“It’s beautiful,” Darcy said before she could stop herself.
Burke smiled faintly. “Built it with my dad and Grant. Took us three summers, a lot of busted knuckles, and more swearing than I’d like to admit—but worth every bit.”
“Grant?”
“My brother. He helps Dad run the farm—keeps the cattle in line while I deal with the rest of the county.” His grin tugged crooked. “Go on, take a look around. I’ll be quick.” Then he disappeared inside.
Darcy lingered by the lake, letting the scene soak in. She pictured Burke here—callused hands setting logs, sweat at his brow, stubborn will driving each board into place—a life built piece by piece, with his own back and muscle.
Her thoughts flicked to Jason—his houses went up easily; he never lifted a hammer. Contractors, subs, crews—he barked orders. All Jason ever built was on someone else’s sweat. Here, she stood staring at something solid, something real—a home made by hands that worked and cared.
Then the scarred man’s eyes flashed in her mind. Cold. Watching.Is he out there?She shook it off, but the thought lingered.
Movement in the pasture drew her eye. Two horses broke into an easy trot, hooves drumming softly. Burke whistled; they turned toward him as he stepped outside.
“They’re harmless,” he called. “Come meet Lucy and Desi.”
Darcy edged closer. Burke guided her hand to the copper mare’s nose. When the horse snorted, she flinched, and Burke caught her easily. Their laughter overlapped—but when their eyes met, the air changed, charged with something unspoken.
He kissed her—soft at first, then deeper. The mare’s sweet hay scent mingled with the clean morning lake air as his mouthmet hers. For a heartbeat, everything else—the lake, the fear, her false name—fell away.
It felt dangerously right... but it couldn’t be. She was married. Running. Living under a name that wasn’t hers. And he wore the badge that could undo it all.
“I’m... sorry,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to search her face. His hand dropped quickly, reminding himself not to push—giving her room.
“They’re beautiful horses,” she said, smoothing her hair, needing to look anywhere but at him. Torn between wanting more and fearing trust. The fear stayed, sharp at the edges, but here—with sunlight skimming the water and the steadiness she felt beside him—it didn’t win.
She knew it couldn’t go anywhere—not with everything hanging over her. Yet in his eyes, she didn’t see danger. She saw the life she thought she’d buried.
Somewhere out there, real danger waited—but not here. Not now.
He led her to the porch, to the rocking chairs facing the lake. As she took in the view—the barn, the water, the cabin tucked safely in the trees—Darcy thought how right it felt to be here.
She longed for that feeling of belonging, even if only for a little while—before the world caught up again.
Chapter 19
Sightlines
Darcy
Moonshine Creek woke her before the sun—water rushing over rock, a lullaby that wouldn’t quit.
She lay still, watching a silver ribbon of light crawl across the Bambi’s ceiling, listening for anything out of place. No crunch of gravel. No spark in the dark. Only the steady hush of the creek and birds testing the morning.
She almost reached for her phone to text Izzy:I’m okay.Instead, she tucked the impulse away.Cash. Quiet. Caution.The rules held.
By nine, she was rolling into Sylva, the courthouse white and watchful at the end of Main. She parked near the Visitor Center and stepped inside. Lou looked up from a stack of brochures, her smile warm.
“Well, hey there, honey. You’re becoming a regular.”
Darcy laughed. “You warned me this place gets under your skin.”
Lou’s eyes sparkled. “Got a minute? I want you to meet someone.”
In swept a woman in her sixties with cropped silver hair, tortoiseshell readers perched on her head, and a leather folio under one arm.
“Joann,” Lou said, “this is Darcy Nolan—she’s got an eye for art and a love for history. Darcy, meet Joann Palmer, Director of the Rotunda Gallery.”
