Written on Her Heart - Julie Anne Lindsey

Written on Her Heart by Julie Anne Lindsey A Honey Creek Novel

Written on Her Heart Copyright © 2013, Julie Anne Lindsey Digital ISBN: 9781622371327 Editor, Wendy Williams Cover Art Design by KJ Jacobs Digital Release, March, 2013 Turquoise Morning, LLC P.O. Box 43958 Louisville, KY40253-0958 www.turquoisemorningpress.com This is a dpgroup exclusive. This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any

incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental. This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC.

DEDICATION Because scars tell the story: We survived.

WRITTEN ON HER HEART Emma has her reasons not to fall in love, but fate has other plans. When she finds a journal near HoneyCreekLake, she sneaks a peek at the words of a stranger but finds the heart of a hero instead. Soon she’s savoring every word, opening her heart to the man inside and her mind to the possibilities she gave up long ago. Across town, Nicholas is devastated at the loss of his grandfather’s journal, one he’s written in since he left for Iraq a decade ago. The thought of a stranger mocking his words, or worse, someone from Honey Creek knowing his most intimate trials…. If his journal falls into the wrong hands, humiliation is sure to

follow. But what if it fell into the right ones?

Chapter One Lying in the grass beneath the lake’s only weeping willow, Emma tried not to sneeze. Dandelions tickled her nose as she steadied her daddy’s old camera against one cheek. Less than two feet away, a pair of hummingbirds danced around a swath of floppy purple flowers in the sun. The shot showcased everything she loved about this place. A slip of sand and twinkling blue water filled the backdrop. The image snuggled inside her viewfinder defined HoneyCreekLake. Summer in Ohio. Life as she knew it. With slow steady pressure, she anticipated the moment the shot would be hers. She’d learned long ago never to

rush the moment. Then, just like that, the magical click of the shutter announced her success. She’d captured the most beautiful moment. Preserved it. Emma smiled and rolled onto her back under the shade of long, stringy branches. Sounds of children’s laughter punctuated by hoots from an impromptu volleyball game pushed her back a decade. How many days had she spent lying under that tree? She tugged the cotton tee away from her neck. Humidity snapped it back, reapplying the fabric like a sticker. Memories of tank tops and swimsuits flashed through her mind. She shoved them into a carefully constructed mental vault before they stung her eyes like

smoke from a summer bonfire. Emma lurched upward, pulling her knees to her chest, ending the slew of thoughts that never led anywhere good. The distant hoots grew louder as the number of players in the sand increased. Emma’s cue to leave. Her muscles stretched slowly as she stood. Waiting for the perfect shot sometimes took hours. She’d waited almost two for the pair of playful hummingbirds to stop by the flowers where she lay. Only the bright purple puffballs would do. Eventually they grew brave and she caught them, midflight, enjoying the day. If only she could be up and on her way as easily. The hard rooted ground wasn’t as forgiving as it

used to be. Then, as if to taunt her already stiff muscles, the plastic lens cap missed its thread and rolled from her camera into the grass and over a slope behind the tree. “Figures.” Emma glanced toward the volleyball players in the distance, admiring their tanned skin and public shenanigans. She knew most of them. Some were visiting, but the majority lived in town. If she didn’t know them personally, she still knew their names and their parents and probably where they lived. Small town living. Around the tree, she squatted to retrieve the lens cap and toppled over. Careful not to drop her camera as she fell, her backside took the brunt of the

misstep. Her heel landed on something firm enough to worry her. Not a root. Not grass. With one eye closed, she peeked beside her sandal, praying it wasn’t a bird or other animal dragged there by a local cat. To her relief she found a simple brown leather book, wrapped with long skinny straps which wound around what looked like a shiny black rock with a hole drilled through it. The contraption reminded her of things her grandfather made years ago. Curiosity seized her. Her gaze darted up, scanning the perimeter for the book’s owner. The book weighed more than she expected and filled her hands with warmth collected by the day’s steamy temperature. Running her

fingertips over the soft leather binding, she traced the word Journal tanned into the leather-covered spine. Again she checked for someone returning to the scene of his or her loss. No one. She bit into her lip in wonder. “Who do you belong to?” Her fingers pinched the stings, untangling them from the stone. The binding creaked softly under her touch. Inside the cover a faded stamp contained a set of numbers and a line of text. U.S. Army 1948. “Hmm.” Worn blue ink lined the opening pages. Time and possibly water warped and ruined them. She thumbed past to find much of the rest of the book written in clear black ink. The later pages wore

a different handwriting than the former. The ink appeared fresher and the neatly printed words from the book’s introductory pages gave way to the lazy loops of a generation unconcerned with penmanship. A family journal, perhaps? She checked again for approaching beach goers, certain her time with the book was limited. Closing the book once more, she looked for a name tanned into the cover or written inside. Nothing. Emma let the pages fall open at their leisure, blowing slightly in the soft breeze. Short entries about sandstorms and heat filled the page where she landed. Under a heading named “Confessions” were three short sentences. “I love my country, but I don’t

believe in this war. I’m afraid for my men. I’m worried about my mama.” Tally marks stood like fence posts in the corners of each page. They reminded her of a condemned man counting the days to his freedom in a movie. Emma’s lips rolled in over her teeth. Her brows knitted together. “I could leave you here, in case your owner returns, but what if it rains? Is that what happened before?” She ran her fingers over the wavy pages near the front. No. Only some pages were dilapidated. The bulk remained smooth and untouched aside from ropes of scrolled black ink. Her gaze drifted upward to the silky blue sky and narrow strips of stark white clouds on the

breeze. It could rain. Maybe not today… Still, better to be safe. Husky voices closed the distance behind her. With no more time to consider, she stuffed the book into her satchel and secured the lens cap where it belonged. The willow’s shade dissipated behind her as she hurried away. Sun-blinded temporarily, she hoped the writer’s mama was okay now. A number of possibilities came to mind, and she glanced at her satchel. She’d check with the lodge to see if anyone lost a journal. From her periphery she saw a pair of locals slow near the tree for a long drink of water. Both dripping in sweat and carved in muscles. Only one had

bothered with a T-shirt. The cuter one if anyone asked her. No one had. She kept moving. A blast of cold air gusted down inside the heavy lodge doors, freezing her sweat dampened hair and skin as she walked inside. A few long auburn locks flew in a cyclone around her face. Her hand ran to her throat on instinct as she bounced across the threshold. Shivers coursed down her arms and legs. The line at the front desk stopped her midstride. She should have packed a lunch. Emma examined the unfamiliar faces in the lobby. Did one of them suffer through a sandstorm, missing his mama? “You checking in?” A leggy blond

grabbed a length of renegade hair from Emma’s shoulder and tossed it into the air. “Hey, Baywatch. How’s things?” Heather smiled her easy movie star smile, and half the men in the room took notice. Her low cut red suit did look like the ones on the old television show, but her friend looked better than any of those girls: healthier, less dye and silicone, more personality. “Hot.” Sweat on her lips and temples accentuated her words. “What’re you waiting in line for?” “Lost and found.” Even as she spoke she wished it wasn’t true. What happened after the storm? Why was he fighting a war he didn’t believe in?

“Are we still on for dinner? I’m starving.” “Yes.” Images of a soldier hunkered over her book ran through her mind. His book. “Same time?” Heather tossed an enormous amount of her perfect ringlet curls over one shoulder and headed for the door. Either her break was over or she had better things to do than wait in line. “Same sandbox.” Emma’s response gained too much attention. Her cheeks heated until her eyes blurred. Heather strode out as a man pulled the door wide, allowing her to pass. The duo from near the willow tree walked in. The cute one held Emma in his gaze.

His brow creased. His lips tight. Nicholas Fenton. Her heart pumped hard against her ribcage. Before the door closed behind them, she left her place in line and darted around him. Back out into the heat. “I’ll call later,” she said to her satchel, speed walking to her truck behind the building. **** “I smell no dinner.” The screen door slapped shut. Emma jumped in her seat, spilling the journal onto the floor. Sandals snapped over black and white checkered tile in her foyer. Confusion set in. “Are you asleep?” “No.” The room was darker than

she remembered. She looked out the window behind her couch. Trees cast long shadows over her porch. “What happened with dinner?” Heather’s beautiful face fell. “What’s that?” All eyes locked on the journal beside Emma’s foot. “What?” “That.” Emma moved her head side to side. “What time is it?” “Seven.” She leaned in for the journal, and Emma kicked it under the couch. Heather snapped up, hands on hips. Eyebrows high. “Is that what you think? You’ve got a secret, and I’m going to waltz into the kitchen and forget about it?”

“I’ll make hamburgers and a salad big enough to climb inside.” Her friend stared. Emma sighed. A protective instinct swept over her. “It’s nothing. Just a book I found. I was reading.” She read all the time. The explanation shouldn’t cause suspicion, but Heather saw through her, always had. Her hand opened and closed in the gimme motion she always used to get her way. “Fine.” Emma fished the journal from under the couch and handed it over. Regret churned in her tummy. She went straight for the kitchen. Perhaps out of sight, out of mind would work, or cooking could distract her from the fact

her best friend was reading his secrets too. But Heather wasn’t a casual reader. She said time was too precious. Every book she picked up had a purpose in teaching her something new. Starlet good looks aside, Heather was smarter than most people she’d ever met. Ten sandal snaps and a kerthump later, the friends occupied the room in comfortable silence. “What’s it about?” Relief washed over Emma. His secrets were still safe. “It’s a journal.” “Whose?” “I don’t know. I found it under the willow.” “And you’re reading it?” Mischief thickened the words.

She knew it wasn’t nice. Mail fraud came to mind. With any luck a court wouldn’t think they were the same thing. Heather fingered the shiny rock on the cover without opening it. “I didn’t mean to. I wanted to see who it belonged to so I could return it, but there’s no name.” “And?” “I don’t know. I read one page, then I kept wondering why he wrote something so I read another.” Emma loaded a plate with seasoned burgers and vegetables from the refrigerator. At least she remembered to make them when she got home from the lake. Carrying a tray with her hands,

she shoved the screen door to the back porch open with a hip. One foot stopped the door from shutting on her. She leaned into the doorframe and wedged the tray into her side, freeing a hand to open and heat the grill. The sweet repetition of the act calmed her. She tossed the food onto the grill pressed against the railing of her thin back porch and sighed. A busy bird carried a length of string overhead and presumably into the spouting. For the little bird’s sake, she hoped the first rain wouldn’t wash it away. Inside she busied her hands wiping down the counters and tray. Looking at her friend would give away too much. But she wanted to talk about him. “He was in Iraq for three years.

Every time they promised him he’d come home, they lied.” She bit her lip. “Then what happened? Did he die?” “What? No. How would he even write that?” The girls broke out in laughter. Heather tossed a tiny tomato at her friend. “Shut up.” “I think he got hurt though. He said he had to do something he couldn’t even write details about. The next entry came more than six months later and he was home.” “He didn’t say what happened?” “I don’t think so. Not yet. I thought he had another year a few pages before he got cryptic about whatever secret

thing he had to do. So, coming home in six months, especially after the complete run around he got the other times… I was reading when you got here.” “How long have you been reading this thing?” Heather’s expression wavered between amusement and interest. “All day.” Her cheeks burned, probably matching her hair. She needed a new subject. “Wait until you see the shots I got at the lake today. They’re gorgeous. I think I’ll frame one and give it as a gift. I got hummingbirds in flight.” Emma tossed the little tomato into her mouth. “Mmm.” “Well, show me already. I love your pictures. When I use a camera, all I

get are fuzzy torsos with no heads, or devil heads with red eyes.” “Silly.” She rubbed her hands into the apron tied to the oven door and hoisted her laptop onto the counter. “Start here.” She opened a folder with her most recent shots. “I’ll check on dinner.” “Hot lifeguard,” Heather called as Emma turned burgers outside. “Pretty hair too.” “Yeah, I hear she’s a jerk.” Heather snickered and grew quiet. “Do you have enough to make the brochure yet?” “Not even close.” She stretched the door wide and retrieved their meal from the grill. Hefting the tray of perfect

burgers onto the island inside, her house filled with scents of summer. “To make a brochure worthy of what they’re paying me, I’m going to be at it all summer. HoneyCreekLake deserves the best work I can manage.” “You have quite the life going here. Doing what you love.” The pride in Heather’s voice warmed Emma. “Meanwhile I’m an ER nurse who daylights as a lifeguard.” “You have a serious super hero complex. Can you go one day without saving someone’s life?” She popped her mouth open in mock horror. “Anyway, you love it.” “I’d love it if I got to marry a doctor,” she mused.

“Marry one? You should be the doctor.” Heather threw a palm between them. This conversation was off limits to Miss Smarty Pants. She may be brilliant, but she only wanted to be a mom. Heather told her for career day in kindergarten she brought an old sock doll and said when she grew up she wanted to be a mommy. Emma had wanted to be a space cowgirl. She tried not to judge. “Whatever, Barbie. Eat up.” “What is this?” Heather pointed to the tray of vegetables Emma slid onto the table between them. “Corn, tomatoes.” “On the grill?”

Emma stabbed a piece of tomato and braced herself for the flavor. Growing up on a small farm, she thought she’d grilled everything, but the journal told her otherwise. She’d read one page several times when she realized she shared the rural grill attachment with her stranger. They both loved the sensation of watching loved ones flip burgers and toss horseshoes. During the sandstorm, he’d distracted himself with memories of his dad’s barbecue and his mom’s heirloom tomatoes on the grill. Emma wondered if she did it right. Pushing her fork between her teeth answered that. Delicious. If she could invite him for dinner, she would. She’d make grilled tomatoes and tell him “thank you” for

protecting her, for putting himself in harm’s way while she went on clueless, as if the war were nothing more than a segment of the six o’clock news. “This is good.” Heather’s eyes stretched wide. “Why haven’t we always grilled these?” “Thanks, I just thought I’d try something new.” Heather nodded and continued clicking through the shots taken at the lake. “You should pace yourself. I hear they’re adding a gazebo and new landscaping to the field around your willow tree.” “Hopefully they hire someone from town. Otherwise they won’t get it right. That willow’s the only one in

Honey Creek. If they know anything at all, they’ll plan their addition around it.” Emma scooped the burger into both hands and hoped her willow would survive. Not everyone recognized beauty without Hollywood’s input or a graphic artist’s airbrush faking everything up. She chewed and worried. All the landscapers and carpenters she knew were men, and men had their own idea of beauty. The bombshell before her wiped her mouth on a napkin and spun the laptop around to face her. On the screen, Nicholas Fenton stood alone 50 yards from the camera looking at the sky. “What’s this?” Heather raised an eyebrow. “Nothing’s happening except

that body. Who is that?” She squinted at the screen and rubbed at it with her thumb. “I don’t know,” Emma lied. “I couldn’t figure out what he was looking at, so I took the shot.” Looking at the image now, she wondered what the soldier would’ve traded to stand still in the sun-warmed safety of her hometown. “Do you think whoever lost the journal is staying at the lodge?” “I don’t know. Have you called to check?” Before Emma could answer, a cell phone appeared over her plate already ringing. “Honey Creek Lodge, how can I help you?” A voice chirped from the speaker.

Emma glared at her friend and swallowed a mal-chewed chunk of burger. “Hi. I was at the lake earlier, and I wondered if someone reported anything lost today, or lately.” “Are you kidding me? Who is this?” The voice snapped. Judging by the chaos in the background, the kid on the phone had his hands full in the lobby. “Emma Hastings.” “Hey, Emma. Yeah, everybody loses everything here. What’d you find?” “What’d they lose?” Heather frowned, and Emma turned away. “Coolers, diaper bags, mess of fish, teddy bears, luggage, shades, cameras…”

“Okay. Thanks. None of that. I’ll check back.” A dial tone sounded almost before she said goodbye. “Rude.” “Teens are working the desk all summer. We were rude then too.” Heather looked aggrieved. Emma wanted to protest, but knew better. She used to be more than rude. She was mean. Back then, the world seemed to roll out before her, and she fizzed with the power only youth and inexperience can bring. Now she understood life changed people. Her soldier knew that too.

Chapter Two Nicholas stifled a curse and slammed his truck into park. Of all the idiotic things he’d done in his life, this topped them all. He checked the glove box and console once more for good measure then climbed out and kicked the door shut. “Idiot,” he growled into the side mirror as he walked passed. A giant hound dog barreled back and forth across the bed of his truck and bayed into the sky. Her nails clickclacked over the faded blue metal as she looked for a way down. Her jowls drooped to match her blood shot eyes. A graying muzzle earned her extra treats and special attention, and she knew it.

Yowl, she cried for eight long beats. She locked eyes with Nicholas and threw her head back once more. “Ugh! You. We both know you can get out of this truck.” Nicholas moseyed along the bed dragging a palm over the hot steel. “You didn’t have any trouble getting in there while I pulled on my boots this morning.” The hound yawned and lay on her tummy, waiting. Her face cradled between both front paws, eyes rolled up. “Manipulation doesn’t suit you.” Nicholas ran a hand under the dog’s tummy and pulled her near. “You get too many treats.” With an oof, the dog landed on her feet and trotted off to stare at the front door.

“That dog’s got you whipped.” An ATV roared up behind him. Mack swung a leg over the seat and climbed down beside his friend. “You goin’ fishing tonight?” “No. I’ve been out at the lake all day. I’m beat.” “Chasing tail?” Nicholas snorted and turned for the house. “You want something to drink?” The threesome shuffled inside. Mack flopped onto the sofa and grabbed the remote. Nicholas shoved his hands under chair cushions and opened coffee table drawers. “You catch anything today?” “No. I went down to submit a

proposal to Jim Rutherford on building a gazebo and adding some new landscaping.” He lifted the window seat and dropped it with a groan. “He wants to use the space where the old willow stands.” “OhioState playing tonight?” The television snapped on. Nicholas made his way to the kitchen and hauled open the fridge door, murmuring to himself. Then he remembered, “Hey, who’s that girl who’s always taking pictures everywhere?” “Emily something? Man, I don’t know, she’s young. I think my kid-sister knew her before she left for college. She got in trouble, came home. Why?”

Nicholas ducked his head low to dig for dinner. “I saw her at the lake today, thought she looked familiar. I thought I knew everyone.” “I can ask Sarah.” “No.” He jerked upright and turned to the other room. “No. Hey, who’s playing?” He’d have to dig harder, later. Nothing appetizing presented itself. Drinks in hand, he headed to the couch. “Highlights. You sure you don’t want to take the boat out a while?” “Nah. I got some work to do here. I’m hoping to get this job and save that old willow tree.” “You and that tree. You oughtta marry it.” Mack took a can and sipped.

“You spent so much time there senior year I thought you were hiding a secret girlfriend.” “Nope.” “No. That’d be unheard of,” Mack scoffed. He sucked down the rest of his drink. “Well, the fish aren’t going to climb up out of the lake and head on over to my place, so I best get moving. Good luck with your project, Tree Hugger.” The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow across the room. Outside, the four- wheeler fired up. Gravel snapped and bounced off the tires exiting the drive. Nicholas’s stomach growled, raising the head of his hound who’d taken up residence under

his feet. Disappointment fell over him. He flipped to the local news before making his way outside to light the grill. The familiar clickety-clack of paws on hardwood floors followed him out back and into the grass. The redhead’s face worked itself into his mind again. He didn’t realize she was so much younger. Probably because he didn’t feel older. Honey Creek pulled him back to childhood after the service. Over there he felt twice his age. Back home he could’ve been living with his parents or heading to college every morning instead of juggling the over-scheduled life he made for himself. His therapist accused him of avoidance, not dealing with post-traumatic stress.

He thought he was doing a stellar job. Yowling broke his train of thought a moment before Mitchell Fallon stepped around the side of the house and into sight. “A lot of warning you give me.” Nicholas clucked. “Yeesh. Good thing it wasn’t a bad guy.” Saggy red eyes beamed up at him. A lazy tail swatted once, and she collapsed, her job done. “How you doing, Mavis?” Mitchell squatted to rub behind her ears, and Mavis rolled over in bliss. “Hungry?” Nicholas waved a spatula, thankful for the distraction. The girl probably thought he was insane the way he glared at her, still reeling from his loss. Heck, she probably thought he

was a dirty old man for looking at all. With any luck she hadn’t heard rumors about his therapist or his time overseas. Those stories were probably brutal. His mama and Mitchell swore they never heard any rumors about Nicholas. He didn’t believe either of them. Small town twists gave gossip a special burn. “Not if you’re offering strawberries. Cynthia and her grandma have strawberries spread between the two houses. The air even smells like strawberries at my place. You’d think that was a good thing until a few days go by and your work boots smell like strawberries and you realize you can’t smell anything else.” He scrubbed a hand over his crew cut and leaned into

the porch railing. “Well, can I get you something to drink instead?” Mitchell eyed the closed grill and looked at him with weary eyes. “I’m kidding. How about a nice meaty, nonfruity, burger?” He lifted the lid. Mouthwatering aromas wafted out. “I’ve already put ‘em on.” His guest nodded too quickly, and Nicholas barked a laugh. Laughter felt good in his chest, unwinding the stress his day rolled and knotted there. “You’re coming by next week to build the frames for the judges’ tent and the pie eating contest, right?” “Wouldn’t miss it.” Nicholas

pressed his forearm against his forehead, erasing a line of sweat. July in Ohio sweltered with the same intensity January used to turn it all to ice. “I’ve still got the plans from last year. Will those work again?” “Yes they will. Let me get some plates.” Mitchell reached behind him into the Igloo on the porch and pulled out paper settings for two. Everything they needed stayed right inside the Igloo all summer. An old metal tub beside it held a bag of ice ripped down the middle with some cans stuck inside. “You planning on company?” “Nope. I’m planning to sit out here until I get some things straight in my head. Figured that’d take a while.”

“Need any help? I’m an all right listener.” Nicholas looked his friend over and smiled. “Yeah. I heard something like that.” Mitchell was the good Reverend Fallon to most of the town. If anyone knew what people were saying about Nicholas, Mitchell would, but he kept up his story. No one said anything about Nicholas. “I put in a bid down at the lodge to do some landscaping and build a gazebo. Some benches around that old willow would look mighty nice, but I get the feeling they might want to rip it out. I’m hoping to come up with a way to impress them that includes keeping the tree.” “You already turned something

in?” “Preliminary. I want to head back out there tomorrow, stop by the lodge and make another couple of suggestions.” “You should talk to Jackson. He’s an architect. Ask him.” “I did. He’s talking to his crew, but the landscaping part is out of his scope. We’d make a great team on this.” He rubbed his hands on a potholder and let the thought settle. “All right Mitchell, dinner is served. All meat. No fruit.” “Bless you.” Mitchell bowed his head for a quiet second that ended in Mmm-mmm. Nicholas barely dropped his head to join in the blessing and Mitchell had moved on to eating.

They ate in silent companionship until Mitchell started looking around. “Did you lose something?” “What?” “You’ve been picking things up and putting them down since we started eating. You looked in the cooler twice.” “Huh.” His mind wandered. He didn’t know his hands did too. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about anything?” He wiped his mouth and settled back in one of the rockers lining the porch. “Do you know the girl with the camera? I see her everywhere lately.” “Sure. She’s Emma Hastings. Grew up here. Went to OSU, came home a few years later to open a photography

studio.” The confusion of his thoughts must’ve shown because Mitchell added, “In her barn. There’s a section that once housed an office for the farmer who lived there before. She converted it last year. I think Jackson helped.” He smiled, looking satisfied. “Now you’ve got two good reasons to call him.” “I don’t remember her being here before. Now I feel like I see her everywhere. I thought I knew everyone in town, then the last couple weeks, she’s at the market when I stop in, or I pass her on the road. Heck, today she was down at the lake. Weird, right? Why do you think that is?” Mitchell blinked, obviously

considering his words. “She’s younger than you. I doubt you’d have run in the same circle before. Then you joined the service. She left for college before you got home. She came home early from school, but it took her some time to fall back into the rhythm here. Then there’s winter, and not everyone thinks freezing their tail off is good fun like you and Mack. Now, it’s summer. She’s a photographer. Summer must keep her pretty busy.” He raised a palm to the world in bloom as evidence. “Your paths were bound to cross eventually.” “Why’d she come home early?” Curiosity shot the words from his mouth before he had a chance to think better of it.

“Why do you ask?” Nicholas hoped the heat spreading up his neck didn’t reach his face. What kind of pansy blushes? And why did he care? Oh, right. Because she’s the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. There was that. “I was thinking of having Mavis’ portrait done.” He grinned.

Chapter Three Emma’s eyes opened slow and heavy. She mashed her face into her pillow. The best dream of her life stolen by the sun. Her phone buzzed and spun on the nightstand beside her. A groan pushed its way through her lips. She rolled onto her side, away from the caller who conspired with the daylight. She’d been at her tree watching boats on the lake when his shadow crept over her. The sun shone around his silhouette, masking his features, but she knew on instinct he was her soldier. His wide shoulders blocked the lake from her sight, and despite the shadow, she knew he smiled. He loved her and she loved him.

Stupid sunshine. Emma rose onto her elbows and sighed. Shoving the sheet from her body, she swung her toes over the bed’s edge and reveled in the coolness of the wooden floor. Her reflection caught in the mirror, and her hand rose to her collar. She swallowed once and walked to the mirror where her scar glowed, white and puckered against her otherwise healthy skin. For a moment she considered it wasn’t as horrid as she imagined. Maybe her marred body could still be attractive to someone. Not every child who saw it would scream like on the old Frankenstein movies. Those were lies she tried often. They never stuck. If the tragic white line

wasn’t as awful as she once thought, that was only because she’d seen it every day for five years. The phone danced again. Glad for a reason to look away from the mirror, she grabbed the offensive little dream crasher. “Hello?” Her mother chirped into the phone, happy as a lark. She woke the roosters. “Hi.” “Are you sleeping?” Her voice raised three octaves on the final word. Hadn’t she taught her better than to sleep when she could be up living her life? Her mother took Emma’s heart attack more personally than she had. Now, every day was “a gift not to be

squandered.” Squandered could be defined as relaxing in any form if you asked her mother. “Nope. I’ve been up for hours.” “Excellent. Tell you what. I want to take you to breakfast at the lodge today. I hear they’ve got strawberry everything courtesy of Reverend Fallon’s wife and her grandmother. I for one don’t want to miss out on Mrs. Potter’s preserves if I can help it. I’ll be over in ten.” The click of disconnect told her she better start moving. “Gah.” She wanted to sip coffee at the table and try to remember her dream. Emma tossed the phone back onto her nightstand and saw the journal. She had

enough time to shower or read until her mom arrived. Either way her mom had to wait. She couldn’t get ready in ten minutes. Her gaze swung between the bathroom door and the nightstand. With a smile, she leapt onto her bed and pulled the journal over her face at arm’s length. “Emma?” The front door thundered under her mom’s fist. She must’ve called from the car on her way over instead of waiting for ten minutes to leave like she promised. Thirty seconds later she pulled open the door to her mother’s agitated face. “You’re in your pajamas. You said you’d been up for hours.” Her mom shoved past her and went to the kitchen. “You said I had ten minutes.”

Her mother started wiping down the counters. “So, you fell asleep? Really. You could’ve told me you didn’t want to have breakfast with me.” “Breakfast?” She looked to the red rooster clock hanging over her stove. Ten fifteen. Had she been reading for two hours? Images ran through her mind of the man so kind he gave his only food, preserved and rationed as it was, to a little girl and her dog on the roadside. Her dirty face had worried him. Her family might’ve perished in one of their airstrikes the night before. He wished he could start an orphanage in America for the children who lost their families to the war in Iraq. Emma’s heart clenched then expanded for the soldier. She

thought men like him didn’t exist in her generation. If he was in her generation. “If you used lemons on your countertops, they’d smell fresher, less like dishrags.” “No one smells the countertops.” Emma spun back toward the stairs. “Where’re you going?” “To get dressed. I’m having brunch with my mother.” **** The restaurant at the lodge bustled with activity. Locals dropped everything for Mrs. Potter’s strawberry jam or anything from her garden. Add a couple hundred tourists and the wait stretched on until almost noon. No doubt her mother wanted to point out how much

shorter the wait would’ve been at eight when she called. Of course, no one told her to wait two hours to come over. “What’re you thinking about? You’re completely preoccupied. Aren’t you going to tell me about the pictures you’ve taken this week or what you and Heather have planned for the weekend? “I suppose we’ll be at the Strawberry Festival with everyone else.” The words came out in a thoughtless stream. She was preoccupied with a daydream. “That’s three weeks away. Wake up, Emma. Come down to earth, will you?” A heavyset waitress wearing orthopedic shoes and enormous blond

hair sashayed over. “Right this way.” Either most of her blonde coiffure was a wig, or she could be a spokesmodel for Bumpits. She led them to a table against the wall of windows overlooking the lake. Sun twinkled off the water’s surface. Heat filtered in, warming the table on one side. Children ran in the sand, laughing and chasing balls near the water’s edge. “Can I get you some drinks to start?” The waitress pulled a pencil from above one ear and hovered it over a tiny mint green pad of striped paper. “Water with lemon for me, sweet tea for her. Two cob salads, light dressing on the side and two pieces of

strawberry pie. We’d like it now so we get it before it’s gone.” “Too late.” The waitress looked to Emma. “I don’t want a cob salad. I would like the chicken salad on a roll please. Sweet tea will be fine.” Her mother shifted in her chair and turned her eyes to the window. Emma worked up a smile, and the waitress disappeared. “You don’t need all the mayo they put in the chicken salad, and starches are every bit as bad for your…” Her mother trailed off unable to speak the word like usual. “Heart. For my heart, and I know this. I am not a child, and there’s nothing

wrong with my intellect. Every breath I take doesn’t need to revolve around my heart attack. It’s been five years. Nothing else has happened. I am healthy and intend to live for today, not in fear of something that will never happen.” She repeated the mantra her therapist made her memorize for times like these. Her mother’s eyes glistened. She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I worry.” “Maybe you should see someone about your anxiety.” The fastest way to end the conversation. Worked every time. Therapists talked to people with problems. Her mother’s life was all bluebirds and forest creatures. No problems. The waitress delivered the drinks

and dropped two straws onto the table between them. “There’s a new teacher at the grade school this year. I hear he’s nice. Handsome too.” Emma did her best to ignore her mother’s constant pressure to date. She thought her daughter was as beautiful as ever. Motherhood blinded her. In high school she complained she was too young to date. In college she told her to focus on her studies. Now, she forced complete strangers into conversations with Emma on a regular basis. Now, she wanted her to date. Emma had no intention of doing any such thing. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone around to take care of you?”

Her cup froze inches from her lips. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I wasn’t insinuating you’re weak or whatever other offensive thought you assigned the comment. I like having a best friend like your father. One day you might want what we have.” Nice cover. Who wouldn’t want what they had? Emma didn’t think they made those sorts of relationships anymore. Stabbing the lemon in her tea with a crisp white bendy straw, she let her mind wander again. What if the soldier came looking for his journal and found her reading it under her willow? Maybe he’d smile and she’d know who he was by his presence. Her heart fluttered. She needed to see her

therapist. She was falling in love with a book. The waitress returned with two plates. She shoved the bill under the edge of her mother’s cup of dressing and gave Emma a sympathetic smile. Everyone had a mother. Her grandmother still nerved her mother to no end. She had a legacy of intrusive comments and selfish agendas to pass on one day. Maybe the soldier lost his sight in the war. Then she might have a chance to win him over before he saw her scar and labeled her damaged goods. “Here you are!” Heather bounced over to their table, and the mood lifted. “Are we on for tonight?”

“What’re you two up to tonight?” “We hang out at the beach after dark and make fun of the tourists.” Heather winked, and Emma’s mother sucked air. “First we play chicken on Route 22, well no, that’s right after we split a six pack.” Emma took a dramatic bite from her mayo-laden sandwich then smiled around a mouthful of heaven. “Very funny. You don’t need to tell me. It’s fine. I don’t need to be included.” “We’re canning strawberry preserves for the festival,” Heather interjected before her mother climbed onto the floor to wallow. “Emma’s got all our favorite movies and a great music

selection. A little of my mama’s wine and we’ll be happy in the kitchen for hours.” Her mother’s face softened. She looked between the girls. “I’d like to see some pictures of that.” One wink and a round of laughter ensued. “There’s a new grade school teacher this fall.” Heather looked at Emma and forked a bite of fallen chicken from Emma’s plate. “So I hear.” “He’s cute. Probably thirty. Divorced, I think. I don’t know, but he’s pretty cute to have never married.” “Well, that’s not fair to assume. Look at the two of you.” “Woman’s got a point.” Heather

speared another scoop of chicken salad and smiled. “We should find out where he’s going to be and go look at him. No.” She slapped the table. “Let’s take him some jam and say ‘Welcome to Honey Creek.’” “Since when are you interested in dating someone from town?” Heather made it a policy not to date anyone from Honey Creek because the town rumor mill had relationship ruining listed as part of its responsibilities. “I’m bored.” She put the fork on the table. “I hoped you two would hit it off and he’d have a hot single friend back home, wherever that is, that he’d introduce me to.” Emma’s mother smiled so wide

every tooth showed. “I wonder if the journal is his?” Emma bit the inside of her cheek as soon as the words escaped. “What journal?” “Emma found a journal yesterday, and she’s obsessed with it.” Emma’s mouth fell open. “I’m not obsessed. I’m interested. It’s like reading a memoir.” “Uh huh. A memoir of a person who’s still looking for it.” Heather laughed loud and people looked. She covered her mouth gracefully with one hand. “Have you finished it yet?” “No. There’s so much in there. Notes scrawled on the margins and around other notes. I even found some

sketches. Beautiful sketches.” Her voice lowered to a whisper remembering the pencil etchings of the lake shoved under the front cover. He saw the beauty. Blades of grass with dew and geese skating over still water. “Wow.” “Right?” Her mother and friend exchanged a glace. Emma shoved the sandwich between her lips before she said anything more, like how meticulously he crossed his t’s and dotted i’s. Attention to detail meant a lot to a photographer. He loved his mom too. She lifted her eyes to examine her mother. She’d never thought of her mother the way the soldier

wrote about his. He admired her sacrifices. She stayed home with him instead of working. She cut corners to make up for the lost income and never complained. Two men walked into the restaurant laughing and smiling until they saw her. Caught in the images conjured by memories of his words, she choked on a swallow of tea. Her throat closed as the man she saw yesterday, Nicholas Fenton, walked in with Jackson, her builder. The moment he laid eyes on her, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips closed from a belly laugh to a mere part. “Is it no good?” Heather stared at her glass. “Unsweetened?” “Isn’t that your architect?” Her

mother waved at Jackson. The mouthful of tea threatened to burst through her lips, but her brain couldn’t contact her throat to force it down. When she finally swallowed, it hurt. Her eyes smashed shut for a moment and reopened to find the man looking like she felt. Anguished. “His friend seems upset.” Heather snorted. “I’d say. What’d you ever do to him?” “What?” Emma turned her eyes away and felt fire light her cheeks. When she saw him yesterday, he looked the same way. At the time, she thought he was just upset or cranky by nature. Today she watched the laughter fall from his face. Right after spotting her.

Heather asked a good question. What had she ever done to him?

Chapter Four The restaurant over the lodge bulged at capacity the first two times they stopped. The third time turned out to be the charm. Nicholas and Jackson planned to eat at a table overlooking the lake and review the landscaping project. Breakfast ended long before a table became available. Jackson loved what he did, and being with him inspired a myriad of possibilities Nicholas hadn’t considered before. He made a joke about adding a dog park for Mavis. An image of his hound at a park set off a spark of laughter. Mavis preferred people watching to activity. As they moved up in line, he

looked for an available window table. Across the room, two wide green eyes locked on his, and the expression held him fast. How could she be here too? Silly question. She was everywhere he went, wasn’t she? His mouth shut in response, cutting the laughter short. Jackson continued to chuckle at the joke. Nicholas couldn’t remember what was funny. He’d slipped into another world. Her eyes narrowed. She looked startled, but also angry. No doubt she thought he stalked her. He’d think she stalked him, if he didn’t keep arriving second. “There’s Emma and Mrs. Hastings.” Jackson laid a huge hand over his shoulder. “Dang. What’s her friend’s name? She introduced us once. I can’t

remember.” “Emma.” Nicholas tried the word on his lips. Emma. “No. Emma’s the redhead.” Jackson shot a hand overhead and strode away from the counter toward the three women. Emma’s expression slid through a set of emotions he recognized and a few he didn’t. Surprise. Anger. Regret. A shimmer of something unnamed hid between each set. “You with him?” A waitress in a Dolly Parton wig anchored a hand on one hip. She nodded to Jackson’s retreating figure. “Yes, ma’am.” “Come on then. You’re in my section.” She set off after his friend.

Nicholas slunk along behind her, wishing he could disappear. Come back later. Hide under a table. He squared his shoulders at the thought. He didn’t survive what he had to fear a girl. Her eyes followed his every step. She looked away and back a half dozen times, eyes widening more with every glance. He, on the other hand, only managed to stare. Her skin looked too pale, but beneath those light green eyes and wild red hair, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. A dash of freckles ran over her nose and across her cheeks almost too faint to notice. He liked the way her lips seemed to coordinate the theme, thin, pink and

upturned despite the desperate look in her eye. When he realized she might want to crawl under a table too, a kinship formed in his heart. Ridiculous. He dismissed the thought. But why did she want to hide? Did she want to hide? “This is Nicholas Fenton, a buddy of mine.” Jackson motioned to him, and Nicholas stepped forward to shake hands. “This is Mrs. Hastings, her daughter Emma and her friend Heather.” Apparently her name came back to Jackson on the walk over. “How do you do?” He shook her mother’s hand first then Heather’s, saving Emma’s for last. A stab of electricity ran up his arm at her touch.

Her small fingers felt thin and frail in his calloused hand. The coolness of her skin only served to flame his already sweltering temperature. He imagined tugging at his collar and asking if anyone else thought they needed to crank the air conditioning, but her skin proved otherwise. He had the problem. The current ran to his shoulder, raising hair on his arms in its wake. His heart buzzed and flew. On instinct, he dropped her hand like a hot coal. If the pulse in his hand gave him away, she was sure to call the police. Perspiration dampened his neck. His ears hummed. “What is it you do, Nicholas?” Mrs. Hastings looked interested.

Couldn’t she see he was having a breakdown? “I’m a carpenter and a botanist.” His voice sounded confident and even. A stroke of luck. “A botanist?” Heather turned to her friend. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.” “A landscaper?” Mrs. Hastings struggled to understand the connection. Everyone did. “I do that too. My degree is in botany. I learned carpentry growing up and turned back to it last year. There’s not a lot of job openings around here for a botanist.” “Have you tried the college?” Nicholas froze. Emma’s voice

surprised him. She never spoke to him. She ran whenever he saw her. Of course this time he’d cornered her and she had the protection of her mother and friend. His answer took too long. “Yes. I applied at OSU around Christmas. I hope to hear back before fall semester starts.” “Emma could show you around.” Heather smiled. She’d taken Emma’s sandwich. “She went there for a while.” The words came deadpan. The women stopped moving. Mrs. Hastings’ glass hovered in her hand an inch above the table. Emma’s cheeks darkened and she stared at her empty plate. He hated whatever happened to take her eyes away from him. They were the color of

jade milk glass. The kind his mother used to serve tea: muted, soft, inviting. Genuine. “Nicholas’ going to work on the landscape project here. He’s hoping to save the willow.” Jackson pulled up a chair to their table and sat. Heather bumped her elbow into Emma who looked horrified. He retraced the words. She didn’t want anyone to know she went to college? Mitchell said she came home early. His mind chased the thoughts in a circle getting nowhere. “Emma’s working on a brochure for the lodge. Sounds like you’ll be seeing more of each other.” Her mother’s lips pulled tight to the side.

“Delightful. It’s good to have friends.” A tiny groan floated up from Emma’s small pink lips, but her eyes refused to look his way again. The agony shouldn’t have existed. He’d only seen them up close for a moment, not long enough to miss them, to crave them. He ran a hand over his neck expecting to find a gallon of water clinging to his skin and shirt. He didn’t. “We should let you finish your meal.” Heather tried to smile. Her mouth struggled around the remains of Emma’s sandwich. The waitress appeared on cue. She waited until they turned back to their table and held a pen over her notebook.

“Drinks?” “Coffee,” the men said in unison. Jackson returned his chair to the table they were assigned, allowing the women to continue their lunch. Nicholas folded himself into the chair across from Jackson. Lucky for him it also faced Emma. Difficult details of the project disappeared over coffee. He and Jackson made a great team, nailing specifics and brainstorming new ideas. Nicholas kept his eyes on his friend as much as possible, but he rubbed his palm against his thigh beneath the table. He flexed and bent his fingers where Emma’s small cool hand had been. With the landscaping proposal figured out, Jackson started talking about

the renovation of Emma’s barn to a photography studio. Nicholas’ eyes jumped to Emma. The ladies chatted and smiled over the remains of their meal. Each time Emma smiled, he smiled too. “I’m glad you like the idea. Jillian worried you were too busy to stop by.” “What?” Uh-oh. What had he agreed to? “The bed and breakfast.” Jackson’s smile faded. He set his cup back on the saucer. “You were smiling. I thought. Of course you don’t need to be there.” He shook his head in apology. “No. I’ll be there. Can you text me the details? If I don’t write it down I’ll forget.” Jackson picked up his phone

immediately. A few moments later Nicholas had the text. He lifted his phone without reading the words. Instead he watched the trio of ladies scoot away from their table and walk single file through the maze of tables toward the counter. None looked back. “What did you think of the original gazebo proposal?” Nicholas forced his mind back to the task at hand. “I think you need to add more seating. The lodge needs to expand, and they’re thinking revenue. Show them you can make it more beautiful and hold the added guests. Plus, add a new draw to our lake in the process. Do that and you’re golden.” “Piece of cake.”

Jackson chuckled and raised his cup in a toast to the challenge. **** After lunch, Nicholas headed to the willow. Another group of men stood swigging from insulated cups and eyeing his tree. The work boots and worn jeans told him they weren’t tourists. A man with blond hair and bleached out tips turned at his approach. His shirt said Klumer Construction. Nicholas wanted to introduce himself, but his arm clung stubbornly to his side, refusing to reach in their direction. He nodded once and moved over the slope behind the tree where he liked to sit and think. From the looks of it, the grass wasn’t cut in a few days.

His journal could be hiding in the grass. If he didn’t find it, he’d have to tell his mom at dinner. She’d be devastated. She’d trusted him with her father’s journal years ago. “A cobblestone path is a nice aesthetic,” one voice behind him offered. The group discussed their plan for the lodge addition. Nicholas toed the grass, trying not to get his hopes up. How had this happened? “Tea houses are always a smart move. Something a little upscale to entertain the ladies while the men enjoy the lake,” another voice added. Laughter caught in his throat. Klumer Construction must not have done

their research. Everyone enjoyed the lake. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the Men Only signs around the water. Nicholas coughed into his hand and moved toward the lot. If all the other companies vying for the job were like Klumer Construction, he had nothing to worry about. **** The long drive into the city passed in a blink. Mavis enjoyed the ride, jowls flapping in the breeze. She preferred the truck bed to the passenger seat, but highway travel made Nicholas insist on the latter. Mavis snorted, making a slew of hound noises as she took in all the new scents and sights. Nicholas swung into a parking spot under an oak tree.

“I’ll be back in less than an hour.” He patted Mavis’s head and slid out of the truck. “Sooner with any luck.” The hound stretched across the seat in his absence, enjoying the shade and balmy breeze. One long ear and two huge paws hung over the seat’s edge. Nicholas admired the ease at which Mavis lived her life. “Lucky dog.” In the waiting room he slumped into a chair and retraced his steps for the hundredth time. Where did he leave his journal? He’d been to the church to check on preparations for the Strawberry Festival. He spent time at his place, visited his mom, stopped by the lodge. His face fell forward into his hands. The

more he thought about it the more he realized he’d covered the entire town that day. Most days. “Ugh.” “Nicholas?” Dr. Kennedy smiled down at him in a simple tan suit. She always seemed overdressed, though she never chose an actual color. Maybe she worried colors would set off one of her patients. Everything in her office mirrored her plain wardrobe. Tan carpet, cream walls, white woodwork. Even the furniture stayed in her brown safety zone. “Come on in.” She waved a small circle with one arm. “How was your week?” Nicholas sighed, both thankful and

frustrated with their meetings. He could stop seeing her anytime he wanted. Making the decision took more energy than he could spare, so every week he set a new appointment and planned to mull the decision over later. Inside her office, he slid into a brown leather armchair and stretched his legs out before him. He wondered if he looked like Mavis stretched out on the bench seat of his truck. People say pet owners start to resemble their pets. “Well, tell me what I missed this week.” He lifted his hands before letting them drop onto the arms of the chair. “Same old. I had a good week.” “Panic attacks? Anxiety? Trouble

sleeping?” “Nope. Not in over a year now.” Dr. Kennedy tapped a pen against her wide forehead and smiled. “Honestly, Nicholas. I don’t know why you come to see me. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our talks, but you’re past all this. What you need is a friend.” “I have plenty of those. I know everyone. Don’t forget you’re the one who says I’m too busy. I’m a man in demand.” He gave his best boyish smile. This conversation was tired. He knew what she’d say next. “Acquaintances are not the same as friends. All friends aren’t created equal either. You need someone you can talk to.” She flipped a hand up between

them. “Not about the weather or sports. You need a confidant, and no, that doesn’t make you a woman.” “I tell everything I need to tell,” his voice cracked as he remembered the problem, “to my journal.” “A journal is not a person. Though I do approve of this behavior. What happened with the journal?” She leveled her gaze, never missing anything. “I misplaced it.” She shifted in her seat. The small movement would’ve gone unnoticed if he hadn’t studied her for years as she prodded him in turn. A long beat stretched out until he wondered if she wanted him to say something more. “How are you doing without it?”

“Staying busy.” He tried to maintain eye contact, but she saw right through him. He knew it. His eyes moved liked traitors to the floor then the window before he pulled them back to her. She waited again. “I’ll find it. I had it in the morning. Then lost it before dinner, but I didn’t leave Honey Creek. I’ll find it.” “What if someone else finds it first?” He chewed the inside of his cheek. Everything that mattered to him was on those pages. Thoughts of his secrets filtering through the town grapevine pierced his heart. Nicholas worked his jaw until it hurt. Time stood still. Only ten minutes had passed since he entered

her office. Fifty more lay ahead. He needed a change of topic. “I’ve lived in Honey Creek my whole life, except for my time in the service and college.” He shook his head. College seemed so long ago, like in a movie he watched instead of part of his life. “I thought I knew everyone, but I’ve been seeing a new face over and over again. What do you make of that?” Dr. Kennedy rubbed her chin. “I don’t know. I think a better question is what do you make of it?” “Pfft.” Nicholas folded his arms over his chest. “Pregnant women often claim they see other pregnant women everywhere they go. Newly engaged people run into

other wedding planning couples more often. Soldiers often see other men and women in uniform.” “You think I have something in common with her?” The idea intrigued him. “Her.” She lifted one thin eyebrow. “No. Whatever you described. This isn’t like it. She’s not in the military. She’s young. As far as I can see, aside from sharing a town, we don’t have anything in common.” “How do you know? Have you spoken with her?” “We’ve been over this.” He pulled his feet back under the chair. His knee bounced. “I’m not interested in dating.”

“I didn’t say to date her. I asked if you’ve spoken to her.” Fire blazed under his skin. Feeling foolish and caught red-handed, though he didn’t do anything wrong, he looked away again. “I could tell her the cosmos thinks we have something in common and that’s why we keep seeing one another. I’m sure at this point she thinks I’m stalking her.” He could see his truck outside the window in the distance. The shade had grown longer, covering the entire vehicle. He didn’t dare look at her yet. A look gave too much away. “Are you stalking her?” His head snapped around to find her smiling.

“You’re a funny lady.” “I try.”

Chapter Five “Yes! Can you believe it? She dumped him because he joined the service. Who does that?” Emma’s voice edged higher with each word. “Stuff like that is so messed up. I hate girls like her.” Heather pointed a strawberry laden spoon in Emma’s direction. “Did she ever write him or anything?” “No.” A pang of jealously filled Emma’s chest. The unnamed exgirlfriend never tried to reach him, but she could have. Unlike her. She knew the soldier’s name. “I think our work is done here.” Heather cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Every strawberry who dared cross

our path is now puree, pie filling or jam.” “You think they’d learn.” Both girls walked to the sink to wash up. The work used to take all weekend. Nowadays they could get it done in one night if the music was right. Satisfaction eased the tension of having tons to accomplish. The rest of the night belonged to them. “How about a walk?” “Only if it’s to get ice cream.” “Done.” The walk into town never changed. qct Warm July sun warmed Emma’s cheeks despite the hour. At eight o’clock the dinner crowd had come and gone, but plenty of residents made their

way along the streets for a glimpse of the day’s efforts. The Strawberry Festival happened every summer. The whole town pitched in to make it an annual success. Some more than others. “Hello there, ladies.” A shrill voice cut through the street chatter. “Clarissa.” Heather whispered. “Fitting. She always reminds me of Silence of the Lambs.” “They should’ve named her Hannibal Lecter. I’ve seen her eat people alive. Of course, I wasn’t much better back then.” “Well, now.” Clarissa stopped a few feet away and examined them head to toe. One hand on her hip. The thumb of her other hand caught on the strap to

her giant orange Kate Spade bag. Her thumb dragged it unnaturally around her hip in case someone on the street hadn’t noticed her amazing fashion sense. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Somehow you manage to elude me. I heard you were on house arrest, but it’s been years. You finally free then?” She raised a perfectly waxed brow at Emma. “Of course I know silliness when I hear it. You’d never stoop to breaking laws outside of Honey Creek.” The conspiratorial smile she threw in triggered Emma’s panic button. Clarissa knew too much for her own good. “We’re on our way for ice cream.” Heather took a baby step forward, and

Clarissa backed up. “Keeping brave company. If I wore a bathing suit every day I’d never dare snack on a thing, let alone ice cream.” Her eye twinkled and her lip twitched. “You really should start that practice anyway.” Heather turned to Emma, clearly the smallest of the three. “I think you should get a double scoop. Let’s go.” Clarissa’s forehead climbed into her hair as the friends strode past. Seeing her up close after so many years struck Emma silent. Avoidance as a lifestyle took planning, but it was better than facing questions and sideways looks. Her mom and Heather did most of

the evening running for her when a need arose. Getting out during the day was easier. Most folks her age worked outside of town. Like Clarissa. Emma had settled into her routine as town recluse easier than expected. Until Clarissa moved home. Something she swore she’d never do. “The minute I turn eighteen no one in Honey Creek will see anything but my taillights,” she said on a near daily basis for years. When they graduated and parted ways, she didn’t expect her to break that vow. Unlucky for Emma, as everything was, Clarissa moved home and made a pest of herself trying to pick up where they left off. When Emma wouldn’t accept her efforts, she set out to punish her with dirty looks

and snide remarks. Just like high school. As much as she wanted to say some things don’t change, her life was proof of the lie. Sometimes everything changed. Lightning shot through her body. Maybe it was time to go home. “Honest to goodness, I can’t believe you used to be friends with her. She’s such a complete…” The words faded under the roar of blood between Emma’s ears. Dazzling colors intruded on her periphery, and the ache in her chest transitioned from dull heat to a gripping pinch. She forced her feet forward to the row of benches lining store windows on Main Street. Heather kept her close, murmuring in her ear. No sooner had her bottom touched the

familiar wooden seats, Heather shoved Emma’s head forward into her knees. With a whoosh, warm night air filtered into her lungs. Blood rushed from her head to her extremities until the sounds of Honey Creek returned to her. In the distance a local band practiced. Closer to where she sat, a symphony of hammers pounded signs on posts seeking judges for everything from best jam to pie eating. Two inches from her face, Heather used her best “I’m under control” voice. “How do you feel? Can you hear me now? Honey, I love you, but if you don’t answer me soon I’m calling 9-11.” Emma waved a limp hand and

shoved her body back against the seat. Life snapped into focus. Two blocks away Nicholas Fenton stood frozen three steps up a ladder. Why did he always look at her like that? Her cheeks burned with indignation. If she had a mustard seed more of energy, she’d march over there and shake his ladder. “Emma Hastings?” Like being Tboned in a car crash, her head whipped around. A voice dipped in honey made her name sound like a movie star’s. The voice came with a blue button down shirt and dress pants. “I’m James Moss. Your mother pointed me in your direction.” He shrugged with his entire body. His face left her speechless. A charming smile added emphasis to his

soft bedroom eyes and chiseled jaw line. Heather jumped to her feet. “I’m Heather.” “Nice to meet you. I’m new here. Mrs. Hastings said Emma could introduce me around. I’m teaching second grade this year, and I hear it’s good to make nice with the parents before school starts.” “You’re the new teacher?” Heather bent her knees in an awestruck dip and looked back at Emma. James didn’t look at all like Ichabod Crane as she’d expected. More like James Dean. Her chest ached with release from whatever happened to her a minute before. She had a feeling her heart might’ve fluttered if it could.

“Where are you from?” Heather never wasted time. Emma knew the questions to come were variations of “Is it far?” and “Do you have single friends there?” Then the more personal ones. “Do they have jobs and how soon can we meet?” She took a moment to breathe. Her eyes roamed the immediate area. No one looked her way. Nicholas stopped scowling and went back to hammering. Clarissa looked like a small blond dot in the distance. If her mother had any brains left, she was hiding somewhere out of reach. Like someone switched on a radio, the lyrics of Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying presented loud and

clear in her mind. Her soldier got through so many hard times on those lyrics. He promised himself never to be afraid when he got home. He wrote that he’d try anything once and really live his life. She needed to take his advice. Empowerment surged, and her chest became light as a feather again. No sign of the attack. Panic attack. Emma slid her fingertips under her thighs to keep from bopping herself on the forehead. She had constant panic attacks after the heart attack. It’d been two years since the last one, but she recognized it now and blamed Clarissa. No more. As if possessed, her body stood erect and spoke. “My mother is so

thoughtful. I’d love to show you around, introduce you to the families. I might know some people.” Her voice sounded steady and chipper. She suppressed a shiver. Her mother was chipper. Annoying and happy. Emma wanted happy. James extended a hand between them and they shook. Heather pulled her neck back over her shoulders and smacked her lips. “I have someplace to be, so I will let you get to it, and I’ll talk to you later, Emma. Nice to meet you, James.” She turned on her heels in a circle, probably deciding what she would do next and walked off into the crowd. God bless her. “I hear you’re a photographer.”

James slid Emma’s fingers into the crook of his elbow and moved away from the bustling workers with her. “How long did my mother have you cornered?” What hadn’t she told him? He chuckled. “Well, I have to say everyone has been more than friendly here. Your mother was no exception.” Emma turned her head in tiny disagreement. “They’re all nosey. Be careful what you say around here unless you want to hear it from a third party with a few embellishments and some jail time included.” “I could use some stories like that to toughen my image. Teaching second grade doesn’t scream James Bond.”

“How about James and the Giant Peach?” He bumped his arm into hers, and she sidestepped over her feet until he caught and reeled her back in. “I imagine you’re not far off.” “You’re not from a small town?” “How do you know?” “Because if you were, you would’ve known what your questioners were up to.” “You got me. I lived up North. I taught in Akron public schools for 10 years. That’s about two and a half hours from here. Have you ever been?” “No. Not Akron. I’ve been to Cleveland a few times. Concerts. Sports.” Clubs, mischief, mayhem.

“Nice.” He stopped to look down at her. “You’re a sports fan? What’s your favorite?” “Fishing?” He waited a long moment before bursting into easy laughter and moving again along the sidewalk with her. “Let me guess. You went with a group, and it didn’t matter what sport. Right?” “Pretty much. In college I went anywhere. Did anything. Feared nothing.” “Ah…the old days.” “Yeah. The old days.” Silence enveloped them in a comfortable, easy way. The crickets and bullfrogs played a tempo perfect for an evening walk. Carpe diem. Maybe her

mother deserved a thank you not a pie in the face. She gave Emma an opportunity to slide out of her shell. Turn over new leaves. And all those other things she’d preached for years. “Skydiving,” she whispered. “What?” Oops. “Sorry. Skydiving.” She laughed. “I guess I had some old Tim McGraw on my mind.” “Boyfriend?” This time Emma stopped. “Joking. He’s a country singer. I know.” James smiled, and they took another step. “Do you remember the song? Skydiving, Rocky Mountain climbing.” She did her best not to sing the lyrics but

keep the tempo. “No. I’m more of a hip-hop guy.” “A what now?” She looked at him, waiting for the punch line. Maybe another “just kidding.” “I like Kid Rock,” he offered. “He does country sometimes, right?” Her cheeks mashed into her eyes. “What?” Wait. The scenery registered at the same moment she wanted to lecture him on what was and what was no-wayin-hell country music. “We’re at my house.” He nodded. “You walked me home.” More nodding. “My mother.” On second thought, she did need a good talking to. Who in

their right mind gave their single daughter’s home address out to a complete stranger? Well, therein lays the problem. Her mother didn’t fit the description. Not even close. “I enjoyed the walk.” James turned to face her. He looked nervous and as sincere as she’d ever seen a man. “Would you consider having dinner with me Friday night?” She pulled in a breath. “I’ll buy the pizza.” He winked. Okay pizza helped take the edge off an awkward dinner with someone she had little in common with. His face helped too. They might find things in common if they spent more time together. Clarissa would hate knowing she wasn’t

the first on his list of available women. “Friday night sounds nice.” “Pick you up at six?” “I’d like that. I guess you already have directions. Do you need my number?” “Here.” He placed his phone in her hand, and she entered her number for him. The background was a fast looking car. She sighed. Hopeless. “Tim McGraw?” He peered at his phone in the waning light. “In case you know other Emmas.”

Chapter Six “Emma?” Dr. Kennedy smiled. A genuine look of interest on her face. “Have you met someone?” “What?” Daydreaming at the shrink. Bad. Her eyes narrowed in embarrassment. Let the inquisition commence. Emma learned long ago not to try to slide anything past her therapist. She made the big money for a reason. She was good. “Come now. You’re positively glowing. What were you thinking about just then?” A journal I stole and make a conscious effort daily not to try to return because I fell in love with the man whose words make it live. My

soldier. She kept imagining his approach and her instant recognition. She wondered what she’d say. Whatever she said, the words had to be perfect, like him. Honest. She’d tell him she grew up on country music and played Johnny Cash when she danced alone in her kitchen. She’d tell him she could fish with the best of them, but never learned to ride a horse because they’re too tall and have scary big teeth. He’d want to know she wore pink and tan Justins to the prom under a full-length pink and silver sequined gown. The more she read the words from his heart, the more he became written on hers. This train of thought always ended

with her shrinking mentally away. If she ever met him, how could she admit her selfishness for keeping something so personal and reading it? Developing a relationship with a book bordered on nuts. Her gaze lifted to the patient doctor before her. This conversation could wait. Emma didn’t want to do the right thing yet. She knew Dr. Kennedy would expect her to return the journal. Then she’d ask her about it every week until she did. “I did!” Emma nearly leapt from her chair, spotting an opportunity to tell the truth. Liars didn’t last long in this place. Her enthusiasm startled them both. She coughed and got comfortable in the chair. “There’s a new elementary

school teacher in town. We met last night.” Self-satisfaction saturated the words. Ha. The truth had set her free. On second thought, her James story seemed like a long shot. Telling about their walk home would tip her off. No way would she believe their short talk sounded like something worthy of a daydream. She needed a subject change. “I brought you something.” Emma dug through her bag and pulled out a framed black and white photograph of the hummingbirds. She’d painted the frame scarlet and allowed only the purple of the flowers and a line of blue water to show their true colors. Everything else remained shades of gray. She thought it’d be a nice compliment to

Dr. Kennedy’s snore bore office of monochromatic brown on tan on cream and zzzzzzzz. “Oh?” Dr. Kennedy’s face morphed from subdued nicety to awe. Her eyes widened, lips parted. “Fascinating.” Not the compliment she expected, but on target for a therapist, she supposed. “Thank you.” “I love it.” It was Emma’s turn to smile. She loved it. “I laid on my stomach for almost two hours waiting for that shot. I took over 100 pictures that day, but only two captured the essence of the lake. This was one of them. I thought you’d appreciate the birds in flight, going

nowhere, choosing to stay where they were.” “I can’t help but notice you chose red for the frame.” “I thought red accentuated the contrast between the vibrant purple flowers and soft blue lake.” “Red is also the color most associated with love.” Her tummy rolled into a knot. “I thought it could brighten your office, give you something cheery to look at during the day.” “What was the other picture you approved of from this day?” She tapped the glass inside the frame. The image of Nicholas staring at the sky came to mind. His posture

intrigued her. He stood alone on the hill, clearly at ease, but what was he doing? She spent more time than she cared to admit wondering. No matter how long she looked, she didn’t see anything in the photograph to catch his attention. Peculiar. Time passed while she mulled it over without speaking. “Tell me more about the schoolteacher then.” “His name is James. He’s handsome. Educated. Likes cars, I think.” Emma slid her lips over their gloss and tried to remember something significant other than his love of hip-hop music. “He taught in Akron for a long while before coming here. He likes sports.” She hadn’t asked him which

ones. “Hmm. You enjoyed your talk?” Sensing imminent defeat, she formed another plan. “There is someone else, but he doesn’t know how I feel.” Dr. Kennedy’s expression didn’t change. “Would you like to tell me about him?” “Okay.” Her mind raced. Where should she start? He was complicated, sweet and kind. He was frustrated sometimes, but introspective. Every bit as hopelessly flawed as herself. She couldn’t explain him without revealing her heart’s tender spots in the process. Protecting her heart was top priority. Emma squirmed. “What’s his name?”

“No names.” She’d tried to think of a name to call him many times; none ever stuck. Assigning him a random name would take away from his truth. He wasn’t a story. He lived. Somewhere. “All right. Tell me something else. What’s your favorite thing about him?” Her heart cracked like a floodgate barely containing the water, unable to resist any longer. “Everything. I don’t know if there’s only one part that’s the best. He’s genuine and real. He doesn’t mince words or waste them either. When there’s nothing to say, he says nothing, and when there is something to say, he says it from the heart, with gusto and fervor. Passion. Oh, and he’s funny and kind. He gave his only lunch to a child

once, knowing there’d be no more for him in the near future.” Dr. Kennedy rested her chin in her hands and listened. When Emma paused, embarrassed, the doctor nodded her ahead. “He loves his mother. His father died, and he couldn’t be there. He blames himself. Whenever he has to be away from his mother, he worries she’s unhappy. He cooks. She taught him. And I can’t be sure, but I think he’s an artist or he loves nature as much as I do because he draws and sketches lovely things.” “Like your hummingbirds?” “Yes.” “Sounds like you two have a lot in

common. Do you think he might feel the same way? Has he said or done anything to make you think he might?” “No.” Her heart plummeted. Remembering all her favorite entries had lifted her four feet off the ground and left her floating on hope and joy. The cloud promptly flew out from under her. “Be open to it. I can’t believe you see all this in him and he hasn’t recognized the connection. Though, men are sometimes less intuitive about these things,” she mused, “and you are closed off by your own admission. Perhaps you should dip your toe in, test the water.” “Maybe.” “Very well. Then you have homework this week.”

“Homework?” Emma snorted. “Yes. Your assignment is to talk to this man, about anything you want for as long or short as you want and memorize his reaction. Then come back next week and we’ll analyze it. Every facial gesture and syllable you can remember. What do you think? Remember, body language is important. Sometimes more so than the words themselves.” She rolled away from her desk and stood. “Time’s up.” Her smile warmed the room. Emma smiled back. If they weren’t in such an odd doctor-patient relationship, they could be friends. “Thanks.” She shook the doctor’s hand and received a clap on the back as well.

“You opened up more today than you ever have. Hearing you speak of this man was both insightful and delightful. He seems to bring out the best in you. If you’ll let it, love can bloom anywhere you know.” Emma’s hand moved to her collar. The scar tissue burned under her touch. “Emma. Love is resilient. Love doesn’t see with human eyes. Love sees with human hearts.” With gentle fingers, Dr. Kennedy dragged Emma’s hand from her neck to her heart and left it there. She swung open the door. “See you next week. Don’t forget your assignment.” **** The old pickup ran on autopilot all the way back to Honey Creek. Emma

swiped tears of frustration and tried hard not to think. She was surprised to see the lodge come into view instead of her house. Idling for a minute, she made her decision. The lake made her smile, and she could use a smile. Emma pulled her camera bag from the passenger side floorboard and slung it over one shoulder. Getting some sunset pictures of the lake would improve the selection she’d gathered so far. Sunsets over the lake were magical, like anything was possible beneath them. Sunsets over the lake were second only to sunrises from her parents’ hayloft. Something about the natural array of colors felt promising. When either graced the sky, a new day

wasn’t far behind. She stopped a few yards away from the lake, pulled out her camera and adjusted the focus. Golden hues changed the look of the water. Fiery shades of orange and red set the scene ablaze, soon to be replaced with the indigos of twilight. She needed to move fast before they disappeared. Emma snapped several shots, hoping to catch a flight of swallows as they crossed over the crimson clouds. Too soon, the purple clouds swallowed the golden ones. She folded herself into the grass and waited for the moon’s appearance. According to her almanac, the full moon was due. Photographs of the moon wouldn’t

attract lodge guests, but they were mysterious and romantic, and she collected them for herself. The wall over her bed contained moon photos from every year since she discovered her love of photography. The moon never changed. Night sounds amplified in the absence of light. Emma rested back on her elbows in the grass, waiting for the moon to show itself, willing a mass of gray clouds to move along. Fish jumped in the water, taunting night fisherman who’d arrived and set up an hour ago to trick them. The splashes were unusually loud, and a snuffling sound caught her attention. She sat upright as a cold wetness squished into her face followed

by a sound the abominable snowman might make. Emma squealed and grabbed her chest. “Oh no.” Pain burned around her sides, punctuated her ribs, and clenched her throat. Not again. “Mavis!” A man’s voice increased her panic. The silhouette of a dog interrupted her view of the lake. The dog looked at her before collapsing onto the ground inches away. Emma tipped over, eyes wide, desperate for more light, more air, less company. She rubbed her chest, begging the discomfort to subside before the man arrived and expected her to speak. “Mavis,” he scolded.

Awoo, the dog complained, not bothering to lift its head. “You have to stay in the boat. How am I supposed to catch anything if you keep jumping into the water? Mack’s ticked. You dumped his stringer over with you.” The words stopped abruptly. She smashed her eyes shut. “Emma?” One eye popped open. She didn’t want to know who’d found her, but she also didn’t want him to think she was dead or drunk or who knows what else. The eye stretched wide when his face registered. “Nicholas?” “You remember my name?” His eyebrows lifted and so did one cheek.

He crouched beside her and rolled back on his heels. Two big hands hung loosely between them. “Sure.” His smile bothered her. Normally he scowled. The smile warmed her in places she didn’t approve of. She looked away. “This is Mavis, my dog.” The word drew out an added half a beat. His dawg. He extended a hand between them. She took it and righted herself. “Hi, Mavis.” At the sound of her voice, the dog flopped onto its back and waited. “Ham.” Nicholas barked a laugh. “She’s old and night blind.”

“Nice.” “And she doesn’t like night fishing.” He laughed again and sat back beside her in the grass, linking his hands around his knees. “We were supposed to be in that boat.” He lifted a finger toward the dark lake. “That’s my buddy Mack leaving without us. What’re you doing sitting in the dark?” “Waiting on the moon.” “Sure. Sure.” She laughed. Who knew he had a sense of humor? “You’re in a good mood, considering your dog jumped ship. Will Mack come back soon?” “Yeah. He’ll be back.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t exactly smiling when she took off, but I think she

made up for it.” Nicholas reached out to rub the dog’s ribs. Mavis gurgled and snuffled, then rolled onto her belly in the grass to breathe. Emma’s heart fluttered in her throat. Beside her Nicholas sat a full four inches taller, even hunkered around his knees. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and she leaned back on her palms to sneak a look at the man next to her. Scruff dusted his chin and throat. His eyes were deep set under thick black brows. Moonlight cast shadows of his lashes down both cheeks. She said a silent thank you he’d reached for her hand a moment earlier, before they dampened with nerves and sweat. He looked at her from the corner

of his eye. “We keep running into each other. Have you noticed?” This time his voice was lower. The jovial bounce had given way to something more serious. “Yeah.” Her voice caught in her throat. She coughed into a fist to clear it. “Small town side effect.” “It ain’t a bad one.” No. It wasn’t. Since finding the journal, she felt braver. She spent more time around town in the sunlight this past week than she had in several months combined. “So, where’ve you been hiding until now?” Nicholas shifted in the grass beside her and Emma stiffened. “I’m not much of a people person.”

He turned at the waist to face her. “You sure picked a funny profession for that affliction. You photograph people, right?” “Well, it pays the bills.” Tears pinched her eyes as a bubble of laughter filled her chest. He had her there. How could she explain five years of sadnessicing on twenty years of center-ofattention cake. She exhaled in search of the right words. “Okay. I like people just fine.” The eager look in his eyes confused her. Why did he care? Had he heard the rumors? “Lately, I prefer the quiet, that’s all.” “I can be quiet.” The sincere tone of his voice turned her lips up in a smile and her face away from his. It’d been

years since anyone flirted with her. Not that he was flirting. She peeked in his direction. A better question formed in her head. Was she flirting? Nicholas sat stock-still, smiling at the lake. The picture of quiet.

Chapter Seven When Mom pulled the door open, she nearly leapt into my arms. Tears already streamed from her eyes. It’d been two years since I’d been home, but not even secrets formed halfway around the world were safe from our small town. The moment I pulled my rental onto Route 22, I became fair game for gossip and ghost spotting. When a train lumbered along the only set of tracks and held me up for nearly five minutes, I watched a dozen bystanders take notice. First of the car they didn’t know, then they dipped their heads for a look at the driver. The lady in front of me yanked her mirror to the side to check her face, and her chin

dropped when our eyes met. By the time I lifted Mama into my arms, she’d received no less than four phone calls announcing my arrival. So much for surprises. She looked smaller and more fragile than I remembered. Maybe after two years in a battle zone everything did. Her thin palms gripped my cheeks tight, and she kept saying, “Welcome home,” until my eyes filled to match hers. Tears streamed over the skin on her cheeks, and I never wanted to leave. The most important thing I could protect was right there in my hands. Emma sniffled and wiped tears as she finished the passage for the third time. Her tears dropped onto the ink. She

flung her body backward onto her bed and exhaled. The imagery astounded her. She knew firsthand how it was to arrive home. Every car in town must be inventoried somewhere. She shook her head, picturing the train. How awful to be held back by something as mundane as a train when you’re coming home from war to see your mother. A gush of air filled her lungs and she bolted upright. “Oh my Lord in heaven, he’s from Honey Creek!” She looked around for someone to dance with. Grabbing the journal in one hand, she skimmed the words again though she’d practically memorized them already. Route 22. One set of tracks. His journal sat under her

willow. “Wheeeee!” She scooped a pillow off her bed and spun until the floor tilted. A rooster crowed on her nightstand, and she scoffed at the interruption of her moment. The rooster ring signaled an unknown number. She looked at her pillow and asked, “Telemarketer or a customer in need of a portrait?” When the pillow didn’t answer, she tossed it. “Emma Hastings.” She answered the phone, but her mind rolled through every man she knew who’d been to war. It was a short list. Aside from her relatives, Heather’s relatives and her high school friends, she had no idea who

did or didn’t join the service. “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number. I was looking for Tim McGraw. We have a date tonight.” “James?” How’d he get her number again? Jumbled didn’t begin to describe her thoughts. Scrambled, maybe. The fact she wondered about the best adjective for her confusion said a lot. Dinner with James? Meh. Creeping around town trying to identify the man responsible for her heart’s bliss, that sounded like a winner. “Are we still on for six o’clock?” Emma’s eyes shot to the alarm clock. Five thirty. Good grief. No. “Sure. See you then.” She tossed the phone back onto the

nightstand and growled into the pillow. “Why’d you let me answer that?” In the shower she dialed Heather, tossed the phone on the mat outside the curtain and yelled, “He’s from Honey Creek!” “Who? Where are you? Is it raining?” “My soldier.” “The sun’s shining here. We have a bad connection. Let me call you back.” “No!” Emma poked her head out of the curtain and tried not to drip on her phone. “My soldier’s from Honey Creek. Can you believe it? Who could it be? What if I know him? Oh my goodness I can’t think.” “Woman, call me back in ten

minutes when you’re dry and dressed.” “I can’t.” She rinsed the last of the conditioner from her hair and lassoed a towel around her torso. She wrung her hair out in her fists and looped another towel over it. One quick twist and she grabbed the phone. “James is taking me out for pizza at six. We have to talk now.” “Six? As in six o’clock on this day? You’re in trouble.” “Crap. I’m moving as fast as I can. I forgot about it. So what do you think? Who could it be?” She yanked on a pair of black shorts and an emerald green blouse with no sleeves but a high collar. A dozen buttons lined up from belly button to collarbone. The back was open

from the collar to the curve of her back. A measure of confidence came with the outfit. If she saw Clarissa tonight, she’d be better prepared for her attitude. “I don’t have the first clue. Is this guy home on leave now and lost the book, or has he been home for a decade and he’s like 40 now?” Yikes. She hadn’t considered his age. He might be in college and she’d be a creepy cougar. Or what if he was old. “He was in Iraq. How long have troops been there?” “Like forever. Didn’t they go there once when we were in grade school? Desert Storm? Desert Shield? Lucy’s oldest brother went that time. He was 18. Lucy was six. That guy could be 38.

That’s if he went at eighteen. Where do we start looking?” “Doorbell. Work on it. I’ll call you after dinner.” She shoved the phone in her pocket and ripped the towel off her head. No time to comb it. Emma twisted her wild mass of unruly redness until her face pulled tight, then anchored it with a giant clip and dashed toward the door. “You’re right on time.” He released a long low whistle as he took her in from head to toe. “You look amazing. That blouse really makes your eyes shine. I like your hair up too. Wow.” “Oh, it’s nothing.” James seemed nice enough, but she refused to invite

him in without a background check. The town probably had a copy of that she could borrow. “Shall we?” He slid her hand over his forearm as she pulled the door closed behind her. Her favorite black sandals sat on the porch right where she left them. “Just a second.” She toed on her shoes, and they were off for pizza. Even a very public date couldn’t ruin her mood after the incredible, promising, terrifying information she discovered thirty minutes before. Since then, everything changed. **** The air inside Catch 22 smelled delectable. Standing at the counter waiting for a table had her salivating.

She smiled at the bright red and white motif. Some of her best memories started there. Hoards of kids loaded out of booths wearing Fayette County High School letterman coats despite the summer heat. She remembered doing the same a lifetime ago. Those letters were the result of long hours and hard work. Once she got one, she wanted to make sure people knew. “You’re smiling.” James smiled down at her, looking like he had something to do with it. “The food’s good here?” “Scrumptious.” “How’s this?” He walked toward a table where cheerleaders stood examining their bill and figuring out a

proper tip. When Emma caught up with him, he turned to her for privacy. “Do you see all these winter coats?” He rolled his eyes. The girls either missed the comment or rose above it. “Congratulations on the state championship, ladies,” Emma crooned. How good they must feel. “I haven’t run into you guys to say so before, but I’m proud of you.” She wedged a hand beside her mouth in conspirator fashion. “My squad made a few trips to state too. We never brought home the title.” She winked, and the girls beamed. “Thank you, Emma! Thanks, Miss Hastings!” The girls jogged to catch up with

their group. Emma and James slid into the booth. “What’s good here?” James looked at the menu like he didn’t recognize the language. “Everything. You want pizza or something else?” “Pizza?” He raised a brow, uncertain. “Try the pepperoni double cheese, double crust.” “Double crust?” Emma dropped her menu onto the table. “Double crust. Are you kidding me right now? They put another thin layer of dough on top and shine it up with butter, then bake it till it cracks.” She waited for it to hit him. Double

crust. “Like a calzone.” He nodded and went back to his menu. She pulled the menu from his eyes. “No. Not like a calzone. Like a party in your mouth. A spa party where your teeth say oh and ah.” “Well, how do I say no to that?” He winked. Emma sighed. Whoever thought of winking as sexy never saw James do it. The time between ordering and eating dragged along. The conversation lacked anything good. At least he was fun to look at. When the pizza arrived, scents of salt, cheese and butter intoxicated her. She thought of Fred Flintstone floating

through his house on a whiff of brontosaurus in the kitchen. James cut and lifted a slice high above the pizza pan, trailing cheese into the air with it. He wrapped the cheese around a fork 50 times before he gave up and placed the slice onto a place. He cut the stringy threads against the table with his fork and a chuckle. For one fleeting moment things were different and that slice was for her. “I didn’t forget. I promise.” The waitress appeared, sliding a Greek salad in front of Emma. One small chunk of bread on the side. “Teens stormed the place about an hour ago. I’m still recovering. Anything else I can get for you?”

“We’re all set, thanks.” Emma’s smile faded. She pushed the pizza back to James. He had a wad of napkins, failing to clean the grease off his shirt. “Salad?” “I’m a closet health nut. Don’t tell my mother.” She cut a small bite of lettuce and stabbed it with her fork. “Well, that shouldn’t surprise me. A figure like yours is no accident.” Another wink. Emma’s eyes watered as the lettuce lodged in her throat. Somehow he didn’t laugh. Instead he looked at her like he expected something. A compliment in return? An explanation of how she kept her figure? A blush at his unwanted ogling. The journal popped

into mind. She should be at home in her pajamas, on her porch swing, learning something new about her soldier. Not here, choking on romaine. The little bell rang over the shop’s front door. Her head snapped up. The next man through the door could be him. The Fallons walked in laughing and waited for a to-go order. Mitchell had people over all the time. She could be there too. Anywhere sounded better than on her failing date. “Do you jog?” James didn’t seem to notice they were on the Titanic. “I hike.” “I’ve never done that. You should take me sometime.” “Hiking?” She wiped the corner of

her mouth and blinked back the tears from choking. Mitchell spotted her, and he spoke into his wife’s ear. She turned Emma’s way and opened her mouth to speak when the bell jingled again. Emma took a long pull on the straw in her ice water, preparing to say hello as soon as she could manage. Five seconds later, Nicholas walked in. Against her better judgment, something inside her soared.

Chapter Eight Nicholas didn’t sleep after he left Mitchell’s place. Too many unknowns plagued his mind. Where did he put his journal for one thing? He’d retraced his steps, covered every inch of Honey Creek and the lake. The thing didn’t up and walk away. Someone had it. Who? He couldn’t decide if he wanted it to have traveled home with a stranger who visited for the day or to be seated on a local coffee table. The former meant a family treasure gone forever. The latter meant someone close by knew too much. Then there was the other thing. His hyper-awareness of Emma had him in limbo. A few weeks back she started appearing like an apparition everywhere

he went. The more he took notice, the more she appeared. Meeting her made her real, tangible and infinitely frustrating. He knew the shape of her eyes, the curve of her jaw and the sound of her laugh. He picked it out in crowds. He expected to see her everywhere, and the disappointment when he didn’t was brutal. For a moment when he saw her having pizza the other night, he resolved to invite her over to Mitchell’s with him. The look on Cynthia’s face warned him, but he thought the warning meant Emma was there, not she was there on a date. “Ugh.” He had no business caring, but the sudden twinge of jealousy knocked the air out of him. Stupid, but true.

Nicholas poured his coffee into a thermal mug and headed for his truck. Stewing in the house served no one. Plus, he had a solid chance of running into Emma at the lake. **** After a trip around the lodge, he found Emma seated on the dam swinging her legs and reading a book. Her camera bag lay beside her. Nicholas smiled. She was like a magnet. He’d never have to worry about where she was. He could close his eyes and still find her. “Anyone ever told you it’s not safe to sit up here?” he called from several yards away. Emma started and shoved the book into her bag before he got close enough

to see what she had. Her hair floated in the wind off the water, streaming into her face. She didn’t seem to mind. Her thin pale legs dangled over the edge like a child. Carefree. Happy. “This seat taken?” She patted the cement beside her and smiled up into the sun at him. The look dazzled, confused and intrigued him. Was she always so happy, or was she glad to see him? He took a seat and pretended not to be on a mission. Step one involved reconnaissance. “Were you reading?” He stole a sideways glance her way. Nonchalant. It didn’t matter. He worried she’d been in the sun too long. Her cheeks looked red. “Do you read?” She didn’t answer

him, but she didn’t tell him to kick stones either. Promising. Emma grabbed a fistful of flyaway hair and hooked it behind one ear. “Not in years, but I used to read a lot.” He ducked his head, wondering if he should’ve said he still did to impress her. “You do.” The more he saw her, the more things registered. Like the fact she carried a book as often as a camera. She smiled, and he fought the urge to touch her. Impulsive. Ridiculous. Not smooth. “I do. Heather teases me. She says I lose a lot of time to reading, but I disagree.” “How was your date with the new teacher?” Nice transition. He turned his

face away long enough to look casual. Just a friendly question. Small towns. She’d understand. Her lips puckered. A small line formed between her brows. “He winked a lot.” Nicholas laughed. She did too. “Oh yeah?” She shook her head in wonder, but said nothing. He needed a life raft. Why didn’t she talk? “Did he make you laugh? I always think I’m doing all right on a date if she laughs.” “At you or with you?” A mischievous look crossed her features. He liked it. “It’s been my experience they

laugh at me after I take them home.” “Uh huh.” “Stop me if you’ve heard this.” What was he saying? His mind screamed, Stop talking right now. Do not do a joke. His mouth ignored. “There’s two guys and a dog. The first guy says to the second guy, ‘Hey man, does your dog bite?’” Emma’s face went blank. Her mouth parted. Her eyes narrowed. “The second guy says, ‘No. My dog don’t bite.’ So the first guy takes a seat with them, and the dog clamps onto his leg.” Emma closed her eyes. Sweat beaded on Nicholas’s neck. Shut up. He begged his mouth to stop.

His heart screamed Retreat! Retreat! Abort! Abort! “The first guy says ‘Hey! You said your dog don’t bite.’ But the second guy says, ‘That ain’t my dog.’” To his delight, she laughed. Not a polite, he sucked laugh, but a genuine belly laugh. Her head tipped back, and she opened her mouth wide. One hand drifted to her chest and her fingers lingered near her collar. When she looked at him again, there were tears in her eyes. “That was awful,” she complained, wiping a renegade tear. “Terrible bad.” But she laughed. “You never heard it?” “No.” She looked at him like he gave her candy. He liked that too.

“So, what’re you doing up here all by yourself anyway?” “I’m not.” Her red cheeks distracted him. Was she flirting? He felt his brows come together, and she looked away. “I like to people watch. Fishermen interest me. They’re drawn to the water like I am, but for a different purpose. They hope to catch fish. I hope to capture a moment.” She pulled her camera from her bag and shifted through some images. “Look.” When she passed the camera to him, he thought she looked eager. He pulled his gaze from hers and found an image powerful enough to make a grown man hold his breath. Early morning light drifted across the lake caught in her

camera. The light filtered through trees, illuminating the water like a mirror. A muted image of the cloudless blue sky, banks covered in tall brown cattails, and an old man with a child looked back through the mirror. The man and the child stood side by side, old and young, youth and experience, sharing a moment every man in town remembered like it happened yesterday. His grandfather positioned his hands on the tiny reel. The boy’s face twisted in concentration. The old man beamed with pride. Nicholas swallowed hard. “You like it,” she whispered. Before he cried like a baby and humiliated every man in town, he sucked it up and nodded. How could she know

that one moment was so defining? How did she tell the whole story in one picture? Did every second of time reveal so much? “My dad taught me to fish by those cattails.” She looked at the water as she spoke. “But who taught you to do this?” He lifted the camera but didn’t offer it to her. “I’m an only child. I like watching people. In time I started taking pictures to help me remember them in moments I wanted to save. I studied photography in college, but it wasn’t until a few years ago I started to see things clearly.” “What changed?” “Everything.”

Emma took her camera and stood. What did he say? Her smile disappeared and she packed up. When she walked away, he followed. “You have a gift, you know.” She kept moving. He kept pace. “Mavis hasn’t had her picture taken in a while.” Ever. “Maybe you’d consider indulging an old girl?” Emma froze. He almost crashed into her. She raised a hand to her eyes and looked up at him with a crazy face that made him laugh. “You want me to take pictures of your dog? The old hound who nearly gave me a heart attack the other night? The one who hates night fishing?” He hesitated. After the picture

she’d showed him, photographing Mavis probably sounded like an insult, but how else could he secure some more time alone with her? “Yes.” “Sounds like fun.” She pulled a brilliant purple and red business card from her bag and handed it to him. Photos from the Heart Photography. “Call me when she’s ready, and bring her a hat.” **** The minute he entered Dr. Kennedy’s office he smiled. A bright red frame hung on the wall beside her desk. Big purple flowers and hummingbirds filled the canvas. His mind ran to the red and purple business card in his pocket. The card smelled like her, sunshine and

strawberries. He pictured her elbow deep in jam like the rest of the town. “What’s new?” Dr. Kennedy tipped back in her brown office chair and smiled. “You look like you have news for me.” “No.” “No?” She had ways of extracting information. He couldn’t compete with her voodoo. “There’s a girl in town I run into a lot.” “The girl with the camera?” “Yes.” He didn’t remember telling her about Emma. “I talked with her this morning, and I’m taking Mavis over to have her portrait done.” “Clever.”

He nodded, appreciating the approval. Approaching a beautiful woman wasn’t easy, especially in a town where everyone would know if she shot you down. “What’d you talk about?” “I saw her reading, but she didn’t tell me what. Then she showed me a picture she’d taken, and it undid me. I don’t know her, but I feel like she knows me. She summed up who I am with one picture, and she doesn’t have a clue she did it.” “She’s a photographerphotographer?” Dr. Kennedy scratched something into her notebook. “More than that. She’s an artist. I draw sometimes, but my attempts never

come close to what she accomplishes. You know she fishes too?” “I didn’t.” She rested her chin in her hands. “Go on.” “She loves my town, our town,” he corrected. “She loves the lake, the outdoors, books, life.” He sounded like an idiot. Part of him wanted to say ‘how about those Buckeyes,’ but Dr. Kennedy wouldn’t put up with that. “You didn’t ask her out.” She knew him well. He looked away. “I saw her having dinner with a new guy the other night.” “Do you know him? Is he nice?” “I haven’t met him. He’s the new second grade teacher. He’s from Akron.

Doesn’t fish or hunt. Drives a car.” He shook his head. “Did some research, I see.” One side of his mouth ticked up in answer. “I asked around.” “What have you learned about her then? We know she reads and is a photographer.” She circled something in her notes and tapped the paper. He let out a long breath. “She was a cheerleader in high school, ran track, worked on the school paper and hung with a group of jerky people. It’s hard to believe they were ever friends.” “In high school?” “I borrowed her yearbook from a friend’s little sister.” “Resourceful. Go on.”

“After that, she went to Ohio State. She was four years behind me and got a degree in photography. She came home early and finished with correspondence courses. Rumor has it she was kicked out or arrested. I guess she used to raise a little hell. Excuse me.” He waved a hand between them in apology. Her eyes stretched wide. She cleared her throat and waved for him to continue. “That’s it. Now she’s in Honey Creek. She keeps to herself, but everyone loves her. I never see her with the kids she hung around in school. She’s happy and sweet and real.” The last word lay heavy on his tongue. The doctor seemed to need a

minute. She shifted in her chair and her eyes moved from her paper to him and back. She took a sip from the mug on her desk. “So what’s next? Have you filled this week’s calendar with busyness and good deeds?” He hadn’t. An unfamiliar sensation heated his chest. Not once had he looked for something to keep him busy of late. His torturous mind had a single focus all week. The only thing he’d thought about for days was five-foot nothing with wild red hair and eyes that disturbed his sleep. “May I give you some advice, as a friend?” Dr. Kennedy stared hard into his face. Nicholas frowned at her. Those

were new words in her plain brown office. The photo on the wall grabbed his attention again. But things change. He nodded. “Find out what she was reading.”

Chapter Nine Nicholas’ shiny charcoal Ford pulled into the drive right on time. Emma ducked out of sight, dropping the curtain to pretend she hadn’t been watching for him. They’d talked a couple times, but having a man over to her house intimidated her. She’d never had anyone she didn’t consider family inside since she bought the place two years back. Meeting clients in the barn looked more professional on her part. The office looked stellar thanks to Jackson’s keen eye and craftsmanship. Nicholas didn’t know he was the first man inside, so why tell him? After the way he lingered over her photograph of the fisherman, she wanted

to watch his reaction to her home. Would he appreciate the restoration of stained glass and woodwork? Did he know how excited she was he wanted to see her again? On the out chance he really wanted photos of Mavis, she set up the studio before she made sweet tea, salad, cornbread, and coffee. The truck door slammed shut, and her heart took off like a filly. When he knocked, she froze. A little snuffle from Mavis brought reality in. He did want his dog photographed. Defeated, she pulled open the door with the best smile she could muster. “Miss Emma.” He held out a bouquet of wildflowers. A twinkle in his eye brought a smile to her lips.

“Why, thank you.” Emma stepped aside, taking the flowers and holding the door wide for her guests to enter. “I’m going to put these in some water. Can I get you something to drink?” She moved to her kitchen, aware they didn’t follow. She fished her favorite leaded glass vase from under the sink and gave it a good rinsing then arranged the flowers inside. Still no followers. “Hello?” Tucking the vase in the crook of her arm, she went to look for her company. Nicholas stood admiring her fireplace. “Your folks?” He pointed to the initials carved into the weathered oak mantle.

“Yep. He proposed to her right there and carved their initials in the bark when she said yes. A tornado tore up that part of the woods when I was small, but when we were out clearing the damage, this part of the tree still stood. Daddy cut it down and hauled it home.” He nodded. She wanted to hear what he thought. The story choked her up every time she told it. Nicholas stood in silence, running long tanned fingers over the carvings. “I always wanted to do that.” “Make a mantle from an oak tree?” “Nah.” He turned around expressionless. “I forgot to bring her a hat. I’ve got a ball cap in my truck.” He

looked toward the porch. “Mavis.” She crouched, and the dog sauntered her way. Emma covered her long floppy hound ears and looked sternly in Nicholas’ direction. “Mavis is a princess. She doesn’t want to wear your old ball cap.” She tsked her tongue against her teeth. Rubbing the hound’s head she said, “Come on, let’s get you gussied up.” Out in the barn, Nicholas hefted Mavis onto the set. A crisp white sheet draped over the table. Mavis looked less than interested. Emma turned the lights on and positioned the reflective canopies overhead. Certain her subject was more likely to fall asleep than run away, she went to look in her dress up

chest. “Where do you get all these costumes?” Nicholas spun on his heels wielding finger guns and wearing a child’s cowboy hat. “They’re props, and I get them everywhere. Flea markets, thrift stores, yard sales, online sometimes.” “People just come on over here and dress up in your barn?” “That’s the idea. Yeah.” “And let you take their picture?” “Yeah.” When he turned around again, his fingers worked at the tiny buckle of the kiddie holster on his hip. Emma snapped his picture. Shock crossed his face before he laughed deep and hard. Then

he locked his thumbs inside the loops of his belt and pursed his lips. “Uh oh.” Emma looked over her shoulder for help. Mavis snored softly on the sheet behind her. “Hey now,” she warned. “This camera could break if you do anything crazy.” Nicholas took a step forward. She shuffled backwards into a set of tiny stairs. Without intent, her knees buckled, and she landed on her backside. Before she could right herself, a cloud of purple feathers blocked her sight. A seven-foot boa swarmed around her neck and something landed on her head. With a snap beneath her chin, it was over. She stood to find Nicholas still in costume. A lopsided grin told her where

the boa came from. She pushed the feathers off her chin and spat a few away from her lips. A giggle rose in her throat. She suppressed it. This was war. Nicholas moved, and her muscles went rigid. The mirror he’d blocked revealed her current situation. The boa covered most of her clothes, leaving her looking naked underneath. A tiny pointed hat sat cockeyed on her head, sparkling in the lamps above her. “You look perty.” “You’re awful.” He moseyed over and slung one long arm around her shoulder, then reached for her camera with the other. She marveled at the way he managed it in one giant paw. It took both her hands

to steady and capture the image of them, shoulder to shoulder. Click. She looked at him, smiling into the camera outstretched before them. Click. Click. Click. She stuck her tongue out at him. Rolled her eyes. Held her nose. Click. Click. Click. In an instant she flew around the studio grabbing things. Mavis got a set of angel wings and a crown. Nicholas stuck the end of a wand between her paw and one jowl. They laughed until Emma’s side hurt. “You’re kind of silly,” he said, watching her pant and rub her side. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for silly.” “Touché.” She hadn’t felt silly in a long time. The session was over, but she

didn’t want him to leave. “Can I get you something to drink now?” He nodded. Emma slid the stairs over to the platform where Mavis slept and led the way back to the house. Her tummy growled. “Can you stay for a bite to eat too?” They slipped into her kitchen before he responded. Nicholas leaned in her doorway, looking huge. He braced his hands easily on the woodwork above him and stared. “I don’t want to put you out.” “Not at all.” She turned away, knowing her face would match her hair soon. She walked a slippery line. Her hand rose to her collar and tugged.

“Why do you do that?” “What?” Emma removed some chicken fillets and veggies from the refrigerator. “When you’re nervous you tug on your collar.” “I’m not nervous.” Her hand flew to and from her collar. Darn it. She willed it to stay at her side. “I’m not.” “I hope not.” The expression on his face softened her. He looked too vulnerable to fill her door the way he did. His arms were taunt and sinewy with muscle. Her eyes wandered to his shoulders, the hollow of his collarbone, thickness of his neck. The almost invisible stubble on his chin told her he’d shaved before coming to see her.

What did that mean? “Can I help?” Help her what? Cook? She cleared her throat and pulled her eyes from the shape of his lips. Dragged them from the square line of his jaw. “Sure?” Nicholas washed his hands and forearms at the sink like a doctor before turning to her. “Did you used to wear a special necklace?” he motioned to her collar. “You lost it, and now you miss it?” “No. Do you want to light the grill? I’ll toss a salad.” His jaw worked side to side. He nodded and ducked out the back door. Her hand jumped to her collar. Darn it! She straightened her shirt and

tried to steady her breaths. She had no reason to be nervous. None. Even less reason to visualize how her face might feel tucked into the hollow of his neck and shoulder. It didn’t matter if he smelled like fresh cut grass, musk and something spicy. Her mind wandered over the scent, unable to name it. “Have you read all these?” She jumped. Good grief, she probably seemed insane. “Most. Yes.” Nicholas had slipped back inside. He stood running a finger over her bookcase in the hall. Her eyes shut at the thought of all the romance novels and their questionable covers. “Which were you reading at the dam?”

“Oh, I haven’t finished it yet.” The truth gave her pause. She hadn’t. Though only a few dozen pages remained, Nicholas sidetracked her lately. Emma leaned back from the counter and stole another look at him. His well-worn jeans hung lose from the V of his torso in the doorway, but squatting to examine her books, they pulled tight everywhere. The fabric hugged his thighs. She felt her mouth drop open, helpless to shut it. He straightened his legs, leaving his chest angled forward. The new view made her suck air. She dashed to the sink and turned on the water. “Are you okay?” “Mmmhmm.”

“Can you recommend a book to me? I’d bring it back.” She turned her back to the sink and waited until he appeared in the kitchen once more. His blue eyes crinkled at the edges. She’d never seen a friendlier face. On cue, he smiled. “Well? Any suggestions?” She pressed her lips together. “Something from the top shelf?” he suggested. “The edges of those are all worn. It looks like the lower the shelf, the less you read the book. I assume those on the bottom failed to captivate.” This time she nodded. “Grill’s ready. Is that everything?” He pointed to the trays she prepared on the countertop.

When she stepped toward them, he lifted them with ease and headed for the door. At the threshold he rested his hip against her screen and it swung wide. She slipped out, moving beneath the lifted trays and brushed her shoulder against his chest. A shiver slid down from her neck and disappeared into her sandals. Emma took a seat on the porch to watch Nicholas cook. He offered to help, but there he was doing it all himself. He looked at home. Only when he came to the seasoned, sliced tomatoes did he pause. She waited for him to ask about them, but he moved ahead, laying them carefully between planks of chicken. His eyes lifted to hers, but he

said nothing. The lazy clickety-clack of toenails brought her attention away from him. Mavis snorted and wheezed her way across the porch, still wearing her wings and crown. “Hello, gorgeous,” he crooned in what passed for the worst English accent she’d ever heard. Mavis sneezed. Emma pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. “Why haven’t we ever talked before?” she asked, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Well. I’ve wondered that a few times myself.” He had? “I figure it was because you were

busy being a baby.” “What?” He laughed, waving a spatula in the air. “Not like that. Like a baby.” He sighed and hung his head. “I. Am. Old. You are not.” She felt old. And he seemed young. Funny how things work out sometimes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How old are you?” He didn’t answer. His hands got busy with the grilling. She turned her face to Mavis. She kept plenty from Nicholas too. How many of his questions had she dodged? “We have a lot of secrets.” “I’m 30.” “Oh.” He was older than she

thought. Five years older, at least until her birthday in the fall. “I’m 25. My birthday’s in September.” Was she too young for him? Did he care about that? Did it matter to her if it bothered him? “You haven’t been out of school long. Did you come straight home?” He filled two plates with food from the grill and came to sit with her on the porch. “I came home early. I took my last semester online.” She cut her food into tiny pieces, certain she’d choke to death trying to force the truth from her lips. She did not want to talk about what happened to her, but for the first time in years, she didn’t want to hide it either. “I left after a bit, hoping to make a life in the city. My mother loves to mother me.”

“Yet here you are.” “I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. And a sucker for this town. Good, bad and all.” He didn’t look surprised, and he didn’t ask. “How about you? You’re a botanist?” She stuck a tomato in her mouth and smiled. “Botany is more manly than it sounds.” He raised an eyebrow and half a smile. “Definitely.” “I wanted to get involved in forest conservation. When I started school, I planned to be a park ranger some place out west.” “What happened?”

He looked at his plate. She thought he shook his head, but the movement was small and quick. “Life.” He blew out a breath before looking back at her. “Are you working at the Strawberry Festival this year?” “No. I made strawberry everything until my skin turned pink. I hauled it to the church for safe keeping, and I plan to attend as a faithful member of our community where I will eat until I cry, but I’m not working this year.” “You want to go as my date?” Well, that was specific. No room to analyze those words. Her cheeks ached before she realized why. Her smile had probably swallowed her face, and she’d yet to answer him. He didn’t

seem put off by the lack of words. “I’d like that.” She rubbed a nervous palm over her thigh. His eyes appraised her. She’d have given anything to know what he saw. Another forkful of chicken passed his lips, and she relaxed her spine against the porch railing. No good would come from their relationship. He liked her. She couldn’t tell how much, but she knew he did. She also knew her scars were hideous. If he stayed too long, he’d know it too. He’d leave her. She could survive that. She’d survived a heart attack. A broken heart wouldn’t kill her, but it wasn’t something she wanted to live with either.

Chapter Ten “Are you ready?” Heather burst in through the back door with her standard degree of exuberance. Emma looked up from the table dumbfounded. Her mind floundered, searching for what those plans might be. She blinked. “I can’t believe you aren’t ready. Let’s go go go.” Heather danced in place. “Can I finish my coffee?” “Nope.” Heather fished a thermal cup from the cupboard and filled it. Shut off the coffeemaker, rinsed the pot and shoved it against the wall. “He’s right under our noses, but he’s not wearing a sign. We’ve got work to do.” She

twisted the lidded mug in front of her like a dangling carrot for a stubborn mule. Emma stopped breathing, looked at her empty cup and sighed. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be out front waiting at the curb. Why so blue, you?” “I finished the journal.” Heather collapsed into the chair across from Emma, eyes wide in expectation. “You know who he is?” Her mouth gaped open. “No. What? No. I have no idea who he is, but whoever he is, I don’t want to know.” Heather slapped the table and Emma jumped. “Yes you do. Of course

you do. You’ve been pouring over this mystery man’s words for two weeks. You lurve him.” She slurred the word for silly emphasis. “I spent yesterday with Nicholas Fenton.” Heather sipped the coffee. “You’re cheating on your book guy.” The words were a scandalous whisper. Tears filled Emma’s eyes. “Hey, I’m joking. Emma, come on. What’s happening?” Emma rubbed her eyes against her forearm and sniffed. “I suck.” “You don’t suck.” She took Emma’s small hands between hers. “If you did, the whole town would know.” “Oh. Nice. Thank you.” Against

her will, she laughed. “You’re a dork.” “What happened? No. Tell me about Nicholas first. Where did that come from? I seriously need to stop day lighting as a lifeguard. I’m missing everything up there in that big white chair.” “If I find my soldier and he’s not what I expected, I’ll be sad. I like him the way he is in my head. I don’t want to ruin it.” She held up a finger to stop the coming protest. “If I find him and he’s 50 like you said, then it’s also ruined. If I find him and he doesn’t like me—ruined. If I find him and he does like me….” She pulled the collar of her tee with the finger she’d held in the air, revealing her angry pink and white scars.

“Honey.” Heather’s voice grew soft, devoid of the energy she arrived with. “Those scars make you blessed. You’re a survivor, strong and willful, and those scars are evidence that miracles do happen. Those scars you hate make you more beautiful to me, and any man worth your time will know it.” And then they cried. The heart attack, the scars, and her health were all fenced in protectively behind Emma’s walls, off limits to everyone. Period. The idea of opening up after these years overwhelmed her. She imagined the floodgate on her heart the way she did in Dr. Kennedy’s office. Someone pulled the lever. Tears fell and sobs came. Stupid book. Stupid Nicholas.

Emma wiped her tears against a cloth napkin and took her coffee from Heather. “Any man who’d put up with all this crazy…” she stammered, choking back the additional tears intent on making an appearance. “Would be the luckiest man alive.” “I hate you.” She giggled and wiped and sniffed. “I know.” Emma went to change. It didn’t take long to find her favorite pair of cut offs and a loose fitting T-shirt. She stuffed her bare feet into well-worn Converse and headed for the bathroom. Adjusting the water, she doused her face and brushed her teeth. Some gloss and a hairbrush later, she was as ready as

she’d ever be for the mission ahead. Bouncing down the steps, she heard a voice. When she turned the corner, a man sat in her kitchen with Heather. For one fleeting moment she wondered if Heather had found him. Then she recognized the voice. “Hey.” The pair turned her way and smiled. Heather took a step back and made a strange face. “Emma,” James reached out to shake her hand. Weird. “Looks like I picked the perfect time to drop by. Heather said you guys were going hiking.” Heather shut her eyes and shook her head.

“Um.” “I told her you said you’d take me sometime. Then I thought, hey, I’m here. I’ll hang with you ladies today. What do you think? I’m already dressed for it.” Emma’s eyes slid over him, head to toes and back. He wore too long basketball shorts with a logo up one leg, a sleeveless tee, and white running shoes. She laughed. His expression fell. Emma coughed into her fist and swallowed. “Well, we planned a girls’ day, but maybe you and I can hike together another time?” He looked confused by the offer and a bit distressed. She didn’t want to be rude to a new neighbor. James seemed nice. She

was the one with the problems, but she didn’t need any more. What would her mom do? She had a way of making everyone feel welcome. “Do you want to stay for lunch? You’re already here, and we aren’t on a schedule.” She looked at Heather for help. “We were going to toss salads and have some sweet tea.” Heather sipped the coffee and watched the nightmare unfold. “No. I won’t intrude on girl time. I insist. In fact, I’m going to show myself out.” He winked. “You two had a ladies’ day planned, and I respect that. I’ll see you both soon. Enjoy your day.” He mock bowed and disappeared out the front door.

The girls tripped over one another running window to window until he was out of sight. “Wow.” Heather covered her mouth with slender fingers. “He’s so cute. Why must he talk? Do you think maybe he’s nervous?” She looked oddly hopeful. “Sure.” “Maybe he’ll settle down in time. It must be hard being new here.” “Let’s hope. If he doesn’t, the kids will eat him alive.” Emma led Heather to the living room, forcing images of second graders shooting spit wads into James’ perfectly sculpted hair from her mind. She sat cross-legged on her sofa and pulled a bright yellow cushion onto her lap.

“Nicholas brought his dog over to have pictures taken.” “Wait.” Heather jumped up and disappeared. A minute later she brought the coffee and a bowl of strawberries from the countertop, plus some bread from the breadbox. She set the coffee between them on the couch, propping it up and twisting the lid once more for safety. She handed the bowl to Emma and bit into the bread. “We took some pictures, but he didn’t ask to see them, and then he stayed for lunch. He cooked.” “You like him.” Heather looked her over as she chewed. “Yeah.” “Better than your book guy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. It’s like comparing apples to eagles. I don’t know Nicholas well, and I have no idea what he thinks of me. On the other hand, I feel like I know the soldier. I’ve gotten to know his heart and his dreams through his journal, but I don’t know who he is, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to mess it up. He’s perfect in my head.” “No one’s perfect. Here’s what you do. I say we at least find out who he is so you can return his journal. Then go from there.” “What about Nicholas?” Emma liked the idea of releasing her expectations, though she doubted she could. “What do you want to do about

Nicholas?” “I don’t know.” The lie hurt. “Then don’t worry about it. It’ll sort itself out.” Nothing sounded better than sticking her head in a hole. First, she’d focus on the soldier. The least she could do was return his journal. A surge of urgency swept over her. If she’d lost her journal and knew anyone in Honey Creek could be reading it, she’d die of humiliation. And she had read his journal. What kind of person did that? Embarrassment heated her cheeks. She didn’t only read it, she poured over the words, unintentionally memorizing passages from rereading her favorite parts. At least she didn’t tell anyone

about what she read. Telling his secrets would be the ultimate betrayal. But, what if she found him and he asked her if she’d read it. Should she lie? She couldn’t tell him the whole truth. Her doldrums life had gotten very complicated. Thoughts of Nicholas subsided as her soldier came front and center. She had an unspoken commitment to him. An obligation to do right. She messed up by invading his privacy and keeping his journal so long. She had to return it. He would do the right thing in her position, and she admired him. She wanted to follow his example to be honorable and brave. “Okay. I want to find him.”

Heather stopped chewing. “Really?” “Yes. I need to do the right thing and return his journal. Whatever happens after that, happens.” She stood and went to retrieve the journal. “Should I bring it with me?” “No. We won’t find him today since we can’t come out and ask what we want to know. Even if we did, you can always come back and get it.” Emma nodded in agreement. “Right. Where to first?” “I thought about it all night. I think we should start by getting our hands on one of those Veterans’ Day pamphlets from church. Remember, they had all our servicemen in there.”

“Smart.” Emma delighted at the new mission. “I know right where we can find one.” “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Twenty minutes later they arrived at the Fallon Farm. Cynthia and her grandma were in the garden. Cynthia waved an arm overhead when she saw them approach. “Do you see this garden?” Heather whispered. She did, and if Emma’s garden could see this one, it’d pull up and move. The plants under her care barely survived, while Cynthia’s flourished. From where they stood, there seemed to be flowers planted alongside vegetables.

She’d read about that and dismissed it as too much work. Apparently work paid off. “Hey, ladies!” Cynthia spoke in her grandmother’s ear before bounding from the garden to greet them. She pulled off a pair of pink gardening gloves and shaded her eyes with one hand. “What’s new?” “Sorry to drop by like this. We hope we didn’t interrupt.” Emma nodded to the garden. “Oh, no, we’re out there all the time. What can I do for you?” “We wondered if Mitchell kept copies of the pamphlets from his services.” Heather liked to get to the

point. “Some. When we don’t run out, he keeps one or two in a file so he doesn’t repeat his sermons too often.” She winked. When she winked, it was endearing and spunky. When James winked, he looked like a used car salesman. “Are you looking for something in particular?” The girls exchanged a glance. Neither spoke. Cynthia crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on,” she prompted. “Spill. No. Don’t. If it’s gossip, don’t tell me. I try not to hear that anymore. Being married to the town reverend makes me

a sitting duck for criticism. Wait. If it has to do with gossip, I can’t help you either.” She frowned. The puzzlement on her face showed she hadn’t yet adjusted to her new position as Reverend Fallon’s wife. “We’re not here to gossip,” Emma gushed, horrified at the thought she’d come to the reverend’s house to do any such thing. “We want to see the pamphlet from Veterans’ Day,” Heather explained. “We wanted to do something nice for the servicemen this year.” Emma chewed her lips. Heather lied to the reverend’s wife, and she didn’t stop her. They were going to hell. Sorry! I didn’t know she’d do that. I am

so sorry. She didn’t mean it either. We are so so so sorry. “Oh, fun! Well, then come on in.” The trio passed Mitchell on the porch. He leaned down to plant a kiss on his wife. “Hello, ladies. What’re you guys up to?” When Cynthia told him, Emma went back to her silent prayer for forgiveness. Mitchell’s eyes paused on Emma’s a moment too long. He caught her lying. The freaking reverend caught her in a lie. “Let me know if I can help. I’ll be back in a little while. There’s a Strawberry Festival coming.” He tipped his hat in their direction, and to her great relief, jogged down the porch stairs to

his truck. Inside, Cynthia poured three tall glasses of ice water and set them at the table before she disappeared. Cynthia left Honey Creek once too. Emma remembered how the town buzzed with news of her return when she came back for a visit two years ago. They practically unpacked their moving trucks together. Something had hurt Cynthia enough to send her away once. Emma sometimes imagined a bond between them for that reason. The old folks whispered about things to one another, but most of the time they were too stubborn to share. With any luck they kept Emma’s secrets too. The space beyond the front door

was remarkable. Her home looked like a New York design firm had come to decorate. Everything looked country chic like Better Homes & Gardens had set it up after consulting with Martha Stewart. None of the décor in their sight came from the local Wal-Mart, that was for certain. Warm earthy tones of green and brown anchored against subtle blue backgrounds, and everywhere she least expected it, a punch of burnt orange jumped out to grab her. An artist’s palette. Emma needed tips on where to find the fabrics and little touches Cynthia used. The home inspired her. She considered her options for redecorating as Cynthia returned. “Here you are. We had one left.

These went like hotcakes.” “All these men are in the service?” The book was at least 25 pages long. She didn’t remember it being so thick. “Some are now, but this includes living residents of Honey Creek who are now or have ever been enlisted in the armed services. Doesn’t matter if they lived here when they were. If they filled out the form, they got on the list.” “Oh.” There was a form. “You’re going to have to plan big.” “What?” Emma looked up as Heather flipped through the book. Who were they kidding? Twenty-five pages wasn’t a pamphlet.

“Or not. You don’t have to do something for all of them. You could consider sending care packages to those who’re overseas now instead. The ones who are here will vouch for how much it means to get something from home.” “Sounds like a plan.” Heather gave Emma a wayward look. “I’ll tell you what.” Cynthia left the room, talking as she went. “Take the pamphlet and mark the ones who are overseas now. I’ll double check to see if anyone else went since last year.” She returned with a giant brown box. “These are things I collected last fall to send to them and then didn’t follow through. I’m so glad you ladies are doing this. I’ve felt awful ever since. I hoped to get back

to it. Now I won’t have to worry.” She looked so relieved. Emma couldn’t say no. The box thumped hard on the ground beside her. “I think there’s enough in there to send to all of them, plus a few extras.” “Thanks.” Heather frowned. “We’re glad to help.” Emma lifted the box. “Well, we’d better get started. I’ll bring the book back in a few days, if that’s all right.” “Certainly.” Heather dragged her body from the chair and tossed the book into the box. Together they carried the box and their new assignment out the front door.

Chapter Eleven Nicholas sauntered up the steps to his childhood home. Hands in pockets. Smile tugging at his lips. The big white farmhouse never changed. The porch swing still creaked in the breeze. His mom still lined the boots up by the front door. Fresh roasted coffee wafted out to meet him. As far as he was concerned, there was no place like home. “Hello, Mama.” He slipped into the kitchen, careful not to let the old screen door bang shut behind him. “My angel, baby boy.” She wiped her hands into her apron and reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “How are you?” “Hungry.”

“And right on time.” She scooped a plate full of pasta and ladled it with red sauce. “Eat up. You’re too thin.” He patted his stomach. “On time is where I want to be. Plus, I find late is never good.” Too late to say good-bye to his dad. Too late for the funeral. Too late to spot the ambush he led his convoy into. Never ever good. “Are you all right? Have you found your journal?” Snapping back to the present, Nicholas poured two cups of coffee and headed to the table for dinner with his mom. She stared back at him in scrutiny. “It’ll turn up.” He hoped. He dug in with enthusiasm. “Delicious as always. Do you know you make the best

rigatoni around? That makes me a lucky guy.” She shook her head in disagreement. “Anything would taste as good after all the strawberries we’ve seen this month.” Rolling her eyes, she sighed with exhaustion. In June the Strawberry Festival was all she could talk about. By the week of the event, she hated fruit in general. In a week more, she’d forget the stress of this event and be busy planning for the town’s Happy Apple Festival in a few months. Nicholas chuckled. “I finished the booths and the framework for the judges’ tents. The festival’s ready to go from a carpentry standpoint. How about the judges?”

“High and mighty like every year. Every woman with a dish or a relative in the contest is sucking up to them like you wouldn’t believe.” Nicholas shoveled another scoop of pasta into his mouth and smiled. She looked exasperated. She loved it. This cycle had gone on as long as he could remember. Her pasta hit the spot. He’d been working in the sun for hours. The time had passed in a blink. His mind wandered to Emma and the meal they’d shared. She made heirloom tomatoes on the grill like his mom’s, right down to the tangy touch of Italian dressing and zip of dill. At first, he wondered if she’d found the recipe somewhere. Then, he passed it off as a

common idea. Lots of cooks tried a pinch of this, a dash of that, to change up an old favorite. Sitting with his mom, enjoying her sweet red sauce, he wondered. “I had grilled tomatoes the other night.” “Did you use the dill?” She looked up, seeming delighted. “I didn’t make them.” That gave her pause. She sipped her water. He watched her ponder what his point might be. “Well, then they weren’t as good.” “They were pretty good, dill and all.” She raised a brow. “I thought I was clever. Guess there’s nothing new

under the sun.” She sighed and forked another bite of pasta. “Who made them with dill?” His gaze darted from hers, betraying him. Knowing she suspected a woman in the story made him cocky. He lost 15 years in less than a minute. “Emma Hastings.” He hoped his expression didn’t give too much away. Emma got under his skin worse than anyone ever had. He couldn’t even say her name without dropping I.Q. points. “Do you know the Hastings?” “Yes.” She chewed a bit of pasta looking content and unflustered. Her composure killed him. Speak woman! “She’s very young. Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five.” “The Hastings are good people. How is Emma these days? I hear she had a… She left college early, I believe. Came home for a while and left again. I’ve seen her out and about more lately. She takes pictures of Mable’s grandkids umpteen times a year.” His mama rolled her eyes. “Mable’s a braggart.” The ohwhen-will-it-be-me look in her eye took over. A few sighs later she shook her head. “How’s Emma feeling?” “Fine. She’s got a great photography studio in her barn. Jackson renovated an office. It looks nice. Have you been to see it?” “I haven’t. Did you say you went with Jackson?” The faux innocence in

her expression made him choke. “No. I took Mavis over to have her picture taken.” His mother laughed and pulled a napkin over her mouth. “You didn’t.” “I did. I didn’t expect her to offer dinner.” “Uh-huh.” She shook her head at him. “Ornery.” “When she offered, I didn’t want to be rude.” “Of course not.” “I cooked.” She pressed her lips together but didn’t speak. “She brought seasoned tomatoes out with the chicken. Do you know anyone else who uses your recipe?”

“I don’t know. I’ve made those tomatoes for years and taken them to plenty of events around town. I’m glad she’s using it.” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “What?” He knew. He asked anyway. “You like her.” The smirk became a coy motherly smile. It made him happy to see her smile. “Yeah.” “Well?” “It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.” He took a sip of his coffee and mulled over the truth of the words. She seemed to like him too. She hadn’t thrown anything at him. He smiled. Then again, she was nice to everyone. His

smile fell. Confusion returned, and he took it out on his pasta, emptying his plate in record time. Nicholas hadn’t been on a date in years. There’d been too much he needed to work through before he could consider dragging other people into his mess. Then he stayed too busy to meet anyone. Lately though, the need crept back in. Spending time with the Fallons did that to him. No one could deny their love or affection for one another. They were best friends, companions, confidants. Sometimes, if he let himself, he thought of how nice it must be to have what they had. Someone to share his secrets with. Someone who’d love him despite them.

“When do I get to meet her?” His mother’s expectant blue eyes looked back. “Will she be at the festival? Maybe you could introduce us?” Still reeling from the fact she accepted his offer to take her, and that he’d had the nerve to be specific in his request for a date, he nodded. As he’d spoken the words to her, he knew he had to say date or he’d wonder what her answer meant. Whatever it would be. Then, she’d said yes. Yes. Without hesitation, leaving him to believe she wanted to go on a date with him. She didn’t mean to agree for the sake of his feelings. She wanted to go. And that wide crazy happy smile. “Careful, sweetheart,” his mom

gloated, “you’re smiling.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “I’m picking her up at five Friday night.” Nicholas squeezed his lips tight before daring a glance at his mom. “I see.” “That’s it? You see?” “Mmm hmm.” She scurried from the table to the sink and rinsed the plates. Nicholas turned in his chair to stare at her back. His mom was never one to interfere, but the way she dropped the conversation about a Honey Creek girl he had a date with fell out of character. Miles out. “Do you remember her? I looked

at some old yearbooks and she seemed to be involved in everything. She’s different now.” His mother looked over her shoulder. “I quilt with her mother sometimes. Emma was Honey Queen one year, I think. It’s been years.” “I hear she used to get into some trouble.” “I had a boy who knew all about trouble once.” Nicholas snickered. “Sorry.” “Don’t be. You made life interesting. How many moms can say their son organized a senior class skinny dip? Or was suspected in stealing every chair the high school had set up for graduation, leaving hundreds of people

standing for an hour and a half at commencement?” “Hey, they never caught anyone associated with that awesome prank, and an awful lot of people had lawn chairs in their trucks. There were some seats available.” He chewed and thought. “Don’t forget the moonshine scandal.” He pointed his fork at her. “Luckily you were 14 on that one. We kept it quiet.” Her eyes went heavy. “I suspect your father had a hand in that little enterprise.” A weak smile tugged her cheeks. “Life happens. It changes us.” The sober tone in her voice broke his heart. She could’ve meant a dozen things. Losing his dad had changed her

life. War changed his. He wished he knew what changed Emma’s. He wanted to know everything about her. More than he wanted her to be his confidant, he wanted to be hers. The more he thought about all he didn’t know about Emma, the more something twisted inside him. A protective instinct kicked in, and all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and pull her against him. “Do you know what happened to her? What really happened? Her mom must’ve said something to someone.” His mother’s eyes softened. Her shoulders sagged. “Those are her stories to tell.” Sadness loosened her smile and his heart broke. “Mom?”

“Go.” He stood and moved beside her to help dry and put away their dinner plates. “Leave it.” She patted his cheek and her eyes brightened. “Don’t forget to introduce me at the festival. I’ll be watching for you.” **** Heather’s Jeep sat in the dark drive when he jogged up Emma’s front steps. Unsure of what to say, he dithered on the porch. Music played somewhere inside. He checked behind him for more cars, but saw none. It sounded like a party. The door swung and he frowned. He hadn’t heard anyone come near it. He was losing his edge.

“You come here to admire the door, or are you coming in?” Heather wore a cowgirl hat and boa from Emma’s studio. Her hands anchored against her hips, but they hadn’t stopped moving. Before he could speak, she grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him through the door. Nicholas stood in Heather’s laser stare, frozen in Emma’s foyer. She evaluated him. He’d underestimated the depth of their friendship. She looked like a blond mama bear ready to pounce if he gave the wrong answer. He didn’t know the right answer. “I was thinking about Emma, and I thought I’d stop by. Say hi.” Her face relaxed for a fraction of a second before Emma appeared at the top

of the stairs above them. She wore an unbuttoned men’s shirt. A painfully feminine tank and cotton shorts beneath. From his position her short legs looked long and lean, disappearing beneath the minimal fabric. The curve of her bottom set off images he hadn’t associated with her before. Her bright green eyes were squeezed shut as she belted lyrics from the top step. She kicked her legs out over the stairs in showgirl fashion. Heather coughed and cleared her throat. The music overpowered her efforts, and Emma continued in an uncanny Shania Twain impression. Nicholas couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d never seen her so free and silly and, well, loud. His cheeks ached

from the ridiculous smile taking over his face. A direct contrast to the horror on Heather’s. Only a few steps away and her eyes sprung wide for the finale. “Ah!” Emma squealed loud enough to start the neighborhood dogs barking and dropped to her bottom on the stairs. She pulled her shirt closed and buried her face into her knees. Heather looked between them and muttered an apology. She turned, he assumed for the radio, but walked past it and out the back door. Emma remained statue still. Aside from the heavy moan and soft chuckle, she didn’t move. “So,” Nicholas climbed the stairs to sit beside her. “I stopped by for the

show.” She laughed loudly at her feet. He nudged her shoulder with his. “What on earth do you girls do over here at night?” He earned another laugh. She rolled her head against her knees and risked a peek his way. “Shut up.” “I like this look on you.” Emma turned on the step to face him. Her cheek flaming as red as her hair. “To what do I owe the honor of this complete embarrassment?” “Oh. Let’s be clear. The honor is all mine.” He gave her ensemble a healthy nod. “Can I get you something to

drink?” She took off down the stairs without looking back. “Sure. What d’you have?” He hoped she had coffee because he hated tea. Another blush and she raised a bottle of strawberry wine to eye level. “Homemade wine?” That explained a lot. He leaned against the wall, pleased. “You keep surprising me.” “You’re not getting a look at my best sides tonight.” To the contrary, he remembered her descent in those little shorts, but kept it to himself. She pulled the material of her button-down tight at the collarbone. The shirt hung in loose waves around

her small hips exposing a ribbon of flesh between her tank and shorts. He forced his eyes back to hers. “So, what’s going on?” One hand on her hip, she turned to face him. A soft smile nudged her pink cheeks. “You’ve seen the show. Now what can I do for you?” With her, Nicholas had trouble following procedure. He knew the steps involved in a proper town courting. He knew all the ways he shouldn’t do what he had in mind, but Emma pushed him past his limits for discipline and protocol. Hadn’t he already showed up unannounced, invited himself inside and lusted after a girl singing karaoke? One stride put him in her personal

space. He considered this her chance to flee. She didn’t. Her eyes didn’t lift to his. Mere inches separated them. He looked down at the top of her hair. “Emma?” His voice came low and gravelly. He felt her warm breath through the cotton of his shirt. An antagonizing minute later, she lifted her eyes to his. This was her chance to protest, or make a polite change of subject. She didn’t. Her eyes darkened to a sultry shade he couldn’t ignore, and her small pink tongue slid over her tiny lips. The muscles in his chest tightened. If she didn’t want him, she’d missed her chance at escape. Nicholas touched her cheek

lightly, testing her. Her rigid frame seemed to stop breathing all together. He ran a thumb across her bottom lip in warning. Last chance. A trickle of warmth touched the skin of his fingers. Good. She was still breathing. Sliding his free hand behind her, he caught the small of her back and tugged her closer. She arched in response. Her ribs pressed into his stomach, and he felt her rapid heartbeat. When her head fell back to look him full in the face, he replaced the thumb that lingered on her lips with a kiss. Careful at first, still giving her every opportunity to scream and run, he gently dusted his mouth against hers. Her lips parted and it undid him. Nicholas

pressed his lips to hers more firmly, enjoying the soft sound he inspired from her. Her hands explored the curve of his shoulder and the shape of his back until her fingers landed in his hair. Emma tilted her head further, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and Nicholas hungrily accepted. Her fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck, and he moaned. Before he had time to be self-conscious, she removed her hands from his hair and curled her fingertips in the fabric of his shirt instead. She caught his bottom lip in hers and a dozen images passed through him. He never wanted to let this woman go. He ran his hands up her sides beneath the flimsy button-down shirt. The soft

satin of her tank slid against her skin under his palms. His fingers smoothed up and over her collarbone, catching at the base of her neck, clutching the wild red locks in his fingers, and she froze again. Nicholas inched his face from hers to assess the problem. He hadn’t crossed a line. She’d shivered when his hands trailed up her sides, but now they were safely against her neck. He looked back and forth between her eyes, seeking, begging answers. Did she regret the kiss while they were still kissing? Something shocked her out of the moment. “What?” His mind raced. Did he hurt her? He freed his fingers from her hair. She stood there, motionless, arms

at her sides, and a tear slid over one cheek. What the hell? “Emma? What happened? Did I hurt you?” Her eyes pressed shut, and she waved her head. No. Not that. Then what? He examined her quivering lips and fought the urge to toss her over one shoulder and run somewhere safe. Except that was nonsense. They were safe. He went too fast. He knew that. A tremor slid over her small frame. Nicholas watched her shoulders twitch and then he saw. He understood. Perfectly. “Emma,” he breathed. She continued to shake her head. He raised a hand to her throat and touched lightly at the hollow of her

collarbone. She pressed her lips together and waited. What happened to her? A scar ran from below his finger and disappeared under the smooth blue satin tank. Unable to separate what he saw from all he had seen, images of the desert jumped into the forefront of his mind. Sand burst around him. Bombs exploded, his ears popped from the depth of the base in the echo. The world shook, and fear caught in his throat. He hadn’t had a flashback in over a year. Not even at the sight of his own wounds. “Go.” Emma’s timid voice brought him back to the present. “Go.” “No.” He knew. He understood.

Emotion thickened his throat and burned his eyes. Somehow she’d been hurt, and for all the ignorant ridiculous reasons in the world, he hated himself for not being there to protect her from whatever happened, or comfort her as she healed. “Yes.” Louder now, she shoved against his chest. “Go. Now.” Emma ran the sleeve of her shirt over her eyes. “Get out! Go!” “No.” He planted his feet. “Why are you doing this?” He knew why. He didn’t know why him. He could be trusted. He knew. Still she shoved. Uselessly. He let her push and shove him until she exhausted herself. “I understand,” he whispered to

the top of her head when she refused to look at him. Something in the words ignited her. The little redhead went from hurt to hell’s fire in less time than it took Nicholas to catch up. “What?” she growled. “You understand?” The words dripped with sarcasm and detest. “What do you understand? Huh? Tell me?” She stamped her foot, demanding. “You understand what it’s like to face death when you should be at a kegger? You understand what it’s like to miss out on your life because you’re too afraid to face it? You understand what it’s like to watch your friends move on with their lives while you waste yours away, trying to find a replacement for the dreams you

used to have? The ones that are now impossible?” Her eyes bulged with indignation. Nicholas burned at her resentment. Yes, actually. Yes to all her questions. He did know. How did she do this to him? He didn’t know if he should hold her, kiss her or walk out. His fingers rolled into fists at his side. Tension filled every pore of his skin. Damn it! The hate in her eyes scorched him to the core. “Yes.” In the next beat, he reached to the hem of his shirt and yanked it up over his head, then dropped it on the floor beside him. He waited while she took in his chest. His side. His scars. Then he walked away.

“I understand plenty.”

Chapter Twelve Nicholas dragged down the front steps hating himself. Hurt and angry, all he wanted to do was sweep back into the house and scoop Emma off her feet. He wanted to feel her curl up against his chest until she worked out whatever had upset her. Ease her pain and rejuvenate her beautiful smile. Impossible. Even if he put his pride aside and marched back in there, it wouldn’t matter. She’d made it clear. She wanted rid of him. He rolled his swollen lips in over his teeth, tasting the strawberry wine where it lingered from her lips. She might be mad now, but she kissed him back. No doubt about that. He glanced over his shoulder to the door behind

him. Visions of her scarred skin ran through his mind. The way the curve of her porcelain neck dropped into a plunge of angry pink and white skin infuriated him. Puckered and pulled, it looked so out of place there, like he could rub it away with his thumb if he tried. Who would hurt her? How had it happened? His heart ached for her, and his fingers tingled at the thought another person could’ve been responsible for her pain. Something serious enough to cause scars like that should’ve lit up the town grapevine for months. He never heard a word about it. If he was on active duty at the time, he might’ve missed it, but no one here mentioned it when he asked about her. Jackson was

new to town, but his mom and Mack weren’t. They would know, wouldn’t they? Mitchell. He would know. Nicholas made a mental note to bribe the reverend for information next time they went fishing. It wouldn’t work, but he was desperate. If he found out someone had hurt her… He pulled in a deep breath. They might get a few new scars of their own the way he felt. Despite the darkness of the new moon, he sensed someone nearby. Before his feet hit the final step, he recognized Heather’s silhouette seated on the hood of her Jeep. “My.” She appraised him head to toe, eyes lingering over his chest and

stomach in the dim light. “Looks like that went well.” Half a smile lifted one cheek despite his sour disposition. Appearances were deceiving. That was a total train wreck, aside from the kiss. The kiss felt more like an out of control steamer. A ride he’d gladly take again. Without intent this time, his lips pressed together. “She kicked me out.” He stopped a few feet from her, hands in pockets, wondering what she’d make of it. If anyone knew Emma, Heather did. “Before or after you took off your shirt?” “Before.” Heather thought that over a minute

and shook her head. Blond locks danced over her narrow shoulders. Her sun freckled nose wrinkled up and she laughed. She looked like the girls who stretched out on car magazine covers dressed in Chevy logos or the American flag. Her tanned skin didn’t contrast her eyes the way Emma’s did. Heather’s long limbs gave her a statuesque appearance, not remotely similar to the petite, sexy shape Emma owned. The song and dance from her staircase came back to mind, and his heart broke. She was so happy when he found her. He hated to leave her crying. “She’s upset. She won’t tell me why, and she told me to get out. You should go to her. I don’t know what I

did, but please tell her I’m sorry and I’ll be back. I need to apologize properly as soon as she’ll let me. Emma should never feel like that.” He motioned to the house. Heather crossed and uncrossed her legs. She sighed, torn it seemed in a dilemma he didn’t understand. The crickets chirped in the night. “Don’t worry too much about Emma. She’s tougher than she looks. If she’s crying again, she won’t want me to see her either. It’s not in her nature to let someone comfort her, and I already had the privilege once today.” Another sigh. “What the heck happened earlier?” Panic thread through his chest. “It’s fine. I’ll go home and give

her a call.” “You’re not going back in?” He looked at the house, uncertain he could leave if she did. He turned back on instinct, only to stand frozen. He couldn’t leave her that way. Maybe he’d go back and check on her if Heather wouldn’t. The idea of Emma alone and heartbroken killed him. But she didn’t want him. She left no room for debate there. He groaned. His shoulders rolled forward. “Nope. She’s not like that. Emma’s tough and stubborn. Tomorrow she won’t want to talk about it either.” Heather slid off her Jeep and looked up at him. “You’re the first person she’s let in since…I met her. She doesn’t date and

she keeps to herself. Aside from me and her mom, she’s pretty self-contained.” “What about her date with the new school teacher?” Remembering his gel sculpted head sitting across the table from her irritated him. He snuck another look at the house. His body twisted between Heather and the place he wanted to be. No sign of Emma listening in or watching from the windows. “James isn’t her type. I think she was being more polite than anything.” Her eyes roamed over the house and then Nicholas. “She’s acting crazy lately. Not in a bad way. She’s coming out of her shell, I think. I’m not sure how to describe it.” She squeezed her lips between her fingers, thinking.

“What changed?” He hoped she’d say something monumental, something only a girlfriend would know. What did she think of him? How did she know James wasn’t her type? What was her type? Weren’t women supposed to talk all the time? The women in his life didn’t seem to say enough. “She’s reading this j…” she stuttered and restarted, “book, a memoir.” She raked her fingers through her hair and pulled on her lips some more. “It’s about this guy.” Her eyes darted between the house and Nicholas. “And she got really into him, and he got her started thinking about dating again. I think. She didn’t read anything else for days, and she’d be all loopy and wonky

after she put it down. I could tell when we talked if she’d been reading about him.” “What’s the title of the book?” He needed to get his hands on it. Who captured Emma’s attention enough to make her wonky? He smiled and immediately regretted it. Fictional character or not, he wanted to be the one making her wonky. A ridiculous twinge of jealousy tightened his chest. “Who says wonky?” He snorted. “Me. I also like hinky.” “I like hinky.” He paused. “That’s hinky.” He tried it out and kicked loose gravel in the driveway. Hinky. Heather might not look approachable, but she was nice. He approved of her as a friend

to Emma. As if she cared what he thought. “I guess her soldier got her where it counted.” She rubbed a circle on her chest and smiled. “Soldier?” “The book guy.” She fished her keys from her pocket and checked her phone. “Hey, I’m going to go. I’m tired and I want to come back early tomorrow in case Emma feels like breakfast.” She pulled open the driver’s side door. The interior light came on, illuminating two dozen boxes inside. “Are you moving?” She sighed dramatically and leaned against the doorframe. “Those are boxes of books, toiletries and candy

we packed up tonight. Emma wants to send them to soldiers overseas.” A fake and cheesy smile appeared before she folded in behind the steering wheel of her old 4x4. Nicholas jogged around the jeep and leaned on the open window casing. “She likes soldiers?” “Maybe. You want to tell me where you got those stripes?” She nodded at his torso. Instinctively his shoulders rolled back. Pride swelled in his shame-tinged heart at the reminder. He made it home without his men. He lost some, but saved many. War was complicated. He was a soldier. What would Emma think of that? Was it cheating to

mention it? Heather waited patiently for his answer. “I don’t talk about it.” Heather looked like she wanted to say something, but of course she didn’t. After half a beat, she said, “Good night, Nicholas,” and backed out of the drive. She pressed the horn one quick time before her taillights disappeared into the night. Nicholas rubbed his forehead. What he wouldn’t give for a peek at that book. He wished he’d asked her the title again, or the year it was printed. Something. There had to be countless books on soldiers. A memoir. Suspicion formed. The hair on the back of his neck tingled. Nicholas climbed into the cab of

his truck, rolling the idea over in his mind. Emma fell for a soldier in a memoir. He pushed the door open and jumped out of his truck. A memoir. Her porch light shut off in response. “Ugh!” He growled to himself. Stripped of his momentary courage, he leaned into the side of his truck. Somewhere in the dark house, Emma waited for him to leave. Fine. But, what were the odds Emma might be the one who found his journal? Slim. The odds she found it, read it and became moved enough by his words to want to date again, to want to send a

Jeep full of care packages to other soldiers? Worse than slim. Those odds were in the no-way-Jose region of possibility. But still possible. Honey Creek was only so big, and someone had his journal. Nicholas climbed into his truck again. This time he smiled all the way home, unable to suppress a building hope. Maybe she had his mother’s tomato recipe for a different reason than he imagined before. If he was the soldier Heather mentioned, then he already earned Emma’s heart. Embarrassment rose and fell as he drove. He’d written many things he shouldn’t on those pages. Desperation did that to a man. Especially when he believed no one was

reading his words. Emma shouldn’t want that guy. He shook his head as hope trumped doubt. Despite his worst entries Emma cared for the soldier. So, how could he tell her the soldier was him? **** “I’m not going to tell her.” Nicholas leaned forward in the plain brown chair, resting his elbows against furiously bouncing knees. “If I tell her, and I don’t have the first clue how I could even start that conversation, it wouldn’t be the same. I want her to fall for me. The real me in real life, not the me in the journal. If she even has my journal.” “Weren’t you honest about yourself in your journal?” Dr. Kennedy

examined his features. Her expression careful and smooth. “Yeah, but those entries are only one small part of me. They represent how I felt at those specific moments in my life. They aren’t all of me. I want her to fall for the me who lives in Honey Creek and eats my weight in strawberries every summer and has a dog who hates night fishing.” “So you’re not going to tell her she has your journal?” “I’m not positive she does. So, no. But, I don’t believe in coincidences, so I’m running on the assumption from here on out. Worst-case scenario, she’s reading a mass produced memoir, and I woo her anyway. Best case scenario, she

figures it out, and there’s a happily ever after in our future.” “Happily ever after?” Dr. Kennedy dropped her pen. She brushed her polished desk with the side of her hand, feigning nonchalance. The roundness of her eyes told how untrue that was. The expression made Nicholas chuckle. “I like her. I want to see this unfold. I think we’ve got this connection I can’t explain.” “Try.” He frowned. Words weren’t his thing. Confessions also not on the list. He leaned back in the chair, tugging on the legs of his jeans as he adjusted to the new position.

“She loves my town, understands why it’s the only place to live, and she grew up there. I think you have to experience some things to understand them.” He locked his fingers behind his head and stretched against the back of his seat. “She loves to be outdoors. She likes to fish. She can do a mean Shania imitation.” He laughed at himself, caught up in the moment, and rambled on. “Mavis loves her. She ambushed her in the dark, soaking wet with lake water, and this girl just took it in stride. Most girls would’ve been spitting fire mad. Not her.” His mind wandered further, deeper into his reasons for craving Emma’s attention. She saw the beauty in things.

Her photographs were like one scene storybooks. She showed it all with one click of her shutter. And when they’re together, the silence was comfortable. He needed that. Anxiety plagued him for years following the war, following his dad’s death, his ambush. “When we’re together, it’s easy. I’m at ease around her, and when we touch…” Images of their kiss slammed into his mind, making him uncomfortable, as if Dr. Kennedy might somehow see what he saw there. “You touch?” Her voice hitched. She cleared her throat. The blank doctor face returned. “Uh. Yeah, I mean, you know. People touch.” For the first time in his

years with her, he tried lying to her face. He wasn’t that guy. He didn’t kiss women and tell about it later. What could he say anyway and still look like a grown man? Was he supposed to look her in the eye and say, “When we touch electricity stands every hair on my body at attention? My heart pounds, my palms sweat. I go from confidence to lunacy in an instant.” He shook his head and rubbed his forearms with both hands. The prickles of her touch ghosted over him, and he pitched forward again, resting elbows on knees. Just thinking about her wild red hair and those penetrating green eyes got him going. “I never know what she’ll say next. And don’t let her size fool you.

She’s feisty. Hell, she was so mad at me the last time I saw her, she kicked me out.” “Really? What’d you do?” “When she kicked me out? I took my shirt off.” “I see, and she kicked you out for it. Why did you do that?” “No. She kicked me out first. Then I took my shirt off.” Dr. Kennedy’s mouth fell open. “I don’t want to get into the details here. They’re…personal.” “It seems that way.” “Now, I have to apologize and then win her over in person.” “Are you sure you can do that?” The smile on her face seemed to egg him

on. By the looks of it, Dr. Kennedy thought he could. Her confidence fueled his resolve. “Sure,” he shrugged. “She already likes me, I think. I’ll try to help her put two and two together until she realizes I’m her soldier.” “Her what?” “That’s what her friend called the book guy, me, ‘her soldier.’” “How much does this woman know about your time overseas?” Her voice softened. Dr. Kennedy always called his years of living hell his “time overseas.” It was a nice twist, too nice. His jaw clenched. He didn’t go backpacking across Europe. His “time overseas” had left him with post-

traumatic stress disorder, a near death experience and over twenty friends lighter. He’d been to more funerals in his twenties than most people attended in their lives. “Time overseas” didn’t begin to describe those years. “I wrote when I could while I was there, but even if she has my journal, there’s plenty left unsaid.” “How do you feel about her knowing some of the things we’ve discussed here? I advise all my patients to enter relationships expecting the other party will want to know these things. It can become a source of contention if you’re unwilling to let them in. Partners in relationships tend to feel as if they aren’t trusted, and it can be a downfall

leading to more loss for both of you.” Nicholas watched her. What did she know about Emma’s loss? Did Emma have any loss? It occurred to him then that she had a great resource for insight into his life while he knew nothing of hers. The idea hurt him. He wanted to know her. More than that, he wanted her to want him to know her. The scar under her collarbone seemed a good place to start. Something huge happened to her. Was she rebellious in high school because of the scar and whatever put it there? He had a lifetime of things to learn about Emma. He needed to get out of Dr. Kennedy’s office and get started.

Chapter Thirteen Emma’s cell phone buzzed and circled on its back. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and rolled away from the sound. Heather had called a dozen times. In keeping with tradition, she’d arrive any minute complaining. They’d pretend the only thing wrong was the fact Emma didn’t answer her phone, and move on with the day. After the night she had, the only person in the world she wanted to talk to existed in her imagination. Wherever he lived in Honey Creek didn’t matter. She wanted to hold on to her version of him. Strong and protective, kind and loving. Someone who didn’t know her and would never look at her scars and

wonder how defective she was underneath them. Emma closed her eyes, and tears rolled freely from beneath her lids. It took more strength than she thought she had to stand there and wait while Nicholas examined her body, found her disfigured flesh. Her mind still hazed up from his steamy kiss left her out of balance and thinking maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe he’d pull her close and ignore them. Instead she opened her eyes to find his horror-stricken face staring down at her. His lips parted and twisted in disgust. Her breaths sped and quivered in her chest at the memory. Never had she been so bold, and look where it got her.

The phone buzzed again, and Emma yanked the covers over her head. Safe inside her blanket fort, she propped a pillow between her head and the headboard. She used her knees to hold the sheet above her, and she opened the book on her stomach. Sun shone through the thin material, casting a yellow glow over the pages. Her fingers touched the ink and trailed over the paper edges. The familiarity of the tome made her cry harder. She couldn’t be friends with a book, and she couldn’t hide forever. The book knew nothing about her. She needed to get on with life. Song lyrics rushed back to meet her. Her soldier promised to live his life if he made it home, treat each day like a gift. He

wanted to live. Her eyes roamed over the highly symbolic blanket fort she created for herself, spawning another deluge of tears and with it a small measure of bravery. When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, she whipped the sheets away, feeling renewed. Resolved to man-up, she took the stairs down two at a time and prepared to scare the coffee out of Heather. She crouched below the window of the door, pulled it wide and jumped out, “Boo! Ah!” Eyes wide, she sat down on the spot and buried her face in her hands. Nicholas dropped to her side and grabbed her cheeks with his fingers. “Are you all right?” He tugged at her

wrist and held it. A half second later she snapped it back to her face. “Don’t check my pulse! Good grief, I had a heart attack, I’m not an invalid!” She leaned forward until her head hit the floor and covered her neck with her hands like she did in grade school tornado drills. “You are scary flexible.” He shifted and sat beside her. The sole of one boot looking her way. “Yoga.” “Nice.” “Shut up.” “I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack. I’ve been calling, and you won’t answer. I wanted to say I’m sorry for the other night.”

Emma bit her lip. The past few days were the longest of her life. She stiffened. Sorry he kissed her? He hadn’t done anything else, other than leave when she screamed at him like a crazy person demanding he get out. It occurred to her she looked less than sane sitting in her foyer with her face on the floor. “I thought you were Heather.” “Then, I need a haircut.” She laughed, and something poked her cheek. A finger. “Friends?” Rising onto her elbows, she saw he offered her a hand. She accepted and shoved a handful of hair behind one ear to better see him. He looked completely at ease sitting on her floor. “You want coffee?” she offered.

Dust motes floated in the space above them, twinkling in the sunlight. When she was small, she made up stories about the motes. “I think you’ve had enough,” he teased. “When I was small I thought the dust motes caught in sunlight were fairy dust. They look like magic floating there.” She shut her eyes. Why did she feel compelled to tell him every thought that crossed her mind? “And you didn’t give me a heart attack. I had a heart attack.” As soon as she spoke the words, a weight lifted. Saying it aloud hadn’t killed her. The words felt empty, devoid of the power she thought they carried all these years.

Huh. Nicholas watched the dust overhead. “Wait.” He frowned. “What?” He hadn’t heard? Either he didn’t tell anyone about her scars and get the scoop, or no one knew. Emma liked both scenarios equally. If he was as horrified as she thought, why come back? Hope rose up in her chest. Maybe, despite the scars they could be friends. She could use another friend. One who could talk back to her when she spilled her secrets. Someday Heather would get a life, and then who would she have? Being friends sounded better than losing Nicholas from her life. She just got him. The idea of watching him walk away stole her breath.

She inhaled deeply and cursed. “Emma?” Her burning face lifted to his. “I slept in your shirt.” Oh, of all the tragedies in her life, she jumped out at him with morning hair and stinky breath, wearing his tee shirt. Dr. Kennedy would make a mint helping her through this episode. “You left it.” “It looks cute on you. Tell me though, are you wearing anything else?” He gave her a silly lopsided smile. “You’re such a boy.” Emma swung her legs underneath of her so she could stand up modestly. His shirt hung low enough to cover all that counted, but showed a lot more leg than any dress she owned. Truthfully, it rivaled her college

cheer skirt which at least had matching trunks. She didn’t want to think of what atrocity of the granny variety she’d pulled on the night before when she got out of the shower. “I’m sorry, but did you just call me a boy?” He reached for her hand to steady her as she tugged at the hem of his shirt for added cover. “I’ll allow that since I think you’re still mad at me. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make you breakfast. I want to apologize, and I can’t do it right if all you’ve got on is my shirt.” “Do you want it back?” Of course he did. He didn’t give it to her. He threw it down, and she flat out stole it. The look on his face deepened her blush.

“Not now,” she breathed, clearly embarrassed. “You’re mean. I guess I’m going to go cook. Come back down so we can talk.” Without a word, she climbed the steps. His gaze followed her every inch of the way. On the final step he released a slow whistle. The sound reminded her of a bomb falling. She hustled to her room, wondering what the view was like from where he stood in the foyer below. Just in case, she lifted the shirt and peeked with one eye at the simple cotton boy shorts underneath. Thank goodness. One look in her mirror showed the bomb landed somewhere in her hair. She struggled to fix her face and

force a brush through bed head. Nothing worked. Her heart raced in a panic beneath her rib cage. Hopeless, she ran for her bathroom and started the shower. No way would she make a second entrance looking like Frankenstein. Emma stripped out of his shirt and tossed it on her bed, refusing to wash away his scent. In the shower, water soaked out the stress, eased her muscles and slowed her heartbeat to almost normal. Nicholas Fenton kissed her. She kicked him out, and he came back. Jumping from the shower, her feet slid across the bathroom floor to the sink. Teeth scrubbed, she looked at her reflection and scrubbed them again. She

hadn’t stopped replaying that kiss since it happened. “Ugh.” Her hair was a tangled mess, only a small improvement from before the shower. Back in her room she heard the sound of something frying below her and hastened the pace. By the time she fixed her face and located a tee shirt to go with the only clean shorts she could find, her nerve waned. Her hunger however, forged ahead. The scent of pancakes pulled her back to the stairs. A man had never cooked in her kitchen. In fact, Nicholas was the only man who’d cooked for her. Ever. Tentatively she took the first step and the next until she arrived barefooted behind him. With a dishtowel slung over one

shoulder, he hummed along with the radio and flipped pancakes from the pan onto a plate already piled high. He looked at home anywhere. She envied him. His jeans were worn and comfortable looking. Everything about him seemed easy. “I thought you could start by explaining yourself,” he said before she announced her arrival. “Oh. Okay, but I hope you have all day because I’m a mess.” “I don’t think so.” He slid a plate in front of her and handed her a fork. “How’d you know I was standing here?” “Emma.” He turned to rest his backside against the counter. His blue

eyes darkened and narrowed a fraction. “I could feel you there.” He shrugged and turned back. “Now, start with what you meant when you said you had a heart attack.” She mulled over what he meant by feeling her there. Then spent an equal amount of time considering his question. She moved with purpose, pressing the side of her fork into the pancakes, touching them to the pool of syrup along her plate’s edge and chewing slowly. This was it. “I went to a party with a group of friends, had too much to drink, started walking home, and some of the guys from the party followed us. They had water balloons, and we were in white

sorority tees. It was hell week, and we’d been hazing freshmen for days. When we saw the balloons, we ran. I could outrun anyone back then. I ran track on scholarship.” She took another bite. Could she say it again? Twice in one morning? “One minute I was running, laughing and feeling thankful not to be the heavy hazing girl for a minute. The next thing I knew I had shooting pains in my arm. I slowed down, but the pain didn’t. It got worse. I got pummeled with a dozen water balloons before my chest constricted so painfully I knew I’d die.” She pulled in a breath, looked him in the eye and finished her story. “Then, I did.” “Die?” His frown scared her, and she looked away.

“Technically, yes.” No turning back. If he wanted to run, this was his chance. “My heart stopped for a bit, but the guys knew CPR. One started with chest compressions while the other breathed for me. My sorority sisters called 9-1-1 and campus security to make sure they found us right away.” Bravery was stupid. Admitting weakness killed her. She didn’t want him to have this information. Why did she offer it? A tear dropped onto her pancakes, and Nicholas appeared instantly on his knees before her. “I’m fine.” She blinked and another infuriating tear fell. Gah! “Really. I am.” He rolled back onto the floor and

pulled her from the chair and into his lap before she could protest, and then she didn’t want to. One large hand held her head to his shoulder where she sobbed like a baby from complete embarrassment. “I’m so glad to hear this.” He surprised her with a chuckle. “When I thought someone might’ve hurt you….” Emma lifted her face to his and wrestled a smile into place. “No one hurt me. I had an undiagnosed heart condition.” “And now?” Concern deepened his voice. “Now, I’m diagnosed.” She climbed from his lap and back into his chair. “I’d rather not talk about it

anymore. I never do, and now you see why.” She motioned to her complete lack of composure and turned back to her pancakes, though she couldn’t eat. “It happened five years ago this fall and look at me still.” “Thank you.” When she looked at him in wonder, he added, “For trusting me with something so private.” And her heart unraveled. Exposed and beating so brazenly unguarded for him, she shivered. Nicholas brought another plate to the table and sat across from her, looking too serious. They ate in silence until she couldn’t take it. “I’m sorry I threw you out last week. You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault. I hated the way you looked at

me when you saw the scars, and I acted like a baby.” He nodded once. “You didn’t owe me an apology at all. I owed you.” There she said it. Her crazy temper and irrationality belonged in the Guinness book. “How about we call it even?” Emma swallowed hard, thankful he couldn’t read her thoughts. Ideas of kissing and star watching and holding hands in public flitted through her mind. Images of him loving her and everyone knowing stung her eyes. Silly. Impossible. Childish. “Are we still on for the Strawberry Festival tonight?” He looked unsure.

“Of course.” Her tummy tightened until she couldn’t eat another bite. She bit into her bottom lip. “Your turn. I told you my big life changing secret, but I don’t know anything about you.” A smirk rose and fell on his lips. What did it mean? “I hoped you’d still come with me on our date. My mom wants to meet you.” He swirled the coffee in his cup and sipped. Peeking at her from over the rim, his long dark lashes cast shadows down his cheeks, making the blue of his eyes irresistible. “She’s going to hate me, you know.” “Why?” “If she’s lived here longer than a few years, trust me. She will. I was a

real snot for a long time.” “The way I hear it you were Honey Queen. That’s quite an honor around here.” His teasing smile drew her eyes back to his. Something new twinkled there. “Last time I talked to Mama I realized something. The gossips in our town are selective about what they share and who they share it with.” Her face heated to the point of combustion, and she looked away. “Do you want to tell me about your scars?” “Yes.” His eyes smoldered and his jaw worked, but he didn’t elaborate. Nicholas had a secret too. With any luck at all, he wanted to share it with her.

“How about that date first?”

Chapter Fourteen Main street bustled with festival lights, crowds and vendors. A newly erected stage held a local Alabama cover band, and a sea of people bobbed and weaved before it. Teens and grandparents alike shouted lyrics to 40 Hour Week. Strawberries and sugar scented the air. Everywhere Emma looked, people talked and laughed and devoured pastries by the pound. She missed too many Strawberry Festivals. No more, she vowed. She belonged here. Whatever frightened her into hiding fell away when she confessed to Nicholas and he didn’t care. If someone who meant so much to her didn’t care about her heart attack, why would anyone

else? Her heart unfurled in her chest, light enough to fly away. “Here you go.” Nicholas returned to her side with a cup the size of her head and a paper tray filled with ribs. “Let the fun begin.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Heather bounce and wave her arms in arcs big enough to land a plane. “Come on.” She grabbed his elbow and towed him through the crowd to the picnic table. Heather had spread out her things and what looked like some trash to save the table for them. “You are a life saver.” Emphasizing every word, she hugged her friend tight. “Nice to see you guys made up.” Heather snagged a hunk of ribs and

smiled. Nicholas sang along to the chorus and bobbed his head in time with the band. A bit of barbecue sauce clung to the edge of his lip. “He’s silly for a guy who frowns so much,” she observed. Heather wiped her mouth and took the lemonade from his hand for a sip. He looked her over and kept singing without complaint. “Did you see those abs? You don’t get those on accident.” “He’s sitting right there.” Emma pointed to the man beside her, now belting out the chorus to Mountain Music. He reached back for the lemonade without missing a beat of his

song. The girls giggled, and feeling safe, Emma nodded. Heather mouth the words holy cow, and they laughed some more. She hoped to get another look at that torso and an explanation for his scars soon. “I mailed your packages this morning. You owe me like two-hundred bucks in postage. What’s next on the investigation front, Sherlock?” Heather leaned back on her elbows against the table. “Maybe I can help. I’m great at investigation.” Nicholas turned to them mid-chorus. “We’re looking for someone, but we don’t want anyone to know we’re

looking. Not an easy task in this town.” Emma whacked Heather’s shoulder and shook her head. Suddenly aware of dozens of eyes on them, she let her hair fall forward to block her face on one side. She was having so much fun she forgot how many people were already aware of her very public outing with Nicholas. The idea of hearing town gossip about the two of them gave her butterflies. He wiped his hands on a napkin and licked his lips. “What’s his name? I probably know him.” The pair shut Emma out and continued without her. “We don’t know.” “How are you looking for someone if you don’t know who you’re

looking for?” Nicholas sucked on the giant lemonade. He pulled it up to eye level and shook it before giving Heather a pointed stare. “It’s a long story,” Emma interjected. “And I think we can let it go.” “You don’t want to know?” Heather looked excited and a little pleased. Emma’s cheeks burned in response. “No. Not anymore.” Nicholas’s face swept back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match. “Really?” Heather tipped her head in Nicholas’ direction and made muffled unintelligible speech sounds. “Mur ber mur.” Another head tip.

Emma turned away speechless and became engrossed in the music, though she heard none of the lyrics. How humiliating. She blocked their voices out and prayed Heather wouldn’t tell him everything. “Care to dance?” James sat beside her, and she jumped. “Sorry.” He winked. “I thought you saw me coming over. Do you dance?” “Yes. Uh. I can’t tonight. I’m….” she looked over her shoulder to find Nicholas and Heather shoulder to shoulder, heads dipped in private conversation. Her heart sank. A steamroller flattened it, and then it caught fire. “Sure.” Were they not on a date? Her most

common mental state was confusion lately, and she hated it. James led her into the thick of the crowd and surprised her to know a couples’ line dance. She dipped and swung around in time to catch Nicholas’ head pop up above the dancers. The look on his face bordered murderous, but wasn’t he just cuddled up with Heather? Where did Heather go? The world blurred, and her feet stomped in time on autopilot. When she looked for Nicholas again, she didn’t see him. Dizzy from the heat and twirling, she bounced into James when he stopped short on the next turn. “May I?” Nicholas looked down at them. He replaced his scowl with

concern. The men examined one another until she thought they’d side up and start a spitting contest. James still held her wrist. Nicholas laid his hand over one of each of their shoulders. The tension ratcheted. Other couples stopped dancing to see what would come next. “May I cut in?” Heather appeared on their other side, looking at James with big doe eyes. What on earth? The foursome split down the middle, and Heather squinted at Emma as James twirled her away. “I thought he wasn’t your type?” Nicholas watched them dance away. “He’s not. Who said that?” “Heather. Why’d you leave us?”

“You were busy, and he insisted.” He muttered something that sounded like “is that all it takes” before asking, “You’re all right?” loud enough for her to hear. “Fine.” They stared at one another. When the circle of dancers swam back past, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing and set her down in the mix, sliding right in step between two other couples. “What are you doing?” She protested weakly, admiring the way he moved with confidence and an easy smile plastered on his boyish face. “Dancing. Sorry I didn’t ask you first. He shouldn’t have beat me to it.” An impish grin appeared. How could

she be mad at that? If they dated, the dynamic would be unfair. He’d win every argument with that face. “He’s not so bad.” “Meh.” Nicholas shrugged and pulled her in close for a spin. “So you’re looking for a soldier?” “Not really. Why? Do you know any?” On a beat where she normally jumped, Nicholas tossed her higher than she expected and the world stopped. Just like every basket toss in college, she savored the moment caught between ceasing to rise and beginning to fall. That one moment always held on longer than the others. She saw her friends and family, her community happy below her.

Then, she landed back in the safety of his arms. Nicholas kissed her forehead and set her on her feet. “You want something to drink? That vacuum you call a girlfriend drank my lemonade.” Emma nodded, and Nicholas led her away from the crowd of dancers toward a bright yellow and green lemonade stand. She watched her feet so as not to trip on the spilled cups around picnic tables. He held her hand gently, turning his palm enough to intertwine their fingers. If she looked up at that moment, she’d see all her friends and family noticing the small but intimate act. She hadn’t come to the festival with a date since high school. That wasn’t

something the town ignored. She imagined the telephone tree of her mother’s friends calling one another on the spot to tell what they saw. And she liked it. Thinking of all those people watching them, her hand ran to her collar. Nicholas caught it in his and pulled it away. “Don’t,” he whispered. Before taking his change from the lemonade vendor, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “You are beautiful.” A small squeeze of his fingers told her he meant it. She marveled at the thought. Drink in hand, they walked the perimeter of the festival, watching. He kept one palm on the small of her back, gesturing with the drink into the crowd.

He told her how much trouble he used to get in, and she felt a camaraderie form. He’d painted the school logo on shop windows with soap after winning basketball games. He’d piled hay bales against his teacher’s front door so she couldn’t get out when she gave him detention. They laughed together about how stupid they’d both been not long ago. He lit up brightest at a slew of stories involving his best friend Mack. Turned out she knew Mack’s little sister. She spent quite a few nights in their back yard for bonfires. The two girls weren’t close, but imagining the delicate web that intertwined her community warmed her. Nicholas groaned and released a

low oath. Emma looked up to search his face for the reason. All she saw from her vantage was bodies packed against bodies. Then the crowd broke open thirty feet away, and Clarissa appeared. Her eyes glued to Nicholas, she didn’t look at Emma. One hand smoothed her sculpted bangs over her forehead. “Can I say I’m sorry in advance?” Nicholas pleaded with his eyes. Emma frowned. Did he know how uncomfortable Clarissa made her? “Nicky!” Clarissa popped onto her toes and air kissed his cheek. He didn’t return the gesture. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. No one knew where to find you.” Funny. Hadn’t everyone seen them

together? Maybe Nicholas was right. Maybe the town was more tight-lipped than she imagined. And then she saw Emma. Her already fake smile pulled tighter, revealing more teeth. The look reminded Emma of Wild Planet where apes showed teeth as a threat. She licked her lips, letting her eyes follow the length of his arm behind Emma’s back. He squeezed his fingers into her side, tugging her subtly closer. “Emma.” Clarissa’s breathing grew shallow. “I thought we were meeting tonight.” She shot a pointed look at Nicholas who frowned. “Why?”

“You said you’d be here.” “I am.” “With Emma!” The snarl startled the three of them, and Clarissa stepped back, regrouping. She eyed them with contempt. “I thought you were different. You can have anyone, Nicholas Fenton. Why on earth are you here with her?” The fury in her voice almost sounded like hurt. Emma wanted to tell her to get a life, but Clarissa kept going. “She talks to no one. She thinks she’s too good for her old friends. She’ll dump you too soon enough.” Clarissa glared between them and left knocking into a half dozen people. Making a scene. Her specialty. “You two know each other?” Nicholas looked wide-eyed at her.

“About as well as she seems to know you.” If he’d slept with Clarissa, so help her, she was going home to slit her wrists. Period. And what was she so angry with Emma for? For being seen with Nicholas? She didn’t own him. For not jumping back into BFF mode the minute she came knocking? Excuse her for having things to work through on her own for a while. Or five years. “Clarissa’s been stalking me since junior high. She got over it while I was in the service, but since I’ve been back, she’s worked herself into high gear. She’s Mack’s little cousin.” “Mack.” Recognition dawned and she thudded one palm against her forehead.

How could one town be so small and so distant at the same time? She was Clarissa’s best friend all through high school. Clarissa never mentioned Nicholas. They’d been to her Cousin Mack’s house a dozen times senior year for bonfires and softball games. “When were you in the service?” “Probably while you were in high school. Five years difference, remember.” She filed that away for later. “You aren’t in the Veteran’s Day pamphlet from church.” Who else might have been left out? “I couldn’t find a decent picture.” She chewed her lips hard enough to hurt. “So, have you and Clarissa

ever…” she trailed off suggestively. He put his palms up as if she caught him robbing a bank. “I have never had relations with that woman.” “I am not joking. This is serious.” “So am I. I’ve never touched her. Well, I have. I kissed her one New Year’s when I was home on leave. It was midnight.” He smiled like it made perfect sense, and she wavered. “Gross.” “It was a little bit. How about you and James?” Emma kicked him. “Hey! I need to know these things.” “Why’s that?” Nicholas turned and looked down

into her face with earnest. “I don’t want to run him out of town. He just got here.” “Why didn’t you tell me you were in the military?” “You never asked.” He had her there. She didn’t ask. He never dodged a question. If she didn’t know something about him, she had one person to blame, and that person looked a lot like her. “Tell me about this soldier you’re looking for. You don’t know his name. What does he look like?” “I don’t know.” “Then what do you like about him?” Emma rolled her lips in and out thinking. “He’s kind.” Like you. “He

loves his town and his family.” Like you. “He’s honest and real in a way most people aren’t.” “Sounds like a catch.” I think you’re a catch. “Yeah. He does.” “I could help you find him.” His eyes narrowed and a line formed between his brows. “Why would you do that?” Help her find another guy? A good catch guy? Was she in this alone? Did the sunmelting chemistry she experienced even as they spoke flow only one way? “Because I want you to be happy. If there’s a way I can help you smile, I want to do it.” What did that mean? He cared

about her, like a friend? The small of her back heated where his hand had been. He hadn’t moved when Clarissa confronted them. He pulled her closer. Her mind sizzled from overheat. She pictured smoke rolling from her ears. “Okay.” She nodded. In case he didn’t feel the same way she did, maybe the added time together would change that. “I hope when we find him he’s not 75 years old.” He turned away and sipped his drink. “Or a woman.” She choked out a laugh. “You never know. Don’t ask. Don’t tell and all that.” “Shut up.” Nicholas slipped his hand onto her back once more and led her through the

crowd toward the band. Heather and James were doused in sweat and laughing on the makeshift dance floor. “There you are,” Heather called. “You want to go to the lake?” In a heartbeat, James tossed her over one shoulder and strode off with her pounding against his back and calling out to Emma. “Come on!” “Well?” Nicholas stepped away and looked at her from head to heels. She shivered and shrugged, feeling like a leaf caught in the wind. He bent at the knees and hoisted her over his shoulder, mocking James, being silly. Emma laughed and buried her face in his back. The town was watching, and she knew it. Nicholas

slowed. She expected to land on her feet, but he held her legs fast to his chest. “We’re going out to the lake. Can we stop by tomorrow?” His voice boomed over the music, and they were moving again. “Who was that?” she asked, afraid to look. “My mom.” “I just met your mom like a cavewoman.” He chuckled and broke into a jog for his truck.

Chapter Fifteen Hopping out of the truck, Emma smiled. A small group near the lake had music going and a fire lit in a large steel trash drum. The darkness narrowed the field, and Emma relaxed her shoulders, scars concealed by the night. Fireflies drifted over the lake, mingling with embers from the fire in a beautiful reverse cascade. Toasted marshmallows sweetened the air. Gravel crunched under Nicholas’ boots. Rounding the front of his truck, he took her hand in his and intertwined their fingers. Somehow the simple act felt more intimate than their kiss. Walking in the dark toward the fire, they listened to the juxtaposed sounds of loud happy

people and the quiet, languid lake. “I never knew you existed until this summer.” Nicholas chuckled almost too soft to hear. The gentle vibration of his laugh shimmied down his arm to their fingers. Heat and electricity buzzed over her skin. “Then last month, I saw you in an apple tree photographing bees. Do you know how dangerous that is?” “Says the soldier.” She slid her eyes toward him. “I remember you.” “You do?” They moved through the grass avoiding the crowd. Heather and James stood on the beach skipping rocks across the lake. Days from now, the full moon would glisten on the ripples again. For the night, the sliver of silver moon added

darkness to the water and magic to the fireflies. They stopped at her willow. “Sure. You and your friends were older. We watched you play baseball, volleyball, pitch horseshoes.” She laughed. “We spent our summers fawning over the high school guys. The boys in our grade never had a chance at gaining our attention.” Shadows covered his eyes, disappointing her. She hoped to get a reaction. “Why didn’t you ask why I climbed a tree to take pictures of bees?” “What do you mean?” She smiled into the night. His nearness added a new sensation to her favorite view in town. She’d never stand under her tree again without the new

memory. Nicholas changed her life anytime he came near. With him beside her, she didn’t have to try to be brave. She was brave. “I started seeing you everywhere I went after that. You and your camera.” “I’m making a brochure for the lodge.” “I started thinking I might be stalking you and not know it. Then I realized you were a magnet for me. I couldn’t stay away from you. When I tried to figure out if you noticed me too, you’d run away.” “Because you scowled at me.” “I don’t scowl.” She waited. He had to know. Someone must’ve pointed this out

before. “It’s my thinking face.” Emma’s soldier came to mind. He’d given her what she needed to smile at him for the first time. Reading his words opened her heart to possibilities. As if he read her mind, Nicholas squeezed her fingers. Her soldier inspired her to try. If he could endure war and loss and still come to the lake and live his life, she could too. For all she’d been through, it didn’t compare to his trials. “I don’t want any help finding the book guy,” she said, surprising herself. “No? Have you given up already?” “I haven’t given up anything.” She

leaned her weight into his side and sighed. “I don’t want to know who he is, and I don’t want him to know I read his most private thoughts. Nothing good could come from that. But, I do think it’s time I let the book go.” In the morning when she came to bring some sample photos to the lodge, she’d turn the journal over to the lost and found. Nicholas stroked her hair and stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Warmth radiated from his chest to her back. She was out of practice, but the handholding and snuggling seemed to fall beyond the borders of plutonic. With his heart beating against hers, she knew she could stand there until the sun rose.

**** “Is that the same outfit you had on last night?” Emma waved a finger at Heather. “I need coffee.” Her cheeks matched her red halter. “Well, this is a fine surprise from Miss I Don’t Date Honey Creek Men.” “We talked all night. He’s homesick and out of place here. He needed someone to listen.” Emma sipped her coffee to hide her smirk. “Mmm hmm.” “I swear to you, nothing happened.” She dragged a shiny red nail across her heart. “We skipped rocks so long I got carpal tunnel. I beat him at that, in case you’re concerned.”

“I wasn’t.” “He told me so much about his life I felt like I knew him for years by the time he dropped me off this morning. We watched the sunrise together. I mean, if that’s not a first date story to tell the grandkids, I don’t know what is.” Her eyes looked tired and dreamy. Her body sat at the table, but her mind was a million miles away. “How about you? Where are you headed off to looking so fancy and happy this morning?” “First, I’m headed to the lodge to return this.” Emma lifted the journal and placed it beside her purse on the table. “Then, I’m meeting Nicholas. He’s taking me to meet his mom.” She shifted in her seat. “Do you think meeting his

mom is moving too fast?” “Honey, around here it’s a miracle you aren’t already in her bridge club.” “True.” Coffee percolated on the counter as the girls sipped from their cups in companionable silence. Emma examined her short blue nails. She’d spent an hour dropping dots of white polish onto each fingernail and dragging a toothpick through it. Swirling patterns emerged in the most interesting ways. She picked a green and blue sundress to bring out her eyes and look more lady like than she had while thrown across Nicholas’s shoulder. “You really like him.” Heather nodded her approval before Emma could

answer. “Better than your book guy?” “Yeah.” Her answer took them both by surprise. No hesitation. She thanked her soldier for making her brave, but the thought of losing Nicholas broke her heart. “In fact, I’m going to go. I want time to talk to the office about my photos for the brochure before I meet Nicholas. You can go upstairs and sleep. Don’t try to drive home like this, your eyes are at half-mast already and you’re drinking coffee.” “If you insist.” Heather dropped her cup off near the sink and dragged dramatically up the steps. Exhausted as she might be, she had energy left to sing, “Emma and Nicholas sitting in a tree….” Emma locked up behind her and

froze on the front steps. Nicholas pulled his truck in behind hers and jumped down. He’d gone home, showered, shaved, changed clothes and returned looking good enough to eat. His jeans hung on his hips. The deep V of his waist disappearing behind a lucky metal button. His plain blue button-down covered a crisp white tee. He rubbed his palms together when he saw her. “You look like the poster girl for summer in that dress. You should be on the cover of that brochure you’re making. Right beside those bees.” “Thank you.” She laughed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” “I plan to check in on my proposal for the gazebo and landscaping while

we’re out there. I thought since we’re both going to the lake, maybe you’d let me drive you?” Nicholas swung the passenger door open for her and offered her a hand. His truck stood tall and manly. Her dress didn’t appreciate it. When she pulled her skirt inside, he shut the door, moved around to his door, and climbed in. Emma placed her bag and the journal on her lap. The engine revved to life and soon wind blew through her hair. Her mother would probably show up at her door soon if she didn’t call her back. She wondered if Heather would answer the landline if her mother tried that again while she was away. With so much to tell, it was hard to know where to start.

After meeting Mrs. Fenton. As soon as she got home, she vowed to tell her mother everything, or at least fill in what the town scuttlebutt didn’t report. “These last few days have been the best I’ve had since I came home.” Her voice sounded small, but her heart expanded with every word. He needed to know. Nicholas searched her face but said nothing. He reached out and took her small hand in his. Raising her fingers to his lips, he placed a kiss on every knuckle. “I’ve never been this happy. Never. I couldn’t even sleep after I got home. I kept one eye on the clock and got ready to come back to see you. Now that I can be with you, hold you, kiss you,”

he lifted her hand to his cheek, “I don’t want to leave. In fact, can I suggest a nap now? As soon as we leave my mom’s house, let’s take a nap.” She shivered. He smiled against her hand and let it fall onto the seat between them once more. The idea of falling asleep in his arms did things to her. Warm things. Waking up in his embrace gave her a visual she’d never get rid of. “A nap sounds wonderful.” She leaned closer to the window hoping to sneak some cool air to settle her down. Too soon the ride ended and Nicholas examined the journal on her lap. A look of consternation covered his face. “Why don’t you let me take this to

lost and found while you meet with the staff about the brochure?” “No. I’ve got it. You go ahead and see about your proposal.” She turned to climb down from the truck, but he had a hand on the journal. She needed a minute to say goodbye before she turned it in to the front desk. It killed her to give all her soldier’s secrets to some cranky teenage summer help. They wouldn’t take care of it, and they most likely would read it. “Let me do this for you?” He smiled wide enough to give her pause. “No. I’d feel better if I talked to someone.” “You asked about my scars, and I haven’t told you yet.” His expression was grim. She paused, unsure how to

proceed. She wanted to know this more than anything. She wanted to know him. And he wanted her to know him. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. A gaggle of Canada geese honked their way through the lot, and a pack of kids appeared out of nowhere to watch. “Let’s be quick then. We can meet under our willow.” She started thinking of it as their willow as opposed to her willow the night Mavis found her there and he stayed to keep her company. His fingers slipped off the leather cover, and Emma grabbed her purse. Together they walked into the lobby and parted ways. At the desk she waited, unsure about handing over the journal. Her toe tapped against the tile floor.

Thoughts of what Nicholas might say consumed her. The same snippety girl she’d seen all summer sat at the desk, texting on her cell phone. “Hello?” The girl looked up but didn’t stop texting. It creeped Emma out a little. “Hi. I’m Emma Hastings. I called a while back about finding a journal. Has anyone come in looking for a journal?” She placed it on the counter and waited, trying not to sound too eager. The girl stopped chewing the gum in her mouth and stared. “You had the journal?” Her eyes narrowed. As if she didn’t believe her. “Yes. I had the journal. Has

someone come in for it?” “Uh. Yeah. That guy.” Emma followed the girl’s gaze to the most handsome man in the room, in the world. Nicholas leaned his shoulder against the far wall, watching. When her mouth fell open, he lifted a palm waist high and struggled to put a smile on his face. “Him?” She looked at the girl for clarification. Maybe there was another man there a minute ago who left before she looked. Maybe the girl was nearsighted. Anything else. “Yeah. Him.” She turned back to her phone. Nicholas pushed off from the wall and moved in her direction.

“Don’t.” She forced the word out of her suddenly dry lips. The journal burned her fingers, and she pulled them away. “Don’t,” she said louder this time. Her head shook, her hands trembled, and betrayal seared her heart. He knew, and he let her go on and on like a fool. She felt like such a joke. He made her into a joke. What else did he think was funny? He knew how she felt about him, and he said nothing. Did he not want her to feel so strongly for him? Like the day she found the journal he stood near the door frowning, and she pushed her way past him without looking back.

Chapter Sixteen Emma worked a thread from her blouse around one finger, suppressing a tear. She had no idea how one body could make so many. Tears rolled freely over her cheeks when she walked out on Nicholas at the lodge. Heather left the lifeguard station the minute Emma sobbed unintelligibly into her cell phone. The ride home was excruciating. It hurt to breathe. Everything changed that day. Her tummy knotted from lack of sustenance and excess of emotion. Nothing felt good anymore. Trivial things like food didn’t deserve the energy she’d have to exert to acquire them. “I missed you last week.” Dr.

Kennedy leaned forward on her desk. “I’d rather hoped your no-show was due to some blissful event you’d fill me in on later. From the looks of you, I’m guessing I was wrong.” A flock of birds flew over her truck outside the office window. A perfect arrow formation except for one straggler. Emma could sympathize. “How are things with your mother?” Emma looked up. She expected questions about the journal or her love life. The last they talked, James and the journal were the main topics of interest. “Good.” This topic, she could speak on without losing it. “I had a rough time last week with some things, and my mom

hounded me until I spilled the entire story.” At the time, she cursed her stupidity for giving her mother a key to her home, but once she arrived at her bedside, everything changed. Her mother stayed all day and overnight. She cleaned, brought organic tomato soup and grilled cheese to Emma in bed and never once complained about her eating there. “What did your mother say?” The concern in the doctor’s voice made it harder not to cry. “She said she loved me. She told me how much she hated herself whenever she knew she’d said the wrong thing, but pride kept her from

apologizing. Almost losing me changed her. I knew that, but I didn’t understand how afraid she is, worrying every day it might happen again.” When her mother stroked her back and cried with her, Emma absorbed her pain. Her mother lost something the day Emma had her heart attack. She lost the peace of mind she’d outlive her only child. And she lived every day since in fear. “I’d be cranky too if I was her. I had no idea how she felt before.” “This is wonderful news, Emma. A good relationship with your mother will do wonders for your happiness. How about the other things we talked about last time I saw you?” Trickster. She got her talking then

slipped in the unmentionable. Emma pursed her lips. “The journal,” she nudged. Tears welled up, blurring the view out Dr. Kennedy’s window. She cleared her throat. “I returned it.” “You found the owner?” The doctor looked surprised. She rarely looked any way but blank. Sometimes concerned. Never invested or surprised. The emotion on her face made it harder to talk. Telling someone who didn’t care would be easier than telling someone who mattered to her. Emma nodded too many times. Her head felt detached like a big red bobble head of herself. “And you’re disappointed?”

She hung her head in despair. A thousand words pressed up from her heart to her lips. She fought them, wanting to move on, put it behind her, and not care. Humiliation burned her cheeks and throat. How stupid could one person be? How did she fall in love with him twice and not know it? Why didn’t he tell her? He let her walk over to the desk and ask about his journal like a complete idiot. “I am.” “He wasn’t who you expected?” “No.” And then the floodgates opened. Sobs wracked her body, and she wanted to run away. No one should see her this way, and in the past 10 days, Dr. Kennedy was number three, close behind

her mother and Heather. She wanted to be strong and confident. Like him. The breakdown continued, and a box of tissues appeared by her feet. She reached for them without lifting her head. “Did you have someone else in mind?” “No.” As the tears slowed, Emma pulled herself upright, hiding behind her hair as much as possible without feeling obvious. “I knew him.” Emphasis on knew. After that day, she wondered if she knew anything. “You hoped for a new friend?” Her voice twisted. Confusion coated the words. “No.” The sadness sucked off her

like a vacuum. Her spine stiffened. “I fell in love with someone else.” To describe her situation as complicated wasn’t enough. “I already loved the soldier in the journal. In a way I can’t describe. Then I loved someone else too.” “You connected to the soldier on a private, emotional level.” “Yes.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “I understood him, and it changed me, knowing I wasn’t alone. If a big brave soldier was afraid sometimes, then I could be too. Like, his loneliness and grief and frustration justified mine. We were soul mates. Then I met him, but I didn’t know it was him, and I fell in love with him again.” She threw her

hands up. Anger crept in, replacing the tears. “You love Nicholas?” Her breathy voice brought Emma’s eyes to hers. She remembered his name? “Yes. I love his confidence and sense of humor and playfulness. I even love his dopey dog.” “Two sides of one man. People are complicated. You know that. Sometimes, when we let people in and open ourselves up the way you did, we have to accept the good with the bad. Those journal entries were blips on the radar of his life, how he felt at those small moments. They aren’t who he is all day.” Emma dried her face and stuffed

the tissues in her pocket. She never kept a journal, but a number of entries she might’ve made came to mind. How she felt coming home to Honey Creek when she wanted to photograph the world instead. How boxed in she felt. She’d blamed God for taking away her pretty body, ruining her dreams of having babies. Those things meant little to her now, comparatively, but at the time, she was different. Angry. Those entries wouldn’t have represented her. They would only have revealed how she dealt with her loss in the moment. Dr. Kennedy was right. She loved her life now. In fact, she was often grateful for the changes that brought her home. “I’m sorry our time’s almost up,”

Dr. Kennedy said. “You’ve finally started talking. You can take all the time you need before you leave. My next appointment cancelled again.” She diverted her gaze from Emma. “What’s important isn’t what has already happened, but how you choose to move forward. I think you need to take the tough parts and make something good with them. Good can always come from bad, Emma. I believe that. You have to decide where to go from here and proceed on your own terms. You’ve already reconciled with your mother. That’s an amazing start.” She smiled. Her eyes brimmed with kindness. “Next week I want to hear what else you’ve done to bring positives from your

situation. You’re one of the strongest people I know, and I have to say I’m looking forward to hearing what you accomplish.” “Thank you, Dr. Kennedy.” Emma pulled her bag onto her shoulder and stopped when Dr. Kennedy stood too. She pulled Emma into a hug and patted her back twice. “There are amazing things in your future.” She looked over Emma’s face. “Don’t shut them out. Usher them in.” **** Clarissa’s small home off Route 22 looked a lot like her parents’ home. White, tall and narrow. She sat on the porch thumbing through a fashion magazine when Emma pulled up at the

curb. Clarissa pulled her oversized white sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and grimaced. “What are you doing here?” “I came to apologize.” Emma climbed the front steps, handed her a bag from the market and offered a weak smile to go with it. “Strawberry Pop Rocks and Coke.” Clarissa smashed her lips into a straight line. “What are you doing?” “I’ve got something on my mind, and I thought we could talk like we used to. I didn’t think I could lure you to my parents’ barn, so I brought the comfort food here.” Clarissa kept her eyes on Emma. She reached behind her on the swing and

pulled out a bag of Combos. The laughter bubbled up like a fresh spring in the desert. Tears welled again, and Emma realized for the first time, she’d lost more than she knew. She’d lost her closest childhood friend in her efforts to shut out the world. They ripped into the snacks, and Emma wiped her swollen eyes. “Go on.” Clarissa folded her legs up on the swing beside her. “While I was away at school, I had a heart attack.” The words floated from her lips. They tasted like freedom. Clarissa’s eyes bulged. “What?” Her hands hovered without purpose between them, wanting to help, knowing they were five years too late. “Oh my

goodness. How? I don’t understand.” This time the story came nice and easy. She described the scene and the pain, the fear and humiliation. When she looked back to Clarissa, she found tears covered her cheeks. Her friend pulled her into the tightest hug she’d had in ages and begged her forgiveness. “I am so sorry. I’m the absolute worst friend ever in the history of friends. I let you down. No wonder you never spoke to me again!” “What? No! I’m the worst friend, not you. I suck eggs. You had no idea, and I was adamant no one find out. I felt broken. Old ladies have heart attacks! Not me. I’d just run five miles that morning. And the scars.” She pulled her

collar down to reveal the top of her wounds. “My pride hurt. My dreams shattered. I was living out a serious pity party. I came home at first. Mom took care of me. I hated it, stuck in the same bedroom I plotted to escape for so many years. I didn’t want to go anywhere and people talked. They dropped by with food and nosy questions. Why was I home before graduation? Why didn’t I go out? Mom tried to honor my wishes. I said I’d tell them when I was ready.” She sucked in a full chest of air. “I was never ready. I healed up and left. I made a second attempt at life outside of Honey Creek, but I lost the push I had before. Life stopped exhilarating me and started exhausting me. I moved home two years

ago and kept to myself as much as possible outside of work.” “You’re amazing.” Clarissa wiped renegade tears from her cheek. “Sure. When everyone assumed I was on house arrest or something, I let them.” She barked a laugh. “I preferred people think I was arrested than know I had a heart attack. By the time I moved home again, it felt like old news. ‘I had a heart attack three years ago.’ So, I kept up the big secret act.” She stuffed her mouth with Combos, shaking her head with every crunch. “How twisted am I?” “Not. You were young and hurt and afraid. I was hurt too, you know. That was my problem. I got my feathers ruffled when you wouldn’t return my

calls. At first I figured you were pissy about getting kicked out of school, or whatever happened. Then, I started seeing you with Heather, and I was straight ticked.” She frowned. “Listen to me. I’m twelve years old.” Emma never considered Clarissa could be hurt until she laid into her at the festival. She definitely never thought about how she might feel cast off when Heather took her place as confidant. Emotion curled over her tongue. “Heather’s a nurse at the hospital where I recovered. She stayed after her shifts playing Euchre with me. I guess we bonded, and when I came home, she checked up on me. We kept in touch, and then she got a job at the hospital in

Circleville, so she moved home to Honey Creek. You know she remembers us from high school. I don’t remember her, but she hated us.” “We were mean.” “Yeah.” The girls relaxed side by side into Clarissa’s porch swing and talked until the leftover twinkle lights of the festival told them they’d better eat something more substantial than Pop Rocks and Combos. “You want pizza?” Clarissa pulled her phone from her pocket. “Salad?” She’d eaten enough sugar and starch already to send her mom into a complete panic. Better to balance it out with something green. “Right.” Clarissa looked sternly at

the phone. When Catch 22 answered, she said, “I’d like to order two cob salads please.” Emma knew the world would be right again soon. With Clarissa and her mother back on her team, she couldn’t lose. Heather would flip out when she heard about this spontaneously rekindled friendship. Best of all, she’d be happy for her. “Isn’t that your guy?” Clarissa poked her shoulder with one long pink fingernail. Across the street, Nicholas disassembled the judges’ tents. Even in the evening light and with his back to her, she recognized him. She loved him. What she didn’t know was whether he’d

ever forgive her. He tried hard for days to get her to talk to him, and she’d done everything she could to pretend he didn’t exist. She’d hoped her heart would believe her. Her heart hadn’t listened, but he had.

Chapter Seventeen “Fancy running into you here.” Dr. Kennedy meandered across the grass toward the willow tree. An expectant expression on her face. She looked different in a ponytail and sundress. In fact, if she hadn’t spoken, he wouldn’t have recognized her at all. The navy dress was casual, unlike anything he’d ever seen her in, and he commended her attempt to stray from brown. Perhaps the red framed photo in her office was rubbing off on her. Nicholas wiped his brow with the back of his arm and squinted in her direction. Sweat stung his eyes. He turned back to the earth he’d worked all morning. He’d been cultivating the area

around the tree since sun up, eager to get started putting his life back together. The work had an unexpected effect on him. Instead of taking his mind off things like it had before Emma, all he could think about was her. Life had come to an apex. He felt a sad smile creep up. He didn’t want to be the guy who classified his life into two parts, before and after one girl. Resting on one knee, he surveyed his work. Honing his attention somewhere useful. All the grass inside his stick and twine perimeter was gone. Thanks to two hard hours of shoveling and rolling, things were starting to level up. “Back to your old busy self?” She blocked the sun. One hand shaded her eyes. Considering the drive she made to

find him, he was in trouble. Probably he needed to talk his way out of it. “Yep.” “You haven’t come to see me in two weeks. I miss our little chats.” She tossed her purse on the ground and squatted beside him, clutching her arms around her knees and dress. “I’m starting to take it personally.” “So, you didn’t come to enjoy the beach? Take a swim? Play some volleyball? The fishing’s good.” “Nope.” When he dared face the music, he found a tight little smile on her lips. Guess they needed to get on with it. Whatever she had to say, he planned to appreciate it, thank her and walk her

back to her car. Nicholas had plenty to do, and daylight didn’t last forever. “You stalk all your patients?” “Only the ones who dump me without notice. Last time we talked you had things happening. Things besides more work.” Dr. Kennedy ducked her head. “I got the gazebo job.” He held a hand out to showcase the dirt all around them. “Looks nice.” Nicholas took a deep breath and turned to sit in the grass. Maybe he could wait her out. They watched the children running along the beach for several minutes. Parents chasing frantically behind. The day was plenty hot, but the

beach crowd had thinned. Kids would be back in school soon. Summer wrapped up before it ended. “I always hated August. There’s another two or three months of weather warm enough to go barefoot, but everyone says fall’s here. Last year I helped Old Man MacIntosh pick pumpkins in flip-flops.” “Sounds like what you’re saying is things aren’t over until they’re over.” He snorted and looked away. Nicholas shook his head. She had him. He meant people pack up and leave too soon, but she’d think those words meant something else too. Pointing out the ones who walk away and miss another month of summer wouldn’t get him any farther.

He didn’t walk away. Did she think he did? He’d begged, and Emma shut him out like he was a door-to-door salesman: unwanted, unimportant, rejected. She didn’t even bother to scream at him. Didn’t waste the effort to tell him he sucked. She cut him loose. Nicholas rubbed a filthy hand over the back of his neck and tried not to growl. His heart belonged to her, and she couldn’t care less. “Are we having a session now? Can I pay you in chili cheese fries from the concession stand because I don’t have my insurance card on me?” He dared a look her way, patting his pockets. She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been seeing you for years. You’ve never

missed an appointment without a call. Even on days you sat there the entire hour telling me about nothing, avoiding the issues with stories about Mavis’s gray muzzle or how some train made you late for a movie, you still came. Still pretended the session mattered.” “It matters. I like coming to see you. You’re the only person who knows all my stuff, good and bad. And you’re okay with it. I’ve never found that anywhere before.” “Haven’t you?” Sneaky. Her husband must have his hands full. Ten to one he never got away with anything. A glint of light in the distance caught his eye. He knew without looking

what it was. He’d become so sensitive to the flash he whipped his head up and watched for the reflecting light, hoping to find her. This time she sat on the dam, adjusting her focus. Sunlight caught in the glass of the lens as she adjusted her position, swinging the camera in her hand. His eyes trailed over her tiny form. From where he sat she looked like a drawing, and it took all his strength not to dig out his journal and sketch her there. She was delicate and beautiful against a strong cement wall. Peaceful above angry rushing water. Dr. Kennedy watched her too. “She’s beautiful.” As much as he wanted to play dumb, he wouldn’t. She’d catch him.

Love struck blinked like a neon sign over his forehead. Everyone else he talked to saw it. And gave advice. “Yep.” “Have you tried talking to her?” He felt his face crunch. A stupid question for a smart lady. “Okay. What did she say? Why does she tell you she’s unhappy? What’s the complaint? If you know the problem, you can appeal to it.” “She won’t talk me, look at me, listen to me. She’s done with me. Period. And I know the complaint. I betrayed her. Right off the start and before she ever knew how I felt. The first thing she learned about me is I’m deceitful. Hell, I don’t blame her for writing me off.”

Dr. Kennedy smiled wide. All her perfect white teeth exposed. Nice to know his misery brought her some entertainment. He looked away from her face aggravated, tempted to toss a handful of sod onto her pretty blue dress. “You’re on to something there.” “On to what? I’m a class-A douche? I got the message loud and clear.” “No.” She made a disgusted face. “No. You think she’s written you off. Maybe. Maybe not. We each express hurt in our own ways. Shutting you out is a standard defense mechanism. She’s protecting herself emotionally. Maybe you need to write to her.” “Like in my journal?”

She smiled. “Interesting idea.” Hope touched his chest, compressing his breath. Heat flickered over the back of his neck and he rubbed it away. “Don’t you think showing up with the journal I lied about is a bad idea, Doc? Seems like that’d tick her off.” He looked back to see Emma had shifted onto her tummy and leaned over the dam’s edge. He hated when she did that. What if she fell? No one even knew she was there. What did he have to lose? She’s already read all his other private thoughts, and she accepted him anyway. He needed a way to tell her he loved her too. “My advice is make sure the

people you love know it. We aren’t promised tomorrow.” “And if she doesn’t love me back?” Nicholas jumped to his feet. Emma crossed the grass at the bottom of the dam, walking swiftly in his direction. Dr. Kennedy laid one hand on his shoulder. “I need to go. I’ll see you next week. I want to hear about how you handle this.” He turned to ask what made her think he still had a chance. To demand more information. More hope. But Dr. Kennedy jogged away toward the parking lot. She did drive all the way to the lake to talk to him. Somehow his therapist cared about his love life. Though, she was a strange bird to take

off the way she did. He chuckled to himself and hoped to share the smile with Emma. She stood stalk still 100 yards away. For a long beat, he thought he might have the chance to talk to her face to face. She teetered another minute before turning on her toes and heading for the lodge. Chasing her was out of the question. Running her down didn’t say, “I love you.” His gaze fell to the satchel near his water bottle and work gloves. He hadn’t made a single entry since he got his journal back. Writing in it felt wrong. Emma disappeared around the front of the lodge in one direction, and Dr. Kennedy was long gone, to the

parking lot in the other. **** Mavis puttered around the front porch, looking unsettled. Her nails clickclacked until Nicholas gave in. He patted the wicker bench beside him and her tail flopped once in excitement. She reached one paw up and then the other. That was the end of her effort. Yawrrr, she yodeled. “Jeez.” He put the journal down on the side table and bent to hoist her up alongside him. Hard to believe how much she’d grown. Coming back from Iraq had left him troubled. Nightmares plagued him, and the emptiness of his new house gave him chills. When his mom showed up with a puppy she

claimed to have found along the road, he kissed her. Back then Mavis fit into his hands. She could sleep on his forearm, legs dangling over each side. “Your vet’s going to give me hell about your weight again,” he complained. She rolled her big eyes up at him. “It wouldn’t hurt to get a little exercise, like jumping onto the bench for example, instead of waiting for a boost. If you get any bigger I’m going to need a forklift to get you into the truck.” At the sound of her favorite nonsnack related word, her head popped up to look in the direction of his Ford. Seeing a ride wasn’t in her future, she lazed back against the bench. One paw dangling. Nose snuffling against the

other paw. She stretched and inched and nuzzled until her face wedged onto Nicholas’ lap. “I know I’m cranky. And I know I’m the one feeding you everything you want to eat. But you give me those big droopy eyes and I want to make you happy.” He scratched behind her ears. “This isn’t easy for me. You have no idea, Mavis. I have stress.” He lifted the journal back onto his lap. Mavis readjusted her head to make room. Thinking about his feelings was hard enough. Writing them seemed impossible. When he journaled in the past, he wanted to get something off his chest. Now, he might as well be saying these things to her out loud, and he

couldn’t. He didn’t work like that. It’d been his experience you could say a lot with little speech. Writing meant trying to nail down an emotion with words, using them to convey what he wanted to say without leaving room for error or misinterpretation. Was that even possible? He rubbed his face and rolled his neck over his shoulders. If Dr. Kennedy was wrong and Emma hated him, she’d be in possession of his journal…again. This time she’d have ammunition to ruin him. He imagined copies of his love profession plastered all over town, slipped into morning newspapers, tacked under windshield wipers. His heart thudded. She wouldn’t do that. Emma

was kind. If she hated him, she wouldn’t read it at all. She’d keep pretending he didn’t exist. Pulling in one long breath for assurance, he lifted the pen and put it to work. There weren’t enough words on earth to do the job justice, but when he put his mind to something worthwhile, he gave all he had. Emma Hastings’ heart was the most worthy thing he’d ever aspired to.

Chapter Eighteen “How long will it last?” Laura asked. The girl’s watery eyes pleaded with Emma. “Well, it depends, and you can talk to your doctor about it too, of course.” She bit her lip, praying for the right words, hoping to be an encouragement, wishing she was stronger. “For me, it took several years before I quit feeling the scars. When I asked my friend, Heather, she told me it’s not uncommon. The damaged nerve endings can send signals to your brain for a long time before they give it a rest. The good news is they will heal, and you won’t always feel the sensation of clothing touching or a necklace laying there.”

When Laura blinked, a tear fell from each eye. She nodded bravely. “The worst is over.” Emma squeezed her small hand. Chronologically Laura was only a year younger than Emma had been when she had her heart attack, but somehow she seemed like a child. Crushed and fearful. “Remember you’ve already survived. You have another chance to live. This experience will change everything. It’s up to you what you do with it.” Laura’s free hand pressed against her chest. Did all heart patients do that? “Will the scars always be so red and welted?” “No.” Emma unbuttoned three buttons of her blouse and pulled the

material aside. Large tears rolled over Laura’s cheeks at the sight of Emma’s scars. For the first time in Emma’s life, she wasn’t ashamed or regretful. She was useful. “Someone once told me these scars make me beautiful. They show I’m tough. Tougher than a heart attack.” Laura sniffed and raised hopeful eyes to her. “I wasted five years being sad. I’ll never get those days back, but you don’t have to lose a single minute.” “Laura?” Heather knocked on the open door and smiled. vzyl “Your physical therapist is looking for you. Are you ready?” “Hey, you want to meet me here

next week? I’ll bring the ice water and bland foods.” Emma made a face. Laura laughed, but she walked away a little taller than she’d arrived. That was good enough for Emma. Next week would be better. “Miss Hastings?” A tall brunette stood in the doorway with a tissue to her nose. “Yes?” The woman looked down the hall before stepping inside the room. “I’m Joanna Fries, Laura’s mom.” “It’s nice to meet you. You just missed her. And call me Emma.” She nodded. “I want to thank you for what you’re doing for Laura, and the other girls here. The moms and I get

together during physical therapy in the cafeteria. Some travel a long way to see these doctors. We share horror stories of the day our kids almost died, and the nightmares they still have.” She cringed. “We have so many questions, and the doctors approach everything from a statistical standpoint. None of our children want counseling. It’s hard. I’m helpless.” “You’re not helpless. You’re a mom.” At that, Mrs. Fries broke down, and Emma had more insight into her own mother than she ever dreamed. Had she sat worrying with other moms while Emma recovered? How much pain had her mother endured? She only revealed frustration to Emma while she was

recovering. After that her mom covered everything with an endless supply of blue birds and sunshine, especially when Emma complained. The idea her mother hurt so much and she was too selfabsorbed to notice broke Emma’s heart anew. “You know, my mom might be a great place for you to start. Believe me when I say I was impossible when this happened to me. What if I invite my mom to come with me next week and I’ll send her toward the cafeteria to talk with you while I meet with the kids?” “I would be honored to meet her. How long will you be here?” “Today?” She looked at the clock. Nothing pressing on her schedule, unless

she counted moping around at home. “No. I mean, I hoped you’d be able to work with Laura until she gets through this.” “Oh. I plan to come every week. But, I’m not a counselor.” A light bulb went on. “I know a terrific counselor not far from here. I can give you her number and help encourage Laura to talk to her. When I see her again, I’ll ask her to stop by here during physical therapy. Maybe meeting her here will help Laura consider talking with her?” “If she helped you be this brave and confident, I can’t wait for Laura to meet her. You’re an absolute blessing to us. Seeing another young woman smile after such devastation…you’re giving

our kids hope.” Emma hugged Mrs. Fries and fought back tears. She couldn’t cry after hearing Mrs. Fries believed her brave. Yeesh. They said their goodbyes, and Emma’s shoulders sagged. She wanted her mom. Heather sat on a roller chair at the nurses’ station stamping papers. “The kids love you.” “I’m bringing my mom here next week to talk to their moms. I had no idea how hard this was on them. My mom never looked like Mrs. Fries. All she ever showed me was her determination to make me live on fruit and whole grains. I’m going to ask Dr. Kennedy to make an appearance too.” She leaned

against the desk for support. “Your mom looked just like them.” Emma searched Heather’s face for more information. The soft murmur of voices around them mixed with distant beeping and whooshing of hospital machinery. Being there on the healthy side of the equation felt good, better than she expected. She’d feared the smell of bleach and alcohol would send her into a nervous breakdown. Maybe she was brave. “Your mom bawled her eyes out in the ladies room on the urology floor every day. She went all the way across the building to freak out. Then hefted her entire make up collection from her giant bag and put her face back on. Stopped in

the cafeteria for an alibi and returned to you with juice and a smile.” Memories of her mother’s red cheeks flooded Emma’s mind. She always returned out of breath. She’d assumed her mom was frustrated from a cafeteria line and long walk. Had she really made a trip around the hospital to avoid looking weak in front of her daughter? “Your mom is one of the strongest women I know.” “I have to go.” She turned with a wave over one shoulder. “I need to go hug my mom. Can you come by later?” “Eight o’clock.” “See ya!” The elevator doors slid open, and Emma climbed onboard.

**** The sunlight waned as she crossed the railroad tracks in Honey Creek. She had another hour before Heather would arrive. She’d spent longer than she expected thanking her mom. Over the past few hours, a new appreciation for mothers had bloomed in her heart. Emotionally exhausted, the sight of her front porch made her lids grow heavy. Emma trudged up the front steps. A steamy hot bath and tatty sweats sounded like heaven. Having a late dinner from the grill with Heather and maybe a glass of wine, she expected to sleep like a baby. If only a few more busy days would erase the ache in her heart. House key in hand, she swung the

screen door wide and something thunked against her toe. She jumped and released the door. Nothing ran out. The door stayed put, wedged open a small measure. With one finger, she pulled the door wider and peeked. The journal. Emma scanned the street and yards for him, for anyone. Her hands trembled as she crouched to retrieve the precious book. Of all the days to discover this surprise. Her throat thickened. Eyes stung. A gentle summer breeze lifted her hair into her eyes. She took one last look around and slid the key into her lock. Inside, she placed the journal on her countertop and went to the sink for a glass of water. The slow ticking of her

red rooster clock emphasized the sprint of her breathing. Sipping carefully, she kept her eyes fixed on the book. Why did he bring her his journal? Why drop it off while she was away? She sighed heavily. Because she didn’t answer the phone or door when he came. She hated him for not giving up. She loved him for not giving up. Baby stepping across the room, she set her glass down and lifted the journal. The soft leather cover felt like warm butter against her fingertips. So much comfort and assurance lay beneath the honey brown cover. Trailing a finger over the letters burned into the binding, she resolved to wait for Heather before deciding what to do with it. Was she

supposed to return it to him? Keep it? The clock continued to tick at a slow, painful pace above her stove. Tick… Tock. Tick…tock. She gulped the rest of her water. Poured another glass and set it down. Her hands slipped in and out of her pockets. The clock crept backwards. Like an addict faced with her drug of choice, she tapped her nails against the counter, fighting, losing. Emma whipped the book from her counter and clutched it to her chest. She’d wait on the porch for Heather, and they’d decide what to do. Outside, curled up on her porch swing the stillness taunted her. The ballgames and cookouts thinned every year before summer ended. Sadness

touched her. People walked away too soon. Emma opened the cover for distraction. She missed the comfort of his words. Almost as much as the clear blue of his eyes. One look at Nicholas and anyone could see he was as honest and kind as he was handsome. Caught on another breeze, one loose paper floated from beneath the cover and landed near her bare feet on the porch. She opened it to find herself seated atop the Honey Creek dam. Her camera poised against her cheek, hair streaming behind her, a perfect image of her wide green eyes and tiny smile reflected back in the still water below. She gasped. Is that how she looked to him? The

woman in the sketch was fascinating with slight pixie like limbs and fairytale eyes. He’d only bothered to add color to her eyes in the water and a few streaks of red in her crazy hair. She remembered seeing him the last time she visited the dam. He’d been talking to a young woman in a ponytail and sundress. Jealousy had gripped her so hard she thought she’d die, and she ran off ashamed for being so selfish. How could she demand he leave her alone then hate him for finding someone else? The fact he spent a single day without a girlfriend was miraculous. She set the open drawing aside, unable to shut it for fear it would disappear. Fatigue wasn’t on her

emotional radar anymore. Her fingers twitched to call him. In one swift movement she darted back inside and lifted her phone to her ear. Then hung up. She dithered around her living room and groaned when the stack of fresh photographs caught her eye. Printing the lake photos, she’d come across the pictures of Mavis and her silly wings. A batch filled with shots of Nicholas in a tiny cowboy costume and her in a feather boa were with them. She loved him. Why didn’t he tell her the journal belonged to him? He knew how she felt about the soldier in her journal. He should’ve said, “It’s me. I’m your soldier.” The only logical conclusion was he didn’t want her to

love him that way. “Mean,” she muttered at the photos. “Weasel your way into my heart with your big blue eyes and your cutie dog and that un-freaking-believable smile. Always looking grouchy so when you smiled at me I’d think I might be special.” Emma flopped onto her couch and dragged a photo of the two of them onto the cushion beside her. She placed the drawing next to it and opened the journal. Already in full loser mode, she thumbed through the pages, rereading her favorite passages and letting her tears fall and mingle where his had stained the pages before. Curiosity flicked, and she turned to the final page. Did he write

anything new? How did he feel about her shutting him out? Did he hurt too? And there it was. A brand new entry waited for her. He’d dropped this off for a reason. Nicholas had something to say to her, and against reason, she prayed it wasn’t goodbye. When I led my caravan into a roadside bomb, I lost three men. I vowed that day to never laugh again because they couldn’t. I was responsible for that truth. A few weeks later, I returned home to my family. While their families grieved, I healed. After that, I promised never to forget what I’d done. I looked at my scars every day, forcing myself to remember the smoke and sand and chaos. Grown

men crying for their mothers, or their wives, begging me to tell their babies their daddy loved them. I carried that with me a long time. It used to define me, and I hated myself for it. Then I met her. There’s a girl out there who understands me, and for some reason, she cared about me anyway. She sees beauty in the world everyone else walks past. When I met her, she changed everything. I stopped looking behind me and I started looking ahead. Stopped punishing myself and started being thankful. With her, I saw a future beyond the moment at hand. Possibilities unfolded for me I hadn’t considered in years.

The best thing about this girl is her fortitude. She’s been hurt too, but she lives. She thrives and she smiles. I don’t smile much. But when I’m with her, it’s easy. Everything’s easy. And I’m not alone. She’s gone now, but before she left, I called the families of the friends I’d lost. I told their families my story. Told them how I led the caravan that day and survived. Then I told them how the last thing they thought of was how much they loved their families. Every time I finished, I braced myself for their anger. But it never came. Much like my girl, those families had already let go. They thanked me for sharing the truth with them and some

even invited me to come and visit anytime. They told me their loved ones would be honored to know I survived. But I hadn’t. I died that day too. So, it hit me. What I’d been doing was selfish. I had my whole life to live and I refused. In trying to honor them, I’d failed. Then I knew what I had to do. It was time to be brave. Time to be honest with myself and my girl. I’d given every last piece of my crumbled heart to a little redhead, and I needed to make sure she knew it before someone smarter than me swept her away. Someone who had enough sense to grab hold and run. When I bought the ring, I knew

the secret was out. Everyone in town would know what I’d done, and if I didn’t hurry, she’d hear it from the grapevine before she heard it from me. All the way to her house, I practiced the words. Emma Hastings, I know we’ve only begun to know one another, but you’ve unraveled me. I’m certain our souls are already connected somehow. My heart beats for the moment I might be with you again. Your face is the last thing I see when I fall asleep at night. Your voice belts out Shania Twain over the less impressive artists on my radio. You consume me and I like it. I want it and I need you. With you, I am complete. I am whole. I am me. There

has never been a moment in time when I was more sure of anything than I am right now. After that, I’d fall on my knees before her. I wouldn’t kneel. Kneeling would imply self-control. In the quest to win her heart, I had no control. She held the reigns, and I decided before I bought the ring if she said no, I’d wait. But I’d never give up hope. I love her in a way that transcends time, and waiting for a month or a decade wouldn’t change or minimize that truth. But I hesitated. I doubted, and she’s gone. But I’m still here. Waiting. Emma blinked through the cascade of tears and ran to the bathroom for

tissue. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes and ran full force through her house at the sound of Heather’s Jeep on the gravel of her drive. She wrestled the door open with tear-wetted hands and found Nicholas standing in her front yard. His truck parked in the drive. Mavis lumbered at his feet. The sun burned low and golden in the sky behind him “Emma.” He spoke so soft, the wind carried the word to her ears. Hands in pockets, head down, and eyes rolled up to her, he looked like a giant broken doll. His hair had grown, and his boots were untied. “I read your journal.” Tears and a laugh broke the words. She read his

journal. Again. “I was kind of counting on that.” He took a tentative step forward. Mavis waited. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. Her arms strained against themselves, wanting to reach for him. “Not what happened to your friends and not what happened to us.” His long black lashes broke up the glistening blue of his eyes. Her knees loosened beneath her and she wobbled. He took another step forward. “We’re not broken.” The words tumbled from his lips, coated in determination. “You’re angry. I’m a jerk. But we aren’t broken.” He motioned between them and took another step.

This one bigger than the last. “I haven’t fought for anything in a long while, Emma, but I’ll fight for you. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” He reached for the railing at the bottom of her stairs. Heather’s Jeep rumbled up the road in the distance. Mavis lifted her head to look and let it fall. A soft bark popped out and disappeared into the wind. Nicholas was on the second step when Emma looked back to him. Her breath caught in her throat. “What I did to you was inexcusable. I should have told you the journal was mine the minute I suspected you had it.” “But you didn’t.” She thought he

didn’t want her to feel that way about him, the way he knew she felt about the journal. But he bought her a ring. Heat blazed over her skin. He bought her a ring? “I am more than a few entries in a journal. I needed you to love me. This me.” He placed a hand to his chest. “I do.” Her vision blurred with unshed tears. A car door thumped somewhere nearby. Heather. Emma smashed her lids down. The tears fell. He took her hands and lifted them, swaddled in his. Before she could look, she felt him there before her. Their bodies touched. His breath tickled her face. Scents of shampoo and mint and

earth overtook her. Heat from his body scorched through hers. She missed him so much. “Emma.” His face was so close she had to force her eyes from his lips. “You love me?” Hadn’t she told him every day? Announced it to the world? Written it in the sky? She hadn’t. The pain of realization cut deep into her chest. He didn’t know. How could he know? “Emma.” She shivered. Every time he said her name, she waited to explode. His lips brushed hers, gentle and cautious. Once. Twice. When she didn’t move away, he caught the edge of her bottom lip in a kiss.

A sigh escaped her, and his lips pressed firm and soft. Nicholas pulled her hands around his neck and leaned in to deepen their embrace. He loved her. His heart beat against her chest, and all she wanted in the world was to be there in that moment forever with him. “I love you,” he murmured against her mouth, giving her only a moment to breathe. A smiled changed his face and he kissed her again. Caught in the moment, she launched into his embrace, tying her legs around his waist. He turned to lean against the door as he held her. Her toes curled against his back. “A-hem.” Heather coughed. “Get a room.” Her heels clomped up the steps

interrupting their kiss. Emma buried her face in the crook of Nicholas’ neck, but he didn’t put her down. Completely unembarrassed by their display, he turned his cheek over her hair to look at Heather. “I came to beg forgiveness.” “Looks like that went well.” Wriggling out of his arms, Emma stood beside him, holding tight to his shirt. If he never left her sight again, it’d be too soon. Nicholas leaned down to her level. And then kept going. Heather gasped. Emma’s hands flew to her eyes. She looked out from between her fingers to find him on bended knees as he’d

promised in his journal. He wasn’t missing his chance. As if it were possible she’d ever look at another man when she had all she ever dreamed of right here. “Emma Hastings, I love you.” “Oh. My. Word.” Heather almost shouted. “Now?” “Shh.” Emma stomped her foot in warning. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky, and that fact will never change. You are my dream girl. My perfect match. My destiny.” An ornery smile crept up one side of his perfect mouth. “I’m not perfect, but if you’d be willing to put up with me awhile, I promise to make you happy. Keep you

safe. Reach things on the top shelf for you.” She chuckled, shielding her mouth with a shaky hand. He dug into his pocket, shifting and readjusting on his knees. He retrieved a perfect gold band. A small round diamond sat on top, shining for the entire world like a beacon meant for her. Extending it between them, he cleared his throat. “Would you please do me the unbelievable honor…of becoming my wife?” The trembling in her hands spread to her extremities and she waffled. He caught her in his arms and cradled her close. “Did you swoon? Is that a yes?” Emma wrapped her arms around

his neck and pulled his lips to hers. “Yes.” “Yes?” “Yes, absolutely, unequivocally yes.” He slid the perfect ring onto her trembling finger and kissed it gently. His eyes never left hers and a warm shiver swept through her. Behind them the sound of tires over gravel broke her reverie. Nicholas chuckled low in his chest. Peeking over his shoulder, she found a caravan of trucks headed their way and her neighbors walking across the yard. “What on earth?” “They’re getting married!” Heather squealed into the phone, waving

people from the yard toward the porch where they stood. Nicholas pulled her to his chest, steadying her. “I might have asked your father’s permission before I came over.” “What if I wasn’t home?” “Oh, I told him you were coming home.” Heather spoke to her while dialing another number. “Your mom called me when you left her house. I tried to give you time to read the journal, but it killed me. When I got here, I was afraid I’d come too soon.” “You all knew?” She spoke to no one in particular. “What if I said no?” “I would’ve asked again. And Heather would’ve called them off.”

“Like you were going to say no. You’re crazy about this guy.” Heather winked. Oh boy, she was winking now like James. “Congratulations.” Clarissa appeared beside her on the porch. She hugged Emma and smiled at Nicholas. Heather raised an eyebrow, but kept whatever she was thinking to herself. “Who’s hungry?” “I’ve got salad in the car. Your father’s coming with it.” Emma’s mother hurried up the steps, linked arms with Clarissa and headed for the kitchen. The little crowd followed them, leaving the couple alone on the porch. “Small towns,” Nicholas teased,

pushing a mass of hair off Emma’s shoulder. He kissed the bend of her neck. “Right?” A sprinkling of kisses later, her head swam with wonder. He loved her. And she loved him, and her life filled with possibilities in his arms. Her house bustled with loved ones and family and friends. Someone had turned on the radio in the kitchen. “It’s getting crowded. You want to go to the lake?” he whispered against her ear. She nodded and glanced over her shoulder into the busy house. Her feet disappeared beneath her, and they were flying down the steps and into the driveway. Nicholas slid her into his

truck and tossed Mavis into the bed behind her. Yeowwwr. Nicholas slid behind the wheel and laced his fingers with Emma’s. He looked at their entwined hands and smiled. The ring pressed into her finger. “You look awfully proud of yourself,” she teased, a bit breathless. “I am.” He waggled his dark eyebrows and nodded. “You love me.” “I do.” His smile edged impossibly wider. He checked his mirror and angled between trucks in the drive. Streams of amber and crimson light lit the world around them. The lake at sunset was one of her favorite sights. She smiled into the

distance, knowing who she’d watch them with for the rest of her life. “Hey!” Heather called from the front porch, waving a hand overhead. “Uh oh.” Nicholas whispered. “Go!” Emma squealed, thumping their joined hands on the seat. Yeowwwwr! With the press of a pedal, they barreled away, quite literally into the sunset. THE END

ABOUT JULIE ANNE LINDSEY Born and raised as an only child in Ohio, Julie had plenty of time to people watch and make things up. When she didn’t think she could make a living at the latter, her love of people led her to Kent State University where she earned a BA in Psychology. A few years and three kids later, she discovered the thrill of writing and hasn’t looked back. Writing allows her to harness her seemingly endless supply of energy and create something of value in the wake. Julie is a mother of three, wife to a sane person and Ring Master at the Lindsey Circus. Most days you’ll find her online, amped up on caffeine and wielding a book. She blogs about books

and writing at blog.juliealindsey.com Also from Julie Anne Lindsey “Fireworks,” in Summer Shorts “Faith, Love & the Coastguard,” in Men in Uniform Seeds of Love series Bloom Love Blossoms Harvest of the Heart Look for future books from Julie Anne Lindsey Reinventing Chloe, a Barefoot Books YA mystery A Beautiful Pointe, a Honey Creek sweet romance

If you enjoyed Julie Anne Lindsey’s Written on Her Heart, you might also enjoy these romance authors published by Turquoise Morning Press: Magdalena Scott, author of Home Sweet Legend Maggie Greene, author of Nursing Second Chances Suzanne Barrett, author of Gift of the Heart

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