identify the root.

"I don't know what home means, Bill," he said quietly.

"Perhaps that's a question for you to ponder." Bill leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his chin. "I'm sure it means different things to different people, but for me, home is what I yearn for when I'm away."

"Like a place?"

"Or people."

Jackson clasped his hands in his lap and looked down at his interlaced fingers. "What if the people and places you yearn for—what if you can't have those things?"

"Why can't you have them?"

Jackson spoke slowly. "Say...someone was keeping you from them?"

Bill nodded sagely. "Then I'd say that person was no friend of yours."

"What if it was a parent?" Jackson kept his eyes on his hands.

Bill shifted in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. "That is a dilemma. A parent—let's say a father, like me—provides a place for his children. That is a kind of home. The first home. But when children come of age, a father's duty is to support them as they create a new place for themselves."

Jackson's voice fell to a whisper. "What if they rediscover an old one?"

"You can't control your children forever, Jackson."

Jackson looked up as he digested Bill's words. As he watched, a shooting star arced across the sky over the mountains. He closed his eyes and made a wish. At last, he cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes.

"Thank you, Bill."

"You're welcome, Jackson."

They sat in silence for a time. The night air was filled with the buzz of mosquitoes and the occasional, distant animal noise.

"I missed this place when I wasn't here," Jackson mused quietly. "Maybe you're right about home."

Bill's voice was full of dry humour. "I often am right. It's one of the pleasures of being an old man." He chuckled. "But yes, Dogwood is the jewel of the Rockies. Quaint, quiet. Very different from the city you're used to. It would be a fine place to call home."

Jackson leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. "Maybe. I swear when I came back to Dogwood, I took a breath for the first time in a decade." He stared into the darkness for a moment, thinking, then shook himself. "I should get back to bed. It's late. Thanks for the chat."

Bill nodded. "I think I'll stay up for a while and look at the stars. Goodnight, Jackson. And welcome home."

Jackson pushed himself up out of the chair. He took a few steps, then paused and turned back. Bill had closed his eyes and laced his hands over his belly. The air was thick with citronella smoke. Jackson turned back toward the Creek House. As he walked, the weight of his decision pressed down upon him. It was easy for Bill to say that a father should give up control; he didn't know Jonah McBride. Dad had an iron grip on his children.

But as he mounted the stone steps to the house and put his hand on the door, Jackson paused, listening not to the night sounds but to his own body—to the beating of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears, almost audible in the night's relative quiet. That feeling in his chest was still there. The yearning. But it had lessened somehow, as though Bill's words had chipped away at the weight that bore down on his heart.

He grasped the door handle and pushed the door open slowly, then stood on the steps and stared into the dark house. As he lifted his foot and passed over the threshold, he imagined himself coming back to the Creek House after a hard day's work. Coming home to Rose. Once inside, he closed the door, letting his hand linger on the slab of wood. He smiled, then went upstairs to bed.

He slept hard, not waking until well past dawn. The light of midmorning streamed in through the window, illuminating the band posters on the walls, the Star Wars blanket tangled up in his legs, and the lava lamp on his nightstand. He blinked sleepily at his phone and checked his email. There was a message from Maple Airlines HQ. Jackson thumbed through it. It was the lease information for the past four years. The numbers were meaningless to him, but Rose needed them. He dialed her number, expecting to leave a message.

"Hello," she said. She sounded nervous.

Jackson blinked rapidly and pushed himself to a seated position, the blankets falling away from him. "Rosie."

"Hi, Jackson."

He floundered for something to say. "I—how are you?"

"I'm okay. Just working at Town Hall. How—how are you?"

"Oh, you know. Hanging in there." He rubbed his brow which was suddenly damp with sweat. "Listen, I got those reports you wanted. Can I email them to you?"

"Sure," she said. She rattled off a town of Dogwood email address. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. Hold on a minute." He brought his phone down and sent the report to her while she was still on the line. "There. Should be coming through now."

There was a long pause, then she made a small sound of concern.

"Rosie?"

"I'm here. I'm just...thinking."

"About?" he asked.

She paused again. "The numbers don't match."

Jackson furrowed his brow. "How so?"

Rose spoke slowly, as though she were choosing her words carefully. "Maple Airlines pays a lease to the town. According to your report, the value of the lease has gone up in line with inflation for the past four years. But according to mine..." She took an audible, deep breath. "Look, I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it. Someone has been manipulating the numbers on my end. What you paid is not what the town received." Rose's voice took on an edge. "By the look of your report, that someone has defrauded the town out of tens of thousands of dollars. It's a lot of money, Jackson."

Jackson's skin went cold. "Jesus. Are you serious?"

"Very."

"Do you think it's—"

"Alex Decker." She clucked her tongue. "It has to be. But he couldn't have done it alone."

"Do you think he's in cahoots with someone at the airline?"

She hesitated. "I don't know. I need to involve the RCMP."

"Are you sure?" Jackson's mind raced. "I have to tell Dad."

"Can you keep it under wraps until I've talked to the police?" she asked.

"Why?"

"This necessitates a criminal investigation, and I don't want your father to do anything that might tip off whoever is responsible. We need to act as though nothing is amiss. Bide our time." Her voice hardened. "I want to catch Decker in the act. Between you and me, I'm going to nail this guy to the wall."

Jackson frowned. "I can give you a few days, Rosie, but I can't keep this from Dad forever."

"Just until I've gone down to the station. I'll go today. We can talk to your father tonight. I think I should be there."

"Okay." He rubbed his jaw. "Christ. What a disaster."

"Yeah." She huffed. "Look, I have to get my case together to bring to the cops. Can I come by the house later?"

"Of course, Rosie. Any time."

"Okay." She paused, and her voice softened. "Thank you, Jackson. This is exactly what I needed."

The gratitude in her tone made his chest feel tight.

"You're welcome," he said. "What's mine is yours."

"I'll see you later."

"Looking forward to it."

She hung up, and he let his hand fall. He hoped Rose had things under control. Whatever happened, he would be right there beside her when she brought Decker down.