Elissa would always wonder when she realized Mrs. Blacksworth wasn’t the wounded soul she’d once thought she was, or how the woman had manipulated her to carry out deeds that were more about vengeance than exposing wrongdoing and helping victims.

Pete Finnegan was gone. He’d packed up the truck, done a final walk-through of the cabin, made sure his punch list was complete, and then he’d given her a brief nod and left. No words, no lingering gazes.

Nothing.

This loss was more painful than finding out about Zachary. She’d shown Pete who she really was, and she’d believed he’d done the same. Sure, they’d called it pretending, but that wasn’t anything more than a safe way to let the other person see the scars and the hurts. It was a way to gain acceptance without judgment, and maybe even love. She would not believe their time together meant nothing to him, and she refused to accept that he’d lied to her about his life in California.

But how would she ever know? She’d ruined their chance. What might have happened if she’d told him she knew Nate and Christine Desantro, knew about Magdalena, and had a part in causing pain to some of the residents? Would she have realized her employer’s motives sooner? Would Pete have judged her, and if he had, would he have forgiven her?

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

She’d lived her whole life according to right and wrong, well-crafted plans and life timelines, and yet, she’d never been unhappier. The only moments of true, pure happiness had been the time spent in the cabin with Pete.

And she’d ruined it. All of it. Her chest ached with the loss she’d brought on with her naïveté. She made her way to the bedroom, lay on Pete’s pillow, inhaled his scent. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend he was in the kitchen, making breakfast as he’d done these past several days. The smell of coffee would reach her any second, then the aroma of cinnamon and apples as he heated them for her oatmeal and topped it with walnuts. Soon, he’d carry a tray into the bedroom, humming under his breath. And then he’d kiss her temple…whisper in her ear…

Elissa blinked her eyes open, swiped at her cheeks.

She could pretend all she wanted because Pete was gone. Gone from the cabin, gone from her life. But the memory of him? That would never disappear. Life would be different now. No more five-year plans or timelines, no more following someone else’s blueprint or definition of happiness.

If the time in the cabin had taught her one lesson, it was that life could and should be lived on her own terms, no matter the outcome. Tomorrow, she’d close up the place and head back to Chicago. Maybe she’d stop along the way, look for a few small towns to spend the night. What was the rush? Her parents didn’t expect her for another week and she wasn’t due back at work for another ten days—just in time to hand in her resignation. People would think she was crazy to quit a nursing job that paid so well, but it wasn’t about the money. Mrs. Blacksworth had gifted her a generous sum, but even if she hadn’t, Elissa would still leave. Maybe it was the hospital setting she didn’t like…or maybe it was Chicago…

She didn’t know, not yet, but she’d explore the possibilities until she found a place and a job that brought her joy.

* * *

“Dad says he loves me more than three scoops of cherry chip ice cream.” Giggle giggle. “That’s his very favorite.” Lily’s eyes sparkled as she read the lines from the letter her father had written her. “He loves me more than snow angels on a starry night.” Her voice drifted. “He’s an angel now,” she whispered, glancing at Christine, who sat next to her. “A real one, not just a snow one. And he can see everything we’re doing.” She pointed toward the ceiling, nodded. “He watches over all of us.”

Christine nodded, whispered back, “Yes, he does.”

“Anna and Joy, too, even though he never met them when he was on earth.”

“Yes” Christine said, her voice cracking, “them, too.”

Nate watched his sister discuss angels as though she believed everyone knew they existed and it was no big deal to carry on conversations with them. Only Lily. He and Christine delivered the letters to his mother and Lily this afternoon while Lucy Benito babysat the girls. They’d agreed the less distractions, the better. When Christine handed his mother her letter, she’d clutched it to her chest, let out a whimper, and disappeared into the bedroom.

Yeah, he got how she’d want to be alone.

“Dad loves me more than ten flannel shirts!” Lily looked at Nate, brows pulled together. “Do you love Christine more than ten flannel shirts?”

That sounded like a Lily question. He grinned and slid a glance at his wife. “Ten? That’s a lot.” He rubbed his jaw, pretended to consider his answer.

“Come on, Nate.” Lily leaned toward him. “Tell her.”

“Well…” His voice dipped as he held Christine’s gaze. “Actually, I love Christine more than five hundred flannel shirts.”

“Yay!” Lily clapped her hands, laughed. “I knew it.”

“I figured you did.” He grinned at his sister.

She gave him the thumbs-up and went back to the letter. He spotted the second her mood changed. Her mouth pulled into a frown, her small shoulders sagged. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “Dad says he can’t wait to be here for my first horse ride.” Sniff, sniff. “He didn’t get to come because he died.” Sniff, sniff. “I miss him so much.”

Christine put an arm around Lily, pulled her close. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Nate didn’t miss the raspy voice or the tears in his wife’s eyes. Damn, but he hated to see a woman in tears, especially his wife and sister. He guessed his mother might be shedding a few of her own since she’d been in the bedroom the past forty minutes. “Hey, this letter was supposed to make you happy, not turn you into a sad sack.”

“I know.” She sneaked a peek at him, swiped her eyes from beneath her glasses.

Since Lily believed in angels, then he’d give her a good thought to hold onto. “You know your dad was watching you ride, don’t you? I mean, you couldn’t see him because he was high up in the sky, but he saw you.” The sniffing stopped and she grew very still. “Who do you think protected you from getting more than a broken leg when you jumped the fence? You don’t think that was luck, do you?”

“It was Dad, wasn’t it?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

He shrugged. “Who can say? You’re the one who tells us about angels and how your dad’s one of them. Doesn’t it make sense that he’d keep an eye on you and Christine?”

Lily’s head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh.”

He smiled at her, held out his arms. “Come here, kiddo. Give me a hug.”

She sprang off the couch and rushed toward him, flinging her arms around his neck. “I love you, Nate.”

He stroked her hair, whispered, “I love you too, kiddo. More than five hundred flannel shirts.”

The tears stopped after that, replaced with laughter and stories about Anna and Joy’s latest antics. Lily loved being an aunt and told them she wouldn’t mind another niece or nephew. She said it with such conviction that Nate and Christine couldn’t find the words to tell her couples didn’t have more children because someone wanted to be an aunt. But then Lily shrugged and her next words made Nate wonder if she’d been playing them all along.

“It doesn’t have to be a two-legged niece or nephew.” Her lips pulled into a big smile and she said, “A four-legged one is fine, too. What do you think about that?”

Fortunately, they didn’t have to answer because Miriam appeared in the living room doorway, nose red, eyes puffy. She made her way to Nate and Christine, hugged first one and then the other. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

And then she turned and disappeared back into her bedroom.

Harry didn’t find out about the letters until late the next afternoon. He knocked on Nate and Christine’s front door with a bottle of bourbon and six sticky buns, fresh baked and iced this morning.

“Greta’s a keeper,” he said, easing one of the sticky buns from the container and handing it to Christine. “She knows I can’t resist these things; makes them for me and the kids once a month.”

Nate pointed to the bourbon. “Does she know you can’t resist that either?”

Harry laughed. “Those days are gone. I’ll have a drink or two, but I’m not swimming in the stuff like I used to…” He let out another laugh. “I got too damn much to do. Kids and a wife who depend on me. I can’t afford to get bleary and out of focus.” Harry shook his head, lowered his voice. “Greta would clobber me if I stepped out of line, and besides, I’m not gonna disappoint her.”

“Spoken like a husband who knows how to keep peace in the household.” Nate grinned, set a glass of water in front of him. “So, what’s going on?”

“Is everything okay, Uncle Harry?” This from Christine. “Your phone call worried me.”

His blue gaze slid from his niece to Nate. “Nah. Nothing serious.” He shrugged, sipped his water. “I heard you found a few things at the cabin.” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “Letters from Charlie?”

Damn, how had he found out about the letters? “Who’s the little bird that’s been chirping?”

He shrugged. “Who else? Lily.”

Of course, it would be Lily. She was so excited about her letter, she’d decided to memorize every word of it, and his mother told him she’d slept with it under her pillow last night. “How did I not see this coming?”

Christine raised a brow. “Did you see the play for the four-legged family member coming yesterday? She’s a sharp one, and very crafty.”

“Huh?” Harry placed both elbows on the counter, clasped his hands together. “What did Lily do now?”

“She tried to talk us into a pet by saying she wanted to be an aunt again.” Christine shook her head. “It was very clever. And when she saw our shocked expressions, she backtracked and said four-legged additions to the family counted, too.”

Harry threw back his head and roared. “Ah, that’s my Lily Girl. I’ll lay money you’ll have a pup by summer.”

“Don’t count on it,” Christine said, “A puppy’s like another baby and we’ve got our hands full.”

Nate considered his wife’s response, slid in an alternative. “We could always rescue a dog that’s a few years old.”

“Rescue? A few years old?” She looked from Nate to Harry. “I haven’t had a dog since I was a child.”

Her uncle raised a brow. “So? Every kid should have a dog. Teaches them responsibility, right?” He paused, his face shifting to pink. “Greta and I are thinking about getting one for our gang. I’m the one who wants one, but I’m going to blame it on the kids.” More pink, swirling to his ears. “What do you think about a Great Dane? I like the name Felix.”

Christine shook her head. “I think no.”

Nate crossed his arms over his chest, pretended to study Harry, and said, “You seem more like a Chihuahua kind of guy.”

“Screw you.” Harry laughed. “Greta made me promise to talk to one of those people who match the dog with the owner and the lifestyle. You know, don’t get a dog that needs three hours of exercise if you live on the couch. Don’t pick one because you think he has pretty eyes, that kind of crap.” He tore off a section of sticky bun, popped it in his mouth and chewed. “Who would have thought people got paid to do stuff like that? Is that even a real job?”

Nate shrugged. “Dunno. Did you come here to talk about dogs? I’ve got a list of honey-do things to get done and your niece isn’t going to be happy if I don’t at least get them started.” He knew the dog conversation was Harry’s way of easing into the real reason he’d stopped by—the letters. But if the man didn’t ask his questions soon, it would be dinnertime and he’d still be yakking about dogs and trainers.

“Greta wanted me to deliver the sticky buns, and I did have a question or two about dogs, but that’s not why I’m here.” The blueness in his eyes shifted to silver. “Were there any more letters?”

Nate darted a glance at his wife. She’d gone pale. He waited for her to respond, and when she didn’t, he jumped in. “Charlie wrote one to Christine, one to me.” Long pause. “And one to Gloria.”

“Oh.” His voice turned rough. “Huh. Guess I didn’t rate.”

There was no missing the hurt in his voice, but hurt was a helluva lot better than despair, and that’s right where Harry would be if he read the letter intended for him. “Maybe he ran out of time,” Nate said. Or maybe he didn’t…maybe the letter was tucked in the top desk drawer fifty feet away.

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Uncle Harry.” Christine clasped his hand, leaned forward, eyes bright.

Here it comes. She’s going to tell him.

“Dad loved you. You know that.”

She’s going to blow his world apart. She’s going to tell him about the letter.

“I loved him, too, Chrissie,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. “So, no letter, huh?”

“No,” she whispered, a tear spilling down her cheek. “No letter.”

* * *

The last time Pete saw his Aunt Edith he’d been twenty years old. She’d hugged him tight and slipped an envelope in his pocket containing two hundred dollars and a prayer card of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. She said the money and the prayer card seemed fitting as he was about to embark on a cross-country journey in a vehicle of questionable reliability and might require money and prayers to reach his destination. She’d been right. The water hose burst outside of Omaha, and the cash, along with St. Christopher, guided him to California.

Today, he sat in her front parlor as he had fifteen years ago, and like then, she hugged him and tried to shove money in his pocket. This time, the hug wasn’t as strong and the envelope contained deeds to several acres in and around Magdalena.

“Aunt Edith, I’m not accepting this.” Pete laid the envelope on the coffee table and turned to her. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need help. Besides, you might need these one day.” The deeds contained tracts of land that covered sixteen acres. Everybody knew the area was rich in timber, and if you partitioned off the land, you’d have quite a few lots, Hell, you could plan a small development if you wanted.

But that would destroy the feel of the community. Magdalena’s quaintness would be lost to new construction, overpopulation, and traffic. Way too much traffic. Pete liked progress, but some places should be protected from the hustle-bustle of overbuilding, and Magdalena was one of them. At twenty, he’d been anxious to get out of the small town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, but at thirty-five, he’d developed an appreciation for quiet and having a few friends who knew you back when, as opposed to a roomful who didn’t know you at all.

“Peter, I’ve been waiting for the day you’d come back here.” Her thin lips pulled into a frown. “I’d hoped you’d bring a wife and a baby or two.” She let out a long sigh that sounded an awful lot like sadness mixed with regret. “But there’s still time. You do want a wife and children, don’t you?”

Visions of a fresh-faced woman with dark hair and hazel eyes squeezed his chest. He pushed them away, picked up one of the store-bought vanilla cookies his aunt had set out. “If the opportunity presents itself, I’d be open to it.” And if the woman in question wasn’t keeping a notebook filled with secrets and destruction…

“You’d be open to it?” She shook her head, sniffed. “What does that mean? Love isn’t a negotiation, my boy; it’s magical and wondrous and has great powers. You weren’t here when Daniel and Tess Casherdon were tested by fate. Twice. Oh, but they struggled; first torn apart by tragedy, and later, by another woman.” She tsk-tsked as though she were commenting on a movie and not real people’s lives. “I never gave up on them, no, I did not, even when it looked like there was no hope for them.” She took a sip of tea, said in a voice as soft as cotton balls, “Love prevails. Always.” Her gaze slipped over him, settled on his face. “You’ve had a bit of heartache, haven’t you, Peter?”

He coughed, cleared his throat. “No. Of course not.” Why would she say that? Was it because he was thirty-five and hadn’t brought home a wife and child?

More tsk-tsking, this time aimed at him and his life. “I recognize heartbreak when I see it and you’re a man suffering from it.” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin and clasped his hand. “I want to help you. Tell me about her.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Edith, but there isn’t anyone.” He worked up a smile. “Just me and my sorry self.”

“If that’s true, then it’s only because you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. I’m a patient woman, Peter. When you admit you’re in love, you just remember your Aunt Edith was the first to know.” She patted his hand and nodded. “In the meantime, let’s talk about how to go about transferring the deeds.”