Maybe she did. He didn't actually know that much about her routines.
"This one's the same as the others." She shifted back on her heels, frowning at the soil sample in her gloved palm. "Looks fine. Smells fine. But there's no life in it."
Corin moved closer to look. She was right. The dirt should have been rich and dark, full of the organic matter he'd been building into these beds for years. Instead it looked dull. Flat.
"Try the one by the fence post," he said. "That's where I first noticed it."
She shifted over, digging carefully with her trowel. He watched her work for a moment before catching himself and turning back to his own section.
His bear had gone quiet.
That was the strange thing. For days now, the animal had been pacing beneath his skin, uneasy and restless, reacting to the wrongness in the land. But this morning, with Chloe working beside him, the pacing had stopped. His bear lay calm and watchful, almost content.
Corin didn't know what to make of that.
"How long have you had this orchard?" Chloe asked without looking up.
"Five years officially. But I've been working it since I was a kid. My grandfather planted the first trees."
"That's a lot of history."
"Yeah." He dug his trowel into the earth, turning over a clump of soil that crumbled too easily in his hands. "Vanes have been on this land for four generations. Bees, orchards, construction. We build things. Tend things."
"And you chose the bees and the trees."
"They chose me, more like." He shrugged, a small movement. "My cousins are better with the building side. I'm better with things that grow."
Chloe glanced over at him. Those green eyes held something he couldn't quite read. "That makes sense."
"Does it?"
"You're patient. Steady." She turned back to her digging. "Plants and bees need that. They don't respond well to people who rush."
They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the squelch of mud and the distant call of crows in the bare apple trees. Corin found himself hyperaware of her presence. The soft rhythm of her breathing. The way she hummed tunelessly whenshe concentrated. The occasional brush of her shoulder against his when they both reached for the same section of fence.
He kept a careful distance. Told himself it was respect. She was here to work, not to be crowded by a bear shifter who didn't know how to make small talk.
"I think the problem's spreading from somewhere," Chloe said, breaking the silence. "Look at the pattern. The beds closest to the property line are the worst. The ones near the barn are almost normal."
Corin stood, brushing mud from his knees, and surveyed the rows she'd indicated. She was right. The gradient was subtle but clear once you knew to look for it.
"There's an old well about a quarter mile that direction." He pointed toward the tree line. "Abandoned years ago. Sealed up before I was born."
"Could something be leaching from it?"
"Maybe. I haven't checked it in a while."
Chloe rose too, peeling off her muddy gloves. Her fingers were red from the cold, and she blew on them before shoving her hands in her coat pockets. "We should look. If there's contamination in the groundwater, that would explain why the soil tests normal but the plants are still struggling."
"Could be worth a look," he agreed. "Not today, though. Temperature's dropping again tonight. Ground will be frozen solid by morning."
"Tomorrow, then? Or the day after?"
"I'll let you know when it thaws enough to dig."
She nodded, and something in her expression relaxed. Like she'd been bracing for him to refuse.
Why would he refuse? She was smart, observant, and she understood plants in a way most people didn't. Having her help made sense.
