“Down the hall, second door on the right.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Burke,” he corrected gently.
She smiled, nodded, then walked down the hall, the faint click of her boots fading into silence.
About thirty minutes later, when she reappeared, he was still outside—leaning against his patrol truck, one boot braced on the step rail. He straightened as she approached.
“Got lunch plans?” he asked casually.
She hesitated, smiling. “Actually, I do—lunch with Emma Thompson.”
For a second, his expression shifted—surprise, maybe—but then he smiled. “Well, can’t argue with that. I’ll take a rain check, then.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she said, heading toward her Jeep. With a playful glance over her shoulder: “Goodbye, Burke.”
He watched her drive away, sunlight flaring off her rearview mirror as his brow furrowed.
“Emma Thompson,” he muttered. “Why would she be having lunch with my great-aunt Emma?”
He wasn’t sure what that meant yet, but he planned to find out. Burke pushed off the truck, the question turning as he headed back down Main Street.
By early afternoon, Darcy followed the winding road out past the old church and into the hills, sunlight flickering through thetrees. The nerves from the courthouse had faded by the time she turned onto Emma Thompson’s drive.
Sunlight streamed through lace curtains, casting soft patterns across the table. Darcy sat while Emma poured sweet tea, the gentle clink of ice breaking the quiet.
Their talk started light—gardens, recipes, the way the mountain fog rolled through the valley—but as the laughter faded, Emma set down her glass and folded her hands.
“Darcy,” she said softly, “are you running from something?”
Darcy’s smile faltered. “Why do you ask?”
“I see it in your eyes,” Emma said. “In the way you scan a room before sitting down. I’ve lived long enough to recognize fear when I see it.”
Darcy tried to hold it together. A single tear escaped before she could stop it.
Emma reached across the table and covered her hand. “You can tell me, child. You can trust me. I like to think Rose would want you to.”
At her grandmother’s name, Darcy broke. Tears came fast and hot. “I thought I had a fairy-tale marriage. For six years, things were great—or at least I thought so. Then one night I saw him with another woman, and I was shattered. I confronted him, and—” she drew a breath “—he beat me. I thought he was going to kill me.”
Emma’s expression hardened, something fierce and protective behind her eyes.
“When it was over, I ran to my best friend’s house,” Darcy whispered. “He sent flowers and cards and jewelry, begging for forgiveness. I went back. It happened again. Every time I thought it was the last. It was like the man I married was gone.”
Her voice cracked. “He said if I ever left him—if I tried to divorce him—he’d kill me. He told me he’d bury me where no one would ever find me.”
Emma squeezed her hand, firm and sure. “You did what you had to do, child—to survive.”
Darcy nodded weakly. “I changed my name. It used to be Caitlin West. My husband is Jason West—he owns West Custom Homes in Denver. He’s powerful, connected, the kind of man people don’t cross. His parents… they’re just as dangerous in their own way. If he finds me—” she broke off, voice trembling “—I don’t know what he’d do.”
Emma’s tone was quiet but fierce. “He won’t find you here. You’re safe now, and you’re not alone anymore.”
Darcy looked down at their joined hands, overwhelmed. “You don’t know what that means to hear.”
“I think I do,” Emma said gently. “Strength isn’t loud—it’s the quiet choice to keep going when you’re sure you can’t. You came here because you were meant to. I like to think Rose had a hand in that.”
Silence filled the kitchen, soft and healing.
