TWELVE

Tuesday moved along without incident. No one threatened her or withdrew their friendship, no one quit and no one dumped a dead body on her property. Maggie padded along behind Rachel as she walked the floor, her phone to her ear. The sheer exuberance in Billy Hutchins’s voice made Rachel smile. She had two graduating seniors and two returning college kids starting work Thursday, but she’d been so taken with Billy’s courtesy, respect and willingness to work that she’d decided to offer him a job, too.

“It’s not a lot of money,” she continued, “but you can have all the pop and hot dogs you can handle, and you’ll still have a few days free for cutting and delivering wood, if you want.”

“Works for me, Mrs. P.,” he answered happily. “Oh, man. This is a real gift. Thanks a lot!”

“You’re welcome. Just be here tomorrow around four so you can meet the rest of the gang and get your schedule. I won’t keep you long. We pull out the mowers and lawn tractor Thursday.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks again. Oh, and happy birthday tomorrow, in case I forget.”

Rachel stared curiously at the handset before she answered. “Thank you. How did you know it was my birthday?”

“Mr. Campbell told me when we were unloading wood Saturday. He said he’s making dinner for you. Hope he can cook.”

Rachel’s heart did a silly flip-flop. Jake had said that? To Billy? Maybe she’d read him wrong last night. Maybe … She let herself hope just a little. “I’m not afraid. I’m guessing he knows his way around a kitchen. See you tomorrow, Billy.”

“Yep, see you then.”

Rachel hit the disconnect button, then strode behind the lunch counter to her little galley. She was about to return the receiver to the cradle when it rang in her hand. She checked the caller ID window and drew a breath. “Good afternoon, Mr. Campbell.”

“Mr. Campbell?” he said, obviously amused. “My, aren’t we formal today. How did your morning and afternoon go?”

“Not bad. I just got off the phone with Billy Hutchins. I asked him to work for me this season.”

“That’s great. The kid could use the money. Did one of the Atkins brothers show up at three?”

“Yes, he got here a few minutes ago. His brother will be here at eleven.”

“Good. How about Maggie? Does she have enough food?”

Rachel felt that little bit of hope dwindle. If he was lining up protectors and checking on his dog, she wouldn’t be seeing him today. “Maggie’s fine. She’s been following me around most of the day. I think she misses you, but she’s tolerating me.”

She heard him take in a long, slow breath, then let it out. “Look,” he said, “I probably won’t see you until tomorrow night. I’m tied up today and I have that—”

“—meeting tomorrow. I know.” There was nothing wrong with her intuition. She hadn’t misunderstood his distance last night. “That’s okay. Roy’s here. He’s all I need.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but empty space on the line. Then he spoke quietly. “Well, I just wanted to wish you an early happy birthday, and make sure someone was there with you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, dredging up a cheerful tone to hide her hurt. “I’m in very good hands. Have a good rest of the day.”

Again, it took him a while to reply. “You, too.”

Rachel dropped the handset into the cradle, tears welling in her eyes. Whatever connection they’d had was over. And how pathetic she was, getting all excited because he’d shared something as incidental as her birthday with Billy Hutchins.

Grabbing a soda from the fridge, she walked briskly back to the game room, then picked up the remote and flopped down on the sofa to watch TV. Maggie jumped up on the sofa beside her, and Rachel saw her through watery eyes.

“Know what?” she said to the dog. “That guy you live with needs a great big kick in the pants. I don’t know from one day to the next if he cares about me, or if he’s hovering because of his sister, or if I’m just his something-to-do project.”

Maggie snuggled close, and Rachel stroked her silky fur. “Know what else?” she whispered over the lump in her throat. “I think I’m in love with him.”

*  *  *

Wednesday brought another day of rain and a jittery case of nerves Rachel could add to her missing-Jake doldrums. She practically haunted the weather channel, checking for updates. With the first official camping weekend of summer only two days away, the last thing she wanted to see was more precipitation—but that’s what the weather gurus were forecasting. The pool was crystal clear and covered, and everything that had needed to be stained or painted was ready for her guests. She’d planned to have her summer help cut all the grass tomorrow. Unfortunately, it looked like that plan would have to be scratched. The lawns were bound to be sopping wet.

It rained when Roy Atkins showed up for work at 3:00 p.m. and added a tarp to the golf cart’s canopy.

It rained for her meeting with her summer help at three-forty-five.

It was still raining at five-fifteen when displaced Brit, Max Stafford, called to say her new brochures were printed and ready for pickup. By then, she was so worked up, thinking about the birthday dinner she’d have to sit through, that she was more than eager to be on the road. That lump rose in her throat again. Because deep inside, she feared this dinner was simply an obligation—feared she was an obligation. But he’d made a promise and he would see it through regardless of how uncomfortable he made them both.

“Happy birthday to me,” she whispered.

Jenna, Margo and her parents had called earlier in the day with birthday wishes, and when her dad left the room, her mom had asked nervously how the investigation was going. Hiding her own edginess, she replied that nothing had changed since she’d talked with her yesterday and the day before. Things were still good, and she believed they would stay that way. Now that the bones had been uncovered, there was no reason for any further trouble. If he was smart, her tormentor was long gone.

She glanced at the clock in the galley. Max had said he’d be open until six, and because Jake had mentioned having dinner at seven or later, she had time for a trip to town. She’d go. She’d leave a message on Jake’s machine if he wasn’t in, and she’d pick up her brochures—maybe drop a few off at the library.

Quickly striding into the game room, she dressed in jeans and a burgundy knit top, then donned the cross Jake had given her and went into the restroom to take a brush through her hair. She checked her reflection in the mirror. The lovely cross sparkled above her scalloped neckline, bringing back the bittersweet moment when he’d fastened it around her neck, then suddenly withdrawn. Sighing, Rachel stroked the cross—

—then stared numbly at the gold band beside it, catching the light.

She’d become so accustomed to its weight that she barely gave it a thought anymore. Or was she lying to herself? A lovely verse from Ecclesiastes rose with tender clarity in her mind and Rachel whispered the words. “To everything there is a season. A time to weep; a time to laugh. A time to mourn … and a time to dance.”

This was her time, she suddenly realized. And she might have missed her chance to dance by holding on to the past too long.

Tears filled her eyes as she finally saw what Jake had to have seen: her manic need to clear David’s name … her endless praise about his goodness … the ring on her finger that said she still belonged to him. If Jake had ever considered a loving relationship with her—and for a few days, she’d thought he might … Well, how much of that could any man take before he walked away?

Turning off the light, she went to her lunch counter and sank to a stool, memories flooding her mind. They were nice memories, but David was her past. With help from above, Jake could be her future. If he loved her, and if it wasn’t already too late. “Please, God. Don’t let it be too late,” she whispered. Then she slipped the ring from her finger, laid it on the counter and went to the phone to leave Jake a message.

He answered on the second ring, sounding slightly breathless. Rachel cleared the tears from her throat. Already, this wasn’t going well. She’d called at a bad time. “Hi. I didn’t expect you to answer. I was just going to leave you a message.”

“I just got in this minute. What’s the message?”

“I wanted you to know that I have a few errands to run, but I’ll be back in time for dinner. If it’s still on.”

“It’s on,” he returned.

At least he hadn’t added that when he made a promise, he kept it.

“Is seven-thirty okay?” he asked.

“Seven-thirty’s fine,” she replied, hurting and wishing there’d been more warmth in his voice. “I’ll see you before then.”

Suddenly, he spoke tensely. “Did you say you’re running errands? Tonight?”

“Yes. My new brochures are ready. I’m going to pick them up, then drop a few at the library. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Why are you doing this tonight?” he said impatiently. “The rain’s really coming down out there, and the roads—”

Frustration overtook her sadness. “I’m doing it because I’m sick of feeling like a prisoner in my own—store. I’m through postponing my life, Jake. I’ll see you soon.”

“Rachel—”

“I’ll see you soon,” she repeated. Then she hung up, pulled on a clear hooded rain poncho from her stock, grabbed her purse and dashed across the driveway to her Explorer.

The winding roads coming up out of the valley were slick, and amid thick, dark storm clouds, thunder rumbled. Wind-whipped leaves flew by her windshield, her wipers doing double time. She would never admit it to Jake, but she was relieved when the rain-haloed, old-fashioned streetlights lining Charity’s Main Street came into view.

The town was busy for a Wednesday evening, nearly all the parking spaces near the diner and hardware store filled. Hungry patrons clutching umbrellas hurried along the walks, heading for the diner’s bright lights and blue plate specials. Rachel turned off Main Street onto Sassafras, then slowed when she reached Woodland Park where a wreath still hung on the black iron gate in memory of Leanne Hudson who’d died last year at the hands of a deeply disturbed man.

She parked in the street outside the huge, dramatically painted teal, cream and pink Victorian home that housed Stafford on Avon Printing. The words at the bottom of the sign in the front yard read Snooty Brit on site. Be courteous.

Thankful that the rain had eased a little, she sprinted across the sidewalk and up the steps to the porch. Max opened the door as she was reaching for the knob.

“You made good time in this nonsense,” he said, gesturing her inside his artfully decorated entry. “How were the roads?”

“A little tricky, but I was climbing hills most of the way, so I wasn’t driving through standing water.”

She shed the transparent plastic hood on her poncho and smiled at the tall, white-haired man with the patrician good looks and elegant bearing. His dark pants were knife-creased, and a blue paisley ascot filled the collar of his pearl-gray silk shirt.

“Got something for me, Max?”

“Indeed, I do.” He stepped to the gleaming mahogany sideboard that graced his wide foyer and took a box from the cabinet. There was a sample taped to the box. “Take a look now, and make sure it’s to your liking.”

Rachel smiled. Max was perfection in everything he did, but she scanned his work anyway. “Beautiful, Max. Thank you.” She handed him a check from her shoulder bag, then clasped his hand. “Great to see you again.”

“You can’t stay for a moment?”

She shook her head. “I wish I could, but I’m on the clock and I have another stop to make. Come and see me at the campground sometime.” Pulling up her hood again, she sent him a teasing smile. “I have Earl Grey and English breakfast tea.”

“I shall do that,” he said, chuckling as they said their goodbyes. “But in truth, I prefer coffee.”

The library across the street was busy, too, although she couldn’t imagine why until she entered and saw three roll-away bookcases and a huge sign in the lobby that said BOOK SALE: Hardcovers $1.00, Paperbacks 25 cents. More Inside.

Rachel glanced at her watch, decided she had time to browse for a few titles for the game room, then joined the others going through the books. She couldn’t quite bring herself to buy the romances she’d always loved with her own love life a shambles. But thanks to Emma Lucille Bridger’s eagle eye, she scooped up four hardcover mysteries by an author she’d always enjoyed, and a few hidden picture books for the kids. Then with a wave to Emma Lu, she entered the library proper, added a dozen brochures to the Local Happenings rack, and carried her purchases to the desk to pay for them. She was back in the lobby and on her way to the door when Jillian Donner came inside, laughing and shaking the rain from her umbrella.

She pulled off her khaki rain hat. “Rachel, hi!”

“Hi, Jillian,” she replied, then slipped into small talk. “Enjoying the weather?”

“No, it’s awful,” she said, still laughing. “But we need the rain, so we’re trying not to complain. Right?” She half-turned, rolled her eyes, then spoke to Rachel. “Okay, I wasn’t talking to myself. Nate was right behind me. I’m working the sale until nine, so Mr. Worrywart followed me to town to make sure I made it in one piece.” The door opened. “Oh, here he is now. I was just telling Rachel—”

Rachel’s hearing shut down, and the breath left her body as Nate Carter smiled and peeled back the hood on his navy windbreaker. The navy windbreaker with the seven-ten split emblem on the front—and a matching, much larger “rabbit’s head” on the back. Her heart pounded like a trip hammer. Please, God, don’t let it be Nate. But she was so afraid that it might be. Pieces of the puzzle she should have seen earlier began to fall into place. She needed to talk to Perris!

Be careful, she thought. After accusing Joe Reston, you need to be sure. Perris will eat you alive if you’re wrong again.

No, she couldn’t go to the chief. She had to talk to Jake.

Nate stepped closer, looked her over. “Are you okay, Rachel? You look … pale.”

Focus! Don’t let him see your fear! Forcing a laugh, she pinched some color into her cheeks. “I’m fine—just distracted. I’m still trying to get all my ducks in a row for my campground opening the day after tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope it dries up out there before your guests come in. I’ve camped in the rain before and I don’t recall liking it much.” He ushered Jillian toward the library’s inside door. “See you at the Memorial Day service at Woodland Park?”

She forced another smile as she exited, her plastic bag of books slung over her arm. “Yep. See you there.”

“Careful on your way home.”

“You, too,” she called back.

Rachel raced across the street, dodged an oncoming car, then opened the door, tossed her purse and books on the passenger’s seat of her Explorer and climbed behind the wheel. Her heart continued to pound. She had to get to Jake. She needed to discuss this logically, without her fears and snapping nerve endings getting in the way of clear thought. Jake had a cool head. Jake.

She started the car, waited for traffic to clear, then turned on her lights, backed into Max’s driveway and reversed her direction. The pretty black antique light poles she’d noted on her way into town barely registered as she passed the diner, then the bakery, her tires shooting out plumes of rain water. Ben Caruthers was just leaving his hardware store as she approached, and he waved from beneath his umbrella. She beeped and slowed to avoid splashing him. Then she drove up the hill, passed Jenna’s B & B, and accelerated onto the state route.

Sunset—if the sun were visible—was still two hours away, but the rain and rolling storm clouds had plunged Charity into a preternatural darkness that made her feel even more alone than she was. She swallowed, checked her rearview mirror and prayed.

“Please, God, don’t let it be Nate. Please.” The Explorer hit a pothole, then splashed over the rain-slick road again. How could it be Nate when he’d worked so hard with the other firefighters to save her business after her home was gone? Would he have set the fire, then risked his life in the smoke and flames to put it out? Somehow, she just couldn’t wrap her mind around that. He was a decent man. They didn’t come any better.

She was descending Crocker Hill with her wipers going full-force when blindingly bright headlights speared her rearview mirror and a vehicle shot up behind her. She tapped her brake to make him back off. Idiot kids just loved to race down this hill—sheer lunacy considering the lack of guardrails and the steep descent. Especially with the rain coming down so hard. She tapped her brake again.

The SUV sped forward—rammed her rear bumper.

Nerves jolting, Rachel gripped the wheel in a stranglehold and accelerated. This was no teenager playing hot wheels! She made a mad grab for her purse, fish-tailed on the asphalt—grabbed for it again. She had to call 9-1-1 before she lost cell service! She shook the phone out of the side pocket, felt around and snatched it from the seat.

The SUV rammed her again, and Rachel cried out as the impact jarred the phone from her hand and it fell to the floor. “Sweet Jesus, help me!” she cried, and hit the gas pedal again. She was nearly to the bottom of the hill when the SUV stopped fooling around. Roaring into the left lane, it slammed into the Explorer’s side and with another cry that dissolved into a thunderous crash of glass, snapped saplings and scraped hemlocks, Rachel plunged down through the dark, dense ground cover. Just before the air bag deployed and she crashed into a thick wall of mountain laurels, she turned her head and raised her right arm to shield her face. It exploded from the steering wheel with a massive crack, thrusting her back against the seat.

Then all was quiet except for the patter of rain on the Explorer’s roof and cracked windshield.

She was only half conscious of the smell and powdery grit from the air bag, only half conscious of the pain in her right cheekbone and a numb sensation in her right arm. Her head swam, throbbed, and her chest and ribs ached in a way she’d never felt before. But she knew she was alive because “dead” couldn’t hurt this badly.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered again and again. “Thank you.” She sat there for another moment before she attempted to get her bearings. Her car hadn’t merely hit the laurels; it seemed to have scaled them, putting the car in a slight upward slant with its one functioning headlamp lighting the hemlocks in front of her.

She stirred slowly, tried to move a little at a time. And she tasted blood. That’s when she heard someone huffing and puffing through the snapping underbrush. For an instant her heart leaped with hope, then in a nervous rush of adrenaline, she realized that he could be the person who’d run her off the road. Rachel shut her eyes, slumped over toward the passenger’s seat—went still as death. She held her breath. Please, God. Let him be a friend.

Heavy breathing and guttural panting carried to her, along with the sound of laurel branches scraping her door as it was pulled open. Light flared behind her closed eyelids as someone shone a flashlight over the side of her face.

But when no one tried to rouse her or ask if she was all right, she knew the man standing over her wasn’t there to help. He stood there for a time, while Rachel’s lungs begged for air and threatened to reveal her. Then he reached inside, clicked off her one working headlight, closed her door and left. But not before he murmured, “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

Tears formed behind her closed eyelids. She knew that voice.

It seemed like forever until the vehicle on the road above her roared away and Rachel knew it was safe to move. Drawing another acrid breath, she clicked her headlight back on and took stock of her injuries. She moved her legs … moved her right arm again and realized it might be broken. Still, she slid from under the deflated air bag and with a hard shove, opened the car door. Her head spun a little as she got out on wobbly legs and, using the car for support, moved cautiously through the cold drizzle and matted laurel branches. Then her head spun a lot. She moved faster across the forest floor toward the steep bank, terrified she wouldn’t make it to the road before she lost consciousness. Then everything began to go black, the wet ground rushed up to claim her, and she knew her fears were well founded.

Jake glanced at the clock again, and his earlier annoyance turned to uneasiness. Seven-forty-seven. She should have been here by now. Even if she was ticked off at him, she would have been on time or let him know she’d be late. He crossed to the kitchen phone to call her cell again—and again, it went directly to voice mail. Then snatching the phone book from a hook on the wall, he looked up printers. There was only one listed: Stafford on Avon. A half minute later, a cultured Englishman’s recorded voice told him that office hours were from nine to six daily, but if he absolutely, positively had to be reached, Jake could call the following number. Three phone calls later, his nerves were corkscrews. She’d left the printer’s place around six, and the library twenty minutes later.

With a quick “Stay here, Maggie,” Jake grabbed his sidearm, rushed into the rain to his truck and gunned it out of the driveway—high beams on and wipers flashing. Charity was a five-mile, straight shot from the valley, so there was only one route she could have taken. If she’d started for home and didn’t make it, he’d find her. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. There could be a lot of reasons why she hadn’t shown. She could have had car trouble. Flat tires were rare, but they happened. Electrical failures happened, too. But deep in his gut, he knew she was in trouble of another kind and for the first time in decades, he murmured a shaky prayer that came straight from his soul. “Please, God, she’s a good woman. Let her be okay because I—” He swallowed the emotion in his throat. “Because I won’t be able to handle it if anything happens to her.”

He loved her. It made no difference that he wasn’t ready for it; he loved her. “Please,” he whispered fervently, “I’ll do anything You want me to do. Just keep her safe.”

His tires ate up the highway. Although thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed in the distance, the rain was letting up a little, increasing visibility. He was midway up Crocker Hill when he saw a dim glow in the woods. His heart nearly leaped from his chest.

Pulling onto the right shoulder, he pushed on his hazard lights, grabbed a flashlight from the backseat and raced across the road. He heard her call out for help before he reached the edge.

“Rachel!” he shouted hoarsely.

“Yes! Yes, Jake, I’m here!”

He saw her in the beam of his flashlight, making her way up the steep incline—and his spirits plummeted. She looked like a horror show extra. Her wet hair was flattened to her head, her face was streaked with dirt and she seemed to be favoring her right arm. He half ran, half slid down the bank toward her. Saplings and brush scraped his arms and legs as his mind sent up repeated thanks to God. “Are you okay?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m all right.”

He reached her, wrapped her in his arms—felt her wet body quake from the cold. “Oh, Rachel, thank God.”

“Yes, thank God,” she repeated on a soft breath.

A thousand questions ran through his mind, but his first priority was to get her to safety. She was a good driver. It was no accident that her Explorer ended up in a ravine. “Come on. Let’s get you to my truck. Do you hurt anywhere? Can you make it up the hill?”

“Yes, my arm hurts, but it’s okay. Jake, it was Nate Carter. I know his voice. Nate did this. And I think I know why.”

The rage he felt knowing that a friend had done this to her nearly cancelled his joy at finding her. But now wasn’t the time to go off like a Roman candle. “I’ll call Perris from the truck. We need to get you to the hospital.”

“No! If you tell Perris that I said it was Nate, he’ll drag his feet.”

“Rachel—”

“In the meantime, Nate could get away. He’s going to run. His house is only ten minutes from here. If you hurry, we can get to his place before Perris does.”

“No. We’re going to the ER.”

She didn’t say another word until they were under way with the heater in his truck going full-force. What she said gave him an instant headache.

“Take me to Nate’s.”

“Rachel, you’re hurt and you’re running on pure adrenaline. When it wears off—”

“Jake, I need to see him! And I need for him to see me! Obviously, he believes I’m dead or he would have finished what he started. I want him to know right now that he didn’t win!”

He released an impatient breath, clicked on his high beams—slowed his wipers. She was cold, wet and leaning into the warm air flowing from the vents, but she seemed relatively clearheaded. Maybe she did need a face-to-face with Nate. “Okay, we’ll drive to Carter’s, but we’re waiting there for Perris. I’ll radio him as soon as we get to the top of the hill. Now tell me exactly what happened.”

Eight minutes later, they slowed to a stop on the right side of the road opposite Nate Carter’s long driveway. Jake backed up a little, giving them a clear view of the white house and garage fifty or sixty yards away, and the thin woods behind them. Tall pines lined the right side of the driveway, their branches trimmed halfway up the trunks.

The entire area was as dark and still as a tomb, and Rachel released a frustrated groan. “We missed him. He’s gone.”

“If he came back here at all. But there’s a BOLO out on him, so there’s a good chance he’ll be picked up.”

Jake reached for his radio. “I’ll call Perris and see if he’s still on his way. If not, we’re out of here and headed to the ER to have you checked out.” As she’d recounted the crash on their way here, she’d told him she’d lost consciousness for a while and had come to just minutes before he arrived. She probably had a concussion in addition to whatever was wrong with her arm.

Rachel’s voice rose. “Jake, look! A light went on in the garage!”

He put the walkie down and unsnapped the holster on his hip. Before he could say a word, the garage door opened and a dark SUV rolled out. It paused for a long moment, its headlights finding them. Then suddenly it rushed straight for them.

“He sees us! Rachel, get out of the truck!”

“Jake!”

“Now!”

Everything happened in split seconds. Rachel leaped from the truck, and Jake hit the gas—shot across the road to block the driveway’s entrance. The SUV barreled forward at top speed—aimed for the narrow space between the first skinned pine tree and the front of Jake’s truck.

Jake dove to the passenger’s side—braced for impact.

The SUV slammed the front of the truck—spun it clockwise toward the road. Then it struck the tree in a sickening crunch of metal and shattered glass.

It took Jake a moment to register that it was all over. Then he climbed out of the cab to see Rachel running toward him. She threw her arms around him. “Are you all right? Tell me you’re okay!”

“Yeah,” he said shakily, holding her close. “Yeah, I’m all right.” His heart was racing and his pulse wasn’t far behind, but if he was hurt, he didn’t know it yet. He turned toward Nate’s mangled SUV—saw him slumped over the steering wheel.

Then he set Rachel back from him, pulled his cell phone from his belt and handed it to her. “Call 9-1-1. I’ll check on Nate.” But he feared it was already too late for an ambulance.

As they awaited treatment in the ER, Perris had taken their statements and threatened action for their interference, then finally agreed that Nate had chosen his fate. He then told them in confidence that one way or the other, Nate hadn’t planned on coming back—as evidenced by the note he left.

Addressed to Jillian and left on his kitchen table, it was a sad reminder of the note he’d left on her table five years ago. It contained his heartfelt regret that they’d never have a life together—his dream since he’d fallen for her in high school. There was also a confession. One night, after seeing the evidence of another of Donner’s beatings, Nate confronted Bryce and demanded that the abuse be stopped. When Bryce laughed at the gun in his hand, Nate had snapped. Knowing that Jillian would inherit the land, he’d buried Donner on the Trehern property. But then Rachel acquired the land, arranged to have it developed … and once again, Nate did what he had to do to ensure his future with Jillian.

Rachel had absorbed the information with mixed emotions. The tone of the note was remorseful, but there was no justification for what he’d done.

Later, in the ER as they waited for the doctor to discharge them, Jake pulled the curtains closed around the narrow bed where Rachel sat, and sank to the gurney beside her. X-rays had shown a hairline fracture of her braced right arm, but aside from the muscle aches and bruising that was already starting, she was fine.

“So, David’s off the hook now.”

“Yes,” she replied. “I still don’t understand why Perris kept pushing for his guilt. Maybe he just doesn’t like me, or maybe he resented my interference and never really believed that David did it. But yes, it’s over.” She dropped her voice and looked at him. “It’s all in the past now. All of it.”

Jake took her left hand in his—stroked his thumb over her empty ring finger.

“It was time,” she murmured, her eyes so full of love that he couldn’t have mistaken it for anything else. And once again, Jake thanked God—for their lives, and for the promise of love that hung between them like a heart-swelling song at the end of a Disney movie. It was corny and sentimental, but he wanted the song to last forever.

He spoke softly. “You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

Tears sparkled in her green eyes and she nodded. “Do you know I love you, too?”

“I do now.” Smiling again, he raised her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Do you also know that I didn’t want to love you? I fought it tooth and nail from day one, and for a while, I was winning the battle. But apparently God saw things differently.”

“And because He knows what’s best for us—” Rachel whispered, turning into him and meeting his dark eyes.

“—we should never disappoint Him,” Jake whispered back, then covered her mouth with his own.