“I’m very grateful to you, Marcus,” I said softly, saying his name with the warmth it deserved.

“You kept my home safe when I couldn’t be here.”

Marcus lowered his head in a modest, respectful bow.

“It was my duty and my privilege, ma’am.”

I reached into my linen apron pocket and touched the heavy ring of brass master keys he had handed me when I first came back to Valle de Bravo.

They sat securely in my palm, cold and solid, opening every door, studio, and gate on the sixty acres.

“Will you need the car for your noon meeting in town?” Marcus asked.