Just as the boy brought his hand up to his chest in preparation to raise it, Luke caught the kid’s eye. He gave him a scowl that said,You ask another question and you die. The kid’s arm shrank back to his side.
Finley peeked at him. Her forehead tweaked. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
She studied him.
He knew she was seeing more than he wanted her to see.
She came to stand beside him and interlaced her hand with his. She didn’t speak as the tour guide led them back to the train for the trip out. She didn’t need to speak. He knew what she was saying through their joined hands.
I’m here.
The mine tour had been painful for Luke, and Finley was kicking herself becauseof course. Of course! Dark underground places would stir up old trauma for him.
She should have been more thoughtful. She should have anticipated the problem before they’d bought tickets. She could have gone on the train alone and met up with him aboveground. She would have offered that, had it occurred to her.
She hadn’t realized the error of her ways until they’d arrivedin the underground space and she’d seen Luke’s pale, drawn face. Instantly, her reasons for keeping distance between them evaporated in a wave of compassion. The simple, comforting connection of their hands had felt more right than anything had in days. His strong fingers. Her strong grip. Interlaced.
For the remainder of the tour, she’d held his hand, willing it to end as quickly as possible for his sake.
“I’m sorry,” she told him as soon as they returned to open air. She released his hand as they were ushered onto a covered patio marked with several shallow metal chutes. “I know that was awful for you.”
His lips firmed.
“The underground tour would have felt more worthwhile,” she continued, “if I’d had a revelation about the treasure hunt. But because I didn’t, it feels like I put you through that for no good reason.”
“I don’t blame you. You couldn’t have known whether or not you’d find anything before we started.”
“How are you doing now?”
“Better.”
His skin was still too white against his beige shirt and black jacket.
“Who wants to pan for gold?” their tour guide asked.
“No, thank you,” Luke said.
Simultaneously, Finley said, “We do!”
They looked at each other.
“I’d love to pan for gold,” Finley said before Luke could shoot the idea down. At the very least, it would buy him time to decompress.
The guide handed Finley two pans and explained the process. Water burbled down the chute that she and Luke had to themselves. “What’s not fun about this?” She submerged her pan.
“It’s fifty-three degrees out here.”
“And this water is freezing,” she acknowledged. “But that only makes it more invigorating.” She shot him a challenging look, then nudged his unclaimed pan toward him with her elbow.
Grudgingly, he took it and mimicked her actions.
“I’d like to know more about the years following your departure from Misty River,” she said.
“No.”
“Yes.” Finley knew he planned to run away to Montana, but he’d already left Misty River once before, and it hadn’t healed anything. Talking with Luke’s wonderful family the other day had inspired her to learn more about his past. “Where did you go, exactly, when you left home? You were only an eighteen-year-old kid.”
