Warmth flushed across the skin of her chest, neck, face. There was much that had gone unspoken between them. But this—their physical chemistry—was a mighty communication all its own. It was as if their souls and bodies had already settled on things their words had not.
She tugged the piece of hair away, sliding it over a shoulder. “I say this is where we dig.”
“I agree.”
She created a marker by stacking two stones on top of each other on the spot. “Do you want to start now? Or do you think it still makes the most sense to wait until its darker?”
“I’d like to wait until it’s darker.”
“Fine by me.” They sat, snacking on the food, chatting, joking, and doing what she and her dad had once done—watching the sunset. It wasn’t a bright marmalade color this time. It was mellower. Dusky blues and warm golds.
She leaned her head against Luke’s shoulder. He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.
“I learned the name of this mountain when I was looking at the online map,” she told him.
“Yeah?”
“Before white settlers arrived, a terrible war was waged near here between the Cherokee and the Creek tribe. Because of it, they called the site of the war Slaughter Gap and this place Blood Mountain.”
“Happy story.”
“The history behind the name of the lake isn’t any more cheerful. Legend has it that a Native American princess named Trahlyta was gifted with beauty from a spring. She was kidnapped by a rejected suitor. As soon as he took her away from the magical spring, she began to lose her beauty. In the end, the rejected suitor promised to bury her back here in her homeland. Down below, people leave stones on what is said to be her grave for good luck.”
“How’s a person supposed to get lucky by placing a stone on the grave of a very unlucky person?”
“Legends aren’t known for their logic.”
The sun slipped behind the mountains, shooting its dying rays against the underbellies of the clouds. Opaque air crept over the rising and dipping Blue Ridge Mountains.
Luke stood and pulled his shovel free. She did the same. He motioned toward the ground where she’d left the stacked stones. “Do you want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” She wedged the sharp edge of the shovel into the dirt. It didn’t delve very far. The elements had hardened the earth of this exposed ledge.
They got into a rhythm, taking turns shoveling, pausing every now and then to rest. Her shoulders were already complaining, and they’d only dislodged a circle about a foot wide and a few inches deep.
When the hole grew to six inches deep, they added headlamps. By the time full darkness arrived and stars began to wink in the ebony above, they paused for more water and an additional layer of clothing. A plum-colored fleece for her. A padded black vest for him.
“How much deeper do you think we’ll need to dig?” she asked.
“I don’t think your dad would’ve buried it more than a foot belowground. But I’m not sure.”
“I hope we chose the correct place to dig. It’s going to be grueling if we have to shovel more than one hole.”
“I’m not sad that I didn’t become an archaeologist.”
They set the flashlights on boulders so that their beams pointed at the dig site, then continued. Night sounds pressed close—the low foghorn call of a bullfrog, the song of an owl.
Their hole was now about ten inches deep. What if someone had come upon this area shortly after Dad had been here, seen freshly turned earth, and gone digging out of curiosity? Maybe a stranger had already taken the item that had once been here. Or maybe the nameless, faceless person Dad regarded as a threat had figured out the hunt and beaten them to it—
The clashing sound of metal striking metal rose from the tip of Luke’s shovel.
Their eyes met.
Her pulse burst into a gallop.
“Did you just ... hit something?” she whispered, questioning the obvious.
“I did.”
