“An apple orchard?”

He nodded. “An apple orchard.”

Spenser laughed. “Okay, at the risk of sounding repetitive… but why?”

“I’m going to start a hard cider business,” he replied. “I’m doing some research now to find the best apples to make it with, but I’ve got a few ideas already.”

“Hard cider, huh?”

“Hard cider,” he replied. “Small batch, limited reserve stuff.”

“But… why?”

Ryker laughed as he spun around and pulled her into a tight embrace. He slipped his arms around her waist and gave her a gentle peck on the lips, looking into her eyes with a gleam of pure affection that made her heart swell.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you can sound like a bratty five-year-old sometimes?”

Spenser grinned. “Yeah. You did. That was yesterday, in fact.”

“Well, it’s still true.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“There’s that.”

Ryker gave her another kiss and let her go as he turned back to watch the men and machinery working in the field. They stood in silence for a couple of minutes before Spenser turned to him.

“Seriously, what’s with this cider deal? Getting out of the coffee business?” she asked.

“Not at all. But it’s humming along well enough on its own, and I kind of feel like I want to do something new.”

“Ahhh. Got bored being at the top of the coffee mountain and need a new challenge, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, I’m sure this will be as successful as your coffee house.”

“I hope so,” he said. “I’ve still got a lot to learn, but I’m looking forward to it.”

Ryker was the kind of man who always needed a new mountain to climb. It was therapeutic for him and helped him keep his demons at bay. It was a little obsessive and perhaps not the healthiest thing per se, but it was still miles better than how she’d seen so many others cope with their issues.

“Well, I certainly look forward to enjoying the fruits of your labors,” Spenser said.

“It’s going to be a while. I need to plant the trees. They need to grow—”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Ryker slipped his arms around her waist again and pulled her close. “Good answer.”

He gave her another kiss, setting off a swarm of butterflies in her belly and a flutter through her heart. She leaned her head against his chest, relishing the safety she felt in his arms. When she was with Ryker, she was more present and, in the moment than she felt when she wasn’t.

As she listened to his heart beating steadily and solidly in his chest, though, she thought about her last words, “I’m not planning on going anywhere.” She wasn’t planning on it, but Rafe Johansen was certainly planning on making sure she did. As she recalled her conversation with the man coming for her job, Spenser tensed up, dulling that warm glow she was wrapped up in. Still holding her around the waist, Ryker looked down at her, concern flashing through his milk chocolate-colored eyes.

“Hey, what’s up? You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Something’s bothering you,” he replied.

“It’s nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. I can see it all over your face,” he said. “What happened? Spill it.”

Spenser looked out at a large machine moving a massive pile of earth as it smoothed and flattened a section of ground in preparation for the trees Ryker would eventually be planting. Her mind churned with what seemed like ten thousand thoughts. It was an incoherent jumble of notions and memories cascading through her head so hard, it was giving her a migraine.

“Tell you what,” Ryker said. “Let’s both go get cleaned up and go out. You can fill me in on what’s going on over drinks and some food.”

Spenser sighed. “You always know how to make me smile.”

“Of course I do. It’s one of my many talents,” he replied and tipped her a wink.

They shared a laugh as they headed for the main house hand in hand.

“He’s obviously trying to get under your skin,” Ryker said.

“That’s the problem. It’s working.”

“He’s nothing. The people around here—the people who matter—know everything you’ve done for this town. They like and respect you, Spenser.”

“Some of them. But definitely not all of them.”

He smiled. “You’re never going to get one hundred percent of the vote. I really hope you didn’t think you would.”

“No, but right now I don’t feel like I’m going to get a majority either. There’s no way I can compete with Johansen’s money. Or his name recognition. Sad to say, but both those things are keys to winning elections.”

“Run a lot of political campaigns, have you?”

The corner of Spenser’s mouth quirked upward. “Not since eighth grade when I ran for class president.”

“Yeah? How’d that turn out?”

“I got crushed.”

Ryker laughed heartily, picked up his wine glass, and swallowed it. He’d taken her to the Sweetwater Fish Grill, a relatively new spot in town. The restaurant had a distressed wharf motif with a lot of weathered wood and exposed brick that was a little campy. It was dimly lit with faux gas lanterns and decorated with old nets, gaffs, and other equipment you’d find on a fishing boat. The décor was a bit hokey, but luckily for them, the food was pretty good.

“Well, the first thing you need to find is a campaign manager. Somebody who can do all the worrying for you,” Ryker said.