“Hi,” she called and then wondered if he would consider her arrival an intrusion. Here she was, invading this space where he’d been working peacefully. But, coming closer, she saw Michel was smiling, and that was a relief.

  “Hi, yourself,” he answered.

  She was standing only a few feet away from him now. “What are you planting?” Not that his answer would mean anything to her.

  “As it happens, I’m replanting, although it’s rather late in the season to be doing this. I’m hoping that all the recent rain will help these little shrubs to take root and grow back into a healthy hedge.”

  She scanned the lumpy stretch of ground in the otherwise featureless field. A long line up of scraggly twigs had been freshly slotted into place, but they looked almost too flimsy to survive. “Because there was a full hedge here before?”

  “Yes. For over eight hundred years, there was. A hedgerow of brambles, ivy, shrubs, clematis, oak trees, hazel trees, and flowering plants. And it provided a healthy, balanced environment for many creatures—dormice, birds, toads, snakes, also invertebrates like beetles, snails, and butterflies.”

Callie dropped her backpack and, uninvited, sat down on the soggy ground not far from where he was digging. She didn’t even own a houseplant, but a banal, normal conversation about twigs, saplings, and small creatures was what she craved at the moment. "Why isn’t there a hedge here now?”

“Because some thirty years ago, the farmer who worked these lands belonging to Froideval ripped it out in order to have larger fields for his agricultural machinery.” 

  “You’re not planning to replace every single lost hedge in the area on your own, are you?”

  “Of course not,” he scoffed. Picking up the small spade, he loosened another patch of earth. “There are thousands of trees and shrubs to replant, and that would be an impossible task for only one person. I’m part of a group of volunteers, and so far we’ve covered many kilometers. ”

  With gentle fingers, he spread the delicate roots of a tiny shrub, tucked it into place in the little hole, then tamped down the moist soil with his palm. Reached for another, and then another.

  She watched silently as he planted, and strangely enough, it was almost a sensual sight. His hands were broad, strong, and deeply tanned from working outdoors; his long fingers were beautifully shaped. And under that denim shirt of his, there was the alluring suggestion of tight sinew and warm, fragrant skin. Bear like? No, not exactly. Something more, something…

  “A penny for your thoughts.” Michel was watching her with those disconcerting eyes of his, very dark, with heavy lids and thick lashes.

  She felt the blush as it traveled upward, flooding her neck, her face. He hadn’t caught what she had been thinking, had he? Perhaps he had. Surely, he’d seen how her gaze had traveled over his hands, his arms, his chest, and shoulders. How incredibly humiliating! What vaguely plausible answer could she give? “Oh…just remembering something.”

  “Ah.” Eyebrows raised in overt amusement, he smirked—rather cockily—then went back to working on the next hole, the next shrub.