“I acknowledge that God’s call on my life might be hard for you to understand. But it’s my truth.”
“If you haven’t dated anyone, it has nothing to do with God. It’s because you’re scared.”
They locked eyes. Physical awareness hammered through him. He watched her pulse thrum in her neck.
“It’s my truth,” she repeated stubbornly.
Who did she think she was kidding? He was no stranger to grief.
After what had happened with Ethan, he’d never let himself love anyone. He couldn’t. Because if he lost another person he loved, he knew it would break him. The difference between him and her was that he was man enough to admit that.
Gracefully, she turned toward the barbecue and flipped the veggies.
Smoke rose past the lights strung back and forth above her deck. Past trees alive with breeze. Up beyond, to a pitch-black sky.
She tilted her profile to watch it disappear.
It had been an unusually warm January day, reaching all the way up to a temperature of sixty-five. It was cooler than that now. Goosebumps lined her forearms. “You’re cold,” he said.
“A little.”
“Where’s your coat? I’ll get it for you.”
She gave him directions to her coat closet, and he returned within seconds. He handed her a long pale denim coat with a huge sheepskin collar.
She slipped it on. It appeared two sizes too big. “Thank you.”
He could look at Finley for hours from every angle and still want to look at her longer.
Purposely, he averted his focus to the woods.
“Even when it’s cold, I love it out here.” She went to stand at the edge of her deck. “I practically live in my backyard when the weather’s nice.”
He came to a stop next to her, but not too near.
“Misty River runs right through my property,” she said. “You’ll have to come back in daylight so that you can see how pretty it is.” Wind lifted the edges of her hair. “Listen.”
He heard water rushing over rocks.
“Beautiful, eh?”
He made an affirmative noise.
One minute expanded into the next. “Would you like to see the first treasure hunt clue?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She pulled a piece of paper and a photo from the pocket of the robe and handed them over. He had just enough light to read the note and study the picture.
“The photo was taken,” she said, “at the house where I was raised.”
“Which is where?”
“Near Hartwell. It takes me a little over an hour to drive there.”
“Who owns the house now?”
“I do. Dad kept it while he was in prison. Then I inherited it.”
