“Okay, but while we’re here, you should probably continue looking at the remaining items.”
“Why?”
“Because what if there’s more than one item here with a connection to your dad? Your dad was a railroad guy, and this is a railroad museum.”
She shook her head, a grin transforming her face. “No need. I’m certain this is what he wanted me to find. If you knew how many times we’d sung this song together, you’d understand.”
“But—”
She walked toward the exit doors.
On the drive back to Misty River, Finley played several renditions of “Pat Works on the Railroad” for him. The song was old-timey, catchy, and Irish. Something about a cravat and a straw hat. Britches and whiskey. Lots of “working on the railway.”
Finley hummed along the first few times, then started singing. She wasn’t a trained singer, but she wasn’t bad, either. Her voice was low and sweet andwhy had he been forced into such close proximity with her?
Finley looked like a cross between a Disney princess and an extra in a movie about Woodstock, but she was deceptively strong. A miracle worker with dogs. Someone who refused to quit. It was as if light loved her... . It seemed to gather within her so that she glowed.
Surely, Ed couldn’t have imagined that Luke had enough self-control to withstand this many hours with Finley. Luke’s defenses were high. But not high enough.
“Sing with me!” she encouraged.
“Not on your life.”
They reached her cabin in the bronze hours of late afternoon. She waited for him on her front step before unlocking the door. Finley’s pug greeted her with excitement. Inside her office, the hedgehog woke and scurried over to them inside its cage. If hedgehogs could smile, hers was smiling.
“This is it.” She stopped before the piece of art hanging on the wall to the side of her desk. Her dad had done a good job of pegging her style. Colorful lettering in a modern font covered the poster-sized rectangle. Delicately, she lifted the artwork from its hook and turned it around. Nothing out of the ordinary about the back of the piece. No envelope taped to the smooth foam board.
Discouraging.
“Don’t be discouraged,” she said, reading his mind. After placing the art facedown on her desk, she used a pair of scissors to pry up the metal tabs holding the backing in place. When she’d freed three sides, she slowly tilted up the board ... and revealed a white envelope withFor Finleywritten across the front.
Her breath caught. “Good Lord above.” With a half-laugh, half-squeal, she flung her arms around him.
Luke froze.
Need rose inside him with the suddenness and force of a snake preparing to strike. And not just physical need. Worse was the overwhelming need for connection. For affection. For forgiveness.
Keeping her arms around him, she looked at him with an expression that said,Be happy with me, Luke. We found the clue.
She had to let him go.
He didn’t want her to let him go.
“I nailed the clue inside the depot,” she said, “and now I give you permission to admit that I’m a skilled treasure hunter... .” The sentence slowed as her focus dropped to his lips. Awareness thickened the air. “And that ... you were smart to ... trust me on this.” By the end, her words were little more than breath.
Time spun out. He held himself totally still.
She went up on her tiptoes and gently pressed her mouth to his.
A rushing vacuum sound filled his ears. Sensations—her warmth, her curves, her scent, her softness—poured in. Her hands slid up and came to rest on the back of his neck.
He felt every detail of every single thing, and glaciers fell within him.
She leaned back.
Don’t pull away.
She didn’t. She studied him from just a few inches of distance.
