Spring wasn’t ready to dance here in the High Country, but from what she could see, it had begun to tap its foot.

She wanted the town first. Scenic had big points, but for whatever to turn into the what’s-next, she needed those practicalities, a client base, a demand for her supply.

She saw quickly the lake itself held the center—and that made sense. Docks, a marina, shops catering to those who wanted the water—to sail, to swim or paddle, to perch on little strips of beach, or to fish.

Outdoorsy shops for the hiker, the sportsman. Arty shops, gift shops, restaurants, a couple of pretty hotels. Businesses, she noted, that looked as if they held their own.

People strolled the sidewalks or walked briskly. More wandered the marina docks. A few boats skimmed that blue lake.

And homes, for those who lived right in the center. More homes for those who wanted a little distance from the businesses.

Homes with yards, homes on sloping hills with shade trees and ornamental shrubs budded up and waiting, just waiting to dance into spring.

A quiet place, certainly compared to where she’d lived her life, but not sleepy. The lake, the hills, those mountains, the woods would draw tourists, and that was fine. But tourists weren’t her target.

She weaved through a development—Lakeview Terrace. Big houses, fancy houses, the biggest and fanciest of them with a clear view of the lake from generous backyards.

It held its own little park, a small playground.

She drove out, began to round the water on the lake road.

Houses—some from what she’d read would have started their life as summer homes. She supposed a few still lived for summer or holiday goers. And some seemed built right into the rise of hill—lots of glass to bring in the view, jagging decks for sitting out on pretty days and nights.

What she could do if let loose on those fascinating, rocky, rising grounds!

Some traffic on the road, but not thick or impatient, and that was good, too. She saw a man in a red cap fishing off the end of a dock. A pier? Was there a difference?

A woman with a baby in one of those front packs—chubby little legs dangling out. She walked a big black dog on a leash. Darby glanced back at them through her rearview mirror as the woman unclipped the leash.

The big dog streaked to the lake, leaped into the air, landed with a splash. Charmed, slowing so she could watch the dog swim like an otter, she nearly missed the sign for Walker Lakeside Bungalows reception.

The road narrowed at the turnoff, went to gravel, and the woods snuck in closer. She had a moment to think it was its own private magic land—or the classic set for slasher murders—when she came to a neat bungalow, with the Lakeside reception sign.

It had a porch with a couple of rocking chairs, a table between, a walkway through a patch of front yard that looked more like weeds than grass, but neatly mowed.

She saw lights behind the windows and a curl of smoke from the chimney.

“Here we go,” she murmured, grabbed her shoulder bag, and climbed out of the car.

She walked up the gravel path—slate, she thought, it should be slate with Irish moss growing in the joints—up to the porch, where she imagined azaleas in pink—very traditional—softening the foundation, and mixed pots flanking the doorway, with plantings to reflect the season.

She started to knock, saw the sign that read, COME RIGHT ON IN, so she did.

A woman sat at a long, glossy table working at a computer while a fire simmered in a stone hearth. She had dark hair layered nearly to her shoulders. Emily Walker Keller looked very much like the picture on the website.

Attractive, Darby thought, maybe late forties, dressed in jeans, a navy sweater, good boots.

She looked up as Darby closed the door. The big brown dog sleeping under the table opened amber eyes, thumped its tail.

“Hi. Darby McCray?”

“Yes.”

“Emily Keller. Welcome to Lakeside.”

She rose, walked over with a hand extended. Her eyes, sharp and green as a cat’s, added welcome, and a quick appraisal. “How was your trip?”

“Oh. Illuminating.”

Since the dog wandered over to sniff at her boots, tail still swinging, Darby reached down to pet its head.

“Rufus is part of the welcoming committee.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“He’s a good boy. How about some coffee or tea, or a soft drink, before we tackle the paperwork?”

“A soft drink would be great. Coke or Pepsi if you have it.”

“I can handle that. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll be right back.”

“Actually, I’ve been sitting awhile. Is it okay if I look around, walk around?”

“Sure. You can come back with me if you want.”

A hall led back from the front office to a storage room where sheets, towels, blankets lined shelves. Salt and pepper mills, coffeepots, teakettles, toasters, blenders, glassware, plates, flatware.

Another room held cleaning supplies—buckets, mops, brooms, vacuum cleaners, big jugs of cleaners, a neat stack of rags.

“You’re very organized,” Darby observed.

“Otherwise, chaos. We don’t want that for our guests.”

She led the way into a kitchen. On the small side, but fully equipped with another long table.

“This is our break room–slash–meeting room.” As she spoke, Emily got glasses from a cupboard, filled them with ice from an under-the-counter machine. “Your housekeeper will service your bungalow between nine and eleven every morning. If you prefer earlier or later, just let us know.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“We stocked your cabin with the supplies you checked off the list. We can take care of resupplying if you put in an order, give us three hours’ notice. You’ll also get information in your welcome packet on groceries, restaurants, activities, hiking trails.”

Darby walked to the window overlooking a concrete patio as Emily poured Coke over ice. Slate, she thought again. It should be slate, mortared joints. Pots of flowers, maybe a trellis for a climber.

“Since you’re here for a month, I imagine you’ll do some exploring.”

Darby turned back, took the offered drink. “Thanks. Yes, I’m going to explore. I saw a woman with a baby in one of those…” She juggled a hand in front of her. “And a big black dog. He jumped right in the water to swim. It was so happy.”

“Well, how ’bout that? You saw my niece, Britt, and our baby girl, Audra, and their fish disguised as a dog, Molly.”

“So you have family, right here.”

“I do. Britt and her husband, Silas, the baby. And my nephew’s coming home. Zane’s lived and worked in Raleigh since college. It’ll be good to have him home. And I have two boys—teenagers.” She gave an eye roll.

“It’s nice.” The little twist in Darby’s heart didn’t hurt quite as much as it had. “It’s nice to have family.”

“It is, even though sometimes my husband and I end our day shell-shocked from teenage angst. And you’re from the Baltimore area. Your family’s there?”

“No. It was me and my mother. She died last year.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. It’s beautiful here. I pored over your brochure, and soaked up all I could on the internet, but you still don’t know exactly what to expect. It’s beautiful.”