A chill of foreboding ran down my spine as I watched him drive away.

Chapter Seven

I woke up to someone knocking on my bedroom door. Hank rarely woke me in the morning, so it only took me a second or two to freak out.

Jumping out of bed, I ran to the door and flung it open, scared to death Ginger had found Hank hurt or unconscious from his diabetes. Instead, I found myself standing face-to-face with Wyatt.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said with a sheepish look.

“I told him to leave you alone!” Hank shouted from what I presumed was the front porch, his favorite spot to drink his morning coffee.

“You’re out,” I exclaimed, the previous night rushing back into my memory. Then I shook my head. “I mean, I was worried they were going to arrest you.”

“Not yet, anyway,” he said. His gaze lowered to my chest, then quickly jerked back up to my face, chagrin filling his eyes.

I was wearing a thin tank top and a pair of short pajama bottoms, so I hastily crossed my arms over my chest. “Did you come to see Hank?”

Wyatt had been a mentor of sorts to Hank’s grandson, Seth, and he and Hank had become close. Which was why Wyatt had initially mistrusted me when I’d moved in with Hank as his live-in helper. Now that Wyatt and I weren’t together, Hank would only let him come over while I was at work, which mostly turned out not to be a problem since I was almost always at work.

“No,” he said. “I came to see you.”

My eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Can we talk?” His voice lowered. “Maybe not within earshot of Hank?”

“Uh…yeah. Do you want to take a walk? I’ll throw on some clothes.”

He nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”

“The clothes or the walk?” I teased before I thought better of it.

“Both.” Then he turned and headed for the kitchen.

I hadn’t done laundry for over a week, so I worried about what I was going to throw on, but when I went to check the hamper, it was empty, and my clothes were folded and put away.

Ginger.

God bless that woman and, in turn, Wyatt. He’d decided the housekeeping was too much for me to keep up with on top of caring for Hank’s wounds and doing the cooking, and Ginger and her husband, Junior, who worked for Wyatt at his garage, needed the money. He paid Ginger to do light housekeeping a couple of times a week, but now that I thought of it, I wondered if Ginger wouldn’t mind picking up a few lunch shifts at the tavern. She wouldn’t have to work more than a couple of hours at a time, and the construction workers tipped pretty well. I’d make sure to mention it to her today. And thank her for doing my laundry—something she’d never done before.

I threw on a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans, then grabbed my hiking boots and a pair of socks before I ducked into the bathroom. While the Caroline version of me wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the house without makeup, the Carly Moore version of me was much more down-to-earth, and I had to admit I liked it. After I brushed my teeth and hair, I put on a few swipes of mascara and some concealer to help hide the dark circles under my eyes, then headed out to find Wyatt…but first I needed a cup of coffee.

I went into the kitchen and found a travel mug with a lid and a note that said,

I made you a cup of coffee the way you like it. It’s the least I could do since I woke you so early.

I couldn’t help smiling a little when I lifted the ceramic tumbler to my lips—strong coffee with hazelnut nondairy creamer.

We’d only been involved for a few weeks, yet he’d remembered.

No. No. No. No. I was not going to let this weaken my resolve. Wyatt put my life in danger and never even apologized. Instead, he was full of excuses to justify what he’d done. And then he’d accused me of working with Bingham, something I’d only done because I’d thought we were saving Lula. And the man hadn’t paid me squat.

Okay, so he’d paid me about a thousand dollars more than my broken-down car was worth, but I didn’t regret it for a minute.

And that wasn’t even touching the fact that Wyatt had a dumpster full of secrets.

Which brought me to the question of why Wyatt was here… now. Up until the last couple of days, we’d barely said five words to each other since our breakup. The only thing I could come up with was that he’d come to talk about his interview with the sheriff department.

It was an unusually chilly morning, so I grabbed a heavy cardigan and shoved my arms into the sleeves as I walked out the door.

Wyatt was leaning against a porch support beam, watching the bird feeder he’d put out for Hank last November. Hank was sitting in his usual chair, his remaining leg propped up on a short stool.

“Your leg bothering you today?” I asked, trying to hide the worry in my voice. Hank hated to be fussed over.

“It’s my arthritic knee,” he said, keeping his gaze on the feeder. “Stop your worrying.”

“I never said I was worried,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He gave me a pointed look, and I smiled. Six months ago, I hadn’t even known this man, but now he was more like a father to me than my own father had ever been.

But Hank didn’t do mushy, so I turned back to the bird feeder. A male and female cardinal stood on the ledge. Hank had taught me more about birds than I’d ever wanted to know, especially after I’d gifted him with two bird guidebooks for Christmas, but I found I enjoyed it too. Hank and I had spent countless mornings on the porch, him watching birds while I read. “Wyatt and I are going to take a walk.”

“I told that boy to let you sleep. That you’re workin’ yourself ragged, but he went on in anyway.”

I flashed him an appreciative look. “That’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”

I stepped off the porch and into the patchy front yard and waited for Wyatt to follow.

“Want to take the trail?” I asked, still not looking at him.

“Sure,” he said, “wherever you want.”

“The trail it is.”

Hank owned several acres that mostly ran deep into the trees. I wasn’t sure about the property lines since there wasn’t any fencing, but there was a well-established trail that led to a small pond fed by a creek.

“So you found out about the trail?” Wyatt asked as I headed to the opening in the trees behind the house.

“Hank told me before the first snowfall,” I said, keeping my gaze on the ground in front of me. “But I didn’t get a chance to check it out until a few weeks ago. Now I come out here a few times a week…if I have time.”

I entered the trees, keeping to the narrow path as the scent of pine filled my nose. The first time I’d come out here, I’d been suffused with a sense of peace, something that was in short supply in my life, so if the weather was cooperative, and even sometimes when it wasn’t, I hiked out to the creek to clear my head.

Wyatt followed silently behind me until we reached the small clearing. The creek formed a small shallow pool, about six feet wide, before it narrowed to a couple of feet. Several large rocks sat around the perimeter on both sides. I hopped over the narrow section and sat in my usual place—on a large gray boulder with jagged edges on one side, smooth stone on the other. A smaller rock was next to it, the perfect footrest, so I set my feet on it and looked over at Wyatt, who was watching me from the other side. The only sound was the babbling of the water.