Willow extracted her phone.
“Who are you texting?” Britt asked. As far as she was concerned, her relationship status update could spread via Merryweather’s usual communication channel: avid gossip.
“I’m telling Nora,” Willow answered. “In Fiji. If I don’t immediately pass this news along to her, she might never forgive me. And if she never forgives me, then who’s going to loan me books?”
Near dinnertime that night, Zander waited for Britt.
They’d decided to meet at the bench situated a five-minute walk into the forest behind the Inn at Bradfordwood. Here, the stream stretched into a wide bend. The air smelled of sun-warmed pine needles. Blue lupine colored the opposite bank.
He’d spent a good portion of his life waiting for Britt. However, now that they were together, waiting no longer depressed him. He could easily wait for her here for hours.
He felt like a man who’d been praying for relief from migrainesfor years. And had now, suddenly, been cured. He was without pain. Healthy. Content.
Zander hadn’t been peaceful or trusting in the face of his unanswered prayers about Britt. God had seen fit to answer his prayers anyway. The truth of his faithlessness in comparison to God’s generosity left him both grateful and guilty.
His guilt and the knowledge that God could take Britt away at any moment were the only two things keeping Zander from a sense of complete satisfaction.
He rested the back of his head on the bench, his face slanting to the cloudy sky.
Since Nora’s wedding, he hadn’t told Britt again that he loved her because he knew better than to rush her or pressure her. Dating Britt Bradford was like trying to tame a bobcat. If he gave her any reason to think he wanted to take away her freedom, he’d lose her.
Thus, he was holding a part of himself back verbally. And trying his best to hold a part of his heart back, too. He wasn’t succeeding fully. However, the need to try to protect himself had been ingrained in him. Life had taught him that he needed an insurance policy of some kind, always.
When he heard a twig snap, he straightened.
Britt came into view. The confidence in her stride told him just how at home she was on these acres. A warrior princess in her own territory.
The majority of his life, he’d not lived in a place that he could classify as “home.” But whenever and wherever he was with her, he was understood and accepted.
Her presence was home to him.
She lowered onto the bench and interlaced her hand with his. “I’m bummed that I stood you up for mountain biking. Can I get a rain check on that?”
He pulled their joined hands to him and kissed the back of her hand. “Sure.”
“What did you spend the afternoon doing?”
“Searching Carolyn’s house a second time.”
“Find any paintings by Renoir?”
“None. So then I searched their land. I wondered if maybe Frank could have put the painting in a protective box of some kind and buried it.”
“And?”
“Nothing I saw on the property made me think that’s what happened.”
“Where could he have hidden it?”
“I wish I knew. I can’t imagine where he hid it and neither can Carolyn.”
“We really need to get inside Frank’s cell phone.” She reached out and idly traced his bottom lip with her fingertip.
Playfully, he caught her finger in his teeth.
She shrieked, laughing. Then grew more serious as she watched the pad of her finger graze his jaw, skim down the side of his throat, trace the neckline of his shirt. “I’m lucky to have you.”
“I’m luckier.” He held himself immobile, his heart striking his ribs.
