Chapter 10

ten

WILL

The sky was going gray in the east when Carl and I reached the tiny house the following morning.

Becca opened the front door before my boots even touched the solar-lit pathway. It looked good. I was glad I'd put those lights in the other day.

"I have on sunscreen and bug spray already. I brought a hat, if needed. And I have bear spray in my bag that you can borrow if you want."

I smiled. "Good morning."

"Right." She winced. "Sorry. I got ahead of myself. Good morning, Will."

Carl was at her feet, gazing adoringly, and she bent to give him attention. I took in her long hair in a high ponytail. She wore a half-zip fleece pullover on top of a soft pink shirt and dark pants with several pockets. The cool, foggy morning was supposed to lead into a relatively mild mid-September day. Becca would be fine in what she had on, weather-wise. Her hiking boots were worn with a few mud stains. That was good. She didn't need blisters from brand-new shoes while she played local. A small bag was slung across her back with a water bottle tucked in the netted side pocket. She looked ready to go.

"Bears are a lot more likely to dig in your trash. If there is one out in the woods, in all likelihood, it'll hear us and take off. Black bears are pretty shy. "

"Gotcha. Okay," she said, straightening. She seemed just a touch nervous, making the anticipation flowing through me glad to know it had some company.

"You ready, City Girl?"

Her grin was broad in the dim morning light, but I could see it just fine. "You bet."

We climbed into my truck and there was a bit of readjusting as Carl tried to squeeze in the passenger seat with Becca, but I moved him to the back amid some grumbling and dirty looks.

The drive to the trailhead wasn't far, but Becca seemed to need to fill the quiet with helpful observations and questions. I didn't mind. As surprising as it might be to literally everyone—myself included—I liked talking to her. And listening to her ramble nervously was pretty cute too.

But when I used the code from Mr. Abrams and unlocked the gate to the trail, Becca's voice dropped away, and we just hiked.

Our quiet footfalls were the only soundtrack to the early morning. Gray light filtered through the canopy of leaves overhead. Birds and the occasional squirrel rustled in the bushes lining the trail. Becca stopped occasionally to take pictures with her phone. I didn't mind. I pulled out my water bottle while she did her thing.

Something I'd always liked about this trail was the sudden change in surroundings when you hit the end of it. Watching Becca take in the unexpected view was worth it.

We broke through the steady incline and the line of low-hanging trees onto the hard rock that jutted over the hillside. Suddenly the world expanded, and the mountains spread out before us.

Becca placed her hands on her head and said a breathless, "holy cannoli," into the quiet. I smiled to myself as she carefully stepped out onto the dark gray stone, inching close—but not too close—to the edge.

The fog was sitting low and thick, filling the valleys between all the peaks in front of us, working its way in among the mountaintops. The landscape resembled a pale ocean with dark blue cresting waves just breaking the surface .

Turning back to look at me with an enormous smile was Becca. "This is amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

It was beautiful. And it had been a long time since I'd made the effort to really look. I hadn't hiked this trail with any regularity since I was a teenager. So much of my life in Kirby Falls was tangled up with regrets and failures. But there had been a time when I'd loved my hometown—before it had become a fallback plan.

Maybe I'd taken the simple things for granted. Things like the land and the beauty of my surroundings. The things that Becca was devouring with feverish intensity in her efforts to get to know this place. Seeing it through her eyes was somehow better than remembering it through my own. It was all wide-eyed innocence and awe.

My own youthful experiences had gotten clouded by time and space and distance. I'd gone away to college, reaching for new and different. Baseball had been my whole damn life. Kirby Falls was always supposed to be the place I was from. A hometown listed in my bio. A stat. Not the place I returned to when I was out of options.

Now, breathing in the cool morning air, seeing my surroundings the way Becca must see them . . . it was a bittersweet ache. Dawning nostalgia that made my heart feel tender, if not bruised.

After a moment, she sat down on the rocks and simply gazed out over the hilltops. You couldn't understand this kind of beauty unless you'd seen it firsthand. I was fortunate enough to have this backdrop just driving down the road. The long-range views from my own back door were stunning, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd stopped to take note of them.

Before moving to the assisted living facility, my great-grandfather William used to love to drink his coffee out on the screened porch in the morning and just listen to the birds and look out over the land. A prickle of guilt had my gaze dropping to the tops of my worn hiking boots. I wondered if he'd be disappointed in me.

Carefully, I moved closer and lowered myself down beside Becca.

She looked over and smiled when I settled next to her. "Thank you for bringing me here. "

"You're welcome." It was easy to accept her gratitude for this. I'd made the right decision inviting her. Anyone could see how much she loved it and appreciated it.

Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out my insulated thermos and two cups. Then I found the paper bag and placed it between us on the rock face. Before picking Becca up this morning, I'd swung by the Bake Shop and gathered some breakfast for us, ignoring my mother's knowing grin all the while.

Now, I poured out the cinnamon bun latte she liked and passed her a cup. "Here you go. There's pumpkin bread in that bag if you want to get some out."

I was suddenly nervous about the innocent gesture. It felt like this was some sort of date, and I was trying too hard.

But Becca's warm expression and obvious pleasure helped ease my worries. Her eyes were impossibly blue when she looked at me this way. "That's my favorite."

"I know," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee so I had something to do with my hands.

"Thank you. This is perfect."

I told myself to ignore her praise, but that didn't stop me from returning her small smile with one of my own.

She passed me a slice of bread, and we settled in, sipping our drinks and enjoying our breakfast.

"Have you been to Bella's downtown?" I asked as I brushed crumbs from my hands.

"No," she answered. "What's that?"

"It's on a side street off Main, but they have really good avocado toast for brunch. Thought I'd mention it."

Becca grinned. "You remembered."

I nodded, then busied myself with taking a too large swig from my cup. Hopefully, my beard hid the heat I felt creeping up my neck. Those avocado pajamas were kind of hard to forget for a variety of reasons.

"What's some more Kirby Falls insider info that only a local would know? "

"Let's see," I said, stretching my legs out and considering. "There's a chocolate shop two blocks away from the library. They don't have a website and close whenever they feel like it, but they have the best sweets. Mom loves them, and I get her a box every Mother's Day." It was getting easier to think of things that Becca might enjoy, so I added, "There's an artisan market that rotates to different locations all over town every Saturday. Random candles made from vintage beer cans. Everything handmade or sewn or drawn. You'd love it."

"I would love that." Her smile was pleased.

"Oh, there's tubing on the Sage River. And horseback riding just south of here in Clemmons at the Ecusta Farm. They even let you take care of the horses that you ride. Brush them down and feed them. That sort of thing."

"I've never ridden a horse."

Somehow I knew she'd say that, and the knowledge made my chest tighten, especially now that I had a glimpse of what her childhood had been like. "And if this didn't put you off hiking, in mid-May, you can go on the Blood River Trail in Miller Creek and the whole mountainside turns bright red from all the rhododendrons blooming at the same time. It's something to see."

Truthfully, I hadn't thought about hiking that trail in a long time. There was an aged photo on my great-grandfather's mantel of my cousins and me posing in front of the bright blooms. Bonnie and I were probably eight years old in the picture and Mac around six, all of us sunburned and wearing gap-toothed grins.

"Is Blood River the name of the water nearby?" Becca asked curiously.

"No," I explained. "The rhododendron variety is called blood moon. Plus, the blooms blow onto the path, covering the hiking trail in red. That's really why they call it that."

Her horrified expression made me chuckle. "Goodness gracious. Who would call something the Blood River Trail? You guys should have workshopped that to come up with a less off-putting name."

"Well, we voted on it, and Slaughter Hill was the runner-up, followed by Massacre Mountain."

Her laughter was loud, echoing in the stillness of the morning, multiplying my joy. "What? No Scarlet Stream?" she teased. I shook my head, grinning. "Or Satan's Eyelids?"

That had me cracking up. I leaned inward, and our shoulders pressed against one another. I could detect her laughter too. It made me feel good to make her happy. I wasn't a funny guy nor was I easy to get along with, but Becca . . . everyone loved her. And for some strange reason, she seemed to like me.

We stayed close, our shoulders still touching. While we'd eaten and spoken about the Kirby Falls sights, the bright sunshine had burned away the hazy fog. Layer after layer of mountains spread out as far as the eye could see. Leaves were changing in the higher elevations. In another month, it would be all golds and reds and oranges.

Knowing the setting would be evolving just reminded me that Becca might not be here to see it. And I didn't know what I'd been thinking, telling her about the rhododendrons blooming in the spring. She wouldn't be here for any of that. She couldn't go tubing on the Sage River. She'd be back in Detroit well before summer.

I needed to keep things in perspective. Becca was a visitor. I was stuck in Kirby Falls. Maybe it wasn't the worst place to have family ties and obligations, but that didn't make Becca any more permanent. It was undoubtedly a bad decision to get too attached.

Clearing my throat, I leaned away from her. "Yeah, maybe if you make it back this way next year, you can check out that trail."

I could feel her eyes on me as I packed up our trash and closed up the thermos. When I was brave enough to meet her gaze, I could see that her expression had dimmed, whether by the change in me or the fact that she'd also suddenly remembered her own looming departure.

"Yeah, that definitely seems like something worth seeing."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask. To just show my hand and blurt out, "Are you thinking of staying?" But I didn't. It wouldn't be right to put that pressure on her, and it was none of my damn business. There was also the fact that I was a huge chickenshit because instead, I said, "We should get back."

I got to my feet and offered Becca my hand, pulling her up to stand. She watched me carefully before turning to take a final look at the landscape. She produced her phone from a zippered pocket and snapped a quick photo. Then she turned and moved back to the tree line behind me.

Backpack on, I gave the mountains one more glance, promising myself I wouldn't let another decade go by before I returned to this view.

"What are you doing?"

My cousin's sudden appearance startled the hell out of me.

I was bent over, staring at the ground, and I hadn't heard MacKenzie approach.

Straightening, I shot her a glare. "Just checking on something."

Mac's suspicious gray gaze looked to where I'd been stooped over staring before she asked slowly, like I was suffering from a head injury, "You know we grow apples, right? They're in trees, not in the dirt. Do you secretly want to be a potato farmer?"

"We have potatoes in the field behind the barn," I grumbled.

"No shit?" Mac exclaimed. "Well, you learn something new every day."

It seemed better to distract my cousin than tell her the truth. I sure as hell wasn't going to admit that I'd been scouring this patch of grass looking for another four-leaf clover to give to the pretty tourist I couldn't seem to stop thinking about.

It had been two days since our hike, and we were back to dancing around each other. I'd seen her working in front of the Bake Shop, just like always. But now she was sitting in my chair, usually with my dog at her feet. We'd smile and speak, but I had no idea what to do with this restless energy I felt where Becca was concerned. I wanted to ask her to go on another hike but I didn't know where any of this was going. Spending time together, getting to know her, and liking her more and more felt like a wasted effort. If she just up and left in a few weeks, where did that leave me? I couldn't see the future, so it made me reluctant to act in the present.

And I hated feeling so unsettled and off-balance. I thought about Becca a lot—to a distracting degree. There was a slight chance I was extra irritable from so much upheaval in my typically ordered existence .

So I wasn't surprised when I snapped out an impatient, "Did you need something, Mac?"

"Dad sent me to find you. He said there's a thunderstorm warning and that you might need to call Uncle William so he can tell the farm hands to take cover. I'm going to herd the tourists up to the General Store to wait it out. There aren't many this late in the day, but I wanted to mention it."

"Okay, I'll handle it."

"Thanks, Will," she replied cheerfully, dark ponytail swinging as she strode down the path. My cousin was probably hoping to get out of here early if the weather stayed poor.

I glanced back toward the grass at my feet. Knowing I needed to deal with this weather situation, I figured I could find Becca a clover another time. Hell, I'd brought her one just yesterday. But I hadn't seen her reaction or made sure she got it. Glasses on and gaze fixed, she'd looked really focused on something on her laptop. I hadn't wanted to interrupt, so when my mother asked me to deliver her afternoon tea, I'd hidden the four-leaf clover sandwiched between the bottom of her cup and the saucer it rested on.

With a sigh for this incoming weather, I abandoned the clover patch and made my way back to my office. My father never kept his radio on him, so I'd need to call his cell phone. And if I couldn't get him on his cell, I'd need to take the ATV and track him down in whatever field he was working in today.

When I passed by the Bake Shop, I didn't see Becca at her table. That was good. Maybe she'd already packed it in for the day—it was nearly six—and gone back to the rental. Part of me wanted to swing by and make sure she was settled in and safe from the storm, but visiting her at the tiny house seemed intrusive. Or maybe it would reveal too much about how I was feeling, and I couldn't even seem to pinpoint that myself.

Luckily, back in my office, my dad picked up on the third ring. He said he'd take care of notifying all the workers in the fields. I glanced at the weather report on my phone just to confirm what Mac had told me, and it did look like we were in for some foul weather. There was a chance of hail, which was always dangerous on a farm or when working with the public. I made an announcement across all the radios to take shelter as soon as possible .

I left Carl in the office and went around the corner to check on Mom. Chloe was done for the day and my mother would be closed up but prepping for tomorrow. But when my boots hit the wooden porch in front of the Orchard Bake Shop, I noticed what I hadn't before—while the desk chair was empty, Becca's computer was still at her table, along with her laptop bag beneath. My steps slowed as I scanned the area, sure she must be nearby.

But I didn't come up with blond hair or bright smiles in any direction. I knocked on the restroom doors nearby but got no response.

Dark clouds were rolling in, and the wind had picked up. I had on a long-sleeved thermal and could detect the chill in the autumn air, definitely more pronounced in the last twenty minutes.

"Mom," I called as I approached the half door.

She poked her head out. "Hi, honey." Her eyes strayed to the table behind me. "Have you seen Becca?"

"No, I was going to ask you that. There's a storm headed this way."

"I know. I just got off the phone with your dad." She looked troubled before admitting, "She got another phone call. Like the one that made her so upset a couple of weeks back."

Frowning, I felt unease tighten a band around my chest. "What happened?"

"I don't know." But my mother's dark eyes were worried. "It didn't feel right to butt in."

That surprised me because nothing seemed off-limits to Maggie Clark.

"But I could tell she was upset. She wandered off with the phone to her ear just like last time."

Immediately, my mind went to the sunflower field. Becca had said it was her favorite spot. It was quiet and helped her think.

"I'm going to put her stuff in the office and then go look for her. Radio me if she gets back before I do, okay?"

My mother nodded. "I'll keep an eye out. Be careful, sugar. "

I gathered Becca's belongings and hurried them around to the office, making sure Carl stayed inside. While the porch in front of the Bake Shop was covered, I worried that rain might blow in if the storm was bad enough.

Clipping my radio to my belt, I took off for the sunflower maze. It wasn't far, and I really hoped that I'd find her there again. But a few minutes later, when I stepped off the worn path toward the dying flowers, I didn't see anyone moving about.

"Becca!" I called, just to be sure.

No response beyond the rustling of leaves and the sway of the corn stalks in the distance.

With my hands on my hips, I paused to consider where Becca might have gone. There were just too many places. I should have gotten the ATV, but I'd been so sure that history would repeat itself, and I'd find her distracted, wandering between dead blooms.

I unclipped the radio. "Anyone have eyes on Becca Kernsy?" I didn't take the time to explain who she was. Most Grandpappy's employees had run across her at one point or another. Plus, I doubted anyone would forget her.

The tiny speaker crackled a moment before I heard Laramie's voice. "She went into the corn maze about an hour ago. She was on the phone and barely noticed me. I didn't see her come out before I had to go get folks off the hayride. Do you want me to take a pass?"

Shit.

I was already moving. "No. Thanks, Larry. I'll go get her."

What had Becca said about the corn maze when I'd told her it was my favorite spot on the farm?

I have a terrible sense of direction. I'd need a search party.

What had made her venture in there in the first place? And what were these phone calls that made her so distracted and on edge? Was her sister calling and asking for more money?

Five minutes later, the sky neared darkness from the impeding cloud cover, and I was climbing the tower in the middle of the cornfield. We used it to get a better vantage point when kids got lost inside the maze and to keep an eye on things when we switched over to the haunted maze in October. But when I rose above the stalks, I noticed the first drops of rain, cold and hard against the top of my hat. Movement to my right had me turning into a roaring gust of wind. It was Becca, moving frantically, darting down one path before pivoting back the way she'd come.

Relief flooded my system. I hadn't let myself consider what my next steps would be if she wasn't inside the maze somewhere. But she was here. She was okay. The tightness in my chest loosened like a strained seam unstitching itself.

Descending the ladder, I lowered to the ground and took off in her direction. "Becca!"

In the distance, I saw a flash of red—her sweatshirt—move between the tall corn stalks, and I called her name again. This time, I saw her body pause. "Stay there!"

Glancing up, I could see the gathering storm clouds. A flash of lightning and then an echoing crack of thunder had me jogging to get to her.

My dad had taught me as a little kid that you could count the seconds between lightning and the answering thunder to figure out how close a storm was. And there had been no delay in the loud rumble that had reverberated in my chest.

The pelting rain was coming a little faster, but I was almost to her. Her voice, high and frantic, whipped along with the wind, "Will?"

I rounded the corner, and there she stood, ten feet away. She looked small and lost among the surrounding corn stalks. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her hair was starting to darken as the rain fell harder and faster. I saw the relieved breath she took as our eyes met. She pressed a hand to her chest, and her lips formed my name.

And that was when the sky opened up.