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After Violet’s death and the subsequent discovery of her betrayal, the world had narrowed to a series of dull, survivable days.

Felicity Graham had been a distraction. Nothing more.

He’d returned to active service out of habit. Out of duty. Maybe out of sheer stubbornness. It didn’t take long to realize the drive was gone. He filed for retirement soon after. When Nate had offered him a position at Fischer Construction, Ronan had jumped at it.

A fresh start.

A way to keep an eye on Ruth and her kids.

Why he felt a sense of responsibility toward Harlan’s widow he couldn’t say. He only knew it was there, steady and unshakeable.

Clearbrook wasn’t supposed to include the bristly deputy.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he’d known they might run into each other. What he hadn’t anticipated was her resentment.

Or the unsettling truth that it thrilled him.

For the first time since Vi’s death, he felt alive.

Challenged.

And if there was one thing a Murphy never did, it was shy away from a challenge.

Finding out why she resented his presence had just become a personal mission. “Game on, Deputy.”

He turned to face the house. “And you’re another challenge.”

When he’d made up his mind to move here, renting had never even crossed his mind. Hence the old Victorian. It was solid. Enduring. It had withstood the elements for more than a hundred years.

It was something he could sink his teeth into. Discover its secrets. Something that would give him satisfaction when he brought it back to life.

It deserved nothing less.

Like Felicity Graham?

“You’ve secrets, too, don’t you? Stuff you’ve hidden under layers of swagger and deflection. I’d wager there’s a kind, compassionate woman buried beneath that hard shell.”

“Law, pretty sure that talking to yourself is a sign of insanity,” a voice scoffed. “Makes me rethink hiring you.”

Ronan snapped around.

Nate Fischer stood mere feet away, a big-ass grin splitting his face. His grin faded, expression sobering. “I hope it’s not Deputy Delilah you’re discussing. I noticed her pull away. That woman’s trouble.”

Deputy Delilah.

The nickname grated more than it should have.

But he said nothing.

Commenting would only invite questions. Ones he didn’t have answers to.

Ronan moved toward the U-Haul. “You come to help unload, or just critique my mental health?” He could manage the boxes just fine, but the heirloom his mother had insisted he take was another story altogether.

Nate eyed the hulking oak dresser strapped in the far corner. “Hell’s bells, Law. What is that thing? Planning to barricade the place?”

“My grandmother’s sideboard,” Ronan said evenly.

Nate let out a low whistle. “That thing’s older than both of us combined.”